CARLOS & KATRINA

A Novel by Charles Adrian Trevino
Copyright 2006, 2018
________________________________________________

Chapter 25

Annette Lahainia looked at Katrina in amusement, her eyebrows raised, as the room erupted into laughter.

"Would you like to step outside for a while and see my fledgling little garden, Katrina?" Annette asked, with a pleasant smile.

"Oh that would be nice, Annette! What sort of plants are you growing? Are they native Kanalian?" The two young women rose from their chairs and walked out of the living room towards the double doors that led to the Lahainia's shady little patio, chatting amiably.

Carlos looked up for a moment as the women left the room, then turned his attention back to his two friends Troy and Liko Boy Lahainia. The merry trio were sitting in comfortable easy chairs in Liko's living room, laughing at something which they found extremely humorous.

Carlos was very thankful that he and Katrina, having both gotten a much-needed break from their busy schedules, had been free to join his long-time surfing buddy Troy Winters on one of his quick trips to the Kanala Islands before Carlos' band embarked on its upcoming tour and Katrina began work on another film project. They had been picked up that morning at the airport by their friends, the world famous surfer Liko Boy and his wife Annette, who had invited them to stay at their cozy little abode which was only a stone's throw from the seashore. Upon arriving at the Lahainia's small but very comfortable beach house they had all sat down for a delicious meal prepared by Annette, then repaired to the living room to talk for a while. Troy had brought along a new surfing magazine called Waverider that he had picked up at the airport; an article in the magazine which he was reading out loud was the cause of all the raucous merriment.

It seemed that three professional surfers named Ian Pyre, Kenny Badshank and Shawn Dorman had just started a surfing group for the purpose of promoting their newly formed company, which they had self-denotingly named The Bronzed Beasts. The purpose of this new company was somewhat vague; apparently they initially intended to try to make big money off of endorsements to clothing companies and other surfing-related entities, then see what other lucrative opportunities their agent could find for them. The extremely popular Waverider Magazine was playing up their new venture to an extreme extent, as the Bronzed Beasts were in tight with its editor Kempton Hawke, an embarrassingly inept surfer but close friend who incessantly glorified them and their ilk in the pages of his multi-million dollar publication. This controlled aggrandizement of questionable idols was good for business, serving to boost the morale of Waverider's millions of paying mainland readers who didn't necessarily want to worship Kanala surf gods.

Liko Boy and Carlos exchanged mock grimaces as Troy continued reading from his magazine. Liko Boy thought of Ian Pyre as a mediocre talent who possessed little in the way of natural ability; he had won a few big wave contests at the beginning of his career by virtue of his ability to physically withstand the excrutiating punishment so often dealt out by the large, awesomely vicious Kanala winter waves. This was because Pyre was a thick, strongly-built bull of a fellow who seemed to relish such abuse, or at least did in his formative years; but after a couple of early contest successes Pyre had faded from the competitive scene, due to his continually being trounced by upstarts like Liko Boy who excelled in all sizes of surf ranging from tiny to monstrous. Pyre had been instrumental in denying Liko Boy an almost certain world championship when he had competed on the surfing circuit, by starting his own contest circuit with the financial assistance of Great Ocean, the very profitable clothing company that had previously exploited Liko Boy's image to sell millions of garments, then abruptly fired him following a Waverider Magazine article by Kempton Hawke that "exposed" Liko Boy's occasional use of cocaine. Consequently Liko Boy wasn't too fond of Pyre, Hawke, or Great Ocean.

Neither did Liko think too highly of Ian's partner Kenny Badshank, another professional who possessed a little more talent than Pyre, but was still a mediocrity compared to the top competitors. In spite of this discrepancy, Hawke had managed to build Badshank up into a legendary Kanala figure in the pages of Waverider Magazine by running a never-ending series of articles and pictures of him surfing Wailea Bay, Kanala's most famous big wave break. Many of the island's top surfers, including Liko, had been greatly offended by Waverider's spurious representation of Badshank as the best big wave surfer in the world. But what was far worse was Hawke's glorification of Ken's bullying behavior, such as issuing challenges to the other surfers who rode Wailea Bay; the large, formidable Badshank was known to yell at everyone around him to paddle in to the beach. He also frequently dropped in on surfers of far superior ability and experience, defying anyone to complain about it. Badshank obviously believed that fighting ability was more important than surfing ability in establishing a hierarchical order, and that the best surfers should defer to the biggest, baddest scrappers and get out of their way.

"Things have really gone to hell over here in the last fifteen years," Liko Boy said to Carlos, as he refilled his glass with native Kanala fruit juice. "Every good spot on the north coast has been exposed and hyped beyond belief by movies and magazines, and now you can't even get uncrowded waves in the morning! And those magazine staff photographers who only shoot their appointed subjects really piss me off too. It's bad enough the magazines won't run pictures of the best Kanala surfers, but now they're trying to make surf-heroes out of the kooks that take the pictures! What's that all about?"

Carlos laughed as he raised his glass to his lips. He loved to hear about island life from Liko's perspective; the Kanala native was very amusing, sarcastic but not too mean, all things considered. It was pretty obvious who Liko Boy's "kooks" that took the pictures were: Waverider's main staff photographer/journalists Leonard Baker and Bernie Brady, a pair of uppity Usher transplants from Westview who had endeared themselves unto the natives by teaching them a thing or two about how to live right. In classic Usher style, the two shutterbugs regularly set fine examples for the mostly lower-income locals with their enviable antics, which included blasting around the sleepy little coastal towns in brand new, intimidatingly expensive sportscars while ostentatiously throwing money around in an impressively swanky manner. These two yappers could reliably be found at any of the upscale new restaurants or nightclubs that were popping up everywhere along the formerly beautiful and peacefully serene countryside, holding forth on lofty subjects such as who the best big-wave riders in the world were. By renting houses at prime surfing spots on the world-famous mecca known as the north coast and letting all the top surfers hang out and hold meetings at their pads, they deceptively increased their credibility among the surfing establishment; but what bugged Liko Boy most of all was the fact that like their boss Hawke, they were in the annoying habit of using Waverider Magazine as a vehicle to falsely elevate their quite ordinary surfing abilities, often depicting themselves in their articles as experts on a par with the best professionals in the world, who were their "close" buddies.

"Absolutely hilarious... the thing I'm wondering is, if they surf so good, how come you never see them in the mags? You'd think with all those cameras and film they get for free, they would've gotten some hot pictures of themselves by now..." said Troy, a sardonic smirk twisting his features.

"Aw, come on Troy... a lot of good surfers never get their pictures in the magazines! Like Carlos here..." Liko Boy reached over and thumped Carlos on the shoulder. Carlos beamed proudly, instantly feeling better about his status; after all, Liko was one of the best surfers in the world.

Troy continued chortling to himself as he leafed through his copy of Waverider. "I guess old Bernie and Leonard are just such damn hot surfers that the magazine is quite simply afraid to run any pictures of them, cause they'd make the pros look bad, right? That must be it. Hey, look at this chick, she's got a beaver tattoo right on her..."

"Ssssshhh, cool it Troy!" Liko Boy interrupted. "My wife's right outside! Look you guys, we'd better go out and check the surf... the swell's building a little bit, changing direction and sneaking into my beach. It'll probably be ridable right out front pretty soon..." Liko Boy craned his neck to look out his front window at the ocean.

"Yeah, I could use a good session right about now!" Carlos grinned, stretching in his chair. "Haven't surfed in weeks, and I really want to try out my new board."

"That's two against one, Troy... now you have to go surfing with me and Carlos! Get up, deadbeat!" Liko jumped up from his chair and advanced threateningly on Troy, who also sprang up and went into a fighting stance. The two adversaries began to growl threats at one another as they faced off with clenched fists.

Laughing, Carlos arose from his comfortable chair and turned to look out Liko Boy's large front window, and was instantly mesmerized by the sight of a beautiful eight-foot wave peaking up on the beach right in front of the house, breaking very fast but still perfectly shaped for surfing. Spellbound, he watched the wave as it charged in to the beach like a freight train, finally dissipating onto the sand. He spun around to alert his two sparring friends. "Hey you guys, it's ridable right now!" Carlos gushed excitedly.

Troy and Liko Boy continued their mock confrontation, dancing around the room throwing fake punches while threatening each other in exaggeratedly angry tones.

"You guys, it's not just ridable... it's perfect! C'mon, let's get out there!" Carlos felt a familiar anxiety building, the same feeling he always got when he saw good waves breaking right in front of him. It was a fear that he wouldn't be able to paddle out there fast enough to get a wave to himself before a vying crowd of surfers appeared, or the wind switched to a bad direction and ruined it all, or the waves simply stopped coming in and the swell disappeared... anything could happen! And Carlos never took good waves for granted; he rarely got really good waves on the mainland, as he was always being called away by school, work or other responsibilities. And then there was also the dismal fact that the mainland waves didn't get good that often; when they did it was a heartbreaking thing to have to miss them, as he always seemed to do. With his circumstances being what they were, Carlos was not one to pass up a chance to surf excellent waves.

Liko Boy glanced out the front window, but didn't react. "Don't worry, Carlos... it's going to get much better. Needs a little higher tide, that's all... waves are breaking a bit too fast for comfort right now." Liko laughed as he watched the surf. "I'm feeling lazy today! Not in a mood to hustle-bustle... give it another half-hour or so, then we'll have some slower hot-dog surf with a good wind. I tell ya, the waves get really fun right out front here, that's why I rented this house! Sometimes you just don't feel like driving, you know?" Liko spun around again to throw another quick punch at Troy, who immediately went back into defensive mode, growling his ornery intentions.

"But I love fast waves! These waves look absolutely perfect to me! You guys, I don't see waves this good that often. I'm going out right now..." Carlos turned back to look out the window again, only to see another "too fast" wave peeling off perfectly in both directions. "I can't take it any more," Carlos said, assertively. "I gotta' go out right now! You two characters are spoiled rotten... especially you, Liko Boy..."

Liko Boy whirled around to face Carlos again, a big grin spreading across his face. "That's the spirit, Carlos! You got the right stuff there boy, and that proves it... we shouldn't let even one good wave go to waste! Ha ha, where's my wax... c'mon Troy, move it already! We're going surfing with Carlos right now..." Liko picked up a beach towel from a chair, quickly twisted it into a whip and began snapping it inches away from Troy's legs, as Troy attempted to deflect the stinging attacks using his rolled up magazine.

"Ok guys, what's going on here?" Suddenly Annette and Katrina were back in the room, holding some plant cuttings.

Troy spun around to face the girls, going into his gentleman-buffoon persona. "Oh girls, um, it appears that poor Carlos here, who doesn't get that many good waves and needs some practice, is insisting that we all move the party to the beach, where the gentlemen will partake in vigorous and healthy aquatic activities, while the ladies lay out on the sand in their pretty little swimsuits, taking in the mid-morning sun, giving not a thought of course to the hordes of tourist men gawking at them, as they innocently sun themselves in those pretty, non-erotic little swimsuits..."

"I think what Troy's trying to say is, we're about to go surfing out front, ladies... if you would care to join us," said Liko Boy.

Katrina looked at Carlos, pointing her finger. "Oh, so he's behind all this!" she said, smiling reproachfully. "Surfing surfing surfing! Always surfing!"

Carlos hung his head in shame. "It's just that I hardly ever get any waves," he whimpered. But Carlos was feeling something really fine, something new to him; the feeling of finally having found something that could compete with his obsessive imperative to go surfing, something equally gratifying ... just socializing with people, spending precious time with people that he had come to love. With the unusual turns his life had taken, Carlos had never been one for socializing very much, choosing to spend his limited free time in often solitary pursuits. He had had his reasons for doing this, but things were changing for him; he was branching out and taking more chances now. He was trusting people more, and was feeling freer and happier for it.

Nevertheless, it was another half-hour before Carlos was able to separate himself from all the love and paddle out to surf Liko's break. By that time his anxiety was running dangerously high, but the waves had not gotten any worse; in fact the offshore wind was getting stronger. Carlos had forgotten that this side of the island was blessed with offshore tradewinds, which made for perfect surfing conditions since they held the faces of the waves up and brushed them smooth. And Liko was right; the waves were faster than they looked from the house, but some of them were still makable if he didn't try any cutbacks or other speed-reducing maneuvers. The best strategy was just to take off, bottom turn and burn it on down the line, trying to beat the speeding curl.

On the beach, Katrina sat up watching the boys surf as Annette lay back sunning herself and chatting, apparently uninterested in the proceedings. Katrina saw right away why Liko Boy was still considered one of the world's best surfers; while Troy and Carlos would drop into a wave and race along in a straight line, Liko would climb and drop up and down the face as he outran the wave with apparent ease. But as more time passed, the fast hard-breaking waves seemed to slow down a bit, allowing the surfers to do more turns and maneuvers, revealing their differing approaches.

Katrina began to watch Carlos more closely; there was something different about his style that was joyful to watch, something she couldn't quite put her finger on at first; then after a while she began to understand what it was. While Liko Boy lacerated his waves with surgical precision, and Troy methodically slashed as many hard turns as he could fit in, Carlos appeared to be relating to the wave somehow more intimately, reading its movements and meshing with it as it gracefully unwound, dancing dynamically and harmoniously with it until it had run its course and collapsed in the shallows. He seemed to be having noticeably more fun than the other two; watching him made her want to go out there and join him, and for a moment she remembered Carlos' pledge to teach her to surf, the promise that she had extracted from him not too long ago. Katrina smiled, resolving to make him keep his promise -- just as soon as they both could find the time.

As the day wore pleasantly on, all the pressures of Katrina's recent past dissolved away. She felt a blissful sense of peace and tranquility just relaxing and unwinding with her new friends, securely ensconced in her exciting new career, and with Carlos there now at her side giving her love, support and strength. Under the beauty of a clear blue tropical sky, Katrina was starting to feel truly content and happy, happier than she could remember feeling in a long time. It seemed that everything was finally coming together for her and Carlos, and a bright future was beckoning.

She had completely forgotten about the unpleasant business she had recently instigated, the dirty little matter of Jacob Rosenberg, and the lesson she was about to deal out to him.

**************

Jacob stalked out of his front door with his head down, in an extremely irritable mood. He had been constantly angry for days now, ever since his idiot-goon Lukelew the federal agent had tricked him into watching a video that had shattered his sense of well-being... perhaps irrevocably. Lukelew had even tricked him into paying a thousand dollars for the pleasure; for that, Jacob would make him pay ten-fold. But right now he had more important things on his mind, things that were demanding his attention. Pausing by his car, he looked upwards at the cloud-strewn afternoon sky, scowling.

After a few moments Jacob looked down again at his shining new car, feeling nothing. The elegant, luxurious mansion he had just walked out of gave him no pleasure either. In fact, none of the old stand-by remedies he used to rely on to cure his melancholy moods worked anymore, and Jacob was truly beginning to feel scared. He had never had much time to feel depressed, not with the many pleasurable diversions and options that were always available to him; but now all those things were failing him, and his mood was plummeting dangerously again. And he just couldn't stop torturing himself by thinking about his recent humiliation at the hands of Lukelew, that lowly worm of a man.

Lukelew had gotten him out of bed in the middle of the night, promising him the best Carlos Fontana video he would ever see. Accordingly, Jacob had jumped in his car and raced over to Lukelew's house to view what he thought was going to be the movie that would shut Fontana down permanently, completely destroying whatever name he still had left; this time he finally had that Mayinkan scoundrel by the balls... or so he had thought. But after sitting down to devour what he assumed was going to be prime footage, he had been shocked to see Carlos and Katrina appear on the screen, in Katrina's bedroom, sitting closely together on her bed as she sang and played her guitar for him.

He should have gotten up, reamed Lukelew out but good and walked out, but he hadn't. Like a damned fool, he had just sat there like a zombie in Lukelew's easy chair, unable to take his eyes off the screen as events went from bad to intolerably miserable. In commendably skillful surveillance-expert fashion, Lukelew had captured private, erotic, in-the-dark action and rendered it painfully visibile to Jacob's unbelieving eyes; hours of in-the-dark theatrics being performed by two shameless, passionately inflamed exhibitionists who surely knew by now that they were constantly being watched, yet still allowed themselves to abandon all inhibition as they pursued their debased sordid pleasure, knowing fully well that they were crossing forbidden social lines, tearing down class barriers that were there for a reason... it was almost more than Jacob could bear. Yet something had made him continue to sit and watch his now thoroughly tarnished idol doing everything in the book with that loathesome creature Fontana, while jerk-rat Lukelew whistled, smacked his lips and grunted like a pig, making lewd comments throughout the entire movie.

After the video ended, Jacob had completely forgotten where he was; he had just sat there looking at the blank screen in a state of shock, causing Lukelew to break out in a fit of uncontrollable laughter. The disgusting ape had then patted him on the shoulder, bringing Jacob slowly back to reality; putting his hand around Jacob's arm, he had pulled him up to a standing position and half-escorted, half-pushed him to the front door, explaining that his services were no longer going to be available and that Jacob shouldn't contact him anymore, as he was getting out of the business of supplying rich, sick peeping toms with fodder for their character-assassination campaigns. As the door closed shut behind him, Jacob had heard Lukelew's jerk-idiot laughter reverberating in his ears one last time; finally coming back to his senses, he had sworn bloody revenge on the lowly creep.

But right now he had more pressing matters to deal with; his father had just called him from the hospital. A recent, routine medical check-up had brought up some troublesome results; the doctor had ordered his dad to go in for further testing, and he was still at the hospital. He hadn't yet told Jacob exactly what was wrong, just that it was something uncommon; something bad was surely brewing. Jacob had enough on his mind already without having to deal with this new worry. Standing there by his car, his mind distracted by his troubles, Jacob's thoughts began to wander.

The sound of a car door slamming brought him out of his dark reverie; Jacob hadn't even noticed the car sitting in the wide curving driveway behind his, so lost in thought had he been. Looking up, not bothering to wipe the scowl off of his face, he watched as John Boot walked purposefully towards him, a threatening look on his face.

"What the hell do you want?" Jacob asked, sneering at the imposing goon.

Boot reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes; removing one, he put it in his mouth and lit it, blowing out a cloud of smoke at Jacob.

"I told you before, you still owe me a hundred bucks for the trouble I ran into, doing that last job for you..." said Boot, fixing Jacob with a mean-business look.

"You didn't do any last job for me, jerk!" Jacob snapped back angrily, losing his temper. "You let that little fag chase you away! I should be getting a refund from you!"

"Don't give me no shit, asshole!" Boot exploded. "You never told me about that guy... I told you I was just gonna' do Fontana, not fight no karate bodyguard motherfucker... I want another hundred for the trouble you put me through, Rosenberg! And I want it right now... no more fucking around!"

Jacob just laughed. "You got one hell of a nerve coming here, Boot! I'm surprised the cops let your shitty little car even get past them... if I were you, I'd split quick before they cruise by!" Jacob motioned which direction with his hand.

"What cops, Jacob? I don't see any cops around, buddy! Now you got about two seconds to come up with that hundred, ok? One... two! Sorry about this, Jacob." Holding his cigarette in one hand, Boot leaned forward and gave Jacob a quick jab in the stomach with his other. Jacob let out a muffled groan and doubled over, holding his stomach in obvious pain as Boot laughed softly.

"Oh, Jacob? Where's my money, honey?"

Jacob forced himself to straighten up enough to dig into his jacket pocket for his wallet. As soon as he took it out Boot swiped it from his hand, opened it and removed all the cash from its folder. Counting out five $20 bills for himself, Boot dropped the wallet and the remaining bills on the ground, then turned and walked back to his car. "Ok Jake my boy, take it slow and we'll see you around sometime, maybe... bye bye!" Boot got into his car and backed down the driveway, then quickly drove away down the winding street.

Jacob watched him speeding off, his rage building to a boiling point. Now he had yet another score to settle! It seemed his troubles just wouldn't stop accumulating... but Jacob wasn't too worried about Boot. The security camera would have captured Boot hitting him, and as a last resort he could use that against him. But Jacob had other plans for the thug, more ominous than merely having him arrested for assault and battery; he was not going to let the big ape off so easily. However, for now everything would have to wait. Jacob was going to meet his friend Waffle at their favorite watering hole in Westview Village, The Spot.

Still feeling Boot's punch, Jacob got into his car and drove off, heading down to the Village. As he cruised along, he listened to Waffle's hit new album on his car stereo, which Waffle had sardonically named Kicking El Pero. As he plotted revenge on all of his enemies, Jacob's mood slowly began to improve; soon he would be back in the fast lane, good friends by his side, doing what they did best: eating, drinking and celebrating the lush life. A party session with his buddies was just what he needed right about now; things had been getting a bit too tense lately. And as far as losing the services of Lukelew, Jacob felt glad; now he wouldn't have to look at that disgusting peeping-tom anymore. Good riddance. What a sordid job that loser had!

Bobbing his head up and down to the beat of Waffle's music, Jacob was completely unaware as he sped along to his rendevous that he too was now being closely watched, and followed.

***************

_______________________________________
Copyright 2019 by Charles Adrian Trevino.