Susan Keller

Mostly Sober: A Love Story and a Road Trip is now available on Amazon as an e-book and in paperback. 

 

Chapter 7

With a Little Bit of Luck

 

The sand is flecked with tiny stones of red carnelian, blue jasper, and jade. Rodeo Beach, just north of the Golden Gate Bridge, gleams in the sun. Orange ice plant clings to the surrounding hills. The song of the surf—rumble and break, rumble and break—competes with the bogus screams of seagulls trying to make everything into a crisis. I look up at them and whisper, “You think you’ve got problems. Not even close.”

It’s sunny and warm for late March. The salty spray blows the hair away from my face.

Large boulders, just inside the high tide line, appear to be covered with long hair all combed in one direction. Up close, it’s a brown, elastic seaweed.

There’s a group of about a dozen of us, mostly in our twenties, picking up and dropping dented cans and bottle tops into aluminum pails and burlap sacks. Up ahead, a man attempts to wrestle an unwieldy tangle of seaweed, rope, and plastic trash out of the shimmering surf, but the tide keeps pulling the mess back into the water. Now, I’ve got a mission.

I approach the man battling with the snarl, and say, “Sorry, but it looks like the waves are winning.”

I’ve startled him. He flinches and looks up. “Yeah. This is heavier than I thought.”

He stands. Six feet, a little more. Cute. Straight, sandy brown hair and a five o’clock shadow. Muscular, obvious from the form-fitting gray tee shirt he wears. With his blue eyes, he holds my gaze.

“Do you know the ‘My Fair Lady’ song that says with a little bit of luck someone else will do the blinkin’ work?” I ask.

“The blinkin’ work?” He looks at me with a cautious smile. There’s a dimple on the right side of his face. I love a dimple.

“Yeah. That one.”

“Okay, my fair lady, let’s get after this blinkin’ work.”

Oh, he’s funny. I grab a section of rope and we yank. Even for two of us, it’s heavy. With a lot of effort, we lug the debris out of the surf.

“I have a knife so maybe while I cut the kelp, you can pull it away from the rope,” he says.

“Sure.”

“Great first date, huh, carving up kelp?”

“I’ve had worse,” I say.

He laughs. “Me too.”

We grab onto the sea-soaked knot and his hand brushes mine. A spark runs through me. We smile at each other. Then he touches my hand again.

“Hmmm,” I mummer and look him straight in the eyes.

“And, can you pick the plastic out of this mess and put it in those pails?” he asks.

“Absolutely.”

After over an hour of strenuous effort, we have a long rope, a pile of kelp, and two pails of plastic trash. Together, we heave the kelp back into the surf and watch as it gets swallowed by the sea. He coils the rope and throws it over his shoulder. I grab the trash. As we walk back, I point out the rounded boulders with the brown seaweed and say, “Doesn’t that look like a man’s head with a comb-over?”

He laughs. “I have an uncle with that hairdo.”

We dump the debris into a large trash receptacle, and he asks, “How about a beer?”

“I’d love one.”

“Great. Meet me at the Trident.”

I’m excited and follow him into Sausalito where we sit outside on the deck. In the full sun, San Francisco sparkles white across the Bay that glimmers like blue glass.

The gulls are still noisy, but the vibe at this iconic restaurant is low-key. There’s an unseasonably warm southern breeze.

A seal pokes its head out of the water, blinks, and looks around. This is so nice. He orders our beers. Damn, he’s cute. What a build.

“Mind if I ask a few questions?”

“Shoot,” he says.

“I know this is really stupid, but are you married?”

“No.” He smiles and shakes his head. “And never have been.”

“Serious girlfriend?”

“Well,” he takes in a long breath, lets it out, and changes position in his chair.

“Oh, sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have asked.” I look down at my beer.

 “It’s okay. Laura’s the daughter of my mom’s best friend. My mom had been after me to take her out. I finally did and we hit it off.”

“When was this?” I ask.

“A while ago.”

Sufficiently vague, I think. “You still seeing her? You can tell me to zip it anytime.”

“It’s fine. We’re on a break—that I initiated.”

“Was she okay with that?”

“No, but I didn’t see a future for us. It wasn’t fair to keep things going.”

He glances out toward Angel Island, then says, “How about you?”

“Nobody serious. I’ve been doing other things.”

“Such as?”

“I was in med school.”

“When did you graduate?”

My jaw tightens. I glance out at the Bay. “I didn’t. I’m on a break.”

“Seems we’re both on a break. May I pry? Why the break?”

“Long story. Short version. Last December, I was working four nights a week to pay down some of my hideous med school debt. I was exhausted and failed a really big test. It was clear, I needed some time off.”

He leans in toward me, “Can you take a break? From med school?” I tense and my hand tightens around my icy glass. “I hope so. I’m waiting to hear from the Dean. Of Admissions.”

He laughs, “My name’s Dean.”

“What? Honest?”

“Yes. And you are?”

“I’m Annie. You’re Dean, really?”

“In the flesh.” He smiles. “And, besides that, my parents were both doctors.”

“No kidding?” I cringe a little. His parents did what I might be failing at.

“Yeah. They expected me to follow in their footsteps, but I’m a fireman.”

“That’s a helping profession and a half.”

He shrugs. “I disappointed them.”

“Maybe you’re being too hard on yourself.”

“Maybe. How about another beer?”

“I have to work tonight, but I have time. What’s one more beer?”

He gets the attention of our waitress. Our second beers arrive.

“I’m really glad I went to the beach clean-up today,” he says smiling.

Oh, that dimple. It really gets me.

“Me too. Have you done a clean-up before?” I ask.

“Oh yeah. I volunteer for a couple organizations. We do clean-ups around the Bay.”

“Impressive.”

“Can’t say that I’ve ever met a beautiful woman at a clean-up before though.”

I smile and feel like a teenager whose just been asked to her first prom.

“Especially one who is so good at the blinkin’ work.” He grins at me.

I laugh. “Here’s the beginning of that line, ‘The lord above gave man an arm of iron, but with a little bit of luck…’ You know the rest. ‘Someone else will do the blinkin’ work.’”

I touch his muscular arm and he smiles—coy or sly, I don’t know which. Maybe both.

“That feels good,” he says. “You can do that anytime.”

“I’ll remember you said that.”

When we finish our beers he asks, “Can I have your number?”

“Sure.” I write it on a cocktail napkin.

“I can’t believe your name is Dean. The other Dean holds my future in his hands.”

“Well, let’s hope you now have two Deans in your future.”

I smile at him.

When we are outside the Trident, he leans in and kisses me lightly on the lips. Who would imagine I’d meet Dean, the handsome, sexy fireman when I’d just come to find bottlecaps and beer cans? He’s got my number. I really hope I hear from him.

Thanks for joining Annie on her big day.

#mostly sober #alcohol moderation #alcohol minimization #sobercurious