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George shook his head, appalled. Suddenly an idea occurred to him. “Hey, do you know any artists who might want to create a big outdoor mural? We’re redoing this children’s park up in the Bronx, and I think it could use a mural that maybe starts on a wall but extends along the ground and onto the skate ramp. We don’t have a huge budget, but I think it could be good exposure for the artist.”
“Are you kidding? I know about a hundred artists who would leap at the opportunity,” Lucie said excitedly.
“All right then. I’ll have my people call your people.”
They both stared out at the ocean for a few moments, until Lucie decided to speak up again. “I think it’s my turn to apologize. I’m sorry if I seemed a little prickly earlier…it’s just that Ditch Plains is a pretty special place to me. My father used to take me out here all the time when I was little. He was friends with the owner of East Deck Motel, this wonderful old place that used to be across from the parking lot, and so he’d bring me out here to this beach all the time. It’s where he taught me how to swim in the ocean…”
“I’m sorry if I insulted your beach. My pa taught me how to swim in the ocean too, at Coogee.”
Lucie took a deep breath and ventured to say something that had been on her mind all week. “You know, when you were in my art studio, you said something about a painting that really struck me.”
“The white one?”
“Yes, the white painting. Looking at it afterward gave me a vivid flashback to how my father had died. He had a heart attack at home, right in front of me, and I guess it was something I had completely erased from my memory until the other day.”
George stared deeply into her eyes. “How old were you?”
“Eight.”
“My father died when I was sixteen. He’d been ill a long time, but it was still terrible to see him fading away at the end. It took me years to get over it, not that one really gets over it. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you at that age.”
“I completely blocked it out. I mean, I knew he’d had a heart attack, but until the other day I hadn’t realized I was actually there.”
George pondered her words and then looked her in the face. “Gosh, and then what happened on the piazzetta in Capri. No wonder you had to run…”
Lucie closed her eyes for a moment, saying nothing. They sat quietly like this for a few minutes, and as Lucie looked out at the undulating waves of the ocean, slate gray against the stark blue sky, she casually remarked, “This isn’t quite the view from Casa Malaparte, but I’ve always loved it. It’s where I learned to surf.”
George turned to Lucie in surprise. “Wait a minute, you surf?”
“Of course I do.”
“Really? Why haven’t I ever seen you surfing out here?”
Lucie looked up at George. “Are you kidding me? I wouldn’t waste my time. It’s flatter than the duck pond in Central Park. You’d have to be Malibu Barbie to catch waves out here.”
George let out a laugh.
“Speaking of which…,” Lucie said, as she tilted her head toward a statuesque blond girl paddling back to the shore.
The girl emerged from the water as if she were doing her best imitation of a James Bond girl and sauntered up to them with her surfboard just as George got up, planted a quick kiss on her cheek, and handed her his towel.
“Lucie, this is Viv.”
“Hi,” Lucie greeted her in surprise, staring at the intricate dragon tattoo on her arm.
“Hallo,” Viv said in a gravelly Swedish accent.
“How do you know each other?” Lucie inquired.
“Oh, we met a few weeks ago. Viv was doing a shoot for Harper’s Bazaar out at the Point,” George answered.
“Resort-wear bikinis,” Viv added.
“Of course.” Lucie smirked.
“Um…Lucie’s an old friend,” George said to Viv.
“How nice to have old friends,” Viv said to Lucie, before turning to George. “Come home for breakfast?”
