The Fate of the Muse

chapter FOUR

OMEN





We’d been handed a diploma, capped, gowned and photographed to prove it; it was official– we were now high school graduates. Ethan and I drove out to take a walk on his land after the ceremony, promising to come home early for cake with Dutch and Abby. Being out there once again, and seeing the way Ethan looked at it, refocused my energy. I was more determined than ever to prevent it from being turned into a golf course, and I put the congressman’s death firmly out of my mind.

Shayla joined us at the house, and Cruz decided she should sleep over so we could get an early start on our trip to Evie’s the next day. She was wired, nervous about the impending modeling interview, and needed some distraction to keep from sabotaging herself with doubt and insecurity.

Ethan looked less than happy to hear our plans, and I realized that he was probably thinking about sleeping over himself to make sure that I didn’t go night surfing. With everything that was happening, I think he could tell I was getting antsy. My cravings for the sea had been reawakened since I’d been out to see Lorelei; he knew the signs.

“Do you need to get anything from home?” I asked Shayla.

“I’m good,” she said, nodding towards her tote as she tossed it onto my bed. She seemed to live out of her bag lately, seeking refuge more and more at our house in the past few weeks. Abby was always happy to oblige her, intuitively sensing that Shayla had good reason to avoid her mother’s trailer as much as possible. Cruz liked having her around as his own personal mannequin, and she liked to hang out in his room, flipping through his vast collection of Vogue magazines and practicing poses while he banged away on his sewing machine.

School was a challenge for Shayla, but she’d managed to squeak by with enough classes to graduate. Some last minute tutoring, courtesy of Cruz and Megan, had made it possible for her to pass the exit exam. The way they had both taken her under their collective wings was really moving, and as Ethan had noticed at the prom, the change in her was absolutely phenomenal.

The next morning she sat nervously beside me as I drove to San Francisco, the back of my Rover stuffed full of Cruz’s things in bags and boxes. He followed behind us in Evie’s silver Jag, eager to start his new life in San Francisco.

“I’m gonna miss hanging out with Cruz,” Shayla sighed wistfully.

“You’ll just have to hang out with him in the city,” I replied playfully.

“What if this modeling thing doesn’t work out?” she said, “I could be stuck in Aptos my whole life.” She shuddered at the thought, as if it would be a fate worse than death. Funny, I realized, spending a quiet life there with Ethan was exactly what I was hoping for.

“You can do it,” I told her, “You just need to be confident.”

“That’s easier said than done!” she wailed.

“Then act confident.”

“I know, I know, but I’m so totally nervous! I get all sweaty everytime I even think about walking in front of some agent dude.”

“Shayla, just fake it ’till you make it,” I said, “Everyone gets nervous.”

We pulled into Evie’s parking garage and were immediately greeted by Boris. His smile widened when he saw Shayla, and he rushed to open her door. He helped us unload the boxes as Cruz pulled up alongside us.

“Evie expects you,” he said, turning to nod at Cruz, who was lugging a couple of overstuffed garment bags around the corner, “Velcome to the building.”

“Thanks,” Cruz sounded relieved at the acknowledgement, for Boris could be extremely intimidating. We piled Cruz’s things into the elevator and squeezed in behind the load. When the door finally opened on the top floor, Evie was standing in the hallway waiting, platinum hair smoothed into the perfect French twist, looking chic in a knit Chanel suit.

“Darlings!” she cried, opening her arms wide for hugs. It occurred to me that she was similar to Lorelei in the consistent enthusiasm of her greetings, but that was about the only thing she had in common with the unsophisticated mermaid. She led the way to my apartment and opened the door for us, winking at me as we passed.

“Cruz, let’s put your sewing stuff in the studio,” I said, knowing that Evie had already worked her magic, transforming it from a painter’s studio to an exclusive designer’s atelier.

“OH MY GOD!” Cruz screeched when he rounded the corner.

It was an impressive sight. There were a couple of long work tables holding shiny new industrial sewing machines, a knitting machine and serger. A colorful wall display held hundreds of bobbins of thread, and there were shelves stocked with enough bolts of fabric, exotic yarns and trims to fill a good sized store. Several dress forms stood guard next to a small privacy screen and an elegant chaise lounge, all of it backstopped by a spectacular view of the golden gate bridge. It was everything Cruz could have possibly wanted, and I could already envision him hard at work here. I watched him inspect everything with pleasure.

“You gave up your art studio,” he gasped, overcome with emotion, “And… and, just look at all this…stuff…” He wiped his eyes, turning towards Evie, “I don’t know what to say…”

Evie was beaming with joy as she embraced him, “Just keep up the good work… We’re looking forward to seeing all the fabulous things you’ll dream up in here!”

We put the rest of Cruz’s things into the guest room and peeled him out of his new workshop to head across the hall to Evie’s. She’d arranged for a photographer, hairstylist and makeup artist to get some more tests shots of Shayla, and was expecting her agent friend within a few hours.

Evie took Shayla’s arm, “Let’s get your hair and makeup done before Jacques shows up.”

“Marina too!” added Cruz, handing me a garment bag with a pleading look, “I need some pictures of you in your prom gown and the mermaid dress for my portfolio, okay?”

“I guess so,” I said, following them out.

The rest of the afternoon flew by with a flurry of primping, preening and picture taking. Evie’s lavishly decorated apartment was full of ideal backdrops for Cruz’s beautiful designs, and he turned out to be a stern taskmaster, determined to light and pose each article of clothing for the optimum effect. I could easily see him as the head of a major design house.

When the agent showed up he fawned over Evie, air kissing each of her cheeks with a loud smack and flattering her in French. He looked up to see the three of us watching expectantly.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” he said with an artistic flourish, “Jacques Reynard, at your service.”

He was a funny looking little man, who seemed to have stepped right out of another era. He sported a perfectly tailored light grey suit worn with an ascot tie in a brilliant blue. A ridiculous little waxed mustache sat on his upper lip like a piece of twisted black licorice: it was hard not to stare at it. I suppressed a giggle as I watched Evie nudge Shayla forward to meet him.

He appraised her like she was an object, and although I knew it was all part of the business, it triggered a twinge of annoyance that worried me. I took a deep breath and slipped out of the room to get a drink of water.

In light of what had happened to the congressman, I realized that I couldn’t be too careful. After some reflection, I decided not to allow myself to feel any form of rage. If there was even a remote possibility that anger was some kind of weapon in my muse arsenal, I desperately needed to master it. I’d searched the internet, reading up on meditation and prayer, and was working to develop the serenity of a Zen master. I planned on becoming a completely calm reflection of inner peace and control.

Fat chance, a little voice in the back of my mind mocked me.

I gathered myself together, returning to see Shayla walking back and forth across Evie’s vast great room while Jacques scrutinized her like a man looking to buy a horse. Cruz nodded his encouragement on the sidelines. Shayla’s athletic gait gave her a straightforward, aggressive kind of grace that other runway models lacked, and I could tell Mr. Reynard was intrigued. He sat down and leafed through her book of photos, studying them carefully, clearly impressed.

“She photographs well, nest-ce pas?” he asked Evie, nodding his approval. He looked up to see me watching, “Well, well, who do we have here?”

“Jacques, this is Marina,” Evie said, with a gesture towards me. I held out my hand.

He stood up and came closer to inspect me with the same judgmental eyes, addressing Evie, “Exquisite… simplemont exquisite…”

“I’ve always thought so,” said Evie, beaming.

“Like a miniature Evelyn Pond! But too petite for runway, non?”

“Nice to meet you too, Jacques,” I said, trying not to sound too sarcastic.

“The pleasure is all mine,” he said, taking my hand in his with a knowing twinkle in his eye, “Are you searching for ze agent as well?” he asked me.

I looked at Evie with narrowed eyes. She must be up to something.

“No thank you,” I said politely, “Have you decided to represent Shayla?”

He smiled, “Oh yes, most certainly! I’m going to make certain zat she’s booked for fashion week… But ave you any photos I can see?”

“She will,” Cruz jumped in, “We took some awesome pictures today, and Marina and Evie are going to be in Paris for the shows!” He turned to take Shayla by the upper arms, excitedly squealing, “Now you get to go too!”

Shayla looked stunned, “I’m gonna go to France?”

Evie and Jacques took Shayla into her study to discuss the terms of her contract and finalize her travel plans, while Cruz and I finished up with the photographer and got his clothing all packed away. When they returned Jacques bid us all farewell and followed the photographer out the door.

“I’m the only one here who’s not going to Paris,” Cruz pouted.

“There, there,” Evie said as she gave him a pat on the back, “It won’t be too long before you’ll be showing your designs all around the world.”

Shayla stood silently, a dazed look on her face.

“Are you okay?” I asked her with a smile. I knew once everything sank in she’d be bouncing off the walls.

She swallowed hard, “Do all French men have mustaches like that?” Cruz’s eyes met mine and we couldn’t contain our laughter.

Evie looked at us reproachfully, patting Shayla’s arm, “No my dear, Jacques is simply a bit of an eccentric.”

“A what?” she asked.





Shayla thanked Evie profusely for getting her the interview, solemnly promising not to let her down in Paris. We walked Cruz back across the hall and I helped him move his things into the guest room, schlepping boxes and bags as Cruz gave Shayla more runway walking advice.

“I’m like, sposed to fly out to Paris next Sunday!” she jumped up and down, unable to contain her enthusiasm. Cruz started feeling sorry for himself again, but snapped out of it when he went back into his design studio, looking in awe at all his new equipment.

“I can’t believe I’m really here… living in the city, starting design school… It’s like a dream come true!”

Shayla and I hugged Cruz goodbye, and I was surprised to see my normally cynical cousin actually get a little choked up.

“Tell Mom I’ll be home Friday night,” he said, clearing his throat, “I promised to help her get set up for the rally on Saturday.”

“See you soon,” I said, kissing his cheek.

By the time we made it down to the garage Boris had already packed several boxes bursting with art supplies into the back of the Rover. Some large stretched canvases were wedged in on their sides, and my biggest easel nosed between the two front seats. I drove Shayla back to Aptos, listening as she excitedly filled me in on the details of her meeting with Jacques.

“He has an apartment in Paris set up just for beginning models like me! There’s chicks from Russia and Germany crashing there that have, like, mad runway skills. Jacques says they’ll help me with my walk if I help them learn English for when we go to New York– but none of us can talk French…”

I was amused, imagining Shayla taking on the role of teacher. Wonders never ceased.

She rubbed her hands together and threw her head back with a grin, “I’m psyched! It’s gonna be so totally rad!”

“You can fly out with me and Evie,” I said, strangely comforted by the thought of having her accompany me on my unpleasant task.

“That’s what Evie said… she has it all planned out. It’s like she already knew I was gonna get the job!”

“Yeah, she’s good that way,” I said wryly.

“Oh my God– what is Mom gonna say? She’s like totally never gonna believe it!”

I found myself beaming, feeding off the power of Shayla’s joy. Knowing I’d be there to see her walking in the shows took the edge off the dread I was feeling about my trip to Paris.

“What are you gonna do with all this stuff?” asked Shayla, looking behind her.

“I rented a place right over Bill’s coffeeshop,” I told her, “Once I get it cleaned up it’ll make a great art studio. Do you want to see it?”

“Hells yeah!” she cried, “I’m way too amped go home right now!”

I pulled onto the narrow lane that ran between the row of shops and restaurants and parked. In the fading light of dusk it had an eerie feeling, as if something was lurking in the shadows, coiled and ready to spring out from behind the giant metal dumpsters that lined the alley. We climbed out of the Rover, and Shayla looked up at the rusty stairs suspiciously while I fished the keys from my bag.

“This looks like a good place to get jumped,” she pointed out.

“Keep an open mind,” I said, climbing up the quaking staircase, “It just needs a little cleaning up. I opened the door and groped for the light switch, finally managing to turn on a tiny flickering light mounted on the far wall.

“Man!” exclaimed Shayla, “This shack is trashed!”

I had to agree. The dusty mess looked even more sinister in the low light, and we skirted our way around the junk, inspecting the vast room.

I picked up a flyer for a band called “Death Stick”, and smiled at the drawing of a skeleton surfing on a mushroom cloud, “Ever heard of these guys?” I asked Shayla.

She shook her head, “Naw, it looks kinda lame,” she bent over to pick up something, “Check this,” she said, holding up the neck of a guitar someone had done a fine job of smashing to smithereens against the wall.

Without warning, a flurry of feathers exploded from a corner and a frantic seagull began flying around the room, banging into the window panes, flapping on the floor and finally landing on the top of the low wall in the corner.

“It’s okay,” I said gently, approaching it slowly, “I’ll take you out of here.” I held out my arm and the bird climbed on, eyes bright with fear. I slowly walked it out the front door and set it free.

Shayla was frozen in place, standing with a shocked look on her face.

“It must have gotten in through the broken windows,” I explained, pointing to the missing panes.

“Th– that’s bad luck,” she stammered, “It means someone’s gonna die.”

“What?” I asked.

“A bird flying inside…”

“Don’t be silly,” I said, “That’s just an old wives tale.”

I couldn’t help thinking that someone already had ended up dead… I’d have to be extra cautious from now on.

“This place gives me the creeps,” said Shayla, rubbing her bare arms.

“It’s not so bad in the daylight,” I said defensively, “And I get free rent for a month for cleaning it up,” I explained.

“I guess Ethan can haul all this stuff outa’ here,” she said, looking around at the piles of junk lining the floor.

“Uhm, I haven’t really told him about it… he works too hard anyway, and I’ve decided to do it on my own. I want to fix it up and surprise him.”

“I’ll help you,” she said, looking around ominously, “I’ve got a week to kill… before I go to PARIS!” she squealed, jumping up and down, still overcome with excitement every time it crossed her mind.

“I’ll take you up on that,” I laughed, feeding off the power of her joy, “But only if we can go surfing a few times too.”

“You got it,” she grinned, her eyes widening, “I wonder if they have beaches with crankin’ surf in France?”

“They probably do,” I said.

Shayla and I unloaded the art supplies, making multiple trips up and down the treacherous stairs. We decided to grab a coffee after we finished, and I pulled the Rover around to park by the brightly lit storefront of Bill’s coffeeshop.

Megan waved at us from the stage we walked in. She was just finishing up a song and we all sat down together.

“Hey! How did it go at Evie’s? What are you guys doing here?”

Shayla excitedly told her about her interview and upcoming trip to France.

“Congratulations!” she smiled, “So you guys both get to go to Paris! Poor Cruz must be dying!”

“Pretty much,” I said sympathetically. I told her about the sewing room Evie set up for Cruz, and Megan said she was planning a trip up to see him in the next few days. Shayla launched into a wide eyed description of my new art studio, looking up when she realized it was directly over our heads. She was still freaked out about our encounter with the bird.

“And Marina, like, totally started gargling at it to calm it down, and the seagull just climbed right onto her arm!”

Megan’s eyes flashed to mine and we both realized at that instant that I’d just spoken mermaid in front of Shayla. I was surprised, for I truly hadn’t known it. It all sounded the same to me coming out, and once again, I couldn’t imagine how that could be.

No wonder the bird went with me.

“That’s a bad omen,” said Megan seriously.

“Oh puh-lease! Not you too,” I scoffed with a roll of my eyes, “Honestly!”

Megan smiled and shrugged, “A lot of superstitions are based on facts…”

I shifted in my seat, “So what’s going on with your music?” I asked her, changing the subject.

Megan’s eyes lit up, for she had news, and once she launched into her story everything else was forgotten. She had taped her breakup-inspired songs and posted them on the internet.

“They’re going viral, getting tons of hits,” she said incredulously, “And I met with a record producer! He’s going to record me… in a real professional studio and everything! Can you believe it?”

“Yes I can,” I smiled, once again flooded with contentment. It occurred to me that it was addicting, this feeling I got when someone I liked succeeded. I had a tremendous sense of relief, like everything was right in the world. It was very similar to the feeling I got while surfing. I leaned back in my chair. Maybe this muse thing would be okay after all, if I could just keep the dark side of it contained. No anger allowed.

And that’s when it happened again.





I struggled to open my eyes, unable to move or cry out, and could feel my body being lifted as though it were weightless. The sharp smell of smoke filled my nostrils, underlined by the pungent stench of dirt and sweat. I could feel myself being carried, bouncing along at a rapid clip. I coughed, fighting to catch my breath, overcome with nausea.





“Marina! Marina!” Megan’s voice was shrill, and I raised my throbbing head to see her panicked face. From the look of the mess I’d made, I’d just keeled over onto the table, and as I sat up I could feel all the eyes in the room on me.

Bill rushed over with a bar towel, “Are you okay?” he cried, “Did you burn yourself?”

I looked down to see the coffee I’d knocked over spattered onto the front of my dress.

“No… no, no,” I said numbly. My tongue felt thick.

“Should we call an ambulance?” Shayla cried, “She just face planted!”

I took a deep breath, and the familiar pain in my head began to subside, “I’m fine… I’ll be fine… I just need to go home and get some rest.”

Great. Another weird vision– why did this always have to happen around other people? I stood on shaky legs and apologized to Bill for the spill. My mind was racing, trying to figure out what this one meant. I couldn’t even really call it a vision, for it was mostly just sounds and smells. Strange.

Megan offered to drive us home, but once I got out into the cool night air I was nearly back to normal. I managed to convince everyone that I was fully recovered, but the look in Megan’s eyes told me she knew what had happened, and I had some explaining to do.

“Call me,” she said as I pulled away.

Shayla and I drove along in silence, and I could feel her speculative eyes on me.

“What?” I snapped, “Spit it out!”

“Marina?” she asked solemnly, “Are you knocked up?”

I laughed for a while, stopping when I realized that she didn’t believe me.

“Shayla, it’s not possible… I mean we haven’t… we don’t…” I could feel my face burning.

“Really?” she said incredulously.

I bit my lip, embarrassed, “Well, I never have, so we’ve been kinda taking it slow… and with everything that’s happened, the timings never been quite right… and now we’re thinking about–” I stopped myself, wondering if I should tell her about our engagement.

“Whoa,” she said quietly, “Ethan’s a really good guy.”

“I know.”

“Man,” she said, looking out the window, “All the dudes I’ve ever dated would dump you if you didn’t put out.”

“You just haven’t met the right one yet.”

She sighed, “That’s for sure.”

I wanted to tell her not to worry, that soon she’d have more suitors to choose from than she could handle, but instead I dropped her off at her mothers, arranging to pick her up Monday to get started on the studio clean-up. When I pulled up at Abby’s, Ethan was waiting for me on the porch, and I could swear my heart skipped a beat when he stood and smiled at me.

“Hey,” he said softly, as I climbed the stairs, “How did it go at Evie’s?”

“Great,” I said, slipping into his open arms, “Shayla got an agent, and she’s coming to Paris for fashion week with us.”

“What happened to you?” he asked, looking down at my stained dress.

“We stopped for coffee,” I said sheepishly, “I had a little accident.”

“Are you okay?” he asked, brushing the hair from my eyes.

I kissed him, and I think he got the answer he wanted.