happy to see him.
“I’m good,” he said scratching his head, looking a bit bemused, “We were just about to come and rescue you.”
“Oh… thanks anyway,” I nodded, looking out of the cove, “It is kind of scary out there.”
“You can say that again!” he said, looking at me like I was crazy.
“Marina, this beach is dangerous!” Shayla said, “They just warned us to stay out of the water! I guess we’re only here for black sand shots.” She handed me a towel, “They said some tourist chick got swept out and drowned two days ago!”
“Didn’t you see the warning?” Gabe pointed at a sign posted at the beach entrance, a swimmer in a circle with a slash through it. I’d been so focused on getting to the water I’d completely missed it.
I shrugged and shook my head no, sorry I’d worried everyone, “What happened to your arm?”
“Skateboarding,” he said sheepishly, “Gotta have something to do when it’s dumping.”
I turned to look back out at the sea that had nearly pulled me away, and remembered the voices echoing inside my head. I got a sudden chill despite the warm tropical sun.
Shayla was apologetic, “I’m sooo sorry! I totally didn’t see it either. We’re gonna do the surfing shots at the next beach!”
“It’s not your fault.” I blotted my face and arms with the towel, “I’m alright.” The crowd dispersed, wandering back to watch the photo shoot that was taking place further up the beach.
“I don’t know what they were all worried about,” I overheard one model say to another, “She’s like, the surfing consultant.”
When we pulled up to the next beach Shayla peered out the window and smiled wide, “Way, way, better… check out that gnarly break!”
I looked out across a long stretch of salt and pepper sand to see the beautiful line of a surfable wave, a perfect right hander.
This time, Shayla went to wardrobe while I went straight for the prop surfboards, picking through the pile to see if I could find a couple of suitable ones. The production crew had spared no expense, and it looked as though they’d cleaned out a surf shop. Gabe came over to talk with me, introducing me to his friends, who were all local surfers that had been hired to provide “atmosphere” in the form of backdrops for the bikini clad models.
“Marina shredded in Santa Cruz with me and Kimo,” he told his friends, and I could see them raise a few eyebrows skeptically. Apparently I didn’t look like I was capable of much in the way of surfing.
“Speak of the Devil,” said one of them, nodding towards the gravel lot.
A screamingly bright yellow Lamborghini pulled up with a cloud of dust and two men stepped out. I recognized the passenger immediately.
“Kimo!” Gabe waved to him, pointing at me. He lowered his head as if to draw a bead on me and I saw the white flash of his smile as he came sprinting across the sand. Uh-oh, I thought, Ethan will never believe I didn’t set this up.
“Marina!” before I could say anything he grabbed me in a bear hug, lifting me off my feet and shaking me to and fro. “Whachu doin’ here?” he cried, squeezing me again before putting me down.
“Getting crushed to death, apparently!” I scolded him, catching my breath.
He threw his head back and laughed, and I couldn’t help but join in. The driver of the gaudy sports car sauntered his way across the sand, approaching us with a self-assured walk. He had longish streaked brown hair and like Kimo, wore board shorts and a Hawaiian shirt. His eyes were concealed behind mirrored sunglasses. He approached our group and all the other surfers rushed to welcome him with fist bumps and back slaps.
When he made his way through the gauntlet of greetings he approached us, scanning the beach like he owned it.
Kimo gestured to him, “Marina, ya know Matt Stone.”
I held out my hand politely, “I’m sorry, but I don’t think we’ve met.”
His face registered puzzlement, and the crowd of surfers burst into laughter. Now I was confused.
“You know… Matt Stone… the actor,” Gabe prompted me.
“Oh,” I said, “What kind of acting do you do?”
Now the crowd around us really started cracking up, and I looked around self-consciously. All the models seemed to be watching us, no doubt riveted by the appearance of the taxi yellow sports car. Matt didn’t look too happy, and I reeled back a little, not in on the joke.
Kimo wiped his eyes,