Jax shrugs his shoulders, his smile widening a good half-inch.
“You think I’m falling for her?” I boom. “Bro, that’s projection. I mean, it’s good that you settled down, but that shit ain’t ever happening to me. I was born wild and I’ll stay that way.”
“Right,” Jax says, giving me the most unconvinced nod he’s ever managed.
“You don’t believe me? You don’t believe me! Look, she’s great. Talented, sexy, sarcastic as fuck, and she’s definitely a change from the cuties we usually pick up, but bro… Come on! This is me we’re talking about. Brando. Think about it. Brando. Relationship. You can’t even use the two words in the same sentence – they’re like from different languages.”
Jax laughs as he stands up.
“Are you trying to convince me,” he says, as he throws his towel around his shoulders and picks up his board, “or yourself?”
Jax salutes a goodbye and starts walking off, the question hanging in the air like an unconnected cable. Truth is, I don’t have an answer.
After a couple more waves I decide to leave. The sun glints off the chassis of my jeep, obscuring the tall figure leaning up against it, waiting for me.
I recognize her instantly, despite the disguise of a wide straw hat and big, Audrey Hepburn-style sunglasses. She’s wearing a black bikini, teasingly revealed by a lace sarong, and there’s only one girl with a body as poised and as slamming as that.
Lexi.
“I always thought you were hottest when you were surfing. Water dripping between all those muscles.”
I frown at her, wishing I was more annoyed by her presence.
“Where’s Davis? Did they not let him out of the wax museum today?”
“I came alone. I was watching you,” she says, pulling off her glasses to flash me an earnest look. “I wanted to come over and talk…but I hate breaking up a happy couple.”
“You and me were a happy couple,” I say, before my brain can stop the weak, regretful words from falling out of my mouth.
“Were we?” Lexi says.
I look away, trying to ignore the deep thud of pain I get from even seeing her too much. I let the sound of the waves fill my ears, as if it’ll wash away the memories.
“If you came to ask something,” I say, loading the cooler and my board into the back of the jeep, “just come out and ask it.”
She pouts, the way I could never resist. “Can we just sit somewhere and talk?”
I know there are a lot of answers to that question. No. Fuck you. Maybe later. How about next Tuesday? But there’s only one my brain seems capable of giving.
“Sure.”
I take Lexi to a pierside café; it’s got one of the best views in the city, and since I’m good with the owner I know he’ll keep the tables around us empty.
Lexi looks out into the ocean as if she’s seeing it for the first time, or maybe she knows I’ve never been able to resist the taut curve of her neck when her head’s turned. We don’t speak until the cappuccinos are in front of us, as if we both need time to adjust to the other’s presence again. When Lexi takes out a pack of cigarettes and lights one, I know shit’s serious. International pop stars don’t smoke in public. I always thought it was a disgusting habit, but I’d forgive Lexi anything. Almost anything.
“Things aren’t going well,” she says, before blowing out a long plume of smoke.
“Funny,” I say, “’cause the last time I saw you and leatherface you seemed pretty pleased with yourselves.”
“That was nearly a week ago. This is now. A week’s a long time in music – you know that.”
“Your album is at number one in the charts. I don’t see the problem.”
“Was number one. Now it’s dropping like a stone.”
She holds the cigarette in her fingertips and leans over her coffee cup. Something about the gesture makes me shake inside, like a hammer hitting a bass piano note. Suddenly I’m not here anymore, not in a fancy beachside LA café, drinking ten-dollar cappuccinos out of oversized cups. I’m right back at the start, sitting with Lexi in a run-down twenty-four hour Brooklyn diner, drinking bitter black coffee from styrofoam cups, planning how I’m going to take her to the top.
“How the hell does that happen?”