Rooming With RoseAnn Pt. 23

Barry's adventures in Santa Barbara

I skipped my Friday afternoon English class so we could get underway before noon. Driving south to Santa Barbara was a delight to a Midwestern boy. We treated ourselves to a colorful mixture of green and rocky mountains, interspersed with farmland, still verdant in October. I drove RoseAnn's BMW, which purred like a contented animal on the smoother parts of Highway 101. Speeding through a bucolic landscape, in a good car, the window open, a beautiful woman beside me, I was King of the World.

Just as I was wondering when I'd actually get to see the ocean, we rolled out of the mountains into Pismo beach in mid-afternoon. We stopped for a late lunch and walked on the sand for an hour, holding hands and racing from incoming waves. We took photographs of each other against the ocean and the Sahara-like Pacific Dunes, before knocking the sand from inside our shoes and climbing back into the car for the short run to Santa Barbara. Since she knew the city, RoseAnn took the wheel for the last leg.

"Maybe there's a lot you can't tell me about this meeting," I asked her, once we were on the highway. "But what can you tell me?"

"I can tell you the company's reaching the stage where we're going to our investors for more capital. We've got all our ducks in a row--hardware, software, business plan, marketing plans, test cities, the whole works. We're asking for a lot of money, millions, because the next step is going to be expensive."

"Why?"

"Because a cellular telephone system with only one tower, or even two or three towers, is only a toy. We have to cover a whole city and show the money men that people will actually use their phones. We've listed some possible cities, and when we choose one, we're going to build ten towers and sell two hundred phones for less than cost, about $100 each. You can imagine how much money that's all going to take."

"So you pick out a small city where people all live and work in the city, so they can use their phones all day long?" I asked.

"That's about right. If we do it right, customers will see for themselves how valuable portable telephones can be. They'll demand more towers and more phones, and they'll be willing to pay for them. About that point, we sell off the technology to one of the big telecommunications companies. The big players are the only ones with the financial horsepower to build networks everywhere."

"Well, I hope for your sake it works. I still think it's easier to just stop at a pay phone and make a call from there. Nobody with a brain is going to talk on the phone while they're driving."

"Luddite."

The BMW hummed on toward the city of Santa Barbara.

"If you're going to be so busy in the meeting, what am I going to be doing with myself?"

"During the day, make yourself scarce. We're staying in a different hotel from the meeting place, so when you're not studying your calculus, you can use the pool or the beach, or wander the shops. Just be back in the room around suppertime. I'll call you there if I've got a dinner with the big shots, or else I'll come back and we'll have supper together."

I laughed. "I'm surprised you bothered to bring me along."

"No need to pout. You're here to be my rock and keep my head straight during two days of meetings that are bound to be brutal. Also, the meeting's going to break up Sunday afternoon and we'll have the evening and Monday to invent new carnal sins. Not to mention swimming pool, room service, shopping, whatever."

"Shopping?"

"Don't whine."

We found our hotel and registered under her name. The cost would be covered by an expense account. Good thing, too. The rate was $350 a night for three nights.

The room was actually a suite. In the separate room were arranged a sofa, its own TV, and a large desk with a comfortable office chair. The suite was done up elegantly in forest green and gold and smelled pleasantly of flowers. Over the desk, the window looked out on the beach and the ocean beyond.

There was another chair in the bedroom, a lounge chair of the sort that separates into a hassock and armchair. I pictured tucking myself down between the two parts, while RoseAnn supported her legs on the hassock. It wasn't the Altar of Yoni, but it was a good enough substitute for the weekend. I pointed out the chair and its possible uses to RoseAnn.

She raised an eyebrow and smiled. "I'm sure we'll be using it more than once, but in the meantime, I've got to go over my presentation for the morning. I can't afford a distraction."

"Do you want an audience while you rehearse?"

She went over her charts and diagrams with me. I understood very little, but I was able to offer my naïve commentary about her appearance, her confidence, and her sharp responses, even to my uninformed questions.

Eventually, she grew tired, and we finally put the lounge chair to good use. We were thoroughly relaxed afterwards and slept until the wake-up call. We ate breakfast together in a restaurant attached to the hotel, and RoseAnn drove off to her meeting.

I brewed some of the in-room coffee and set up my calculus books, working for three solid hours. But the activity on the beach distracted me: women in bikinis sunned themselves; other, more buff women played volleyball; men played soccer; a few surfers dotted the water. As noon approached, I gave in to temptation and convinced myself it was time for a break. After a walk on the beach, I could get a bit of lunch and go back to studying.

I spread sun block on my exposed skin. With dark glasses on, perhaps I wouldn't seem like such a pervert watching bikini-clad women play volleyball. I strolled along the paved walkway next to the beach, admiring the athletic beach women and looking for restaurants. The beachfront seemed dominated by hotels and condos, but after a mile or so, I spotted a row of eateries across from the beach. I crossed the highway to check them out. Most had outside tables. The first one had servers wearing livery, resembling waiters in French restaurants. I examined the menu. The prices reflected the self-important elegance. Even on RoseAnn's expense account, I hesitated to spend twenty dollars for a grilled cheese.

I moved on to the next establishment. It was comfortably casual, and substantially cleaner. The waitstaff were about my own age, wearing identifying red tee shirts and tan shorts. A hamburger was twelve dollars, still absurdly expensive, but likely the best price I was going to find along the beach. I approached the little lectern at the entrance, where a tiny girl waited.

"One for lunch, sir?"

For an instant, I was disoriented. The automatic part of my brain had recognized a shape, or a face, or a gesture, among the seated diners. It didn't tell me where to look, but it knew enough to shoot adrenaline into my blood.

I scanned the room.

"Sir?" said the girl.

I zeroed in on the unmistakable dark luxury of RoseAnn's hair. She faced away from me, towards the man I now recognized as 'Keith', her creepy boss. My surprise softened to curiosity as I watched. Why should it be so strange that they'd have lunch together? Perhaps they were strategizing or analyzing the morning's events. I considered inviting myself to their table, welcome or unwelcome.

Then the bottom dropped out of my world.

Keith's hand moved to cover hers on the tablecloth. She pulled her hand away, but he persisted, and the second time, she did not withdraw. His hand gently closed over hers. His voice was lost in the restaurant babble, but his face displayed comfort and concern.

I turned away, mumbling 'I'm sorry' to the girl and aimed myself roughly toward the beach. Somehow I made it across busy Cabrillo Boulevard alive, though I had no recollection afterward. The sidewalk and the people whirled around me, and waves of nausea forced me to lurch onto the grass. In the end, I didn't vomit, but I plunked cross-legged on the lawn and breathed deeply. A passing couple inquired about my well-being. I told them thanks, that I was only tired from walking too far.

It was too early for anger or humiliation. All I felt was confusion, a jumble of disconnected thoughts. Had I been played for a sucker all along? Was I only here to make RoseAnn's boss jealous? Was she already moving ahead with her plan to find a man 'her own age'? She had intimated as such only the other day, but so soon?

If hanky-panky with the boss was in the plan, why had she brought me to Santa Barbara at all? There must be a simpler, innocent explanation. Perhaps something had gone awry in the morning meeting, and he'd only been reassuring her. Sure, it might be bad news, but only business, and not concerning him or her or me.

Back at the hotel, my shock settled into a hollow ache in my stomach, a sense of awful, irretrievable emptiness. I told myself again that it was a simple misunderstanding. When RoseAnn returned in the evening, she'd tell me the news of the day, and everything would be explained. A moment later, I knew for sure that I'd been used, and my only purpose from the beginning had been to make her boss jealous.

I thought again about lunch, but quickly realized that I had no appetite. Rather than stay indoors, where my bewilderment and anger would fester, I decided to go watch the activity on the beach. This time, I changed into my swim trunks. My dark chest hair made me look older, and I hoped my physique might attract some welcome attention.

In order to properly distract myself, I selected one of the more active volleyball games. Seven women in brief bikinis and four men were playing an informal game with medium skill that I could hope to match. I sat beside the invisible court line and watched the lean, tanned legs of the women, their sun-bleached hair, and the bounce of their breasts.

As I hoped, one of the women called out to me, "Hey, you! Do you want to help us even up the sides? Are you any good?"

I guessed they were college students on a weekend away from campus. "As good as the average science geek," I said, and leaped to my feet. I jumped into the vacant spot just in time to spike the ball over the net.

"Do you play like that all the time?" she said.

"Hardly. That was dumb luck. I usually play like I'm wearing snowshoes. I'm Barry, by the way."

The girl, a lovely blonde with a substantial bust, named herself 'Sher'. She had a pretty laugh. She was also a superb player, considering her medium stature.

We played a couple of games before I felt the sting of the sun. I excused myself and got my tube of sunblock from its hiding place, wrapped in my beach towel.

I began spreading it on myself, but Sher ran over to me. "You need some help with that?" She didn't wait for my answer, but took the tube from my hand and began spreading the white cream on my back. Her hands were soft and tiny and felt pleasant on my skin. She spread it over my shoulders and upper arms while the other players looked on with wry smiles or mock disapproval.

"Keep those hands where we can see them," admonished one of the other women, a muscular brunette.

"Hey, this man is going to get badly burned," said Sher, returning to her task. "He's already been in the sun for two hours." She trailed her fingers through my chest hair. "You look like you need your chest waxed, too." Her eyes were a pretty blue, and she gazed into my mine as she rubbed the white cream through my chest hair, deliberately dragging a finger across each nipple as she rubbed.

"She forgets to bring her boyfriend with her," said the brunette to no one in particular. "She figures once she's here, she can get take-out." The others laughed, but Sher ignored them and continued rubbing my stomach and gazing at me with those crystalline eyes. She pretended to pout when I insisted on rubbing the sunblock on my own legs.

The afternoon wore on toward four o'clock. I was getting tired, but at last, one of the men, named Robert, said, "I've had enough of this. Let's get a beer."

Apparently, everyone had been waiting for someone else to take the initiative and call the game to an end. We collected into a tight crowd at the end of the net, joking and laughing. The unpleasant day had become fun. I thought of RoseAnn and Keith, and this time, I brushed them from my mind as if they didn't matter.

Sher said, "Come back with us. We've got plenty of everything."

I nodded okay, and we moved as a group to the hotel next to mine. The eleven people shared four rooms together on the bottom floor. Two ice chests full of beer waited in the corner of one room, and that's where we gathered.

We sat around the room and drank beer. They turned out to be education students from UCLA, taking advantage of the long weekend, as I'd guessed. I found a spot on the floor with my back against a bed, and Sher moved in beside me, her shoulder tight against mine. She fawned over me, laughed at everything I said, and stroked and squeezed my bicep. The others joked about her promiscuity, but she only laid her head on my shoulder and asked, "You don't believe any of that, do you?"

"Not for a minute," I said. But there was no way I was going to risk picking up a microbial souvenir from this girl who seemed eager to fuck anything with a pulse. On the other hand, it was gratifying to feel a taut young body lean against me. Like an irritating background noise, the memory of RoseAnn and Keith gnawed at me, and I dreaded the confrontation I was soon going to have with RoseAnn.

But for the moment, there was beer.