The Fate of the Muse - By Derrolyn Anderson Page 0,48

down, and be free to do all the great things that you were destined to do.”

I was irritated at her mention of money, “What did you need protection from?”

“Nowadays, they call them stalkers,” she shuddered, “I had someone quite obsessed with me who was getting to be a bit of a hazard.”

“What did Harold do?”

“He took care of it,” she said with finality. Evie got up to leave, clearly done talking for the evening. She suggested that I turn in as well and get a good night’s sleep. I wasn’t so sure that I could.

Just before she rounded the corner for her room she paused, facing away from me, “Marina…”

“Yes?”

She hesitated, and then spoke, “They say no to you… that’s how you can tell… they say no.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

MUSEUM

The wave dropped off like a cliff, a fifty foot wall of the deepest, richest blue I’d ever seen. I flew down the face of it in a trancelike state, aware that at any moment the lip could curl down onto my shoulders; crushing me under a wave of heavy rolling thunder. A perfect tube of water opened up in front of me like I knew it would, and I entered, not even needing to crouch inside the massive cylinder of turquoise. The song it was singing rang down my spine and straight through every bone in my body.

I started awake in a luxurious bed, squeezing my eyes shut and trying with all my might to return to the dream that was already receding from my consciousness, maddeningly drifting away from me. I flopped back down, not wanting to start the day quite yet. I wrapped myself back up in the silky smooth sheets, thinking about surfing, trying not to think about Ethan.

I’d stayed up half the night, trying to recall an instance where he’d said no to me. He’d refused to take me surfing, but that was mostly work related, so it probably didn’t count. I knit my brow together, trying to remember a time where Ethan had denied me something I’d truly wanted. I recalled what he’d told Cruz about going to prom. “Whatever she wants” were his exact words. I never thought that getting my way would ever make me feel so sad.

I dressed, moving mechanically, and finally shuffled out to the lounge to find that room service had thoughtfully brought us a stack of French and English papers alongside our breakfast. They included all the fashion trade journals, still reeking of chemicals from the fresh ink. Glossy photos detailed the ups and downs of the week’s extravagant shows, and Evie and I were both pleased and amused at the enormous amount of press that Shayla got.

“Le surfer Americain!” One headline screamed, and Evie translated the article that described Shayla’s athletic prowess, calling her “La belle surfer fille”, and praising her bold style and endless legs. We both basked in the satisfaction that Shayla’s success brought, a feeling I was learning to recognize as more than just typical goodwill.

Evie turned to me with a smile, “A supermodel is born.” My vision of Shayla’s bright future had come to pass. The front desk called, announcing her arrival, and Evie instructed them to send her up “tout suite”.

Shayla bounded into the room, flooding it with incandescent happiness, “Did you see the papers? Did you see?”

“Yes dear,” beamed Evie, greeting her with a kiss on each cheek. “And we’re so looking forward to your performance this evening!”

The three of us sat down to coffee and croissants, listening to Shayla tell us about her adventures in Parisan nightclubbing. She asked me to come and see her new apartment and I looked to Evie.

“As long as you’re back in time for the show,” she smiled indulgently, “Unless you’d like to join me at the spa for a rubdown.”

I declined the massage and followed Shayla out to the street, watching her in wonder as she put her thumb and index finger in her mouth and produced a loud whistle, summoning a taxi that seemed to materialize from out of nowhere. She scrambled in like she’d been hailing cabs her whole life, beckoning me to follow. She told the driver her address and leaned back in the seat.

“You sure have the whole taxicab thing down,” I said with a grin.

“They’re alright,” she replied, leaning over to whisper in my ear, “Most of them could sure use a shower, though.”

When we got to our destination we took a narrow winding staircase up to a tiny third floor apartment.