Summer of Love Read Online Free PDF Page B

go into design!”
    Arabella hoists herself up onto the kitchen counter and watches me try out the bar stools, the striped beach chairs, and the giant inflatable shark where I sit down, straddling Jaws like the thing’s a horse.
    “No — design’s just something I like. I’m still game for acting. And the golf — I still haven’t been.”
    “We should go. Not now, but we should drive over and…oh, shit.” I stand up, tipping Jaws on his side, and then go to the door.
    “What?” Arabella hopes down from the counter and follows me, checking her watch. “You’re not working until the night shift — four till whenever — whenever being whenever the hell you feel like it because Doug and Ula will be gone by then. Thankfully.”
    “No,” I say, frantically dashing down the stairs. “I’ve been double-parked this whole time. My car’s blocking part of the street — I was just going to run in and…”
    I get down to street level and find — of course — that my car and all of my belongings, everything — clothes, books, Mable’s package, my phone, and my wallet — are, too.
    “Oh dear,” Arabella says and frowns.
    “You say fuck like every two seconds — now my car’s been towed with all my earthly possessions in it and all you can come up with is oh dear ?”
    “Oh dear,” she says again, this time cracking up.
    “It’s not funny — what am I supposed to do?” I stand with my hands on my hips. Normally, I’d call my dad or Aunt Mable or just suddenly know what to do, but I don’t. “Okay — get me the phone book. And a phone.”
    Cut to a half an hour later when I’ve reached the non-emergency police number, been put through to the parking bureau, and told that since it’s Saturday past noon, I can’t retrieve my car until Monday.
    “But I don’t have any clean underwear!” I say to the parking person like she cares. “And my phone is in there. And my wallet.”
    All my complaining gets me nowhere so back up in our beachy bungalow. “I’m going to have to borrow your clothing,” I say. “I’ve been wearing this…” I pluck my grimy tee-shirt off my body and then let it go. “I am so gross right now. All I wanted to do was shower and get clean before getting gross again tonight. Now I’ll smell like stale beer, b.o., and espresso.”
    Arabella puts on her very English advertising voice. “A new perfume from Love Bukowski.” Then she thinks for second. “You know you’re welcome to anything you can find, but I have to say there’s not a chance in hell my jeans will fit you.”
    We stand next to each other and check the height difference for the thousandth time in our friendship. “Yep,” I say. “You’re still mammoth.”
    “Mammoth makes me sound fat.”
    “You’re not fat,” I say and poke her stomach.
    “I know that — it just sounds that way.”
    “Oh my god. Stop.” I sigh. “Fine you’re modelesque — better?” Arabella nods and I go back to my clothing conundrum. “So what do you suggest I do? Go shopping in the two hours I have before serving coffee for the night’s eternity?”
    Arabella suddenly smiles and winks. “No. Not at all. I don’t know why I’ve only just thought of this.”
    “What?”
    “Henry,” Arabella says. “You should phone Henry.”
    “Because….” I stretch the word out like it’s a full sentence.
    Arabella starts making us a frozen blended drink. “Because his dad owns half of this island. And before you go shaking your head all prim and proper, it would just be a favor.”
    “I don’t know,” I say.
    Arabella shrugs and glops some chocolate syrup on a mound of shaved ice. “What’s the big deal?”
    “The deal is…” I want to object, to explain that I don’t want to be that girl — the one who runs to a guy every time she needs help. I want to be able to build a bookcase, change my car’s oil, and get my car out of the lot after it’s been towed. But I also just want my car back and want to get