Chapter Three
How the Great Love Affair Began
We met near the crash and burn of the ocean. Above us, a plane flew across the sky, far away from this place…
Confessions of a Post-teenage Hermit
Okay, I may have given you a false impression; time to set things straight. No one should feel sorry for me. First of all, I am now officially employed most mornings at The Beach Shack, my favorite café overlooking the sea along the main boulevard of Wentworth. My cousin Keira manages this place. Like me, she’s kind of the black sheep in her family. Unlike me, her family are kind and generous and proud of her. It is from this lofty countertop that I can start to tell you all about the story of my young life, how I met Ben, fell in love with Ben, lost Ben (yes yes yes all of that is included) but also about my family and the picturesque coastline I grew up visiting.
When I was small, my family owned real estate in a vast connection of Los Angeles streets, but it was the sprawling, ostentatious Bel Air mansion that my father liked most. My mother, on the other hand, enjoyed shifting with the seasons. She was from an old, eccentric European family but liked to roam around Venice Beach on weekends with me and my sisters after she’d finished shopping along Rodeo Drive. We took long trips together and one summer Mom discovered a tiny coastal town called Wentworth, not far from Los Angeles and fell in love with it.
My parents were polar opposites, so their split, a few years later, was not a total surprise. My Mom liked picnics, markets and the beach, amongst other things. My father preferred expensive restaurants, designer stores and playing tennis at his stuffy country club. He owned an office block near Rodeo Drive and frequented The Hide Out (my sisters and I named the company-owned apartment because it was the place my father’s dalliances with his secretary took place) way out in the Hills. When we were growing up, Dad lived a life of careless disregard for the feelings of others and excessive monetary wealth gave him power he mostly abused. He was also almost as vain as my sisters and never met a mirror he didn’t like. Finally my mother had enough of his philandering and his selfishness; two ‘vices’ as she put it, one in the same.
My mother returned to New York and my sisters and I became bi-coastal. As I grew up, my older sister Liz was left in charge of Melissa and me (a lot). When we were in our father’s care, his lack of parental supervision allowed me to effectively raise myself. In many ways I was a scholarly and quiet child. I was often found reading and scribbling whilst Melissa and Liz jostled for supremacy in front of the full length mirrors of their adjoining bedrooms, trying on our mom’s discarded designer outfits. There was only a year between us all, so we shared clothes as often as we jostled for parental attention.
My sisters never showed any interest in the animal shelter I volunteered at when I was growing up and even less interest in the various dogs and cats I adopted and brought home. The good thing about my Dad is that he liked Sable, our part Persian cat; color: cream, coat: long, texture: fluffy and Muffin, our part boxer part something else rescue dog; color: tan, coat: short haired, texture: wrinkly. Most of the dogs are mixed with something else. It’s a sad fact of life but the pure breeds never get left by the roadside. I love my mutts, though. Sable and Muffin are the most gorgeous pets any person could want.
It’s kind of strange that my Dad has a soft spot for them. I say “strange” because he doesn’t have a soft spot for any other living creature – although he’s quite fond of my older sister Liz. She’s made him proud since my Mom left; she’s sort of taken over. Before the financial crisis my father lived an extravagant life. Let’s face it, my sisters and I were spoiled; just not with any obvious displays of affection.
