Sunset Beach
February, 1975
Sinking beneath the dark surface of my coffee, the white cream from the little silver pitcher disappears momentarily before erupting upward in a curling mass of tendrils. It becomes a layer of white and crowns my cup in richness but by then I've lost interest. She has arrived. She walks in through that door on the far side of the library. All her books are neatly in her smart leather and canvas satchel because she would never balance them in her arms. She's too perfect for that.
Her hair's tucked back in a single clip near the nape of her neck, the silver filigreed one I imagine was a gift from a lover. I picture him pinning it in her hair and wish it were my hands lost in that mass of dark brown curls. Folding her sunglasses and tucking them away in her purse, she looks down as she passes my corner of the law library and I have the rare opportunity to study her up close.
Tall black heels compromise for her height. She would probably only come up to my chin with them off, not surprising considering my six feet. She must only be around five foot four but her simple presence makes her seem much taller. Her favoring skirts in the hot California summer gives me a prized glimpse of the smooth muscles of her calves. She doesn't wear hose and I just about drop my coffee cup as I think about the wind brushing the skin of her legs.
In that moment as I set down my cup in a hurry, she looks over towards me. I don't have time to look away and I wonder how I appear to those stunning blue eyes. Tall, more thin than muscular with mussed brown hair and brown eyes that are too deep for my own good, as my mother would say. Her lips dance in a hint of a smile, but she's too busy to waste that luxury on me.
The fullness of those lips turning upward in a brilliant smile fills my imagination with promise. Someday she'll turn to me, let me cup that little stubborn chin with my hands and say-
"Gregory!" Bette bustles around the corner, brilliant this morning in a sundress covered with three different kinds of red sunflowers on a yellow background. "Are you ready for breakfast yet?"
"Of course." I promise as I give in to her friendly embrace. "I was just-" I turn back, but she's gone. She'll be upstairs to the desk she rents by now, locked away in pile of legal texts for the rest of the day.
Giggling knowingly as she balances her hands on her hips, Bette takes my hand, grabs my coffee and leads me out of the library. "Just wasting my youth and good looks on a woman I'm afraid to even talk too." She teases in her best impression of my quiet ineptitude.
"I'm not-" I begin but fall apart under her knowing gaze. "I am afraid. She's first in her class, they say she's being scouted for a position at Massey-Greysolon. My father has Massey on retainer if she's going to work for that bastard, she's entirely out of my league."
"Maybe you can get her on retainer." Bette teases as she drags me off towards the little mom and pop cafe she loves so much.
I start to blush, but it runs away with a will of it's own as I let myself imagine Olivia Blake in the context of Bette's innuendo. "That's absolutely crude."
Stopping me in the street, she pulls me down to whisper in my ear. "Ripping off that perfectly tailored suit, throwing her nude down on your father's desk, and taking her hard until she begs you to stop-" Bette winks as my blush turns to brilliant crimson. "That's crude." She finishes more audible tone. "Come on Greggy, there's pancakes to be had and a dear friend to console about her lout of a husband."
I take her arm and forget about Olivia Blake for the moment. She'll be back tomorrow morning anyway. "What did Jeff do to you now?"
Sunset Beach
January, 1997
"Thank you Rose." I say mechanically as she fills my crystal flute with orange juice. It seems silly to drink orange juice from something so beautiful, but it's the way Olivia likes things to be done. I take a croissant from the basket and drop it unceremoniously on my plate. I reach for my knife and the butter but I can hear Olivia's voice as she emerges from the door onto the patio.
"That's what he's asking you to do, this young man, this little boy's daddy-" She walks towards me with the paper in her hand. Olivia's already dressed and for a moment I try to remember the last time I saw her out of a suit. My robe is fine for this lazy morning. My first class at Sunset Beach Academy isn't until 10am and none of my students expect the level of perfection in appearance my wife demands of herself.
A fly wanders on the table in front of me and I wonder what he thinks of me. If he knows that the glass table he's walking on cost three thousand dollars. If he can tell my silk robe was imported from Italy and a gift from my wife through her secretary for my birthday last year. I wonder if Olivia even knew what color it was.
"No, no Gregory won't be coming with me to Aspen... He's got a lot of things to do..." She continues as she reads the paper without even acknowledging that I'm here. "He's always busy at the school and the radio station."
"I bet you look at all of this and think it's lovely." I remark to the fly as he circles near my plate. "You're lucky, your simple little mind can't comprehend how much having this wealth corrupts you. How desperate, grasping and empty you'd become if this was yours."
I drop my hand to the table next to him, tracing my finger in a path behind him. "But I envy you. You can just fly away when it gets to be too much."
Olivia pauses her conversation. "Hold on a second." She slams down the paper, ending the life of my little friend as efficiently as she ended mine. She scrapes his dead body off the paper to fall to the ground. She ignores breakfast and heads back inside. "No Caitlin's going to be coming with me. Yes, she is beautiful isn't she? She's a sophomore at UCLA. Yes, Gregory and I are very proud of her."
The patio door slams shut behind her and it ends another morning. One more lifeless day that much closer to being behind me. I take a long sip of orange juice and smile bitterly as I remember when I used to look forward to mornings. When each one held the promise that the rest of my life could be that amazing, that extraordinary. Now morning is just the gray end of one more night where we lie in bed without touching and the start of one more day where we don't look at each other. I take my glass and raise it to my lips. "One more step towards oblivion."