“She’s not used to being turned down?” Hallie watched as the guys sauntered into the house — and Ana Lucia followed eagerly behind.
Meredith laughed. “Not at all. Oh, and don’t worry about the agent thing,” she added, getting up. “Ana Lucia forgets to mention that her dad is one of the execs over at Universal. Every agent in town would represent his dog if they thought it would help them set up a deal.”
“Oh.” Hallie felt relieved. The way Ana Lucia had been acting, it was like Hallie was a failure for not already having an agent, manager, and publicist lined up. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” Meredith gave her a conspiratorial smile. “This scene can be kind of crazy. My dad’s a writer — he dragged us out here from New York my junior year of high school, and I swear, I thought I’d dropped into a reality show.” She looked around the party. “I’m going to go say hi to some people. Want to come along?”
“Sure.” Hallie bounced up. “That would be great.”
By the time Meredith had introduced her to the five hundredth person, Hallie’s cheeks ached from smiling so long and telling the same familiar “San Francisco/dead father/actress” refrain. To her surprise, Ana Lucia’s question about reps seemed standard, so Hallie quickly adjusted her answer to say that she had some meetings lined up, rather than face the same knowing looks. She couldn’t blame them for thinking she was just another wannabe, fresh off the bus, but Hallie knew she was different. She would make it — it was just a matter of time.
“Want to come hang?” Meredith asked. It was louder now: kids drinking and dancing in every available space. She pointed to corner of the lounge where a group of surfer guys was lighting up what was most definitely not a cigarette.
“I’m good, thanks.” Hallie looked around, the room feeling cramped and too noisy. “I think I’m going to go take a look at the ocean.”
“Cool.” Meredith pulled her into a hug/double-air-kiss. “I’ll call you tomorrow. We’ll brunch!”
Hallie headed back outside and down the rickety stairs to the beach, kicking off her sandals so the sand was cool between her toes. The beach was empty, save a few amorous shadows in the distance; the ocean crashing in a soothing hum. She breathed in the night air and felt herself finally relax. Hallie usually thrived in crowds, but that was when she’d been at the center of them; tonight she was hanging on the edge of every group, trying to make an impression. Barely registering at all.
For now.
Hallie headed for the water’s edge, shaking off her loneliness. This was all just the introduction in her story, the struggles she’d look back on fondly, during her interviews, as building character and grit. “Sure, it was hard,” she’d tell the magazine journalists, “being an outsider. But I knew if I just focused on my craft, everything would work out for me.”
And it would.
She reached the ocean, squealing as the cold surf swirled around her feet. The horizon stretched in front of her, an inky shadow, and suddenly, Hallie was overcome with a wash of possibility. She was exactly where she was supposed to be; at the dawn of a new chapter in her life. She could be anyone she wanted to be; create the life she was destined for!
Hallie stripped off her cover-up and tossed it behind her onto the sand. She waded deeper into the dark ocean. This would be her baptism: washing away the old world in the cold waters of the Pacific; emerging her shining new self. Yes!
The water was freezing, but Hallie kept going, ducking under a breaking wave so she was completely submerged, and then swimming deeper. Out past the breaking point, the water shifted and rolled, and she flipped on her back to float, gazing at the sky. It seemed to stretch forever, dark and still, dotted with the faint pinprick of stars. Her sister was always droning on about the science of the universe, the mathematics and order and history, or whatever, but Hallie thought the great mysteries of the world should remain just that: mysterious. Who cared about physics when there was poetry to be had, art and emotion rather than facts and figures?
Hallie bobbed upright again. The beach looked far away now; lights from the houses disappearing with every new swell of waves. She shivered. Her skin was puckering, and the chill of the ocean had finally numbed her enthusiasm for the grand gesture. Time to get back to Uncle Auggie’s, and the miracle of the heated whirlpool tub. Hallie struck out back for shore, half hoping there were some people on the beach to watch her emerge, mermaid-style, from the water. Now, that would make a first impression!
She swam hard, but the shore didn’t seem to be any closer. Instead, it almost looked as if it were farther away. The tide pulled at her legs, and although she kicked, her limbs felt heavy and slow. For the first time, Hallie realized she was alone, at sea, in the dark. Nobody knew she was out here.
She tried not to panic.
“Hello?” she called. Her voice seemed thin, and disappeared on the breeze. “Is anyone there?”
Hallie kicked again, but her body felt like lead. It was going to be OK, she told herself. She wasn’t going to drown — she couldn’t. She was destined for great things! She was going to —
A wave broke over her, and for a moment, she was pulled under. Hallie flailed, gasping as she broke the surface. She coughed, terror gripping her fast. “Help!” she called. “Somebody, help me!”
The water was inky black, nothing but the rolling swells surrounding her. “Somebody!” she cried again. She thought she saw something in the water — a shadow, maybe — before another wave broke hard overhead. This time, she spun underwater for what seemed like hours, until her lungs burned and she wasn’t sure if she was kicking toward the surface or even farther down.
Then there were arms locked tight around her, and a warm body dragging her to the surface. Hallie spluttered, gasping for air, dizzy. She flailed, but her rescuer held on tight.
“It’s OK,” he told her, already kicking back toward the shore with powerful strokes. “I’ve got you now. Everything’s going to be OK.”
Hallie caught a glimpse of dark eyes, and sharp-angled cheekbones. He was beautiful. An angel, she thought faintly. A saint, come to rescue her from certain death.
And then everything was black.
His name was Dakota. Dakota Kane. He was nineteen years old, a musician and a poet, and by the time the ER doctor had cleared Hallie with nothing more than a case of mild hypothermia, she knew with utter certainty — he was the man she’d been waiting for her whole life.