Summer Girl - Ch. 12

Saturday morning. Big Bear Lake. The water sat between the shores of the lake like a pane of glass. Glints of summer sun dappled the calm surface. It had been a quiet first morning of the trout tournament. Hustled down to the lake at the preposterous start time of 7AM sharp, Blaise, Mr. Glover and I settled ourselves and our various fishing accoutrements into the small pontoon boat Mr. Glover had rented for the weekend. The lake was crowded with a veritable armada of boats carrying eager contestants. Mr. Glover waved to a few of the ones he’d competed against in past years. I still munched on my breakfast croissant as we cast our lines into the water. Mr. Glover inspected our rods in turn and nodded his satisfaction. Then we waited.

At the end of each day of the tournament, contestants presented the judges with their two longest catches. The total length of four catches at the end of Sunday’s session determines the winner. Mr. Glover proudly recalled the year he won first prize. It was 1977. His fishing partner was Harrison Ford, who had just exploded on worldwide movie screens with the release of the first Star Wars film in May of that year. Henry had met Harrison when he built a sun deck for Sally Kellerman on her house in the Hollywood Hills that Mr. Glover’s management firm had leased to her. Ford made a living as a carpenter until he found success in his acting career.

With the blazing sun at its zenith in the sky and the trout retreating to the depths of the lake to get away from the summer heat, we broke for lunch. Sitting down in the cramped boat, Mr. Glover took the sandwiches he’d purchased along with our breakfast at the dock’s all-in-one coffee and tackle shop in the morning out of our blue cooler (which true Westerner Mr. Glover called an ice chest). We toasted each other and the fishermen in the close by boats with glass bottles of cold, distilled water. Blaise finished his sandwich first and went to the other end of the boat to check on our lines. I took the opportunity to ask Mr. Glover a question that had puzzled me.

“Why did you invite me along for this tournament? I’m sure you could have found a better fisherman to partner with.”

Mr. Glover took a big swig of water and wiped his brow below his cap before answering.

“Oh, don’t sell yourself short as an angler, Joey. I’ve been watching your technique all morning. Take your rod positioning. You held the rod tip close to the water's surface to maintain a straight, direct line connection and keep the line out of the wind, which is fortunately negligible today. You kept your eyes on the rod tip to detect subtle taps or when a trout picked up the lure without a hard pull. You even minimized slack in the line so you could feel bites immediately, making a solid connection. You didn’t jerk or set the hook too aggressively, as trout have soft mouths and the light lines we use can snap easily. The large one you caught this morning, you reeled in gently, using a smooth, short sweeping motion upward to tighten the line. When the trout made a hard run, you lowered the rod slightly and let the reel’s drag system do the work rather than pulling directly against the line. Textbook stuff, my girl. I’m impressed.”

“Well, I owe it all to my dad. He taught me everything about offshore fishing, although I have more experience with striped bass than rainbow trout.” I smiled and blushed slightly. Mr. Glover noticed. “Still, you couldn’t have known that before inviting me to come along. What’s your real reason, Mr. Glover?”

He lowered his head and spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. “Call me Henry. Mr. Glover sounds too formal between friends, don’t you think? Now, why did I invite you? Quite simple, Joey. You see that boy at the other end of the boat?”

“Can’t miss him. The boat’s kind of small for three people. No offense…Henry.”

“That boy is the apple of my and Doris’ eyes. We didn’t do a great job with Blaise’s mom. She had the best of everything. Everything Doris and I could think of giving her. The best toys, the best clothes, a Ford Thunderbird as her first car, and the best schools – she went to Berkeley and majored in art history. She ended up going down the wrong path. Do you know she’s living in an artists colony in Mexico right now? She’s shacked up with some bohemian sculptor we’ve never been introduced to. Doris and I have had to raise her children. Blaise’s father is a globe-trotting photographer who lives on a sailboat! We want Blaise and Emily to grow up right. But Blaise is drifting away from us. I’m afraid of where he’s headed in life.”

“He seems alright to me. I know he’s supposed to be my tour guide this summer, but he’s been nothing but a gentleman. And I do think he’s basically a good kid.”

“He’s on his best behavior because he really likes you, Joey. Has he said anything to you about his feelings toward you?”

I hesitated answering. “Well, no, he hasn’t. And I haven’t asked. Henry, I’m not looking for a summer romance.”

“You don’t like Blaise? Even a little bit?”

“I’m not saying that. He’s very charming and good-looking, as I’m sure you know. I’ve enjoyed my interactions with your family, especially the kindness you and your wife have shown me.” I stopped speaking, apprehensive of where this conversation was going.

“Doris and I have observed the two of you. There’s a spark there. You can’t deny it. Oh, let’s not mince words. Blaise is head over heels in love with you.”

“He told you that?”

“He doesn’t have to. We see it in the way he looks at you. How he’s started to talk about going to college. And studying film at USC. He’s thinking about his future, making something of himself. And I’ve got the contacts to help him. You saw Jack’s fondness for him, didn’t you?”

“What does this all have to do with me?”

“You’re the reason for this 180 in his attitude. Don’t you see? You’re his muse. I think that silly boy would fight an angry bear with his bare fists just to get you to smile his way. Stay out here. We’ll get you into whatever school you prefer; full tab paid for. And you can stay rent free in our house. It’s a sweet deal. Take that from a longtime real estate guy.”

I was about to open my mouth to answer when Blaise squeezed himself back into our end of the boat.

“Granddad, the lines are all in order. Nothing biting yet. It might be a slow afternoon. Maybe that fish Joey caught ends up being out best catch of the day.”

Mr. Glover looked straight at me as he replied to Blaise. “You might be right, my boy. Time will tell. Time will tell.”

After we turned in our two catches at 4PM on Saturday afternoon, we docked our boat at Henry’s rented cabin on the lake. To while away the time before Henry took us out to have dinner at Captain’s Anchorage in the Village, a landmark steakhouse from the days of Old Hollywood when movie icons would spend their ski holidays in Big Bear, Blaise and I walked along the shoreline until we circled back and plopped ourselves at the end of the dock to watch the first hints of sundown turn the pale yellow light of the sun to golden orange tendrils that danced on the surface of the water.

“Granddad has meetings with the bidders right after dinner,” Blaise reminded me. “He’s going to leave us the Jeep and walk over to the Hotel Riviera Marina. I think he’s got a meeting with your dad’s boss at 7 and then the Metheny company at 8. He says he’ll take a car service back to the cabin so we’re on our own all night. I figure we could go take in some live music. There’s a couple of clubs right outside the Village—”

“Blaise, did you talk your grandparents into trying to keep me in LA despite my plans to go back East for school? I keep getting these high-pressure sales pitches from them. Like today, your grandfather tried to bribe me with free tuition and board to any local college I select. He even offered to have me stay rent free in your house.”

“Accept my apologies for their full-on attacks,” Blaise said, turning his head away. “It’s not my doing, Joey. I mean, I’ve told them I like you…a lot. But never did I ask them to force you to…to stay in LA for my sake. It’s hard to talk to them. They don’t listen to me. They think they know what’s the best for me. How to act, how to live…”

“I hear you. My parents are the same way. But it’s your life ultimately, Blaise. You know, the best thing for you would be to go to an out-of-state school. Who knows? You could find out who you really are, without all the outside interference. Aren’t there schools you could apply to with undergrad filmmaking courses?”

“Does Columbia have a film department? Forget that. My grades can barely get me into a community college much less an Ivy League school like Columbia.”

“Study hard and you can transfer to a 4-year college. Maybe even an Ivy League school. It’s all in front of you if you want it bad enough.”

“You’re the kind of life coach I desperately need, Joey. I’d work hard for a goal like that if you were right there beside me.”

I got up from the dock’s edge and looked down at Blaise. “I can’t coach anyone. I’ve got my own issues to resolve.”

“Like what? You’re perfect. You’re smart, funny, at home in every social circumstance…and absolutely beautiful.”

“It’s nice of you to say all of that about me. And I think you’re cool and everything. It’s just my life isn’t here. I’m not looking for a relationship. I’m not even 18 yet. I really, really want to finish my education and start a career in the field I’ve chosen.”

“Not looking for a relationship? What about Rafe Metheny? I’m no Sherlock Holmes but I can tell there’s a long history between the two of you. Maybe you’ve had a lover’s spat, but I know Boston is a lot closer to New York than LA. I don’t think either of you are finished with whatever you had together.” Blaise spat out those words. I didn’t realize that his feelings toward me were so strong. I started to walk back to the cabin.

“It’s close to dinner time. I think we should go and change out of these clothes. We probably stink of trout.”

Feeling bad about the end of our conversation, I turned to look back at Blaise. He was still sitting on the edge of the dock, hunched over, wringing his hands, before finally rising and slowly following me.

Chad’s Place is a 5-minute drive from The Captain’s Anchorage. Blaise drove Henry’s Jeep Wagoneer along the lakeshore drive as the sun sank below the horizon, heralding the Saturday nightlife of Big Bear Lake. Chad’s Place was the hot bar/club in the town, hosting the leading country rock and cowpunk acts of the region. It was modeled after the sawdust honky-tonks that longtime Westerners and Dustbowl émigrés came of age patronizing. On this particular evening, the headline act was a young man from Columbus, Ohio who named Merle Haggard as his biggest influence. Rejected by Nashville and the country music establishment, he moved to Los Angeles, where he found a musical kinship with the cowpunk movement.

“Pepsi?” Blaise asked me as I surveyed the dance floor. A band of scruffy teenagers in western shirts and cowboy hats, stamping Zodiac boots to the beat, their metal toe caps acting like additional percussion, was on stage. They had just run through the Bakersfield songbook of Buck Owens and Merle Haggard, note for note.

“Thanks.” I took a sip from the bottle of Pepsi. Taking a swig from his bottle, Blaise slowly inched his arm around my waist until he pulled me close to his side. The band on stage played the final notes of their last song and walked off to tepid applause.

“Oh, man, they’re finished. I was hoping we could get in a couple of dances. You know how to do a two-step?”

“Two-step? I don’t think I know how to do a one-step! You know, that band reminded me of Mateo’s band, Western Sons.”

“Who?”

“Come on, you know Mateo. He’s your friend. Cortez the Killer.”

“Let’s not talk about him.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you and Mateo—”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the club emcee announced on stage as the next band strolled on. “Chad’s Place is proud to present the fastest rising young country music artist in Southern California, Mr. Dwight Yoakam. Let’s put our hands together and give him and his band a warm Big Bear Lake welcome!”

“Just remember,” Blaise whispered in my ear, “it’s quick-quick then slow-slow. Quick-quick then slow-slow. Okay?” I nodded as Dwight Yoakam approached the microphone.

I could hear myself saying “quick-quick, slow-slow” as Blaise danced me across the floor. Blaise must have heard me too because he laughed several times before stealing a kiss or two while I kept my eyes on my clumsy feet. While Dwight sang, I couldn’t stop thinking of Mateo. I wonder if he’d called my house in the last two days. I’ll have to check with Lori tonight back at the cabin when I call her to give her the lowdown on today’s fishing results. Mateo ran away from the Glover estate like a bat out of hell. It’s all a misunderstanding. I’ll explain it to him when I get back to Sherman Oaks. I’ll get Lori to drive me down to his dad’s dealership. Or I’ll take the bus.

After Dwight finished his set, I begged off staying for the late show. Though disappointed, Blaise agreed to drive us home. He told me to go out to the parking lot, get into the car and wait for him. He threw the car keys to me and two-stepped his way toward the men’s room.

“Gotta go now. Those Pepsi’s I had didn’t agree with me. I won’t be long.”

The stars were out in the clear night sky but the floodlighting in the parking lot made it easy to spot our Jeep Wagoneer. I opened the passenger side door and had just thrown my shoulder bag into the back when I heard a voice from behind me.

“Joey!” It was Rafe Metheny.

“Rafe!,” I acknowledged. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought you knew. My father came to give his final pitch to Henry Glover at the Hotel Riviera Marina.”

“Is your dad here with you? I didn’t think he was a country music fan.”

“No, not at all. He’s got a full season subscription to the National Symphony Orchestra at The Kennedy Center. In fact, he’s really excited about the all-Beethoven programs scheduled in August. But, in reply to your question, he’s back at the hotel, making a bunch of phone calls. I came here by myself.”

“To hear Dwight Yoakam?”

Rafe laughed. “No, who the hell is Dwight Yoakam? I came here because my dad politely asked where Mr. Glover’s grandson was, his purported fishing partner in the tournament. He told my dad that Blaise was out on the town with his girlfriend Joey Prentiss. Long story short, that’s why I’m here. To see you. To tell you—”

“Blaise will be out in just a few minutes.”

“Is that supposed to scare me?”

“Don’t tell him…you know.”

“Don’t worry. I would never ever hurt you, Joey. You should know that.”

“What do you want to say then?”

“Don’t give up on us. I have no earthly idea how we can sort things out. All I know is that I love you.”

“And your mother? Will she ever allow it?”

“Once I graduate from M.I.T. with my degree in architecture, I’ll be my own man. They can’t tell me what to do.”

“That’s what you think. Look, that’s four long years down the line. In the meantime, did you ever think that I had a life of my own to live? I’ve survived the last three years of high school with minimal contact from you because of your mother. I’ll survive the next four years too. Face it, Rafe, we’re impossible. Impossible!”

Rafe grabbed my arms. “Joey! Please!”

“Am I interrupting something here?” asked Blaise as he approached the Jeep. Rafe let go of my arms.

“Joey and I were just renewing old friendships. School days in old Port Jefferson,” Rafe said, smiling awkwardly as I nodded to Blaise.

Blaise extended his hand to Rafe. “Blaise Howarth. My grandfather is Henry Glover. You must be Rafe Metheny. Your dad is bidding on the Redondo Beach project.”

Rafe shook Blaise’s hand. “Good to finally meet you. Joey’s told me a lot about you. We stay in touch even though we’re headed to schools in different states next month. Don’t we, Joey?”

“Joey’s pretty tired and we’ve got an early call for the tournament tomorrow, so…” Blaise’s voice drifted off.

“Good seeing you again, Joey. Blaise.” Rafe turned around and searched for his car in the lot, never once turning around to look back.

“Looks like Rafe and I have a lot in common,” Blaise said as he put the car in gear.

“Really. I don’t see it.”

“We’re both in love with the same girl.”

The final results of the tournament were announced at 4:30 on Sunday afternoon and we were pretty sure we weren’t in contention for the top three prizes. It turns out the trout I caught on Day One was the longest of the four we submitted to the judges. However, the winning team submitted four trout that were each longer than the one I caught. Mr. Glover was a bit glum about the results, but I don’t think that was the reason he was so unusually quiet all day.

The two bidders came to our cabin right after the tournament ended to hear Mr. Glover’s decision. Henry told us to go walk along the shoreline or sit on the dock while the parties met. It wouldn’t take very long, he said. So, we headed out just as the first car with Matt Metheny and Rafe drove up, followed closely by Franklin Stover’s car. The interior of Stover’s car was too dark to identify who was sitting next to him.

“Did you speak to your grandfather? Is that why he barely said two words to me today?”

Blaise picked up a small rock and tried to skip it across the lake, but it sank after the first bounce.

“Not really but he’s good at picking up on my moods,” Blaise said. “Okay, I confess. I sort of gently told him to stop the high-pressure stuff. And he agreed.”

“That makes me feel less stressful. I don’t want to sound ungrateful. And I do appreciate that your family really likes me but…”

“You don’t have to explain. Maybe we can just have fun for the rest of time you’re here. No ultimatums or veiled bribes. I just hope you’ll still see me as a friend, Joey.”

“Of course, Blaise.” I stopped and picked up a small rock. I was able to skip it three times before it sank below the surface of the lake. “It’s all in the wrist.” I held out my hand to show him how to twist your wrist. He took my hand and pulled me into his embrace. A torrid kiss later, we were breathing heavily as we walked back toward the dock.

A few minutes after we resumed our seats at the end of the dock in front of the cabin, we saw Matt Metheny and Rafe come out of the cabin. Matt had a rather dejected look on his face, standing by the driver’s side door of his car. He was saying something to Rafe, who was standing with his hands in his pants pockets, alternately listening to his father and turning to look at me at the end of the dock.

I couldn’t quite hear what was being said but my lip-reading skills told me Matt was telling Rafe to “forget Joey, son.” Rafe shook his head before going around to the passenger side of the car to climb in. Seconds later, their car threw up dust and gravel as they sped away down the road.

“Looks like your dad’s firm won the bid,” Blaise declared.

“I feel bad for Rafe. His mother’s going to blame me for sabotaging his father’s bid on the project. She would have choked me to death if your grandmother hadn’t arrived in the nick of time.”

“I find it hard to believe she would’ve done that, Joey.”

“That witch? I’m lucky she wasn’t carrying a pistol in her purse.”

The door to the cabin opened again. Franklin Stover emerged, all smiles, vigorously patting the back of the man beside him. It was my father, Ross Prentiss. As they walked to their car, my father seemed to ask Stover to wait for him. He walked toward us at the end of the dock. I steeled myself for the inevitable. I suppose this was going to happen at some point this summer. I turned to face him like a maiden in ancient times being led to the altar of sacrifice.

“Joey? Can I speak to you for a moment? Excuse us, son,” he said to Blaise, who sprang to his feet.

“Do we have to do this, dad?”

“Let’s walk along the shore. It’ll take a couple of minutes. My boss is waiting in the car.”

After we had walked a few yards away, dad turned to me with a strange smile on his face.

“I guess I have to thank you for putting in a good word for us, Franklin and me. Did Lori and you hatch this plan? It’s clever, I have to say.”

“What are you talking about? I had no idea your company was bidding for Mr. Glover’s project. No idea at all.”

“You mean you’re doing this…this impersonation of a girl for some other reason?”

“Yes, father, I’m a girl. I’ve told you a million times! I was born in the wrong body. I hate being a boy. It’s not what I am…inside.” I pounded my chest as I began to tear up.

“I’m a simple man. An engineer, not a scientist. I don’t understand. I’ve never understood this urge you have to become a woman—”

“Not become, dad. I am a woman!”

“This is probably your last summer with old dad.”

“I know. I turn 18 and your visitation rights end. I’m sure you’re happy about that,” I said, biting down on my words.

“That’s not what I mean, Joey. I’ve got stage 4 liver cancer. I’ve just started chemotherapy. That’s why I’m in Santa Barbara. I’m getting treatment at a hospital there and Mr. Stover, my boss, was kind enough to relocate me to their satellite office in Santa Barbara…”

I rushed into Dad’s arms and hugged him, the tears flowing down my cheeks. “Why didn’t Lori tell me? Why?”

“I didn’t want to further complicate your life, Joey. I’ve made a mess of it already, haven’t I? I wasn’t ever intending to tell you. That way, the last time we parted would be a pleasant one. No drama, no repudiations, no tears. Now look what I’ve done.” He took out his handkerchief and dabbed at my eyes with it.

“No, I don’t believe you’ll die. My dad can’t die? You can’t!”

“I want you to know I’ve come to realize that life is precious. I know it’s a little too late for me. But not for you, Joey. If there’s any rationale for why humans exist in the first place, it’s to live the best life they can. Your best life is as a woman. I know that now. You’re so beautiful and smart and strong in spirit. Lots of things your stupid dad never was. Be who you really are, Joey. Just promise me you’ll be careful. Never place yourself in a dangerous situation. I’ve got to go.” He kissed my forehead and wiped some tears away from my cheeks with his thumb. “Goodbye, sweetheart.”

When I sat back down next Blaise on the edge of the dock, his expression was one of concern. He could see the partially dried trails of tears down my cheeks and my blotted mascara ringing my eyes.

“Babe, what happened? Did you and your dad have some kind of argument?”

“No, it’s…it’s a private thing. I can’t talk about it. Please understand.”

“Sure. Are you alright now? Grandfather just said we need to pack up and leave. You can clean up as well.”

Blaise took my hand and led me back to the cabin.

I slept through most of the two-and-a-half-hour drive from Big Bear back to Sherman Oaks. In my half-asleep state I could hear Blaise and Mr. Glover talking about me. For what it’s worth, since my talk with dad, I’m not as skittish about Blaise and his grandparents plotting to persuade me to stay in Los Angeles. I could be close to my father in his hour of need. And I really do like Blaise. I think. But, in the end, there remained the insuperable issue of my true gender. Finally, to my dad, I am a girl. But, as for the rest of the world, including Blaise and The Glovers, they would never accept the truth about me.

When I walked into the house, I fell into Lori’s arms and cried out.

“Why didn’t you tell me about dad?”

“You know? He told you?”

“Why? Why?”

“He insisted I never tell you the truth. He had his reasons. Did he explain them to you?”

“Yes. But…oh, Lori, he finally accepted me for what I really am. A girl! And now he’s going to die!”

I cried myself to sleep that night. While I was still whimpering into my pillow, Lori walked into my room and handed me a mug of chamomile tea.

“This’ll help you sleep, sweetie.”

I sipped my tea, cradling the warm mug in both hands.

“Your friend Mateo called.”

“Today?”

“Actually, he called a number of times from Friday on. Each time I told him you were out. Did I do wrong?”

“Well, no. I guess he can wait until tomorrow for me to call him back. I’ll explain everything to him then. Did he leave a message?”

“No. He just said to have you call him back. Was it something important?”

“Nah, he probably just wants to meet up. I’m pretty sure I made it clear to him that we’re not dating dating.”