California Summer Page 11

  “I think there are no guarantees.” He added a bowl of sugar to the tray. “But when I take Mr. Pullman his afternoon cocktail and he thanks me for keeping his day running smoothly, I’m happy. When I see a closet of shirts I’ve pressed and a drawer of shoes I’ve shined, I’m proud. When the Pullmans greet dinner guests and I know the table is set so perfectly they could entertain the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, I’ve done a good job.”

  “You are a wonderful butler,” Rosie agreed. “The Pullmans are the lucky ones; they are fortunate to have you.”

  “And when I make a pretty girl smile”—Morris picked up the tray and looked at Rosie—“I’m the King of England.”

  Rosie waited till Morris went upstairs. She poured herself a cup of tea and studied the sheet of paper. She wrote Rosie’s Fish Tacos in large flowery letters and numbered the items on her to-do list.

  Seven

  Rosie stood in front of the shop’s window and studied the white sign with her name in cursive letters. The lettering was the deep red of her favorite Bobbi Brown lip gloss. There was a heart over the “I” in her name and a red rose after the word “tacos.”

  “What do you think?” Rosie turned to Rachel, who was standing on the sidewalk beside her.

  “I think you are too calm for someone who’s never owned a shop before.” Rachel wore a navy smock with a white apron tied around her waist.

  “It still doesn’t seem real,” Rosie said. It had only been two weeks since she decided to open the fish taco shop and now she was standing in front of her own storefront. It was a tiny space three doors down from Rachel’s chocolate shop. The floor was white-and-red linoleum and there was a white Formica counter where customers could stand and eat their tacos.

  “You have two weeks till your grand opening.” Rachel took a toffee out of her pocket and popped it in her mouth. “You could quit before it’s too late.”

  “Josh is posting flyers up and down Butterfly Beach. He promised that every surfer within a twenty-mile radius is going to be at the opening.”

  “Is that why your smile is wider than my hips?” Rachel asked curiously. “Has Josh been helping you after hours?”

  “Your hips are perfect,” Rosie countered. “He has been coming around. I couldn’t have done it without him.”

  The fish taco shop had taken shape faster than Rosie thought possible. Rachel had told Rosie about a soup and sandwich store that was closing. Rosie peeked in the window and saw iron pots and an antique cash register. There was a tiny storeroom and enough space behind the counter for one person to chop and cook. Rosie walked inside, smelled garlic and clams, and knew it would be perfect.

  Rosie signed a year’s lease and moved in at the end of the week. On her first morning she sat in front of her to-do list, sipping coffee and biting the end of her pencil. Her hands were clammy with fear and she wondered what she had gotten herself into.

  “I didn’t think you would take me seriously.” Josh appeared at the door. He wore gray pants and a long-sleeved t-shirt. His hair was damp and there was blond stubble on his chin.

  “Think I can’t do it?” Rosie asked with more confidence than she felt.

  “You survived Hollywood.” Josh entered the shop and looked around. “This will be easier than making Play-Doh figures at preschool.”

  “The owner left the stove and the fridge.” Rosie consulted her list. “But I’ve never been to the fish market and I don’t know how to import Hawaiian sea salt.”

  “First you take this list and tear it up.” Josh grabbed the piece of paper from her hands.

  “Don’t!” Rosie shrieked, spilling coffee on the counter.

  “You tackle one thing at a time.” Josh tore the paper into ribbons. He put one piece in front of Rosie and tucked the others into the empty cash register. “What does this piece of paper say?”

  Rosie read aloud: “Buy cooking utensils, order signage, get business permit.”

  “You do those things, and when you’re finished you get the next piece of paper.” Josh pointed to the cash register. “If you do everything at once it’s overwhelming.”

  “Okay.” Rosie nodded, her shoulders relaxing. “Today I will buy cooking utensils.”

  Josh walked to the door. He turned around and his eyes were the color of cornflowers. “I’ll come by after work and check you didn’t do anything else.”

  * * *

  Every day Rosie visited produce patches and fish markets and flower stalls. She drove inland to farms that sold tomatoes, avocados, and lettuce. The local dairy sold cottage cheese, and she found a wholesaler that imported Italian sodas. Each night she checked items off her list and added new treasures to the supply room.

  Josh stopped by most evenings to check on her progress. Sometimes he brought dinner and they sat on boxes in the empty shop, going over her list.

  “You don’t have to do this.” Rosie sliced pizza and poured glasses of orange soda. “Shouldn’t you be surfing?”

  “I surf every morning,” Josh answered, unfolding his napkin. “I want to help; I don’t want Hollywood to win.”

  “What do you mean?” Rosie sat opposite him. Her shoulders were sunburned and her calves ached from trudging through an avocado farm.

  “People our age think they have to live in a city to be successful.” Josh ate his pizza slowly.

  “Like Sally, the girl from UC Santa Barbara?” Rosie asked.

  “Even my sister ran off to San Francisco after high school.” Josh nodded. “They don’t believe you can be happy in a small town. I love Montecito, it has everything I need.”

  “Montecito isn’t any small town.” Rosie drank her soda. “It’s Oz.”

  “I’m sick of those LA weekenders coming up here and flashing their Armani sunglasses and their platinum Amex cards.” Josh reached for a second slice.

  “I didn’t know I was heading a cause,” Rosie joked. “I thought I was opening a taco shop.”

  “It’s going to be great.” Josh smiled and something in Rosie felt brighter. “You’re going to be the fish taco queen.”

  * * *

  One evening they locked up the store and drove to the beach. It was too late to surf, so they sat on the sand and ate enchiladas from a Mexican restaurant on the Pacific Coast Highway.

  “You have to sample the competition,” Josh explained, laying nachos and salsa on a blanket.

  “You know a lot about owning a business.” Rosie dug her toes into the sand.

  “I’ve been saving for my own business since I started working at the Classic Car Showroom.” Josh ate a handful of chips. “Right after I graduated from UCSB.”

  “You’ve been saving for twelve years?” Rosie gulped.

  “I’m not in a hurry.” He shrugged. “But it would be great if the showroom was mine.”

  “I feel like one of those LA weekenders.” Rosie blushed, scooping salsa onto a chip. “Flashing my money and buying a store.”

  “At least you’re not wearing Armani sunglasses.” Josh studied her in the fading light. Rosie wore navy leggings and a white cotton t-shirt. Her hair fell loosely to her shoulders and her cheeks were brown from the sun.

  The breeze picked up and Rosie wished she brought a sweater. Suddenly she wondered what it would feel like if Josh put his arms around her. He was so different from Ben, with his blond curly hair and broad chest. Ben was lean and wiry and always seemed to be looking for the next thing. Josh sat on the sand and gazed at the ocean as if he never wanted to be anywhere else.

  She shifted her body to be closer to him, but he stood up and stuffed the nachos in the bag.

  “This has been great, but I’ve got to go. I have to put in a couple of hours at the Pullmans’.” Josh folded the blanket and hiked to the car.

  Rosie blushed, wondering if he knew what she had been thinking. She brushed the sand off her legs and ran to the car to keep warm.

  * * *

  “Does Josh have a crush on you?” Rachel asked now, sitting on the bench outside t
he store.

  “Hardly.” Rosie sat beside her, satisfied that the sign looked perfect. “He’s never touched me; it’s like hanging out with a brother.”

  “Do you want him to touch you?” Rachel inquired.

  “Josh is anti-relationships,” Rosie shook her head. “He’s easy to be around because we’re just friends.”

  “If you wanted a friend you’d buy a puppy.” Rachel stood up. “I have to go wrap a chocolate log. I’m meeting Patrick’s grandmother.”

  “It’s getting serious?” Rosie smiled at her new friend.

  “Patrick’s started talking about children,” Rachel said. “He wants four kids and a house with a goldfish pond.”

  “What do you want?” Rosie prompted.

  “I can’t think about the future, I’m too worried about tonight. The only thing scarier than a Jewish father is a Catholic grandmother.” Rachel frowned. “I hope she likes chocolate nougat.”

  Rosie sat on the bench, watching couples stroll through the village. The street was almost empty. Tourists were in their hotel rooms changing for dinner. Soon the restaurants would open and men in sport shirts would escort their dates to candlelit tables.

  Rosie thought about Rachel and Patrick, and Angelica and Dirk, and Ben and Mary Beth. The store occupied her during the day, but at night she was alone. She lay in the middle of the four-poster bed each night feeling like someone shipwrecked on a desert island.

  “I called your cell phone but you didn’t answer.” Josh bounded towards her. “I sold a 1964 Bugatti today! We need to celebrate.”

  “That’s fantastic.” Rosie beamed. “Let’s go to Gino’s Pizza, I’ll buy.”

  “I’m taking you somewhere special.” Josh grinned. “I’ll drive, but you have to close your eyes.”

  “Why do I have to close my eyes?” Rosie ran into the store and grabbed her purse. She locked the front door and followed Josh to his car.

  “It’s a secret destination.” His blue eyes sparkled. “You’re a local now, this is your initiation.”

  Rosie climbed into the passenger seat of Josh’s hatchback. The car smelled of surfboard wax, and Josh’s surfboard lay on towels in the back.

  “Don’t look in the backseat,” he warned. “It’s a surprise.”

  “Is it a dead body and we’re driving to the graveyard?” she asked. “If anything happens to me, Estelle will send her Irish setters to find me.”

  “Don’t you trust me?” Josh said mischievously, turning to Rosie. His cheeks were tan and his blond curls reached his collar.

  “I trust you.” Rosie squeezed her eyes shut. “But I feel like I’m in a Hitchcock movie. The heroine accepts a ride from a charming man she barely knows and disappears.”

  * * *

  Josh drove out of the village towards the mountains. The breeze touched Rosie’s cheeks, and she heard leaves rustling in the trees. They parked on the side of the road and Josh instructed her to open her eyes.

  “Where are we?” Rosie wondered aloud. The car was parked on a wide lane with oak trees. There was a tall fence covered with ivy. Behind the fence there were bushes and in the distance the outline of a large house.

  “Follow me,” Josh instructed. He stepped out of the car and turned towards the fence. “But be quiet.”

  “Are we robbing a house?” Rosie asked in alarm.

  “We’re not stealing anything, and technically the house belongs to the public. We’re just entering without authorization.” Josh took a basket out of the backseat and inched along the fence. He walked till he found a break in the ivy. He felt for a latch, and swung open the gate.

  Rosie entered behind him, jumping as the gate closed. They were in the middle of a garden with trees shaped as animals. There were gorillas and camels and lions. Rosie felt like she was in some strange storybook circus. Any minute the gorillas would start talking and the lions would charge towards her.

  “What are we doing here?” Rosie’s eyes were wide.

  “Just follow me.” Josh grinned.

  Rosie followed him through a maze of gardens, each more elaborate than the last. There was a Japanese garden bursting with pink and white blossoms. They passed a water garden with floating lilies, and a tropical garden with birds of paradise and purple irises.

  Finally they entered a small garden with low-lying plants. A butterfly rested on almost every leaf. Rosie had never seen so many butterflies. She stood still as a statue, afraid if she moved they’d fly away.

  “This is my favorite,” Josh said as if he created the garden. “It’s called the butterfly garden. All the flowers contain food attractive to butterflies. The butterflies lay their eggs and feast for days before they fly away.”

  “They’re like kaleidoscopes.” Rosie peered at a butterfly with gold-and-turquoise wings. “I feel like I’m in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. When is the Ice Queen going to appear and cast a spell on us?”

  “She can’t, she’s dead,” Josh replied. “Let me arrange our picnic, and I’ll explain.”

  Josh spread a checkered blanket on the ground and opened the basket. There was a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter and a container of jam. He unscrewed a jug of milk and handed a cup to Rosie.

  “We’re having peanut butter and jelly?” She laughed.

  “I asked Morris to pack a picnic basket; he said peanut butter and jelly was your favorite,” he confessed. “I’m a terrible cook. I can heat up cold pizza or cook rice and beans, but I thought you’ve had enough Mexican food.”

  “My fingers are turning green from guacamole,” Rosie admitted and sipped her milk. “Now, tell me where we are. I don’t want to be stopped by some security guard with a semiautomatic and a German shepherd.”

  “A Polish opera singer named Ganna Walska bought the house in the 1940s and spent four decades creating the gardens. She went through six husbands and every time she got divorced she poured more money into the grounds.” Josh handed Rosie a sandwich. “When we were kids we used to sneak through a hole in the fence and play hide-and-go-seek. Ganna would come out with a broom, shrieking to get off her property.”

  “You were a little thug.” Rosie grinned and pulled off a corner of the sandwich.

  “Sometimes we’d come at night, and we’d see Ganna waltzing outside in a ball gown. She died thirty years ago and they opened the property to the public. It’s called Lotusland now. I haven’t been back in a long time.”

  “It’s like an enchanted forest.” Rosie lay on the blanket and looked up at the stars. “If we fall asleep the trees will wake up and talk.”

  “It’s not every day I sell a Bugatti.” Josh lay down next to her. “And you’ve been working hard, I figured you needed a break.”

  “I lie awake at night and think I’m crazy,” Rosie admitted. “I don’t know anything about owning a store.”

  Josh’s arm brushed against hers, and she could see his muscles through his t-shirt.

  “You’re pretty brave to try something new.” Josh raised himself on his elbow and turned towards her.

  Rosie stopped staring at the stars and glanced at Josh. She didn’t know if she lifted her face or if he lowered his, but suddenly they were kissing. His mouth fell on hers, and his hands traveled over her body.

  “You’re so beautiful, you taste like milk and peanut butter,” Josh whispered into her hair.

  “You say that to all the girls,” Rosie joked, wanting him to keep touching her.

  “There aren’t any girls,” he answered, pulling away and sitting up abruptly.

  “I didn’t mean that,” she said hurriedly. “I’m not good at accepting compliments.”

  Rosie sat up and leaned against Josh’s chest. She wanted him to kiss her again, but he picked up his sandwich and started eating.

  “When I was a kid I liked to pretend I discovered a pirate’s treasure,” Josh said. “I spent hours deciding how I’d divvy it up. I’d give my mother a diamond tiara and my sister a gold charm bracelet. I’d hand out gold coins to al
l my friends and I’d give my dad a silver money clip.”

  Rosie sat silently, her knee resting against his. She could still taste his lips and feel the weight of his chest against her breasts.

  “But I looked at the adults I knew and none of them seemed happy even though they lived in huge estates and wore fancy clothes. Ganna Walska wore a million-dollar sapphire-and-diamond pendant,” Josh continued. “But she always seemed so sad.”

  “Jewelry can be beautiful, like butterflies or classic cars,” Rosie offered.

  “I guess you’re right.” Josh turned as if he just remembered she was there. “Let’s finish our sandwiches and then we should go. We don’t want someone to find us or disturb Ganna’s ghost.”

  Josh packed up the picnic basket and led Rosie through the maze of gardens. Rosie held his hand tightly, afraid she’d trip in the dark. They climbed in the car and drove to the village. The wind had picked up and she closed the car window.

  “I’m sorry if I rambled,” Josh said as he pulled up behind Rosie’s car. “Lotusland brought up a lot of old memories.”

  “I had a great evening.” Rosie thanked him. “I’ve never had a picnic in a magic garden.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Josh leaned over and kissed her cheek.

  Rosie got in her car and touched her fingers to her mouth. She turned on the ignition and watched Josh drive away.

  Eight

  Rosie stood in the Pullmans’ kitchen the day before the Fourth of July, chopping onions. Every inch of counter space was piled with food: plates of chips, bowls of salsa, platters of sliced meat and cubed cheese. There were whole watermelons, crates of mangoes, bunches of purple grapes, and boxes of peaches and nectarines. Rosie could barely move without bumping into stacks of plates, rows of glasses, and gleaming piles of silverware.

  “Hi, Rosie.” Estelle swept in, carrying linen napkins. She wore khaki slacks, an orange sweater, and white sneakers. Her face was free of makeup except for a light powder and lipstick. “It is so good of you to help. The caterers are buzzing around, but they don’t seem to be doing anything. I found two of them feeding bread to the ducks.”