California Dreaming

Is Christmas the time for hopeless romantic Alan to wake up?

Icalled Donna around three, just after I’d arrived at my California hotel room, but got her answering machine. “Hi,” came her as ever-bubbly greeting. “This is Donna. Sorry I can’t take your call, but leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” After the beep I left my message. “The eagle has landed,” I said. Feeling pleased with my choice of words, I hung up and went downstairs to the hotel lounge.

“Season’s greetings,” said the pretty girl behind the bar as I sat down and pulled my stool in close.

“I think you mean Merry Christmas.” I smiled at her.

“No,” she answered emphatically. “I meant what I said.”

“So what’s wrong with Christmas? Today is December the twenty-fifth, 1991, last time I checked.”

“Nothing,” she said. “Except that you might be Jewish or Muslim, when the day would have no special significance whatsoever.” “But I’m neither,” I protested. “Then in that case…” She smiled sweetly. “Merry Christmas!” I shook my head in amusement. “Sometimes I think this political correctness has gone a bit overboard.”

“Maybe,” she acknowledged. “But when tips make up most of your income that is supposed to support you through medical school, it doesn’t pay to risk offending anyone.”

I looked at the name badge that was pinned to her blouse.

“OK, Toni,” I said. “Then… the compliments of the season to you too.”

“See – you’re learning.” She grinned mischievously.

“You’re a medical student, then.”

“In my final year,” she said proudly. “Are you English?”

“I was once,” I said. “But I live in Victoria on Vancouver Island these days and have dual citizenship.”

“So, what would you like to drink?” she asked, switching back into professional mode.

“A single malt,” I said. “And have something for yourself.”

“Thanks,” she said. “I’ll have the same – after I come off shift.”

The telephone at the far end of the bar began to ring and Toni excused herself to answer it. I hoped it might be for me but when she began laughing and lowered her voice I realised it wasn’t.

Itried calling Donna’s number on and off for an hour without any luck, so to break the boredom and frustration that were now setting in after my long drive, I went for a stroll along the beach and Santa Barbara’s pier.

It was a beautiful evening and I needed only a light jacket to fend off the ocean breeze that fanned across from the Pacific. I stood staring out at the vast ocean, contemplating my situation and wondering if I was a total idiot or just a lovestruck fool.

About seven I began to feel peckish so I returned to the hotel bar. It was still deserted except for Toni, who was reading the LA Times.

“You’re back!” She smiled, looking up at me. “Would you like a menu?”

“Please,” I said, realising suddenly that she was the only person I’d really spoken to since crossing over into the United States two days earlier.

“So what brings you to sunny Santa Barbara?” she asked cheerfully, passing me a menu. “Business or pleasure?”

“Hopefully the latter,” I said, scanning through the food choices. “Although right now, that seems to be in serious doubt.” “How come?” “Oh, it’s a long story.” I smiled wanly. “I’ll have the maxi-burger, please – with fries.”

“No problem,” she said. “So why don’t you tell me about it? We’re not exactly busy tonight.”

I looked closely at the young barmaid. She was pretty, with dark brown hair and sparkling eyes that were the greenest I could ever recall seeing. The only jewellery she wore was a long string of tiny seashells threaded onto a leather lace around her neck that hung over a snug-fitting black mohair

I stared at the VAST OCEAN. Was I a TOTAL IDIOT or just a lovestruck FOOL?

sweater. She was absolutely gorgeous, and I guessed her to be just a bit younger than me, in her early twenties.

“D’you know what emails are?” I asked her after she’d placed my order.

“Some sort of communication system using personal computers?”

“Close enough,” I acknowledged. “It’s the way of the future that will ultimately make regular letters obsolete.”

“Not until everyone has their own computer,” she pointed out.

“They will do, eventually,” I said. “Anyway, for several months I’ve been exchanging emails with this woman who lives in Northridge.”

“Like pen-pals,” she interrupted.

“Exactly like that,” I agreed. “And you’ve fallen in love and come down here to meet her in person.”

“Boy, you cut right to the chase, don’t you?” I laughed. She shrugged her tiny shoulders. “It’s been happening ever since the first pair of pen-pals started corresponding,” she said. “You’re just using a new technology to pioneer a well established tradition.”

“The trouble is,” I continued, “I’ve been unable to get a hold of her since I left Canada.” “She knows you’re coming?” “Of course. She even recommended I stay at this hotel.” “What does she do for a living?” “She sells houses.” “A realtor,” said Toni. “Well, they work long and weird hours… even on holidays. She’s probably busy out doing her job somewhere.” “Perhaps,” I acknowledged. My meal arrived. The tantalising aroma made me realise how hungry I was.

“Would you like to see her picture?” I asked, reaching into my wallet. “Her name’s Donna.”

I passed the small photo Donna had sent me soon after we’d started emailing. Toni took the snapshot and studied it carefully.

“What d’you think?” I asked her between munches. “Not bad, eh?”

“Not bad,” she agreed, placing it beside my plate. “She’s quite a bit older than you, though, isn’t she?” “No – she’s actually a year younger.” Toni’s eyes scanned my face like twin lasers. “You’re in your forties, then, are you?” she said challengingly. “No! I’m twenty-six.” “That’s what I figured,” she said, picking up the photo again. “However this woman’s forty if she’s a day.”

“And what makes you say that?” I asked indignantly.

“The hands.” She shrugged. “People can have facelifts and tummy tucks, but the backs of their hands give them away every time. Look at hers. Do they honestly belong to a woman in her mid-twenties?”

I put down my burger and examined Donna’s picture again, focusing my attention on her clasped hands.

“And she smokes,” Toni observed. “See the slight notches on the index and middle finger of her right hand? They’re the result of years of satisfying that ol’ nicotine craving.”

“No way! It’s just the light,” I protested unconvincingly.

“I doubt it,” said Toni. “I mean, don’t get me wrong…” “Alan,” I introduced myself. “Alan. Though personally I would never date anyone who smoked, I’ve nothing against women of any age having cosmetic surgery. Getting old happens to us all, and possibly some day I’ll opt for it to regain my youthfulness – but even if I do, I’ll never lie to people about how old I really am. That’s just not fair.”

“No – it’s not,” I agreed, looking at Donna’s photograph again as though with new eyes.

“I assume you’ve checked your answering machine at home?” Toni suggested. “Maybe there’s a message waiting for you there.” I slapped my forehead. “Of course! Why didn’t I think of that?” I said. “Can I use the bar phone

please? My cell needs recharging.”

“Be my guest,” she said, handing me the cordless phone from beneath the shelves of liquor before discreetly moving to the opposite end of the bar to allow me some privacy.

“Hi, Alan,” came Donna’s recorded message from two days ago. “I’m afraid I’ll have to take a rain check on Christmas this year because…” She paused. “Something’s turned up and I have to go to Europe until February. I’ll email you when I get back. Maybe we can make it for Easter?”

Slowly I put the receiver down on the counter and chinned my palms as Toni approached me. “Well?” “She can’t make it,” I said flatly. “That sucks.” She sighed. “So you’ve come fourteen hundred miles just to spend Christmas on your own?”

“It seems that way, yeah,” I agreed. “Can you get me another very large scotch, please, Toni?”

The sudden discovery that the woman I had driven so far to meet – and on whom I’d spent a fortune on long distance telephone calls – had seen fit to take off for Europe without any explanation, had been tempered somewhat by the pleasant conversation I’d been having with the attractive and innocently seductive Toni, the barmaid and soon-to-be medical doctor.

But just as I was beginning to feel more relaxed, a group of middle-aged people came in to the bar and she was called away to serve them, leaving me alone with my despondency.

However just before I decided to write the day off, Toni left her other customers momentarily to come over to where I sat, alone, by now feeling very sorry for myself.

“So, what are your plans for Wrestling Day?” she asked. “For what?” “Wrestling Day,” she repeated. “Isn’t that what you Brits and Canucks call December the twenty-sixth?”

“No!” I laughed out loud. “It’s Boxing Day. Wrong sport.”

“I know that.” She smiled sweetly. “It’s just my California humour.”

“I haven’t the faintest,” I sighed. “Donna said she knew of several nice restaurants around here that we could try out, but that’s really not much use to me now.”

“Dukes in Malibu does fantastic seafood,” she said seriously. “It’s on the PCH.” “The what?” “Pacific Coast Highway. It sticks out into the ocean and you can’t miss it.” “Won’t they be busy?” “Not really,” she said. “See, the twenty-sixth isn’t a holiday in the States. Besides, there’s only you and they don’t take reservations. If you go around noon, you should be OK.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I might just do that. Also I think I’ll stay here as I originally planned, and take in some of the local sights. I’ve always wanted to visit one of the Getty Museums.”

“Then go for it, Alan,” she said. “Meantime I should probably be getting back to my customers.” “Yes, of course,” I said. “I’m really sorry about your being stood up,” she continued. “It was a mean thing for Donna to do. On the bright side though, isn’t it better to find out what sort of person she really is before you get too involved?”

Before I could reply she’d left and was back at the other end of the bar, attending to the partying patrons.

Ifound Dukes’ restaurant quite easily and, as Toni had surmised, it was only half full. Just before noon a blond-haired boy valet wearing a T-shirt with the logo SurferDude emblazoned on it took my car keys and within moments of my arrival, I was sitting next to a window that overlooked the Pacific. “Happy Boxing Day,” said a voice I instantly recognised from the night before. I looked up and there she stood in a blue denim skirt and leather jacket, an infectious grin lighting up her pretty face. “What the heck are you doing here?” I said in astonishment. “Not that I’m exactly disappointed to see you.” “Oh, I had nothing special planned for my day off,” she said sitting down opposite me. “Plus I felt so bad for you, having come all this way just to have your heart broken.” “That’s really very sweet of you,” I said sincerely. “I brought you a belated Christmas present,” she said, passing me a neatly gift-wrapped package that was unmistakably a CD. “That really wasn’t necessary.” “I know,” she agreed. “Needless to say I never got you anything.” I shrugged apologetically. “Tell you what, Alan,” she said, leaning towards me and taking hold of my hands. “You pay for lunch, take me to the Getty, we’ll call it quits and take it from there.” I looked at my reflection mirrored in her emerald eyes. “That,” I said, squeezing her hands, “is a fantastic idea.”

“What the heck are you DOING HERE?” I asked in ASTONISHMENT