Text from Colby: I haven’t talked to you since Saturday night. It’s Tuesday afternoon. Is this assignment keeping you away fromThe Bachelor? I CANNOT believe I didn’t hear from you last night! Call me. LYMIB.
Colby was part of the culture that was obsessed withThe Bachelor. He became more invested with each season and even made a hobby out of befriending hopeful contestants who would descend on the Upper West Side for auditions several times a year. Throngs of women, in all shapes and sizes, from all corners of the country, would quite literally campout, rain or shine, on the sidewalks surrounding the ABC headquarters in full makeup, high heels, and risqué clothing with remarkable, almost admirable, confidence they would catch the eye of casting producers, who would catapult them to Hollywood fame.
Kenny rolled her eyes at the text. In her reality, there was only one bachelor she was consumed with. She reluctantly dialed Colby.
“Oh.My.God. Can you believe he did that to her? My heart stopped. It literally stopped. Can you imagine what those producers thought? How did the crews not drop the cameras and mics out of utter shock!” Colby dramatized upon answering the phone.
“For the millionth time, I haven’t watchedThe Bacheloror any of its spinoffs since season one. And reality TV is about as real as the boobs of all those contestants,” Kenny said, deadpan.
“You’re just jealous. Did you know that Brazilian butt implants are on the rise, too?” Colby needled. “In other news, how’s that golfing kayaker? I googled ‘hot golfers’ and stumbled across a very eye-pleasing article inGolf Digest.I was impressed. It wasn’t a bunch of beer-bellied men wearing visors, saddle shoes and Geoffrey Beene polo shorts from 1980. You might be onto something!”
“There is something seriously wrong with you. I haven’t seen him the last few days, which is for the better. He’d probably just become an unnecessary distraction,” Kenny lied.
The truth was J.P. had already become a distraction.
While Kenny was out on her run along Greenwood Drive, she realized she had seen J.P. four out of five days the previous week but not once in the three days following their kayaking trip. She could not help but wonder if the island’s most eligible bachelor was actively avoiding her. She also pondered if today was the day that J.P. would be roped into drinks with the gaggle of Wine after Nine girls. Much to her chagrin, Kenny assumed they would be a fun bunch, especially after their touted liquid lunch. It was conceivable that a round of group drinks could lead to a second, more intimate drink with him and just one of the ladies in the group; that would inevitably escalate to dinner, dating, and happily ever after.
“When you do ‘bump’ into him again, or whatever serendipitous encounters the two of you have been having, don’t run in the opposite direction. You sounded happy on Saturday, and happy Kenny is my favorite Kenny,” Colby said sincerely.
“I was happy,” Kenny said with smile.
“Since I can’t ask you about the new book project, what else is going on down there? Is the assignment moving as scheduled?”
“Everything is going well, moving in the right direction. But I gotta run. I have something at a lighthouse tonight,” she abruptly said, thinking back to her mental to-do list from Sunday. “I’ll send you pictures of the sunset.”
She was both looking for an excuse to get off the phone and give herself something to look forward to. She knew nothing productive could come of sitting alone for the rest of the day planning J.P.’s wedding to a woman he likely hadn’t even met, yet.
“Pictures of the sunset from the top of a lighthouse? Maybe youareturning into a romantic. Love you, mean it, bi-yee!” Colby chimed before hanging up.
Thirty-Three
J.P. took one last look around the second-floor deck, kitchen, and guest bedroom with the attached bathroom of Marlin Manor and locked all the doors behind him. He put his golf bag, garment bag and duffel in the back of his red Wrangler and Cliff hopped up and into the passenger seat.
“Everything is how we found it. Right, Boy?” J.P. said as he slid down his Ray Bans from the top of his head to his face.
Cliff sat on his hind legs and stared squarely at J.P.
“Good, I thought so, too.” He threw the car in reverse, pulling out of the two-car guest garage where Mr. Cunningham kept many of his water toys.
“Maybe I should’ve asked Kenny for her number.” J.P.’s eyes caught a glimpse of the kayak racks right before the door closed them out of sight. “The Old Man is right. Grabbing dinner with her doesn’t have to be a big deal. People share meals all the time.”
Cliff barked as they pulled down the driveway. J.P. interpreted this timely reaction as Cliff agreeing. Deep down he knew the dog was responding to nothing more than the squirrels scurrying up and down the trees that he wanted to jump out of the moving vehicle to chase.
“What do you say we stop at Harbour Town?” J.P. drove down North Sea Pines Drive and turned on his blinker to indicate he was going to make a right-hand turn on Lighthouse Road. “My legs are too sore for a run tonight, but I’m too stiff to sit around at home and watch TV.”
It wasn’t often that J.P. opted to drive the Wrangler rather than ride his bike around the plantation and was struck by how different the views were from behind four wheels instead of on top of two. J.P. realized that he was like a character in a scene of a play when he was peddling around on a bicycle. When he drove a vehicle, it was like he was a spectator observing the scene. The island seemed busier from this vantage point; the trails that ran parallel to the roads seemed more congested, the parking lots seemed fuller, and the tennis courts all looked occupied. The shrubbery seemed more abundant, and the ponds appeared smaller.
J.P. did two loops around the parking lot before he pulled the old Jeep into the overflow area near the Harbour Town Bakery and Café. He hadn’t realized it was so close to dinnertime and, judging by the parking areas, assumed wait times at The Quarterdeck and The Crazy Crab were peak summer tourist kind of long. J.P. hooked Cliff’s leash to his collar and the two walked toward the red brick walkway that lined the perimeter of the famous yacht basin.
J.P. and Cliff walked past the playground, where strollers and bikes with training wheels lined the short wooden fence that kept rambunctious children at bay. Inside of the fortress, older children climbed trees, and younger children were pushed on swings by the parent who drew the short straw that day. The other parent was undoubtedly sipping a cocktail while waiting for the family’s name to be called by a maître d’, indicating their dinner reservation was ready.
J.P. and Cliff continued down the strip of covered walkway that was home to a toy store, women’s luxury pajama store and antique store. The two reached a small deck that was outfitted with the iconic red, wooden rocking chairs that were symbolic of Harbour Town and abundant around the waterfront community.
J.P. took a seat, and Cliff calmly laid down next to him, seemingly oblivious to the activity around him, his gaze fixed toward the water. Subconsciously and slowly, he pumped his feet back and forth, from toes to heels, and back again. It was a sight, an experience, he couldn’t get enough of. Growing up, he anxiously paced this deck waiting for Gregg Rusell, the infamous child entertainer who had as much acclaim and notoriety among his young audiences’ parents and grandparents as the kids who flocked his stage, to begin his nightly set under the stars and majestic Liberty Oak Tree.
In his teen years, he’d sit on this deck with a Coke while his dad enjoyed a cold beer and the two would make small talk with the other men and their sons who had lost their daughters, wives, and wallets to the boutiques. As an adult, J.P. sat on this deck for hours listening to the live music from the acoustic guitarist singing his best James Taylor at the Harbourside café and admire the yachts and sailboats parked in the basin against the backdrop of the Harbour Town Golf Links course and distinctive red and white peppermint striped lighthouse.
The blue sky gave way to hues of pinks, purples, oranges, and yellows. The combination of the varied palettes and the glare that reflected off the water turned the white cumulus and stratus clouds to puffs of aqua and magenta. Harbour Town was one of the most coveted spots on the island to see a sunset and observers were always guaranteed a spectacular light show. But J.P. could feel that the marina was in for a real treat tonight.
