A Short Story by Belinda Jones

DAY ONE we were assaulted by mariachi bands while eating fish tacos and cinnamon-dusted churros, just across the border from Mexico.

DAY TWO we rustled through the bamboo to watch giant pandas sleeping belly-up in the sunshine, and then ate orange chicken and an excess fortune cookies.

DAY THREE we strolled the pastel-painted paving stones of the Spanish Art Village and then had green tea beside the lily pond in in the Japanese garden.

Such is the diversity of a vacation in San Diego – Old Town, San Diego Zoo and Balboa Park, all within in a few minutes drive of each other.

But by 2pm on each of those days we were on the beach. Until 6pm. Every day. It was part of the deal. I get to arrange the excursions and pick the lunch spots, Katie gets to splay in the sun all afternoon and Della choses the bars where we party until the wee small hours. Party.

Even before we arrived the mere thought of ‘partying’ made me want to find the nearest English tea shop, order an outsize pot of lapsang souchong and open a book with a creaky spine.

Just looking at the lurid swirls in the cocktail glasses makes me nauseous. But I can’t say so. I don’t want to spoil anyone’s fun. We’ve been taking these girlie holidays for nearly 20 years and it’s just what we do. It’s why we’ve had so much to laugh about over the years, even as each of us has gone through a divorce. (Though Della looks set to reconcile with her ex.) Besides, last night wasn’t so bad – we forwent the bawdy ‘young people’ bars of the Gaslamp District because our hotel was hosting a dive-in movie night – big screen over the pool showing old movies, I was in heaven – comfortable seat, balmy evening, yummy food and the ability to slope off to bed at 11pm and leave them to it. I think they got in around 3am and, unsurprisingly, they weren’t up for the early start I had planned.

‘It’s such a beautiful day, do we really want to spend half of it in the car?’

‘It’s only about an hour from here.’ I said, speaking of the old mining town of Julian, famed country-wide for its apple pies. ‘Plus it’s always a beautiful day in San Diego. It’s not like we’re going to wake up tomorrow and find the whole place storm-ravaged.’

‘You never know.’

‘What about if we went this afternoon instead,’ Della negotiated. ‘We can sleep off our hangovers on the beach and then go.’

This seemed reasonable. ‘Okay, deal.’

Katie’s original plan was to spend every afternoon on a different beach but it looks like La Jolla and Torrey Pines were going to remain as names on a list because on Day One she had taken a liking to the lifeguard over at Coronado island so we’ve gone back to the same spot every day. To look at him.

Neither Della or I liked to mention that he had to be easily half our age – when we were on holiday it was like we were 20 again. All things are possible. And he was rather lovely. Tousled, honey-coloured hair with darker roots that revealed themselves when the wind ruffled him. His body had that ‘born this way’ natural athleticism and he didn’t seem at all posy – even his tan was matte, not sheeny with potions. I personally thought he had a rather soulful look, as if he had a tattered book in his rucksack that he’d really rather be getting back to. But of course it wasn’t a realistic crush. These Californians are like a different species – all healthy and salt-crusted and easy-breezy. I wonder what it would be like to be that way and not to feel self-conscious and disadvantaged by the heat. I sigh. This is my least favourite part of the day. I mean, I totally get the appeal of the beach – the sleep-inducing warmth, the relaxation, the soothing sigh of the waves – but for some reason it doesn’t do it for me. I look at the glimmering water, the palm trees, the lifeguard and yes I think, ‘This is the life!’ But two minutes later I’m starting to fidget and think, ‘Now what?’

‘Ready for some lunch?’ I prompt after what I feel is a respectable amount of time flicking through magazines and then fanning myself with the sun-cream slicked pages.

‘I’m still full from breakfast.’ Katie rubs her stomach.

‘Me too,’ Della concurs.

‘Maybe by the time we get there…’ I suggest.

Katie and Della exchange a look.

‘What?’

‘Can’t we go to Julian tomorrow?’ Katie wheedles.

‘Just give us one day off to chill?’ Della pleads.

I should have known this would happen.

‘Don’t we have a free day anyway?’ Katie continues. ‘Now you’ve taken SeaWorld off the itinerary?’

It’s true that has been nixed. I saw the Blackfish documentary on the plane and I’ll never be able to look at a floppy-finned killer whale the same way again. I was actually thinking of spending that day protesting and yelling Free Tillicum outside the gates but I can’t see getting that to fly with the girls.

‘Of course,’ I oblige. ‘Mid-week chill sounds like a plan.’

‘Fantastic!’ They sigh in relief.

Katie turns her attention back to the lifeguard.

‘Can you see all that definition in his stomach when he stretches? And those arms! Can you imagine locking on to those big ole shoulders as he scooped you out of the sea? I’d limpit on and never let go…’

That’s the polite version.

I watch him some more. I look at my watch. I think about the apple pies that Julian is so famous for. ‘You’re not hungry at all?’

Katie smiles as she shakes her head. ‘You know you could still go…’

‘Oh no!’ I tut. By myself? No, that would break the code. We always go everywhere together.

I readjust my towel on the hot sand and then wonder if they serve the pie with ice-cream or cream. My stomach yawps.

‘Actually I think perhaps I will.’

Three times on the way to the rental car I turn back to the beach but then I weigh the sweaty hair-kinking heat against the cryogenic air-conditioning of the Kia. The cool wins. I’m nervous at first but as I merge onto the freeway and accelerate to 70mph, I get a big woooohooo of freedom! Look at me! Running wild!

Suddenly I am filled with sunshine and optimism and possibility! The drive is magical – first winding through the desert mountains scattered with giant Flintstone-like boulders, then passing through little ranch towns stacked with haybales and stores selling nothing but pot-bellied stoves.

I feel like Calamity Jane exploring the Old West and I couldn’t be happier!

When I take the leafy, sun-dappled turning for Julian I feel even more content. I can see top to bottom of the Main Street in one glance – the old-fashioned soda fountain stores, the cowboy boot vendors and, be still my beating heart, the apple pie shops. I’m out of the car now and making a beeline for ‘Mom’s’ when I hear fire sirens wailing and there’s a sudden flurry of activity, voices shouting, rousing everyone in town. Is it a forest fire? I hear they have terrible ones out here, I couldn’t bare to see this place reduced to tinder and ash.

‘Come with me,’ a burly chap hurries me onward. ‘We need your help.’

My hand involuntarily reaches for my man-made fibre dress.

‘I might have to change!’ I bleat. ‘I’m a tad flammable!’

He gives me a quizzical look and then hands me a potato peeler. ‘You’ll need this.’

My brow furrows. ‘Far be it from me to tell you how to do your job-‘

He tuts and shakes his head. ‘Nothing is on fire. We need your help peeling apples.’

‘What?’ I falter. Are the apple pies here DIY? Is that what makes them so famous?

It turns out Mom’s pies have just been featured on the QVC shopping channel – the countrywide demand has far exceeded their expectations and part of the deal is that the orders have to go out today.

‘We’re talking the biggest boost this town has ever known, but only if we can make the 4pm shipping deadline.’

So it’s all hands on deck! Including my hands…

Once inside Mom’s expansive kitchen, I join the production line of peeling, slicing, baking, sugaring, rolling pastry and sliding trays into the oven.

It’s hot work and I seem to have an inordinate amount of the cinnamon-scented syrup in my hair but I’m loving toiling alongside fireman Flynn (he really is a fireman!) and find myself humming A Woman’s Touch as I do my bit for the community.

Flynn laughs. ‘I was going to apologise for setting you to work on your vacation but you seem to be enjoying yourself!’

‘I am!’ I grin back at him.

This is actually the most fun I’ve had. Not that the rest of it hasn’t been fun, it’s just… I look around me. I feel like I’ve found a home-from-home here.

It makes me want to live in a cabin with gingham curtains and a big ole yard and rescue dogs and spray paint pinecones at Christmas.

I look back at Flynn. He’s such a manly man. I wonder if he has a lumberjack shirt? I’m about to ask him when the sirens strike up again.

‘More pies?’ I groan.

He shakes his head, serious now. ‘This one’s for real. I have to go.’

He looks around, ‘I just need to – Jack!’

Another equally goodlooking man appears, locking him into a bear hug.

‘Be safe,’ he urges.

‘I will.’

There’s something about the look they exchange before they part… Something that tells me my little fantasy of becoming the apple of Flynn’s eye, is over.

I sigh as I feel the heaviness of reality seeping back into my body. And then I look at my watch – I haven’t even tasted a forkful of pie yet but already I need to be hitting the road. Best I take my worker’s freebie back to share with the girls, they must be starving by now.

I get a few curious looks as I make my way across the sand with a giant pie in my outstretched hands. Katie and Della are exactly where I left them and I decide I’m going to tiptoe up behind them and let the smell waft over them…

‘I wonder how Jules is getting on?’ I slow my pace as I hear Katie speak my name.

Della shrugs. ‘Probably still elbow-deep in apple pie.’

‘You know if she didn’t order dessert every single meal she might actually enjoy the beach a little more.’

‘Oh I think her bikini days are gone, don’t you?’

I freeze. And then I stumble backwards. I have to get out of here, I can’t face them now. What they say may be true, I just never thought they considered me such a dollop.

‘Miss?’

I turn and see a Hispanic family with three children looking hungrily at the pie.

‘How much is a slice?’

‘Oh!’ I falter. They think I’m a beach vendor!

I go to correct them but then I lock eyes with the youngest boy. Giant shiny chocolate drop eyes.

‘Here, why don’t you have it?’ I offer.

‘The whole thing?’

‘Yes, it’s a promotional pie. From Julian. If you like it, tell your friends.’

In my haste to move on, I don’t look where I’m stepping and I trip on the children’s elaborate sandcastle.

Doomf! I crash down with a thud.

‘What are doing down there?’

I hear Katie and Della’s voices but it is not either of their hands that reach to pull me up, it’s the lifeguard’s. Not quite as young up close and all the more lovely for it.

‘Mmmm,’ he inhales me as he checks I’m not hurt. ‘You smell like Julian.’

‘Who’s Julian?’ Katie frowns.

I give him a knowing smile. ‘I just came from there.’

His hand clasps over his heart. ‘That’s my home.’

‘Really? You commute?’

‘Usually but this summer I rented a shoebox downtown and I can’t stand it. I’m right by the Gaslamp District.’ He pulls a face. ‘I couldn’t even bear to keep the dog there, so he’s staying with my dad at the moment. Did you try to the pie?’

I heave a sigh. ‘As ridiculous as it seems no.’ I turn back to the Hispanic family. There’s nothing but crumbs and guilty looks. ‘It’s still on the list.’

The lifeguard looks at his watch. ‘I get off in five. You wanna go for a slice?’

I open my mouth, then look at Katie and Della.

‘You should go.’

‘What?’ I blurt.

Katie shrugs. ‘We’re really more Apple Martini girls than Apple Pie, right Della?’

Della looks queasy. ‘If I have to even look at another cocktail-‘

‘Come with us then,’ I brighten. ‘It’ll be a tonic –

She shakes her head. ‘I hate to be a party-pooper but all I really want is an early night and a bit of American TV.’

‘Josh!’

The lifeguard is being summoned back to his tower. ‘Let me know – I just need to close up.’

We watch him jog across the sand, admiring the way his shoulder-blades jostle with his back muscles.

‘He likes you, you have to go.’ Katie insists.

‘But you like him!’ I protest.

‘Oh please! I like every other man I lay eyes on. Besides, I’m supposed to be hooking up with Dustin from last night. I may be having his baby.’

I blink back at her. ‘So we’ll all be going our separate ways?’ I feel slightly forlorn.

‘Just for one night.’

‘Right,’ I nod. ‘And it’s not like anything will happen with Josh, I mean look at him – he may not be quite half my age but he’s half my size…’

‘Pah!’ Della swats away my concern. ‘So what if you’re not a Baywatch babe? He’s probably sick of that.’

I gulp. Dare I confront them? ‘Listen, I heard what you said about me eating too much dessert.’

They look confused.

‘That I wouldn’t be getting into a bikini again.’

Della shrugs. ‘Do you care?’

‘Care that you said that or care that I won’t get into a bikini?’

‘The bikini,’ Della repeats.

I think for a moment. ‘Actually no. It’s not my thing.’

‘Well then.’

‘It just seemed a bit bitchy,’ I venture.

‘Are you really going to stand here complaining?’ Katie protests. ‘You just pulled the hottest guy on the beach!’

I look over at Josh. He’s looking over at me, asking for a yes or a no.

‘Go on,’ Della eggs me on. ‘Time for your slice of the pie!’

And so I say yes.

Yes to Josh, yes to pie, yes to accepting your friends just as they are, yes to getting older, yes to sunshine, yes to adventure and yes to second helpings of whatever makes you feel good!

THE END

(Bodie’s Dog-Friendly Guide to Julian coming soon…)