Tainted Love (12 page)

“Since when did you get so bossy?”

She closed her eyes in happy anticipation. It wasn't for the Indian food, much as Billy had rhapsodized about how this particular restaurant across from the Westside Pavilion in the Rancho Park section of the city was the best in all of Los Angeles. Mostly, she was imagining him in bed with her, doing what came naturally. She'd enjoyed the look in his eyes when he'd picked her up and saw what she was wearing—a L.A.M.B. by Gwen Stefani leopard-print minishift with a flirty short-sleeved white lace blouse underneath, and purple studded Marc Jacobs ankle boots with a three-inch heel that her aunt Kat had given to her outright.

What Billy didn't know was that under the lace blouse and minishift, Lydia wore nothing else. No bra, no thong, nothing. All the better for dessert.

The restaurant was called Jaipur, and it turned out that Kumar was the son of the owner. Evidently, Billy ate here a lot. Kumar had led them through the dark-walled interior to a table in the back, not far from the to-go counter. With ragas playing on the sound system, Indian artwork on the walls, and unfamiliar but mouthwatering aromas wafting out of the kitchen, Lydia felt like she could be half a world away.

“Okay,” Billy said. “Taste this.”

Lydia opened her mouth. The motion made her think of sex. Tonight, everything was making her think of sex.

“It's hot,” he warned.

Lydia nearly laughed out loud. Maybe he was on her wavelength, too. A delicious mix of aromas wafted into her
nostrils—saffron, cream, curry, pepper, onions, maybe eggplant, something sweet but not sugary. Then the fork was in her mouth, and smells turned into a panoply of amazing flavors unlike anything she'd ever tasted.

She chewed with gusto, swallowed, and then opened her eyes as languidly as possible. “That's amazing. What was that?”

“Began bharta—specialty of the house,” Kumar said proudly. “I'm glad you like it.”

“I love it!” Lydia exclaimed.

“It's eggplant baked in a tandoori oven, special red onions, ginger imported from Mumbai, hothouse yellow tomatoes, and some other spices,” Billy filled in. Kumar gave a little bow and said he would leave them to enjoy their meal. When he was gone, Lydia stuck her own fork into the clay pot.

“I think we should move in here,” she declared, forking up another mouthful of the delicious concoction. “Or maybe Kumar could sleep in your living room and cook for us. Three meals a day, I don't demand much.” She spooned some of the food onto Billy's plate, then filled her own.

Billy cocked an eyebrow. “How would that work, since you don't live in my apartment?”

“Just think how much fun we could have if I did,” she flirted.

“On a nightly basis,” he added.

She reached across the table and entwined her fingers with his large, strong ones. “I have a secret, Billy. Something I really need to tell you. I should have told you before, but …”

She hesitated. He put his fork down. “Okay.”

She leaned in to him. “I'm not wearing any underwear.”

He burst out laughing. “Aren't you the naughty girl.”

“Not yet,” she reminded him. “But I'd like to be. After we finish this amazing food, that is.”

Billy gave her a smoldering look. “Tonight's the night, huh?”

“You wanted us to wait, we waited. You wanted us to get to really know each other, we know each other.” Under the table she lifted one purple-booted foot and slid it along the leg of his jeans. “So yes. Tonight is the night. Even if I have to tie you down.”

Billy licked some sauce from his pinky. “Or maybe I'll have to tie you down.”

Well, this was going really, really well. At least he was saying the right things, which was a damn lot better than where he'd been on the issue before. It was a lot easier to get someone to say yes when that person was in the habit of saying yes. Very promising. Tonight she and Billy would seal the deal. And Luis would barely be a—

No. It couldn't be. Lydia peered toward the front of the restaurant, where someone who looked a lot like Luis was picking up a to-go order.

He turned. It
was
Luis. He was looking right at her.

Damn. Of all the shit-ass luck.

When Luis recognized her, he popped a pair of earbuds from his ears and walked confidently toward her and Billy's table. “Well, well. If it isn't the great Lydia Chandler? What a surprise. You've got good taste in restaurants.”

“Actually, my boyfriend picked it,” Lydia said, feeling incredibly uncomfortable to be in between these two guys in one room. She quickly introduced Billy to Luis, explaining that Luis was the country club pro who'd given Jimmy his first lesson.

The two guys shook hands. “Nice to meet you,” Billy told him politely.

“You too,” Luis agreed. “You play?”

“I surf a little and played soccer in high school. But no golf.”

Lydia watched the two guys with trepidation. Surely Luis would have the good sense not to do or say anything to indicate that their relationship went beyond a country club acquaintanceship.

All he did was tell them to enjoy their meal.

“Sure,” she agreed, keeping a cheerful look on her face and reminding herself that she owed Luis exactly nothing.

“Have a wonderful night. See you at the club sometime. Billy, you're a lucky guy. She's really something.” A discreet bell sounded, and Luis headed back to the counter to pick up his to-go bags.

“Lydia's ‘really something'?” Billy echoed.

“Oh, you know me, always joking around at the club,” Lydia said lightly. “It helps relax Jimmy. He's such a tense kid, and he really wants to be good at golf.”

Billy nodded and sipped his Kingfisher beer in its green can. Meanwhile, Lydia fumed. What was Luis doing making a comment like that?

She excused herself to go to the bathroom and caught up with Luis on the sidewalk outside the restaurant.

“I thought I could count on you,” she told him. “To be discreet.”

Luis laughed. “Hold on. All I did was come in for some takeout.”

“Lydia's ‘really something'? ‘You're a lucky guy, Billy'? That's
takeout
?”

“You need to relax, Lydia,” the golf pro told her. “I wasn't born yesterday. And now, I'm going home to eat this delicious food.” He gave a little wave and headed toward his Spyder, parked right behind Billy's red Saab by the curb outside the restaurant.

It was almost as if he'd intentionally pulled into the spot right behind them.

“Luis!”

He looked up as he opened his front door.

“Tell me—did you follow me here, Luis?” Her clenched throat raised her words half an octave.

She didn't feel any better when Luis didn't answer. Instead, he shook his head ruefully, got into the car, and drove away.

Kiley knocked on Bruce's white-painted door, now stripped of the rock-and-roll posters that used to adorn it. Nothing. She knocked again, louder. Still nothing. She knew he was in there, though, because she'd been smart enough to put a piece of tape between the door and the jamb earlier. If Bruce had snuck out, the tape would have been torn. It wasn't.

“Come on, Bruce. It's me, Kiley. Don't be a pain in the—”

The door swung open. There stood Bruce, in a pair of jeans and an old Bruce Springsteen T-shirt. When Kiley had been preparing for the reality show, she'd come across rampant Internet rumors that this Bruce was the offspring of
that
Bruce. Now she was aware that Platinum herself had fueled the speculation for publicity purposes.

Once upon a time, back when the rock star had been the mistress of her own domain, Bruce's room would have approximated a federal disaster area. Now, in the colonel era, it
looked like a plebe's quarters at West Point. Everything was neat, the bed perfectly made with hospital corners. There were no stray objects or even discarded clothing on the floor.

“Welcome to San Quentin,” Bruce growled. “And if that asshole tells me to secure my bunk and police the area, he's getting Ex-Lax in his blood pressure meds.”

“Why didn't you open for me when I knocked?”

“I thought you were him.”

Kiley sympathized with Bruce. The colonel had turned the kids’ world upside down and sideways with his overnight imposition of military discipline. Under the ancien régime, Bruce had been granted total autonomy and complete freedom. Not that total freedom was good for a fourteen-year-old, either.

“Are you confined to quarters?”

“Until next Wednesday. He didn't like the way I mowed the back lawn. I did it back and forth, he wanted it on the diagonal crisscrossed like the outfield at goddamn Dodger Stadium. We have three goddamn gardeners, why am I out there working?”

“Um … to learn discipline?” Kiley asked weakly.

“I hate that asshole.” Bruce leaned against the doorframe. “What do you want?”

“Number one, I'd recommend you cut back on the swearing. It could get habit-forming, and the colonel won't be happy. Can I come in?” Kiley asked. Bruce moved out of the way with a petulant look on his face, but Kiley plunged ahead. “So, let's talk about getting you sprung.”

For the first time, Bruce showed a modicum of interest. Kiley couldn't blame him. Here it was, seven o'clock on a Saturday night. Bruce was a party animal who had a lot of
young friends who were as into music as he was. Because of Platinum's connections, they could always get great tickets to see whoever was in town. Kiley knew he was a huge Yellowcard fan. That band was playing this very evening at the Hollywood Bowl; Bruce was missing the show because he was confined to quarters. He couldn't even sneak out, since the colonel controlled the electronic gate at the bottom of the driveway and an impenetrable hedge surrounded the rest of the property.

Bruce kicked his door shut, then put a pair of combative hands on his hips. “Okay. Talk to me. What's your great idea to get me off death row?”

“The colonel is paying for me to take scuba lessons.”

“Please. Take him along and fill his air tanks with ultra-long-lasting sleeping gas.”

“I don't think that's possible. He wants you to learn, too.”

Bruce snorted out a laugh. “That's a joke. He thinks because he wants me to do it, I'm going to do it? Believe me, I'll do the opposite of what he wants.”

“That will only piss him off even more. Which would only result in even more time confined to quarters.”

“Too bad. I'll never do what he wants. I don't want to give him the satisfaction.” Bruce folded his arms and set his jaw.

Kiley expected this reaction.

“Fair enough. I was going to invite you and your friends to come along when my friends and I go diving at Catalina Island, but if you can't scuba—no point. I could make a really great case for the colonel to let you come with us. Too bad. It would be an all-day thing.” She turned and headed for the door.

“Wait!”

Bingo.

Kiley looked over her shoulder. “Yeah?”

Bruce pursed his lips. “You really think that if I get certified the colonel will let me go on dives without him?”

She knew better than to bullshit him. “I think you've at least got a shot. He can't be in two places at once. If it was me in your shoes, I'd take my chances.”

“Huh.” He seemed to be considering his options. “When does class start?”

“Tomorrow, at the club. Adult pool. Eleven o'clock. You want a ride?”

“Let me think about it.”

“You do that,” she agreed.

“Just wondering …” He scratched the soul patch he was attempting to grow below his lower lip. “How cute are your friends?”

“Very. 'Night.”

She walked out and closed his door behind her, hiding a proud smile. Maybe all this time in Los Angeles was turning her into a mistress of manipulation just like everyone else. If she was a betting girl she would have wagered the estate that Bruce would be in the pool with her tomorrow.

Not that she owned the estate. But still.

The colonel pushed his rook forward one space. “Check.”

“Ah. You attack. This calls for more vodka, no?” Without waiting to see if her opponent agreed, Anya tilted the three-quarter-full Flagman bottle and poured two generous shots.

“Pour away. Vodka did not help your side in the cold war, it won't help it now,” the colonel cracked.

“What do you know of cold war?” Anya asked.

“I was with the marines in the middle of it. At Camp Pendleton.”

Anya twirled a pawn between her slender fingers. “So? My father was on B-4 class submarine during Cuban Missile Crisis, deployed off coast of California. He had missile aimed at your Camp Pendleton. Also San Diego, Long Beach, and Los Angeles where we sit. My dad one tough guy. You lucky to be here to play chess with me.”

“Oh, really?” the colonel retorted. “Last time I looked, the United States of America was still the United States of America, and the Soviet Union was consigned to the dustbin of history.”

“Civilizations rise, civilizations fall.
Na zdorov'ya.
To your good health. And to rise of new Russia.” She clinked her glass with his, downed the vodka in one big shot, and then moved a bishop to block the assault by the colonel's rook. “Is no more check for you. Is same bad move made by Big Blue against Garry Kasparov. Is now check for me. Good luck, Colonel, you will need.”