Disclaimer: Hey, guys, look! I'm making soup! Seth and El Ray are owned by Tarantino and Rodriguez. Sands is owned by Rodriguez. Blackheart is owned by Marvel Comics. Alex Tully is owned by Fox, although they don't seem to want him. I do own Xanny, Augusta and Marcos. And that's it.
8888888888888888888
Thirty One: Epilogue
Catalina island was a beautiful place. It was relatively quiet, except for the occasional tourist getting a bit out of hand. The locals were not terribly friendly to them, which had bothered Xanny a lot at first. But it was tedious, day after day of people who came only to leave again. It took Xanny awhile to establish herself, but soon the bartender, a rather skinny guy with a red flare in his close-cropped brown hair, at the place she had picked as her favorite, greeted her warmly, and the waitresses were extra careful to get her food to her hot and fast. She tipped well. It helped.
The island was everything she wanted. Isolated, but not cut off. In the morning, the mist rolled in and the sunshine had a deflected glow, giving everything a heavenly quality. At night, all the island lights were on, and the ocean spread out before them, a bowl of stars reflecting the sky.
She had done every single water sport that had been invented, most of them multiple times. Her favorite was parasailing – when you hung off the back of a motorboat strapped to a giant parachute. It billowed out in the wind and you floated, and it was so peaceful and beautiful.
But still, she was lonely.
Her evenings were occupied down in her favorite restaurant, most times, drinking and then walking home after turning down at least one or two offers for an escort home. She had never been harassed – Mickey, the bartender, usually gave most of the would-be suitors the evil eye and they scattered after she'd turned them down. She knew that he wanted to ask her out himself. But she didn't have the heart to endure that, so she made it clear that she was done with love.
And she was. Three strikes, she was out.
Seth, first strike. Obviously that was a doomed relationship, and he was happy with Augusta. She had gone to visit them at the rather large and ornate hacienda that Augusta had purchased. The American newspapers never ended the stink against the Baxton twins, and across the border she was mostly safe. The death of Marcos Ferarre hung in the air over them like a sewage cloud. They did their best not to care, but Augusta, who had been used to being loved, did not sit well with being slandered, and preferred never to look.
Xanny was different. She just didn't care. Marcos was strike two, and the strike that had nearly ended her. His death was an open wound inside her that was only now, six months later, beginning to close. It was strange, how she was so hung up on him now that he was gone. Would she have stuck with her choice to not to back to him, if he'd lived? She guessed it was just true that you only realize what you have once its gone.
And then there was Alex. She did not let herself think about Alex.
Sometimes, she woke up in the morning with a strange ache in her stomach, and she couldn't place its source. It was emotional, that much she knew, somehow manifesting itself in her body. Hormones, maybe, as was the curse of all her kind. It was entirely unpleasant, but it was definitely melancholy. And then, by some point in the middle of the day, Alex would cross her mind, and the ache would flare, and she realized her body was mourning, even though her conscious mind would not acknowledge it.
Maybe she was still holding out hope that one day she would see him again. She doubted it. She had been around the block many times, and she was no fool. Alex had come to her during a tumultuous time, and they had bonded, true enough. But it wasn't enough. Chaos and panic and danger were not things to build a relationship on.
But she missed him. She missed him so much.
Her sister was coming tomorrow. Xanny was excited, like a child awaiting a visit from her best friend. Augusta hadn't come in yet to see her digs, even though Xanny'd been here six months. They talked often, but it wasn't the same as seeing each other. Although there had been many, many nights when Xanny had come home to the empty condominium, and her loneliness had swelled out of her like blood from a wound, and she had had to pick up the phone and make that call, waking Augusta from a dead sleep. Augusta never complained. Xanny needed her, and it was enough.
Augusta was flying into the airport on the top of the island. That was where all the planes came in, and where the plane she herself owned was permanently parked, except on the rare occasion she ventured back to the mainland of California. Maybe in a few years, if she got tired of this place, she would go father West, to Hawaii. She heard it was lovely there, and she had always wanted to go, from as far back as she could remember. Taking flying lessons was one of the smartest, and most time-consuming things she had ever done. She had offered to come get Augusta herself, but Gus had refused, saying it was enough to come get her.
Everyone on Catalina Island drove golf carts. There were very few real cars on the island, except for the trolleys and busses that transported tourists every which way. Everyone's golf cart was personalized, like a real car. And the things were easy to maintain and ran on nearly nothing. Xanny did not like the idea of driving up to the island in her golf cart – the road was steep, and narrow, so she rented one of the few real automobiles on the island. She would hop over there on her golf cart in the morning, and take the Chevy – she was pretty sure it was a Chevy, and Gus would just die when she saw it, as used to expensive sports cars as she was – and trudge on up to get Augusta. And Seth. He was coming too, but Xanny did not mind. In a way, she missed Seth, too. In a way. And he was making Augusta very happy, when Xanny hadn't ever expected them to stay together this long.
Xanny sat at the bar, waiting. Mickey was making her a mint julep, a drink she had recently taken a liking to, and the crowd was drifting aimlessly by outside. Shops were starting to close, and the island lights were glowing brighter, and people were turning to the restaurants and bars for entertainment. Some of them were closing as well, as many things did on the island after nine o'clock. Soon her restaurant would be crowded and noisy, no more or less than she liked. But this morning she had woken up with that pang in her stomach again, and she was considering going home early and going to bed.
Mickey came over to her and put her drink on the bar, on top of the coaster that she always used, that had a cheerful cartoon picture of the beach and the words "Catalina Island" written in large red letters at the bottom. "So it is a five drink night?" he asked her, leaning against the bar, closer to her and away from the building crowd.
"Hope not," she said, removing the fruit he always shoved on the top, and taking a heavy sip from the straw. Lemon and mint assailed her taste buds. Damn, but Mickey could make a very good drink.
"You know, I went parasailing, the other day," he said, folding his arms and leaning down, so that his face was nearly level with hers. "It was amazing. I didn't think something that tame could be that cool."
"Tame?" she chuckled. "It was bumpy getting up there, you have to admit."
"Yeah, but it's not like you're gonna fall out," he scoffed. "Now, surfing. That's a rush."
She shook her head. That was the one sport she wasn't interested in. The thought of standing on a board in the middle of a crashing wave, with rocks not too far away and the potential of the board coming out from under her feet to crash on her head – that did not appeal. Anything else but that, please. "Sorry, Mick, not going to happen."
He gave her a half-smile. He was very good looking, and also very young. She guessed he had to be early twenties, if not just over the twenty-one limit. He was skinny – wiry, to be precise, and it was the term he preferred. She imagined he'd be good in bed. More than once, she had considered just taking him home, but knew it wouldn't go anywhere. It wouldn't be fair to him – not to mention, just plain wrong.
He got the message, on both levels. He gave her a little nod, saw the waitress at the other end waving a drink order between two fingers, and moved off, giving her the usual instruction to call him if she needed anything else.
It was too bad, really. Under different circumstances, she would be completely flattered by attention from someone like Mickey. But right now…it was like a throbbing, somewhere in the middle of her body. It gave continuous starts and shudders at the thought of being romantic with someone, kissing them, walking with them along the beach and talking the usual nonsense that lovers talked about.
She finished her mint julep, left a ten, and slipped out of the bar. She didn't want to drink too much – she drank too much already. She never got more than tipsy, and even when she felt the comforting buzz coming on, she called off her own limit. She stepped outside, which was pretty quiet by now, as everyone was inside, only a few strays wandering here and there, couples, tourists, and a single ice-cream stand that was fifteen minutes away from closing.
She wandered in and ordered a scoop of butter pecan. It was homemade, and wonderful. The night was cool, but she went and sat on the moist beach anyway, watching the sailboats and the flickering of the lighthouse. The casino down the road was active tonight – not a gambling house, but an old fashioned casino, which meant it was used as a multi-purpose entertainment house, sporting dances and parties, private and public, and all the movies shown on Catalina Island were always screened there. There was a wedding going on – she had caught a glimpse of the bride and groom going by a few hours ago, on a white golf card with cans strung behind it, honking the horn and displaying the "Just Married" banner. She knew the family, but not well – Xanny was money, and everyone knew her somehow, from somewhere. She considered going down there, seeing if the party had gone on long enough for a straggler in a pair of jeans to slip in unnoticed. She discarded the idea quickly.
Getting up, she dusted herself off and decided to just honor her first urging and go back home. As she passed by her bar, Mickey came out to lean in the doorframe, calling to her. Worried she had forgotten something, she went back, arching an eyebrow in inquisition.
"Someone was looking for you," Mickey said. "I didn't recognize him, he wasn't a local. A tourist, had to be."
Her curiosity was piqued. "What did he look like?"
"Tall guy, broad, big—" Mickey made a outward curving motion with both arms together to indicate girth. It was funny – Mickey's wiry frame couldn't begin to compete with Alex's…with Alex's….
"—brown hair, kind of moppy. Asked if I knew a woman named Xanny. I said I knew a lot of women, I didn't know who this guy was from Adam, but he mentioned I'd recognize you in a second, with your blue hair. Said he knew you from a place called El Ray, and that he was looking for you."
Her heart started to pound. She was sure Mickey could hear it. "Did he say what is name was?" It could be Seth. He and Augusta could have miscalculated and wound up on Catalina a day early, and he was big, broad shouldered, and maybe he'd let his hair grow out…although she'd seen Seth with his hair grown out and she would never have described it as moppy.
"Funny. It was Alex. Alex and Alexandra. I know you don't like to be called that but you have to admit, it's kind of funny. You know this guy?"
"Yeah, I know him." How could she sound so calm? She could barely breathe at this moment. Had she left the bar two minutes before Alex had come in, looking for her? How could she have missed him like that? Was God in a cruel mood today or something? "Did you see where he went?"
"Up the street, I guess, I mean, he went that way." Mickey pointed. "I didn't see you slip out, and I wasn't sure, I mean…well, you know—"
"Yeah, it's okay, Mickey, it's fine. I know him. If you see him again, can you, can you just—" She was turning on her heel, she didn't know what the hell she was going to do, run around the island like a crazy woman, get herself arrested for disturbing the peace? The Catalina cops didn't like troublemakers, not at all, no matter how much money she had. "Can you find out where he's staying, anything, so I can track him down?"
Mickey was frowning at her. "Yeah, sure, Xanny, no problem." He seemed crestfallen, but willing to help. "You want me to give him your address?"
"That'd be fine." She was anxious to get away now, and waving goodbye quickly, she headed up the winding street until she was in her little driveway. She hopped into her golf cart, which she had decorated with Harley Davidson decals, her throw-back to her days as a biker, and started it up. Her hands were shaking, she could barely steer herself properly.
Trying hard not to go too fast, she started to drive around the island, first hitting the main part, where no doubt Alex was still going in and out, looking for her. He had come in to talk to Mickey, hadn't he? So he had to be looking elsewhere, too.
Three turns told her that he wasn't anywhere she could see. She stuck her head inside several places, and had a heart attack every time someone called her name, thinking it was him. Then she swung out, thinking maybe he had spotted her down by the beach, and was looking there. But still nothing.
It had to have taken an hour to scour the immediate town. Xanny was heartbroken. Alex had come and she wasn't there – instead she'd been stuffing her face with ice cream and feeling sorry for herself. She blamed herself, and then argued against it, as it couldn't be her fault, she couldn't have known, she wasn't psychic.
Finally, she pulled back where she had started, and parked her golf cart. She kicked at its wheels, frustrated and depressed, and turned to head back into the bar. She was going to go back in and get drunk. She was going to get raging drunk, and pass out, and maybe that would calm her frantic nerves—
She walked right into someone. Face into their chest, she put her arms out, grasping at forearms to push herself back. It was a man, that much she had been able to sense, and for a second she felt a flare of fear – it was a large man, and she was out of fighting practice, and it was rather quiet where she was right now—
"Xanny?" came Alex's voice, and Xanny had to step to the side so that a streetlight could cross his face. She stared up at him, momentarily paralyzed. Her jaw was hanging open.
Finally, coming to herself, she blinked and said, "Alex?"
"Yeah," he replied, pushing down the hood of the sweatshirt he was wearing. His moppy hair fluttered in the sea breeze. "How…uh…how are you?"
"How do you think I am?" she asked, not realizing what she was saying. The words were a bit harsh-sounding, although she hadn't meant them that way – she didn't know how she was doing, she couldn't think past the frozen joy in her head that Alex was here, he was in front of her, and that awful pang was dissolving back into the ether from whence it came.
He pulled back a bit, his chin dipping down. "Well, uh… I was looking for you. Your sister told me you were here."
"My…my sister? You spoke to Gus? When?"
"Few days ago," Alex said. "She gave me this number." She heard the crinkle of paper in his pocket, where his hand was stuffed. "Told me to call it when I'd come to my senses. I don't know…I haven't been able to stop thinking about you, not once in all these months, and I don't know what I was thinking… coming here. I guess I just wanted to see if you…if you'd been thinking about me, too." He looked up, his large blue eyes hopeful. "I guess all this sounded a lot better in my head, but it's hard to think, standing here, looking at you."
She let out a sound that was meant to be a laugh. It was hard for him? She couldn't think at all, not at all, standing here staring at him. And then, as if something inside her had taken control, she stepped forward, and put her arms around his shoulders, and pulled him to her, wrapping her arms around his neck, almost hard enough to strangle him.
At first, in his shock, he did not reciprocate. And then, he grasped her arms, pulling them away from his windpipe, and she opened her mouth to apologize, but he was kissing her, his hands on either side of her face, and she was suddenly laughing and crying and kissing him back.
After a long time, he looked down at her, smiling. "I take it you're happy to see me?"
She could only nod. The lump of happiness in her throat prevented her from speaking.
"I'm sorry…that I took so long," he said, his eyes large and remorseful.
"Don't care anymore," she said, snuggling her arms underneath his, wrapping herself in his warmth. "You're here now."
"I am," he agreed, holding her tightly. "Do you want me to stay?"
"Only forever," she sighed against him. After a contented pause, she added, "And remind me to kill my sister."
"Kill her?" Alex chuckled and it vibrated against her. "Why do you want to do that?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, did I say kill? I meant kiss. Or both. Probably both."
Alex laughed again, tangling his fingers deep into her hair. "I'm glad it's still blue," he said. "I was counting on it to help me find you."
"Oh yeah, it'll be blue. As long as there is hair on my head, it'll be blue."
"Really? Because I was wondering what you'd look like in purple."
She gave him a dirty look. "Funny. You're a really funny guy." But she held tightly to him, not even wanting room to breathe. She only wanted to breathe him, to smell him and touch him and taste him, until she died.
"I have my moments," he said, still stroking her hair, and then her back. "I'm in love with you, Xanny," he said. "I don't know what that means anymore, but…I want to find out. I want to find out with you."
She was going to start crying again, and she snuffled against his chest. "I love you too, Alex. And I want to be worth it to you."
"Oh, God," he breathed, pulling her closer, it if were possible. "God, Xanny… you're worth it. You're worth so much more than you know."
And it dissolved, until they were two more lovers on the beach, talking sweet nothing and speaking a language only lovers understand. The next morning, he went up with her to the "Airport In The Sky," as it was known, and Augusta and Seth saw them together, and Gus only smiled knowingly at her twin, who did threaten to kill her several times over the next couple of weeks. Seth echoed the sentiment, having been left out of the loop and not appreciating it.
So the four of them were reunited, calm and happy and content, and Augusta announced that she and Seth were engaged, and Xanny smiled and hugged her sister, although her earlier concerns were not abated.
"What, you think he's going to run off and start robbing banks again?" Alex asked her one morning, as they sat in the public square, when the bakeries and eateries were just opening for breakfast, and the shore around them had that heavenly quality she loved so much.
She shrugged. "I'm more worried he might try and take her with him, but yeah," she said with a sigh. She munched at her croissant and sipped her coffee.
Alex held her hand in his, fingers entwined in hers. "Well…I wouldn't worry about it. If they're really interested in thrills, I know of this top secret, illegal cross-country road race they can enter."
Xanny laughed and almost choked on her coffee. "Oh, shut up," she admonished him. "Just shut up!"
He was smiling at her, that broad, toothy smile that she loved more than the ethereal glow of the beach and the blue of the sky put together. "So what do you do around here for thrills, anyway?" he said, glancing around at the big blue ocean.
"Ever tried parasailing?" she asked.
End