The Summer Wind

Chapter One

"So what, she just dumped you?" Dean asked as he waved at the cashier in the drive thru.

"Like a bad habit," I replied, trying to shrink out of existence.

"Would you mind?" the cashier asked, holding out a ballpoint pen and a scrap of paper. "I'm a huge fan. I've watched all seven seasons of "Full Throttle Justice" like, a million times."

"Not at all. Who should I make it out too?" Dean asked.

"Debbie with two Bs," she giggling.

I took the piece of paper from her and passed it to Dean.

It was an interesting spectacle to behold, one which never failed to amuse me. I'd always just known him as Dean Ryder, close friend. In my eyes, he was still the same freckle nosed punk I'd known since high school. But not in the world's eyes. To them he was a star.

"I'll add an extra B for good luck," he said smiling, signed it and handed it back to her.

She lit up like a Christmas tree.

"Thank you so much!" she said blushing. I'll give you a bonus scoop of fries. My supervisor says we can't, but F' her, she always books me on the weekends, even when I request them off. Hold on, one sec."

Dean turned his attention back to me.

"I never met her, did I? Was she the brunette?" he asked.

"Blonde, and no. I think you were filming in Australia for ... was it two months?"

Dean leaned back into his seat and flipped the sunglasses perched on his nose up. "Five if you include the three months I spent in a cast."

"It was nine according to the tabloids," I replied.

"Could have been a century for all I remember. I was so hopped up on painkillers, you could have told me I was a canary and I would have sung for you ... by the way, I appreciate all the calls and flowers. I just wish I could remember any of them. The showrunner told me I liked the pretty yellow ones."

I laughed. "No worries. I wish I'd recorded our conversations, they were hilarious."

"I'm glad you didn't. That production was a mess. They should have shelved the final film. It did more harm to my career than good."

"Well it wasn't ... that bad."

We both sat in silence for a second, before erupting into a fit of laughter.

"So what was ol' goldilock's name anyway?" he asked.

"Sarah," I said, the word stinging as I spoke it.

"And there's no chance you can salvage it?"

"I doubt it. She seemed pretty intent on calling it off. She wasn't even angry. She just packed up everything and left. It was like getting hit in the face with a shovel."

"How long were you two together?"

"Two years, three hundred and sixty four days."

"Ouch, yea that'll leave a mark."

"It gets worse."

"Oh?" he asked, his eyebrows arching up into one of his signature expressions.

The drive thru window opened and the cashier popped out like a cuckoo clock holding our order.

"Sorry for the wait," she said panting. "I made sure the chili was fresh and not just the day old hamburger meat they chop up and toss in the pot."

"Thx doll," Dean said, and gave her a finger gun salute. "And remember ... Justice may be blind ..."

"... but she obeys the speed limits," she squealed. "That's my favorite line!" she said and melted like butter.

I smiled, knowing full well that she wasn't even aware there was a driver in the car, and gently pulled away.

"You sure you don't want to eat inside?" I asked.

"No, it's fine," Dean said, as he grabbed a handful of fries from the bag. "Fast food joints tend to be hotbeds/nests for Justice fans. A few autographs are fine, but word tends to spread like wildfire, and before you know it, you got a line up around the block."

"Must be awful," I said slyly.

"Don't get me wrong. I get it. It's part of the job. Honestly it's not that bad if you know how to navigate it. You just need to know where and when to be. No one ever expects to run into a B list TV star in a laundry mat. It's actually very soothing, if you don't mind the spin cycle."

I pulled my rusted old car into a parking lot and we divvied up the loot. Burger bear had always been one of our favorite haunts growing up, and was always our first destination when he was back in town.

"Did you have the vanilla shake or was that me?" he asked.

"I honestly don't remember, I was too star struck."

"Shut up," he said, laughing.

I handed him the shake and he took a big gulp.

"Delicious'" he said as he admired it. "I've travelled, eaten at some of the best restaurants on the planet, and few, if any can top that old rusted blender they got in there."

I reached into the bag, grabbed a burger, unwrapped the tin foil and took a bite. Even after all these years, no one could top the bear.

"So what's the scoop, you going to lick your wounds and get back up on the horse?"

"I haven't really thought that far. I'm still trying to make sense of it all. Honestly, I thought I had this one figured out. We were great together."

"The sex?" he asked, shoving a mouthful of fries into his mouth. "Half decent?" he mumbled.

"Dynamite. I'd have gladly signed a waiver, waving any legal responsibility for my death to ride that wild pony one last time."

He spat out several small chunks of fries as he laughed.

"Well, if you need anything under the shelf to maintain peak performance, I know a guy who knows a guy with a van that'll pull up just about anywhere with enough juice to kick start the heart of a dead elephant."

"Nah, I'm good in that department. But, thx?"

"You sure? Our phone lines are open day and night."

I sat back in my seat and picked at my fries. They were deep fried and bathed in thick salt. I knew there'd be a price to pay later, but I didn't care, they were delicious.

"So why'd it go off the rails?" he asked, slurping his milkshake.

I slumped down into my seat and stared out through the grimy windshield. Maybe it was the dead bugs smeared across the glass, or the mountain of crumpled up food wrappers in the back seat. Had she quietly been harboring a general sense of disgust at the way I lived, and it had finally boiled over?

"Too soon?" he asked, with a hint of concern in his voice.

"What? No, sorry. I've just been asking myself that same question. We were so close to our third year anniversary too. I knew things were getting a bit stale, a bit dull, so I wanted to surprise her with something extra special."

"Please tell me you weren't planning to propose?"

"No, nothing that serious. I just thought she'd appreciate a weekend retreat. You know, a chance for just the two of us to get away, unwind. So I booked a weekend at The Summer Wind Spa and resort."

"The Summer Wind? Wow, I'm impressed. I know it. We're talking big bucks. That's the type of place they send you too when you've made an ass of yourself, and you need to cool off for a few days while the big brains plan your next career move."

"Yea, it wasn't cheap. I probably would have saved a ton of money if I'd just bought a stupid ring and proposed."

"Well, if you ask me. I think you dodged a bullet."

"Not quite. It's non refundable."

"How much?" he asked.

"Enough. Let's just say, I'll be riding in this rusty chariot till it deteriorates under my feet."

"Ouch," Dean said. "Fuck it, you should spoil yourself. Roll up there in a towel, sit in a hot tub and lick your wounds. You've earned it."

I reached into the paper bag and dug out the last few remaining fries.

"It was part of a package deal, exclusive for couples. Everyone is going to be paired up. I'd look like a complete loser if I showed up there solo. No, fuck that. I'm just going to swallow the cost and chalk it up to another colossal failure in an uninterrupted streak"

He gave me an odd side eye, but didn't reply. Thankfully our conversation took a detour away from the dumpster fire that was my love life, and went into more familiar territory. We talked about past glories, savoring the nostalgia. I discovered he'd signed onto a new production, one that would take him to the furthest corners of the world. I poked at it, curious to see if he'd give me the scoop.

"This one is super on the down low. Even the tabloids have no idea I've landed the part. I'm telling you, it's going to be a game changer."

"What's the role?" I asked.

"I could tell you, but then I'd have to ... you know," he said, drew his finger across his throat and croaked.

After we polished off the last of the Burger Bear, we did a quick tour of our old stomping ground, marveling at how much, and how little had changed. I hid it, but I still felt the sting of the loss of Sarah. In the short time we'd been together we'd managed to carve out enough of our own memories, many of which were now entombed in the landmarks we visited.

I eventually dropped him off at his hotel. It was a far cry from the lap of luxury he was accustomed too, but it was functional.

"Can I give you some sagely advice?" he asked me as he adjusted his sunglasses, donned a baseball cap and got out of my car.

"Sure," I replied.

"Unplug and go to the spa for the weekend. I saw how weepy eyed you were while we were cruising around. You need a change of scenery, to turn a new page and all that. If you stick around here, you're just going to mope. Find the first available girl, any girl and do it," he said as he leaned on the open passenger side door.

"When you land give me a call, it doesn't matter what time zone. And this time, let the stunt drivers do all the heavy lifting," I said, grinned like a ghoul, reached out and closed the door.

I watched as he walked into the lobby.

I felt an ache in the pit of my stomach. I envied him. It must be great just floating from one hotel to another, searching for the next big party.

I bet it was an amazing life, but it wasn't grounded in reality. I had bills to pay and shifts to cover. People relied on me. It wasn't as glamorous as the lifestyle of our famous home grown hero, but it was mine and I was stuck with it.

I started up the engine. It wheezed as it drank what little gasoline was left in the tank, and drove back to the concrete block of apartments I called home.

I parked and entered the lobby. The directory was like a phone book, but I'd never connected it to any faces, nor did I plan too. Whenever I made the mad dash from my car to my apartment, I kept my head down, eyes lowered. I didn't want to accidently stumble into a casual conversation. A friendly hello might bite me in the ass later when I just wanted to scurry back to my small den uninterrupted.

I stepped into the elevator. My apartment was located on the ninth, or tenth floor, I could never quite make out the numbers. They'd been clawed at, the paint gouged out.

I arrived at my floor and stepped out. The hallway was like the artery of a petrified whale, hollow and foul. There was no colour to describe because nothing stuck.

I opened my front door, tossed my keys on a pile of unopened junk mail, flopped down on my faux leather couch and stared at my big TV's blank screen. I didn't even bother to turn it on.

I couldn't focus on any single thought. My brain had exhausted its charge, so I just sat there ... sat and stared.

My stomach eventually growled. I got up, crawled into the kitchen and opened the fridge. What little was inside was bathed in a soapy yellow light. None of it was inspiring. I started to boil a pot of water, for what purpose I didn't know.

As I watched the water slowly start to simmer, I heard a loud buzzer. It was the front door, someone was buzzing to be let in.

A delivery driver? I wasn't expecting any. I pulled out my phone and answered it.

"Hello?" I asked.

"It's me again, buzz me in."

Dean? Why was he at my apartment? Had he forgotten something in my car, his wallet, or expensive designer sunglasses? I hadn't noticed anything left behind on the passenger seat when I'd dropped him off.

"One sec," I said and punched the security code in for the door. I heard the heavy bolt unlock and hung up.

Not to complain, I valued every second I got to share with my old friend, but I was exhausted. I was running on fumes. I just wanted to switch my brain off for a few hours, and then sleep without setting an alarm. The water howled. There was a knock at the door.

"It's open," I said, as I searched through the cupboards for something to toss into the pot.

The doorknob rattled in its rusted socket but didn't budge.

"It's unlocked," I shouted. "You just have too ... never mind, just give me a second."

I pulled the boiling pot off the burner, turned the stove off and headed towards the door.

"I've complained several times to the rental, but they ignore all my emails. I swear for the amount of money they charge a month for this dump you'd think they've find the time to fix a simple lo ..."

I opened the door. What I saw hit me like a cannon ball to the gut.

I'd expected to see Dean standing in the hallway with a half crooked smile. What I saw was ...

A girl.

She was tall with long brown hair that formed into a pool of soft curls. Her features were petite. Her make-up looked like the brush work of a master painter. She wore a small floral summer dress with thin spaghetti straps underneath a long coat. She was propped up on a pair of sandals with thick blocky heels. Her long smooth legs were athletically lean.

I tried not to gawk and was failing spectacularly. Was she a neighbor? I'm sure I would have made a mental bookmark had I passed her in the hallway, and even if she was, what was she doing knocking on my door?

As I fumbled to find the right words to say, something seemed ... familiar about her, like I'd stumbled upon an old fr ...

"Ok, before you lose your mind," Dean said, his glossy painted lips curling up into a neat bow. "Hear me out first."

Chapter two

"The answer is still no," I said from behind the door I'd barricaded to the bathroom.

"Please be reasonable and at least hear me out," Dean said from the position he'd taken outside it.

"Be reasonable? Be reasonable! You've abandoned all reason. This idea is insane, absolutely bat shit crazy." I shouted from the toilet seat I'd refused to budge from for the past hour.

"Crazier than that prank we pulled in senior year?" he asked. "I'm pretty sure that's still an open case. As far as the local authorities are concerned, we're wanted felons."

I laughed. He wasn't wrong. We'd been quite the pair, inseparable, and always up to some form of mischief. I don't know what sparked his imagination, but there was always an angle, a roundabout way to turn the ordinary into the extraordinary. I'd been warned, by teachers, school administrators, and parents from both of our camps that he was a bad apple. Had I listened? No. Did I regret it?

... Did I regret it?

There was a knock at the door and I was jerked back into reality.

"Can we at least sit down and have a civilized conversation? These heels are starting to kill me."

I exhaled. I was deflated, tired. There was no fight left in me, and I had no escape plan.

"Fine," I said as I pried myself off the toilet. "But we're ordering in, and you're paying."

I opened the door and peered out.

I still hadn't performed the mental gymnastics to connect what I saw to what I heard. When I opened the door, I expected to see his cork screw smile and a devilish thought brewing behind his bright blue eyes.

What I actually saw scrambled my brains.

It was incredible, how had he pulled it off? He owned it, from the thin spaghetti straps down to the clunky heels. It was like he had taken an eraser, wiped his slate clean, and sketched a pin-up model in his place.

"Hasn't anyone told you it's rude to stare?" he said, smirking.

The blood rushed to my cheeks and I looked away. I pressed my body against the wall and snuck past him. He stood there and watched me, grinning like a stray cat. I sat down on the couch, pulled out my phone and hid behind it.

"How are you still hungry after lunch at the bear?" he asked as he joined me in the living room.

"Misery gives me an appetite," I said peeking above my phone.

He snorted, flopped down on the couch beside me and pulled his phone out from his purse.

... his purse. He even had a purse.

"Well, might I suggest something light and green. All that grease went straight to my hips."

He started to thumb through his phone, searching for a restaurant. As I sat there, I was aware of how dangerously close he was to breaching my orbit. Why did I care? Even under his clever spell, he was still the same oddball I'd known since high school. And yet ...

"Looks like someone set up shop in the ol' strip mall again. I'm surprised. I thought that place was a curse for restur ..." he turned to look over at me and caught me staring at him.

"Cat got your tongue?" he asked.

"You're up to something," I replied.

"Am I now, and what would that be?"

"I don't know, but my gut tells me you're scheming. All this ... this get up," I said waving my hand at him in broad strokes. "I find it hard to believe you just happened to have it lying around your hotel room."

He lowered his phone and smiled at me. By the devilish look in his eyes I could see he was already five moves ahead of me.

"And if it was, would that shock you?" he asked.

"Well no, of course not, it's just ..." I said as I pulled at the knots of my own poorly chosen words.

"Relax," he said, enjoying watching me squirm. "I'm just toying with you. Do you have any allergies I should know about? I didn't really come dressed to wait in an emergency room for several hours."

"No," I said softly. "Nothing lethal."

"Good, because I can't read a word of this. I'm going to let the fates decide," he said and placed the order.

I turned on the TV, eager to have the noise as a distraction. We sat there, the still moments between our awkward exchanges like a vacuum in space. I was struggling with something I'd never experienced before, an uneasiness that soured my entire mood. I was uncomfortable, guarded, like I was on a first da ...

"Foods here," he said cheerfully. "Do you have any clean plates or should we just pick at it like a murder of crows?"

"I'll see what I can dig up," I said, buzzed the driver in, and headed into the kitchen. I looked through the drawers. My options were limited. Most of what I owned was at the bottom of the sink like a drowned rat.

There was a loud knock at the door.

"I got it, " he said, leapt up and opened the door. I watched the entire exchange from behind an open cabinet. The delivery driver's expression popped when he saw Dean.

"Perfect timing," Dean giggled and took the order from him. Was he flirting? He closed the door and walked back into the living room.

"Rinse off a couple of forks, that should suffice," he said as he started to tear through the plastic bag.

I grabbed two forks from the cutlery drawer; neither matched, and joined him in the living room. He unpacked everything and spread it out over the coffee table.

"Dive in, there's enough here to feed a small army."

We ate, devouring the feast till we hit tin foil.

Full, I looked up through the living room window. As the sun was setting it cast a thin veil over the city, muting the prying eyes of the cramped office buildings. I turned back to look at Dean. His energy hadn't faded.

We sat back, rubbing our aching bellies and watched TV. He butchered an old horror movie we stumbled upon and had me on the floor laughing. When it wrapped we headed for the front door.

"You sure you don't want me to drive you back to the hotel?" I asked.

"Nah," he said as he slipped into his coat. "I'll call a cab. I'd walk, but I think these heels would grind my feet into a bloody pulp. Well ... anyway ..."

I wasn't expecting what happened next. Normally when we parted company, he'd draw his hand like a revolver and fire a few rounds into me point blank. But not tonight, tonight was different.