New Zealand by Rex Pickett

Author:Rex Pickett [Pickett, Rex]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blackstone Publishing

We camped on the beach in a prime location. Standing outside the camper van, Hana explained to me, holding Max while Jack snored away on the upper bunk, she was going to sleep in her car because she had consumed too much champagne to drive into Kaikōura and grab a motel. I didn’t believe that was the reason. The bum corporate card was the culprit, but she was too proud, too Kiwi, to admit it.

“I’ll pay for a hotel, Hana,” I offered.

“No, that’s okay,” she said, puffing on a joint, relaxing after another long day on the road. “It’s all good.”

“It was a wonderful night tonight,” I said as we sat on our haunches at the shore’s edge, a bottle of Madame Sec 2012 Vintage Sec Cuvée, a sparkler that had spent an extraordinary nine years on the lees before Esses released it, planted in the sand between us.

“I’m glad you liked it.”

“They asked intelligent questions.”

“They did, yeah,” she said, sipping the champagne.

“And they had all indisputably read my book. Which almost brought tears to my eyes.”

“What else are they going to do in their campers?” she said.

“Good point. It sounded like they actually liked it.”

“They did. You write with a forthrightness they can relate to.” She turned to me with a sheepish grin. “You got a good review in the New Zealand Herald yesterday,” she said. She produced her phone and started swiping with her index finger. “Want me to read it to you?”

“No,” I said, fashioning a cross with my arms to hide my eyes. “When I’m done with a book, I’m done. I don’t want to know anything about it.”

“Are you sure? It’s super positive.”

“It’s been such a perfect evening, let’s not spoil it with anything positive.”

She laughed. “You’re a funny guy, Miles.”

“Without humor, I would be dead. With humor, I can handle anything.”

“Yeah.” She sipped her flute of champagne. “Great bubbly,” she commented.

“Ethereal.”

She turned to me with her large brown eyes and locked them on me. “What’s in California you might have to go back?” I looked away. “Jack said something about ending the tour with you flying back.”

“Can’t keep a secret with that guy.” I rolled my tongue over my upper teeth and didn’t say anything in reply. “I don’t want to go into it, Hana.” She looked away. A silence descended. Knee-high waves expired at the shore’s edge, each its own spuming death.

After a moment, Hana produced a small jar from her handbag and passed it to me.

“What’s this?”

“It’s bee pollen. Māori.”

“Why are you giving it to me?”

She pulled her upper lip into her mouth and exhaled through her nostrils. “I was talking to Jack the other night and asking him how you were doing, and he . . . uh . . . told me you were having a little problem down there.” She gestured to my crotch.

“I don’t have performance issues, Hana. Yet.”

Her face colored and she stifled a laugh. “No, silly.” She paused for seeming dramatic effect. “Your tumor.”

“Jack told you that?”

She shrugged.

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