Tainted Love (13 page)

Kiley stood at the bottom of the stairs—she'd been heading down to the kitchen to get something to eat, but the sight of the colonel and Anya hunched over the chessboard with a vodka bottle between them had stopped her dead in her tracks. The chessboard they played on was magnificent, built right into a white marble coffee table, with large classic ivory pieces and two small wells for captured chessmen. The colonel and Anya sat on matching upholstered eggshell velvet chairs with intricate carvings between the legs. Rays of late evening sun shone through the west-facing windows. She realized that
since the colonel and Susan had arrived at Platinum's household, this was the first time there had been any social visitors at all.

Anya and the colonel were not just golf rivals?

She cleared her throat.

“Good evening, McCann.” The colonel offered his usual greeting.

“Good evening, Colonel.”

“Hello, Kiley,” Anya told her. “I defeat colonel on the golf course, he offered me return match on chessboard. Of course I accept. Nothing more fun than to defeat American opponent. He is on verge of humiliation. Is good, no?”

Oh. Now it all made sense. Anya had met someone as competitive as she was.

“I was on the way to the kitchen,” Kiley explained. “Colonel, is there anything you'd like me to do tonight with Sid or Serenity?”

“I don't think so, McCann. How'd it go with Bruce?”

“I think I've convinced him, sir.”

The colonel beamed. “Excellent, McCann. Outstanding. I knew you had it in you. Why don't you take the evening off?”

The colonel had just offered her a night off, without prompting? Usually, Kiley had to clear her free evenings forty-eight hours in advance.

“What about Sid and Serenity?” Kiley knew better than to look a gift evening in the mouth, but maybe the colonel would take notice and cut her some future slack for being responsible.

“Fear not, McCann. The missus took them to visit her ding-a-ling sister, supervised by Ms. Johnson. Dinner at Mel's
Drive-in.” The colonel named a small chain of low-priced fifties-style Los Angeles diners famous for serving their kids’ meals in cardboard cars.

“Mel's Drive-in is poison. Additives, grease! This is not food for children!” Anya was incensed.

“Affirmative. But the kids picked it and the social worker approved it. Whose move is it?”

“Is your move, Colonel.”

“Thank you, Anya. McCann, what are you standing there for? Do you need an invitation? I just granted you liberty for the night.” He winked at Anya. “Now skedaddle before I change my mind.”

Kiley was in a state of shock. The colonel was grinning, and Anya was giggling like a fourth grader who'd just heard a mildly dirty joke.

“Thanks. Sir,” she added hastily.

Kiley passed through the living room to the kitchen as inconspicuously as possible, stopping only to snare a ripe Bartlett pear from the fruit bowl on the round bleached blond wooden table before heading outside to the Lotus. An intoxicating evening of freedom awaited her. Whom should she call?

“And the sex was amazing,” Lydia concluded, dropping a giant picnic basket onto an oversized rattan ground covering that she'd just spread carefully on the grass outside the Hollywood Bowl in Griffith Park. With just a couple of phone calls, Kiley and Lydia had arranged this impromptu picnic so that they could listen to Yellowcard without dealing with the crowds or the expense of buying scalped tickets.

Kiley heard the crowd roar as Yellowcard launched into
their hit “Ocean Avenue.” She grinned, because it seemed almost as if they were cheering Lydia's love life. Lydia and Billy had finally done the deed. Successfully too, it seemed.

“Did you compare him to you-know-who?” Kiley asked.

“Luis? I told you, I'm not even counting Luis,” Lydia insisted. “I will now and forever state that Billy Martin is the first boy I ever had sex with. And no one can prove otherwise.” She opened the picnic basket and started extracting the plastic plates and wooden utensils that had been packed on the top. “Honestly, Kiley. When I was in Amazonia, I got the tribal shaman to blow some of that powder up my nose that they use for coming-of-age rituals. I used to consider my first time doing that the high point of my life. I thought I had turned into a crocodile. Not anymore.”

Kiley laughed. “I'll take your word for it.”

“Who's that psychologist guy, the one who said that sex was the root of all human behavior?” The plates and utensils out, Lydia went to work on the food.

“Freud, you mean?”

“Him. Yeah. You know, he was right. I don't know why the whole world isn't doing it all the time.”

Lydia stretched languorously. In low-slung aqua short-shorts and a ribbed white tank top, she practically exuded sensuality in a way that made Kiley feel uncomfortable. She'd worn Target jeans and a faded brown T-shirt, and knew she exuded nothing. Maybe she should lose five pounds. Or ten.

God. How long had she been saying that?

“And then the third time—”

What? “You did it three times?” Kiley exclaimed.

“Nope. Four.”

“Wow, I didn't even know that was possible.”

Lydia leaned back on her tan, bare arms. “Of course it's possible. You just need to decide who you want to make it possible with. Tom or Jorge. Or both. At the same time, maybe.”

Kiley blushed at the thought. “Don't you think it would help if I figured out who I wanted to be with before I have sex with either one of them?”

Lydia shrugged. “You could do a comparison test. Where is Tom, anyway? I thought he was back from Florida.”

“We saw each other at the club, but we've been playing phone tag.”

“You should be playing tag-team aerobics,” Lydia opined. “He couldn't come tonight?”

“I called him. His older brother Tanner is stopping at LAX on the way home from Hawaii or something. He went to have a drink with him at Encounter.”

“His loss.” Lydia sniffed. “Anyway, Esme is coming with Tarshea and Jorge. So there'll be backup for you.”

“Jorge isn't backup!”

“And Anya is straight.”

Kiley was still chuckling when Billy, Esme, Tarshea, and Jorge—the other attendees at this impromptu picnic/rock concert—arrived at their picnic spot. They'd met down in the parking lot by Cahuenga and trudged up the steep hill together.

“This is fantastic!” Tarshea exclaimed, taking in the meadow. Dotted across the hillside were other picnickers on blankets. Some of them had come fully equipped with burning torches to provide illumination and lawn furniture for comfort.

“Nothing like it in Jamaica?” Jorge asked.

“No, mon!” Tarshea told him. “And no bosses to give me and Esme the night off, either.”

“Well, welcome to America.”

Lydia introduced Tarshea to Billy, and Kiley stood to offer him a hug. After hearing Lydia's description of the activities of the night before, it was kind of hard to make eye contact. She hugged Jorge, too, as a roar went up inside the Bowl. Yellow-card started “Inside Out.”

“How often are there shows like this?” Tarshea asked Billy. She was wearing jeans and a gray blouse that Kiley recognized as belonging to Esme.

That was so thoughtful of her. Tarshea must have arrived without many clothes.

“About every other night,” Billy told her. “Sting is playing next week. I think there's a reggae show toward the end of the month with Bunny Wailer.”

“We must go,” Tarshea declared. “That is the best music in the world.”

Lydia was digging into the picnic basket and unpacking various containers. “Y'all have to taste the iced lobster thermidor. I asked Paisley to make it. She was so happy not to be cooking with Anya's tofu that she put together our whole meal basket. There's baby red potato salad, cold leek soup, noodles in stone-ground sesame paste, and a whole bunch of other stuff.”

“I brought my mom's flan, but this kind of puts it to shame,” Jorge said ruefully, nudging a Tupperware container with his forefinger.

“Don't go dissing your mama's cooking,” Lydia chided as she passed around the covered dishes. “Hungry?” she asked Billy.

“Oh yeah.” He kissed her.

The heat factor across the ground cover got a little intense, and Kiley looked away. She and Jorge locked eyes for a brief moment. His gaze was so warm, so welcoming. It would be so easy to be with a guy like him. When she allowed herself to think about it, she realized that the idea of sex with Jorge was not at all intimidating. She wouldn't worry about her thighs, or that her breasts were half the average Los Angeles cup size. He'd probably been with girls like her. Not like Tom, who probably only ever was with girls who were the physical equivalent of him. That is, drop-dead gorgeous. There'd been that statuesque Israeli model, with the black hair and violet eyes, Marym Marshall. They'd dated for a while. Kiley had even been to a party at her house. Kiley had felt like a troll in comparison.

Suddenly, she had to get out of there.

“Porta-Potties,” she announced. Her eyes flashed Lydia the universal girl signal that meant:
Come with me.

“That's code for girl talk,” Lydia translated, scrambling up from the blanket. “We'll be right back.”

Kiley winced. Did she have to be so obvious?

Esme raised her eyebrows as if to ask whether she should come along too. Kiley thought about it for a moment—Esme was so practical—but then decided it wouldn't be right to abandon Tarshea.

“We'll be right back,” Kiley assured her.

They headed down the paved path to the Hollywood Bowl entrance four hundred yards away. As soon as they were out of earshot, Lydia bumped her hip into Kiley's. “So? Why the great escape?”

“I keep thinking about Tom.”

“And I keep seeing how Jorge looks at you. Which makes him your official FBG,” Lydia surmised.

“What's that?”

Lydia pushed some choppy blond hair off her cheek. “Fall-back Guy—I read about them in
Jane.
When you have a guy who you're not sure is going to be your Main Guy, you need a Fallback Guy.”

Kiley frowned. “I really like Jorge.”

“That just makes you the kind of girl who can't admit that she'd use a boy,” Lydia explained. “You've got morals or scruples or whatever.”

Kiley almost laughed, and then took her friend's arm so that they could move out of the way of a small army of late-arriving picnickers heading up the hill to the meadow. “You say it like it's a bad thing.”

“Until or unless you pledge your undying, monogamous love for either one of 'em, which is not something I recommend by the by, it is. Until the Main Guy pledges it back, I say have fun with both of 'em.”

“Hold it. You didn't do that with Luis and Billy,” Kiley pointed out.

“Actually I did.”

“And you're sorry about it now.”

“Hey. The Amas have a saying: If you see a wild boar in the jungle and you're hungry, don't be afraid to take a shot. The worst that can happen is you'll miss.”

“I don't get it. You
are
sorry that you hooked up with Luis!” They reached the Porta-Potties. To her surprise, Kiley realized she really did have to go, and joined the short line.

“Don't confuse me with facts. Anyway, know who showed up at the restaurant where I ate with Billy last night?”

“Luis?”

“Yep. He claims it was a coincidence. I'm not so sure.”

Kiley winced. “Was it horrible?”

“Nope. He was cool. He came in for a take-out order. No cut, no blood, no piranha attack.”

The line edged forward. They stood behind a very pregnant girl baring her stomach happily in low jeans and a belly shirt. Sometimes it seemed to Kiley that everyone was more comfortable with their bodies than she was.

“So, what are you going to do about Tom and Jorge?” Lydia asked.

Kiley hesitated. “I'm not sure. I'm not even sure if Tom is that into me.”

“You may be right,” Lydia agreed, in her usual blunt fashion. “Which is why my advice is not to dump Jorge until you see if Tom is really interested. Because if Tom is out of the picture, Mr. Fallback could become Mr. Fall For.”

Esme stood in the doorway of the Goldhagens’ family room in a state of stupefaction at the tableau before her. There were Easton and Weston, sitting on the carpet on either side of Tarshea as she played and sang the Bob Marley classic on a Martin acoustic guitar. Correction. The twins were singing, too. When the twins had learned “One Love” in English, Esme had no clue.

She'd awakened at her usual time, 7:30 a.m., so that she could get the twins up and feed them breakfast. Since Tarshea had arrived, she had accompanied Esme on her morning duties. It was fun to have her around. She was helpful, cheerful,
energetic, and great with the kids. It also made a lot less work for Esme.

This morning, though, when she'd knocked on Tarshea's door, there'd been no answer. Esme figured that Tarshea was tired. But judging from this scene in front of her, Tarshea had gotten the twins up, dressed, and fed before Esme even turned off her alarm clock.

“Esme!”

Easton spotted her nanny, jumped to her feet, and ran across the room to give Esme a hug. She wore a pink T-shirt silk-screened with the faces of children of many races, under pink linen overalls. The outfit had been a recent gift from a young actress who'd met the twins aboard the
Queen Mary
for the final banquet of FAB.