We were going to a high school party at a private beach that none of us had ever been to. We had vague directions, we walked down a vague trail in the dark and we came to a vague elevator. Okay the elevator wasn’t vague, it was clearly an elevator and the small group of us decided we should probably definitely take the elevator from the trail to the very rich looking home on the water. Surely THAT was the way to the high school party at the private beach we were going to.
And no, this was not Laguna Hills of the OC. Discovering elevators that lead to mansions was not commonplace for us and yet…I don’t know…guess we better get in it.
I feel like we must have known we were doing something sneaky because we did not knock on the front door of the house, but rather walked past the side of the house to the back deck. A deck that would have been PRIME for a high school party if the party was at this house at all, which it was not. We did hear party goers o’er yonder though and decided we could probably hustle our way across the deck and down to our noisy friends at the beach below.
Except when we began tip toeing across the deck the dogs living inside the home began barking furiously at us and we did what any bright teenagers would do…we dove behind a hot tub. I distinctly remember being ducked behind the hot tub, listening to the glass door sliding open, and feeling as though I might pass out.
I remember a similar feeling hiding in my older brother’s closet when I had been in his room without permission. The fear of being somewhere I’m not supposed to be, knowing the person coming closer is fully capable of kicking my butt…makes me want to pass out a little.
But this woman was very kind. Thinking back, I’m sure she had some kind of surveillance camera on her elevator and probably knew we were there the entire time. She approached us and while I swear I blocked out the entire conversation because I was mortified to be laying next to this strangers back hot tub, my girlfriend says she was wonderful to us and they recognized her right away.
Ann Rule is a true crime writer and has published many successful novels that cover high profile murders, most notably Ted Bundy. She writes the kind of books I refuse to pick up for fear I’d never sleep again. And here we were just chatting it up on her back deck…riding up and down her fancy elevator.
She kindly directed us to our party and we were on our way again.
And that is how I came to be hiding from Ann Rule, behind her hot tub, on her deck, in the dark, while her dogs barked ferociously.