The Fate of the Muse

chapter SIX

STUDIO





Ethan rushed over, lifting me to my feet, “Are you okay?”

“Yes, yes,” I said, feeling foolish as I brushed the sand from my arms, “I’m just really tired.”

I changed out of my wetsuit, trying to hide the fact that my hands were trembling with fatigue. Ethan picked up my board and stood watching, his face unreadable. We walked off the beach in an awkward silence, and when we reached the landing between the flights of stairs he stopped, putting my board down and turning to face me. He looked upset.

“Why do you always have to do this?” he asked. His voice rose, “How are we ever going to be married if you run off everytime you get upset?”

“I’m sorry… But you don’t understand. I had to get away from there…”

“Away from me?”

“Yes,” I squeezed my eyes shut, “I mean– No!” I looked up at him, “From me… from the way I was feeling.”

Yeah, the way I was feeling about you, I thought.

He sounded exasperated, “Marina, the accident wasn’t your fault!”

“How do you know?”

He didn’t answer, and looked out at the dark water, “Why do you have to go to them?”

“Change of venue?” I said flippantly, but it wasn’t too far off the mark. He wasn’t amused.

He sighed, “Are you mad at me?”

“No.” I thought about him discussing me with his ex-girlfriend, “Well, maybe a little.” Our eyes met and I couldn’t help smiling ruefully. “Why didn’t you tell me she was back?”

He sucked in his breath sharply, stepping forward to embrace me tightly, “Don’t let her come between us… She doesn’t have anything to do with me and you…”

“Did you tell her about us?” I asked.

He sighed, “I was about to, but I didn’t get a chance…”

“A likely story,” I said jokingly, but I couldn’t help but wonder if he didn’t want anyone to know about our secret engagement. Maybe he was having second thoughts.

“It’s true,” he squeezed me tighter and I couldn’t doubt him.

I sighed and hugged him back, but I knew she was going to make as much trouble as she could, and she struck me as the kind of girl who liked a challenge. I had no idea what to do about it.

“I’m always afraid you’re never going to come back to me,” he said gruffly, “I can’t stand the idea of you being out there… all alone in the dark.”

“I’m not alone.”

He walked me over to the bench and pulled me down to sit with him. “I want to be the one you run to,” he whispered in my ear. I didn’t know what to say. How could I describe how much I needed to be in the ocean without scaring him? Apparently, I came by it honestly, for I was behaving very much like my mother had. I looked down.

“Where did you go today?” he asked.

I paused, not quite sure I was ready to talk about seeing Nerissa with Nixie just yet. I wanted to get Evie’s take on the whole mermaid reproduction thing. It was just too weird for words. “We went up north,” I said, thinking about all the animals I’d seen.

“Where?” he asked, stroking my cheek.

“She took me past the Golden Gate, out to some islands.”

“Islands?” he was alarmed.

“More like rocks, out in the middle of nowhere,” I said calmly, “There were lots of different kinds of birds there, and seals with their pups… and Elephant seals too…”

I could see the whites of his eyes in the dusky light, “You went all the way out to the Farralons? What for?”

“Uhm, she swims really fast… and–”

I was just about to tell him everything about Nerissa and Nixie when he started kissing me like it was his last chance. I was out of breath when we finally broke apart, and I laid my dizzy head on his chest, warming my hands under his shirt.

He kissed the top of my head, “When we’re married,” he started in again, “We’ll go surfing together every morning.”

“What about school?” I asked sleepily.

“We’ll go before classes,” he said.

“Won’t we be tired all day?” I yawned, warm and drowsy.

“We’ll go to bed early every night,” his voice rumbled through me, “And some days, we’ll stay in bed all day.”

I scoffed, for I could hardly imagine him skipping a day’s work, “I’ll believe that when I see it. All you ever want to do is work.”

He shifted a little and looked away.

I felt bad, realizing that I’d hurt his feelings, “I’m sorry, It’s just that I miss going surfing with you.”

“It will be different when we’re married,” he said softly.

I was beginning to realize that he was being completely unrealistic about how great things would suddenly be once we were living together. As much as I wanted to believe the pretty picture he painted, I knew there was still trouble on the horizon. I thought about meeting with the council and snuggled closer to him.

“Let’s go,” he said, “Before Abby sends out a search party.”





The next few days flew by. Every morning I picked up Shayla and we trudged up and down the fire escape, filling the dumpsters with garbage and soundproofing debris. Pretty soon the place started to look like a real artist’s loft, all exposed brick and high ceilings. We swept and scrubbed every square inch of floor, exposing handsome rough-hewn pine planks. The space really brightened up once the windows were washed clean, and Bill had the missing panes replaced so there’d be no more avian intruders.

I bought a small refrigerator that I stocked with fruit and snacks to keep us going, and added a table with a microwave and coffee maker. Shayla helped me pick out a sound system, shaking her head in disbelief at my ignorance of the latest pop music. The place started to feel comfortable and familiar, and I imagined what it would be like to stay overnight. My father would probably hate it… I wondered what Ethan would think.

The worst part of the clean-up was definitely the bathroom, but with some heavy duty rubber gloves and lots of bleach, even that was turning out to be a diamond in the rough. I hung an antique gilded mirror above the sink, and stocked a shelf with scented soaps and hand lotions. The quaint clawfoot tub actually looked inviting, emptied of all the beer bottles and scrubbed squeaky clean.

Colorful Kilim rugs I’d found at an antique shop brightened up the floor, and I bought some tables and lamps from local thrift stores. I splurged on a giant sectional couch that was big enough to spread out on, upholstered in a velvety grey fabric. Shayla and I watched in horror as one of the deliverymen moving it inside nearly fell off the narrow stairs, miraculously recovering his balance at the last possible second.

“That guy totally almost bought it!” said Shayla, testing out the plush furniture with her feet up on an ottoman. “I told ya’ that bird was bad luck!”

“Oh come on!” I laughed at her superstition.

We kicked back on the comfortable cushions, talking about what we would do in Paris. Shayla was eager to go, dreamily speculating about how much fun we would have shopping and sightseeing with Evie.

“Yeah,” I sighed, “It should be interesting.”

Shayla looked at me out of the corner of her eye, “We’ll keep you too busy to miss Ethan.”

I thought about Amber and Ethan talking about me, maybe even hanging around together when I was out of town. An image of him smiling at her flashed into my mind.

“Guess who’s back in town?” I said morosely, telling Shayla about meeting Amber and her friend. It felt good to let it out, and I complained bitterly about having to see her at college in the fall. I described the scene at the farmer’s market to her and her eyes narrowed.

“That bitch! I’ll kick her ass for you if you want!” she fumed.

“Shayla!” I was shocked, for violence was the last thing I wanted to think about where Amber was concerned. Now it seemed as though I could inspire it in Shayla too… I needed to be extra careful where my feelings were concerned.

When Shayla saw the shock on my face she looked contrite, “Sorry, I just hate her,” she said.

“Don’t say that!” I moaned. I felt like I was being tempted.

“Everybody hated her! She always thought she was so great just because her dad had money. She tried to get Ethan to give up surfing and go out for football cuz her dad was into it… She used to lead him around like a puppy…” her voice trailed off when her eyes met mine.

“Wow,” I choked out, having a hard time imagining it.

Shayla shrugged, “You got nothing to stress about… Ethan loves you.”

I was quiet for a few seconds, “How serious were they?” I looked at her searchingly.

“I dunno,” she seemed nervous, and I knew that I probably shouldn’t ask. Shayla shifted around uncomfortably, clearly afraid the truth was going to hurt my feelings. I changed the subject, asking her what her mother thought about her going to France.

“She’s like, real happy for me,” she smiled with relief, “She wants me to do all the stuff she never had a chance to do.” She looked at me in wonder, “I never even been on a airplane!”

“You’ll be on lots of airplanes when you’re a supermodel,” I said.

She rolled her eyes at me, “Very funny. I haven’t even done my first fashion show yet!”

I nodded, feeling better already, “There’s a first time for everything.”

“That’s what she said!” Shayla cried, dissolving in a fit of laughter at her own joke. Her brows knit together when I didn’t join in, “Where’s Cruz when we need him?”

“We should call him,” I said, digging into my purse to get my phone. When I retrieved it, a business card fluttered out to land on my lap.

“Oh!” I said, “I promised I’d call this person,” I excused myself and dialed the number of the art gallery. The owner answered right away and was as nice as Bill had said, asking if I could come by as soon as possible to discuss putting my paintings in her gallery. I agreed, and hung up the phone.

“Do you want to go see some art?” I asked Shayla.

“Sure,” she replied, “Why not?”

We pulled up to the gallery and looked at the display in the front window. There was an eclectic mix of sculpture, textiles and paintings. I liked the combination.

“I seen this place,” said Shayla, “But I never went in here before.”

The moment we entered we were greeted warmly by a colorfully dressed older woman. Her white hair was cut in a chic bob, and like Cruz, she wore all black. She sported an enormous turquoise squash blossom necklace that dwarfed her petite frame, and a pair of bright red cowboy boots.

“You must be Marina!” she said, “I’m Susan.”

I introduced her to Shayla, and she led us on a tour of her gallery, enthusiastically telling us about all the different artists and their work.

Large abstract paintings were interspersed with rustic looking tapestries and weavings. We looked at a collection of watercolors of sailboats, alongside colorful impressionistic landscapes. Susan broke up the space with sculptures as well; shining ceramic pieces mounted on pedestals, and beautifully carved burl-wood vessels with satiny burnished surfaces, just begging to be touched.

I paused to inspect a group of miniature still life paintings rendered in heartbreakingly precise detail. Fruit spilled out of baskets, and each tiny berry was spattered with dewdrops that looked so realistic I almost believed I could reach out and eat one.

“Whoa,” said Shayla in a hushed voice, “I didn’t know people could paint like that.”

“Look at these,” I was drawn to some amazing glass sculptures mounted on the wall. Colorful and free-flowing, their flowerlike shapes reminded me of anemones and urchins; I could almost see them undulating on the wall like the jellyfish at the aquarium.

“Aren’t they magnificent?” asked Susan, “I think your paintings would look fabulous right alongside this display… Are you interested in showing here?”

“Yes,” I smiled, charmed by the quirky mix of objects she’d assembled, “I like your gallery very much.”

She beamed at me in return, “Good. The moment I saw your pieces I knew they’d be a great addition to this show… Can you paint anything larger than the ones at Bill’s place?”

“I can now,” I smiled.

By the time we left I’d agreed to bring her a wall’s worth of paintings for the group show’s Friday night opening.

“Wow,” said Shayla as we drove back home, “I didn’t know there were places like that around here… all that stuff was really sick! When I’m a rich model I’m gonna put like, tons of stuff like that in my apartment.”

“Wait until you see the Louvre,” I said.

“The what?”





I began to have a hard time sleeping. My thoughts kept returning to Lorelei, Nerissa and now, Nixie. It appeared we were all hybrids, born to mermaid mothers and human fathers. But how was it that I was the only land-born hybrid that could communicate with them? Could it be because I had transformed many times– apparently before I was even born?

The water seemed to be the key, the source of the mermaid’s strength and magic. They were lured out of the ocean by their desire for human men, tragically unaware of the consequences. If they returned to the sea, a new mermaid was born, but if love made them weak, and they stayed on land…

I thought about Evie, and the other muses I’d soon be facing. We were all the result of someone else’s tremendous sacrifice. I couldn’t stop wondering about Nixie. If she’d been born on land would she have developed like a normal human child, thinking that the monsters raising her were her family? The whole thing was confusing, and I wondered what Ethan would say about it when I finally had a chance to break the news to him.

He knew about Nerissa’s pregnancy, so maybe a baby mermaid wouldn’t be such a big shock to him. I wondered what he’d make of the fact that my mother had returned to her mermaid family along with me more than once. Would he be able to understand that I needed a connection with them too, or would he just feel threatened, and use it as an excuse to pull away from me?

Pull away right back to Amber.

When I remembered Amber it was with a visceral surge of jealousy. She might have told Ethan they could just be “friends” but I knew what she had in mind. She was like a child who discarded a toy, only to try and snatch it back when she saw that someone else wanted it. I thought about the way she spoke his name and started to get angry. Then I started to get scared. I hated her, but I didn’t want her to end up dead because of it.

I grew more and more agitated, eventually sitting up in bed and turning the light on to grab a book. All of my art supplies were at my new studio, so I fidgeted, unable to paint to soothe myself. Emptied of all the canvases, the room looked much bigger, but it still felt like the walls were closing in on me. I finally slammed my book shut and got out of bed, picking up my wetsuit.

I paddled out under the waxing moon, listening as the ocean whispered stronger than ever. Lorelei arrived, and sensing my black mood, towed me wordlessly to the point. It had been a long time since we’d surfed there, but the mysterious shadowy night waves were every bit as thrilling as I remembered.

I was flying on the water, as free as any other wild creature in the sea. It felt like I was gliding on the edge of an infinite universe, and I was mercifully completely caught up in the rapturous sensation of forgetting.

I took wave after wave in the dark water, resting between sets to look up at the stars and down in wonder at little phosphorescent sea creatures that flitted about in the depths. I felt a twinge of pain in my head and blinked away a vivid image of myself swimming below the water with Lorelei; I couldn’t tell if it was her thought or mine, and I felt like I was being absorbed. When I looked into her eyes it was as if they were my own.

“I need to go,” I said, suddenly frightened. I reached up to feel the lump of the aquamarine underneath my wetsuit.

“Will you come again soon?” she asked, “Nerissa wants to go wave riding too.”

“Yes,” I said, knowing I would, despite the fear that sat like an ice cube in my stomach. I knew I’d keep doing it, even though I was beginning to sense an increasing threat coming from the innocent mermaids. I was changing, becoming more attuned to them. As strange as it sounded, it felt as though I was merging with them, becoming part of the sea cell by cell, and it felt good, like drifting off to sleep. No wonder they were so weak and frail when they left its nurturing pulse.

Living on the land, contending with all of its worries and problems, kept me grounded in the most literal sense of the word. I suppose that constantly fighting gravity, coupled with being subjected to aging, toughened you up– even as it wore you out.

Bidding Lorelei goodbye, I made for terra firma and trudged up the stairs, cold and exhausted. The air was still, I was the only creature stirring in the calm, quiet moments just before dawn electrified the atmosphere. I nearly ran into the outline of a small figure at the top of the stairs, barely illuminated in the silvery mist, and I dropped my surfboard in surprise.

“Dollface,” a quiet voice called out affectionately, and I relaxed. It was Stella.

“Stella! Are you alright? What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?’ I asked.

“I needed to see… to check…the little wild ones…” her voice drifted off, and I squinted to try and focus on her. It felt as if she were backing away from me.

“Stella?” I repeated nervously, wondering if she was sleepwalking.

“She had on the blue shoes? Of all the cockamamie things…”

“What shoes?” I asked, peering into the black shadows.

“Aw, he was a swell guy when he wasn’t on the hooch…” her voice faded out, and I strained to hear her.

“Stella?” She worried me, for she was rambling more than usual, “Can I walk you home?”

I wondered where she lived, realizing at that moment exactly how little I really knew about her. She started to walk away, and I could see her shadowy figure shuffling up the stairs, pausing, and turning back to face me, “I need you to watch over them. Don’t let them go hungry.”

“Of course not,” I said, bending down to pick up my surfboard, adjusting it under my arm before following her up the stairs. She disappeared into the near blackness of the cover of the trees, and I could hear her on the dark path ahead of me, laughing to herself at some private joke.

“Bless your soul, sweetie.”

When I reached the top of the stairs she was nowhere to be seen.

“Stella… Stella?” I looked up and down the street but she had gone on without me. I stopped to listen but the night was as still as before. I made a mental note to pick up more cat food in the morning, and get it to her before I left for Paris. She was probably starting to run low right about now.





The next day dawned bright and clear. It was Friday, and the big demonstration was scheduled for the next afternoon. I knew that Ethan was already at the site, hard at work, setting up a stage for the speakers and performers and roping off the parking areas. Dutch was picking up a barbeque pit, and they had plenty of volunteers scheduled to set up tables and awnings.

I needed to get downtown and deliver my paintings to the gallery, so I decided to pick up some cat food on the way home. I scrutinized my pile of finished paintings, selecting a nice assortment for the show, and loading them in the Rover. I found myself reluctant to leave my studio, but I had to get the paintings over to Susan’s gallery in time for her to hang them.

Before I locked up, I paused to take a last look around the loft. Shayla and I had worked hard to clean the place up and it was completely transformed. It looked comfortable, and I truly felt as though I could relax here. I shivered with a long absent happiness, and had an overwhelming urge to see Ethan. I couldn’t wait to surprise him with my new studio, and decided to show him after the rally. I realized we could be completely alone here, and the thought was both exciting and scary.

When I turned into Abby’s drive the first thing I saw was Ethan’s truck. It was a happy surprise, for I didn’t expect him until much later. I walked in with a smile, lugging a large bag of cat food. Ethan and Abby were sitting at the kitchen table. They looked at the bag and back up at me with sympathetic eyes.

“I see you heard,” Abby said.

Ethan got up to give me a hug, “I just found out… Are you okay?”

I drew back, “Found out what?”

“Didn’t you see the paper?”

“No,” I said, looking between the two of them. They exchanged an uncomfortable glance.

“We have some bad news…” Abby bit her lip, “You better sit down, hun.”

Ethan took my hand and showed me the newspaper. There was an obituary with a picture of Stella and a headline that read, “Longtime Aptos Resident.” I took it from him and read an article that said Stella had been found dead at her daughter’s house… five days ago.

“No,” I shook my head in disbelief, “It’s not possible.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, squeezing my shoulder.

I looked up at them, “But, seriously… I… I just saw her.”

They exchanged a look. “Oh honey… I’m so sorry.” Abby said.

“No! I mean, it’s got to be a mistake,” I said dismissively, not wanting to bring up my surfing last night. “I bet she’s down there as we speak… in fact, I’m going for a walk to drop off some food to her right now.”

Now they looked alarmed. I got up, mildly irritated, “It’s just some dumb mistake. Trust me, you can’t believe everything you read!”

Abby rushed over to me with a sob and hugged me close, patting my back like she was burping a baby. I rolled my eyes at Ethan in amusement, patting her in return.

“I’ll just be a little while,” I told them, getting up to go.

“I’ll go with you,” Ethan said, following me out the door. He took the bag under one arm and my hand with the other, casting sideways glances at me as we walked.

“You know,” he said tentatively, “She was really old.”

“I’m aware of that,” I replied sarcastically, “Stop looking at me that way!”

He went on, “It was bound to happen sometime…”

We worked our way down the stairs to the spot where the cats were fed, but there was no sign of her. I was surprised to see them come out right away, for they usually never showed themselves without Stella nearby. I looked around for her, checking her favorite benches, finally opening the bag and pouring out some food.

Ethan and I stood back and watched as a group of mangy looking cats came slithering out of the underbrush. They set upon the food frantically, barely looking over at us. I recognized the little tabby cat Stella called Freddy, noticing it was visibly pregnant, its bony frame barely able to support what could only be a litter of kittens.

I chuckled, “I guess she should have named it Fredericka,” I said.

And suddenly, I knew she was gone.

My eyes filled with tears, meeting Ethan’s as he stepped closer to enclose me in his arms. I was going to miss her, and I was stunned, barely able to process the idea. As scattered as Stella had been, hearing her ramble on about the past was a comfort to me. She was one of the few links I had to the mother I never knew, and I now could feel those memories slipping away from me. There was one less person on earth I could talk to about it.

I started shaking, trembling uncontrollably when I realized that it wasn’t Stella I’d spoken to last night, at least not the flesh-and-blood Stella. Her spirit couldn’t rest until she was sure her beloved cats would be taken care of. It was both sad and shocking.

“I’m sorry,” Ethan whispered in my ear.

“I’m okay,” I replied, but my voice was quavery. I wanted to tell him what happened last night, but I didn’t want to worry him about my return to nocturnal surfing. My mind was filled with awe as I thought about what it meant. I had seen a dead woman, and spoken with her… was this just some phantom I’d conjured up in my own mind, or could it be another manifestation of my hybrid powers? Did this mean I might be able to see my mother?

Being a scientist’s daughter, I’d always been taught to be skeptical about the ghostly sightings and spiritual gibberish that Evie wanted so desperately to believe. Her cadre of mediums and fortune tellers had never proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that they could communicate with spirits. I thought about all the times I’d teased Evie about her beliefs, and now, without even looking for it, I had just been provided with empirical evidence of an afterlife. It was disconcerting, but strangely comforting.

Just then, a jogger I’d seen before came trotting by, pausing for a beat to watch the strays scarfing down the food. “Too bad about the cat lady,” he panted, checking his time while running in place, “But I guess none of us can live forever.” He plodded off, his feet crunching on the gravel.

Ethan looked at me with apprehension dawning in his eyes.