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His smile deepens. "Tell him you'll be staying there every night."
I huff out a laugh. "I'm not sure that'll work, but tonight I'm yours."
"Tell him you're going on a trip round the world and you'll be gone for months." He kisses me one more time and helps me stand up straight again.
That makes me giggle, but it's not a bad idea so I can have more time alone with Foster.
He picks up my bag from the floor and grabs my hand. He walks me into the living room where an older man is sitting in a recliner watching a boxing match on the TV.
"Henry!" Foster is beaming. I don't think my mere presence has ever made anyone as happy as it has made him. "This is Mila."
Henry looks over and a sweet smile blooms on his gray-bearded chin. "Ahh, Mila. Finally, I meet you." He looks like he's as happy to see me as Foster. He holds up his hands and I walk to him and take them.
His skin is cold and fragile, but he squeezes my fingers with a forceful vigor. "Sit and chat with me." He reaches for the remote and clicks off the TV.
Foster grins down at us.
"Foster tells me you're quite the competitor on the bike."
I laugh and look up at him and smile. It's been a long time since we rode the streets of the Hamptons together. "He was taking it easy on me. I heard you are the real-life Malibu Elvis. Is that true?"
His face lights up and he glances at Foster. "Not a name I would have picked for myself but that's what they called me."
"I'll leave you two to it." Foster interrupts us. "I was making something to eat." He bends to kiss my cheek and heads toward the kitchen.
"So you're from California? It's so beautiful there. I visited once and thought I could stay forever."
"I'm from the old California. Not the way it is now. Back when surfing was fun and the beaches were clean and empty. It's turned into a goddamn zoo now, but the waves were free when I rode them in Malibu."
"Do you have any pictures?"
He grins. "There's some video of me on the waves and of course, the book." He rolls his eyes and points to a thick hardcover book with a yellow and gray cover. The title is "Malibu Elvis" and the sleeve has some tears at the edges like he's read it lots of times.
"You don't like the book?"
He shrugs. "It is what it is. You can't capture someone's life in pages. They embellished stuff. I wasn't the rebel they painted me to be. Sure I broke shit and got in fights, but everyone was doing that back then. The only thing that book gets right is my respect for the waves and my love for my Sherry. The rest is bullshit."
I walk over to the book and pick it up.
"You don't need to read it." He waves his hand like the story of his life is inconsequential.
Inside the pictures show a handsome young man with unruly black hair. When he rides the waves, he keeps his shoulders low and leans back. His hands are up in front of him like he's chopping the air. "You look pretty cool to me."
"Put that down and come back over here."
"Do you still surf?" I ask him as I flip through the chapters.
"Woman. I'm old now. I've ridden my last wave. But I have my memories."
I set the book down and walk over to the couch. "You should go to the beach, even if you can't ride. Just to be with the waves."
He nods. "Foster takes me when I'm feeling up to it."
"That's good."
Foster steps out of the kitchen. "Mila, come here for a second."
"I'll be right back."
