This One Is Mine: A Novel (5 page)

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Reyes
. It meant “kings” in Spanish. That answered it; he must be Mexican. Violet pictured Venice Boulevard but could see only oil-change places, strip malls, and junk shops. She didn’t know people actually lived on Venice. The zip code — 90066 — meant nothing to her. Bordering the card were colorful dancing pharmaceutical pills. “What are you, some kind of pill freak?”

“I was,” he said. “Among other things. I’ve been clean almost three years.”

“So that’s the royal we? AA?”

“I’m Teddy and I’m an alcoholic.”

“I’m Violet,” she said. “And I’m . . . I’m happy to meet you.”

Teddy gave a big laugh. There it was, his laugh: her laugh. “Of course you’re a Violet,” he said. “Nice to meet you, too, Violet. I need a miracle.”

S
ALLY
followed Maryam into her boss’s Marina del Rey condo. It was packed, loud and overlit with twenty-dollar halogen torch lamps you could get at any drugstore. Sally couldn’t believe that after all these years in LA, she was still stuck at the level of party where they served baby carrots and Trader Joe’s hummus. Since she had the best arms in the room, Sally took off her coat and pushed it into Maryam. “Could you put this somewhere?”

Maryam dutifully did as told and disappeared into the crowd.

“You must be Maryam’s friend,” a voice called, “the beautiful Sally.”

“And you must be our gracious host!” Sally handed the sweaty man two crates of chocolate. She couldn’t figure out why Violet had sent over seven pounds of chocolate for her birthday. (The card had read “Love, David and Violet,” but Sally knew Violet’s writing.) It was a thoughtless, bizarre choice. Sally was about to chuck the bag in the trash, but then saw the round orange box. In it was a gorgeous Hermès belt. She could forgive Violet the chocolate.

“May I get you a drink?” asked the host.

“No, thanks. I’ll just wander.” Sally scanned the crowd for Jeremy White. Not wanting to appear too eager, she had never pumped Maryam about Jeremy’s looks. All Maryam had said was “He’s actually kind of cute.”
Actually
kind of cute. Sally wondered, Why the
actually?

“Hey! Look who it is!” Maryam had reappeared and was spinning Sally around by her shoulders. “Jeremy! This is my friend Sally.” Sally found herself, without ceremony, face-to-face with Jeremy White. He was pressed against a wall, a beer high to his chest.

He stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Sally.”

Sally shook it. Clammy. “Likewise,” she said.

“I can’t believe you came to a party,” Maryam said, and punched Jeremy in the shoulder.

“You told me I had no choice.” He shot a glance at Sally, but before she could engineer a seductive smile, he looked down.

The tension that had been building in Sally’s neck and shoulders all day swooshed down her spine and disappeared. Tonight would be easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy. “I’m a big fan of your column,” she said. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“I have a secret system,” Jeremy said.

Sally pantomimed pointing a gun at him. “We have ways of making you talk.”

“I’m scared,” he replied to her left cheek. She worried a zit had sprung up.

Maryam laughed. “You guys are totally made for each other.”

Sally felt a flush of excitement that what she was thinking had just been spoken aloud. “Maryam, look! They have five-layer dip.” Sally gave her a little wave.
“Your favorite.”
Maryam glowered and walked off.

“It involves finding the value in a spread,” Jeremy was saying. “Even a half-point discrepancy — especially if it’s a valuable half point from three to three and a half — can be statistically significant.” It took Sally a second to realize he was still talking about his betting system.

For a geek
. That’s what Maryam must have meant: he’s actually kind of cute
for a geek
. Jeremy had perfect posture. His chin was tucked in, as if to create an extra half-inch distance between himself and the world. He had pale skin and lots of sandy hair, with no signs of balding. He looked slender under a crumply button-down and wide-wale cords. It was a good start, something Sally could work with. “I think it’s so amazing you work at the
LA Times,
” she said.

“I work at home. I’ve only been to Spring Street once.”

“Even better! Working at home!”

“Gee. Everything makes you happy,” he said.

“I guess I’m just one of those types of people.”

“I’ve never heard of the type who is happy one hundred percent of the time.”

“Try me.”

“That would require spending every day and night with you.”

A joyous “Aah —” was all that came out.

A dumpy, unattractive woman in sweatpants butted in. “Let me know when you’re ready to go,” she said to Jeremy.

Sally waited for an introduction, but there was none. “Hi, I’m Sally Parry,” she had to say.

“I’m Jeremy’s neighbor.” She had a big mole on her cheek.

“Jennifer drove me here,” Jeremy said. “I don’t drive.”

Jeremy didn’t drive here?
What about Sally’s plan? If he didn’t drive her home, she couldn’t bring him upstairs. If she couldn’t bring him upstairs, she couldn’t tease him. If she couldn’t tease him, she couldn’t send him away, flummoxed and erect. This was a four-alarm disaster! “That’s so fascinating!” Sally squealed. “I wish I had a neighbor to chauffeur me!”

“There you go again,” he said. “Happy about everything.”

“Whatever,” Jennifer said. “I’m ready when you are.”

“I’m having fun,” he said to Jennifer. “Do you mind staying?”

The neighbor girl looked Sally up and down. Sally stood her ground with confidence. Jennifer turned to Jeremy. “Let me know when you’re ready. I have to get up early.”

Sally had to think fast. Jeremy was totally flirting with her, but were just five minutes face-to-face enough for him to ask her out? This blind date had taken three whole months to maneuver. Sally had only six weeks before Jeremy became a TV star. She grabbed his hand. “Come with me.”

V
IOLET
found David in the bathroom, flossing his teeth in his boxers. At forty-six, his physique was as good as when Violet had first met him.

“Pick a number,” he said. Floss hung from either side of his mouth, like a brontosaurus. “From one to five.”

“Why?”

“Just pick one and I’ll tell you if you’re right.”

“I don’t know. . . .”

“One to five. It isn’t hard.”

Violet stiffened. She had an eighty percent chance of saying the wrong thing. “Two.”

“Five! That’s the number of nights we sold out at the Troubadour. They played the single on KROQ. It was massive. By noon we sold out five nights.”

“No kidding!” Violet said. David was legendary when it came to breaking new bands, but with the music business imploding, all the old methods were being challenged. “You’re the greatest, baby!”

“You better believe it.”

Violet removed her hat from the Hermès bag and cut off the tag. Six hundred dollars. Daniel had seen it in the spring
chapeaux
catalogue and declared a “shopping emergency” — those words were actually preprinted on a slip of paper. The hat was Fed-Exed from Paris to Beverly Hills for Violet’s perusal, “no obligation to buy, of course.” It wasn’t a great hat. But, trapped in a friendship with scented Daniel, Violet gave him the small crate of chocolates and bought it anyway.

“I met the sweetest guy today,” Violet said. “A bass player.”

All day Violet had been analyzing what had happened between her and Teddy. All day she had reached the same conclusion: nothing. Their meeting was purely accidental. She had made it clear she was married. She’d probably never see him again. But paying to have his car fixed was trickier to rationalize. Technically, it was David’s money. But he had just given a bunch to a charity for struggling musicians. And if he did happen across the mechanic’s bill — which he wouldn’t, as all the bills went straight to the accountant — Violet would say she’d helped a struggling musician.

Still, as Violet kept combing over the details of her strange encounter — Teddy’s soulful eyes, the way he kept repeating what she said as if she were the most mesmerizing person in the world, how safe she felt when he took her hand, how their banter made her twinkle, how she practically dared him to kiss her, the desperation she felt offering to fix his car, and the insanity as she tried to play it down — her shame intensified. She kept having to remind herself that nothing illicit had happened. No self-exculpation was necessary. If it were, would she be telling her husband?

“He was playing at a health fair,” she added. “I helped him get his car fixed.”

“I’m going to get Tara McPherson to do some artwork for the Troubadour shows,” David said. He shot antiplaque rinse into his mouth and swished it around.

“That’s a great idea.” Violet stepped into the closet. She quickly changed into her pajamas while David was occupied with his teeth, to ensure he wouldn’t see her naked. “Oh,” she said, emerging from the closet, “I sent Sally a belt from Hermès. One of those orange ones with the H buckles. It’s a bit arriviste for me, but she likes that kind of thing.”

“I’ll get Tara to do some T-shirts for the guys at KROQ,” David said. “They did me a real solid playing that single.”

Violet felt a pang every time David ignored what she said. In a college psych book, she once read that conversations were like contracts between people. Everyone would prefer to talk
all
the time, but if they did, the person they were talking to would lose interest and end the conversation. Therefore, in order to keep talking, a person had to stop talking and listen to the other person. Then, and only then, could they continue talking themselves. At the time, Violet had found it cynical. But after sixteen years of marriage, what she would give! She didn’t expect David to genuinely care about a person she’d helped, or a present she’d bought for his sister, but he could at least act as if he cared. One time, as an experiment, Violet had decided to only listen to what he said and never bring anything up about herself. After a couple of days, he grew depressed and became hostile toward her. Still, he had never asked a single question about her day or how she was. Violet had secured her proof that he was a selfish asshole, but she felt terrible to have been responsible for any strife. The whole thing taught her to every day volunteer something about herself. Even knowing it would be met with indifference.

Violet put on her new hat.

“Hey, look at you in that hat,” David said. “What a cutie you are.” He blew her a kiss in the mirror and headed off to bed.

J
EREMY
didn’t protest as Sally led him to the bedroom and shut the door. “Do you have to use the restroom?” he asked.

That’s
what was so weird about the way he spoke, Sally realized. His voice had no inflection. She was about to change that, and how. She took the beer out of his hand and set it on the dresser.

“Forgive me,” she said, “but there’s something I have to do.” She kissed him. He stood there with frozen eyes. She kissed him again.

This time he puckered back with a loud “Mmwwaa.”
Mmwwaa
was the sound your grandmother made when she kissed you. Sally tickled his lips with her tongue, caught an opening between his teeth, and wedged them apart. She went in for a slow, sensual kiss. His tongue flapped wildly in her mouth. “Mmwwaa.” He pulled his head back and wiped the saliva off his face. “What?” He was breathing heavily. “What do you have to do?”

“Make love.” Sally kissed him again and undid his top button.

“Here?” His voice cracked.

“That’s right.” She walked him to the foot of the bed and pushed him onto the mountain of purses and coats. She straddled him with straight legs to showcase her flexibility. He grabbed her ass. She gave him a few seconds to register the firmness of her glutes. She slalomed her tongue up his cheek to his ear, then recoiled when she hit something synthetic. Weird, he had earplugs in. “Take off your pants,” she whispered. She climbed off the bed and locked the door. When she turned around, his tighty-whiteys were nestled in his cords at his ankles. Everything about him was reedy and pale: his dick, his thighs, his pubic hair.

Sally unwrapped her dress, appreciating how sexy it must look as it poured onto the floor. Because of her firm, small breasts, she could get away with going braless. In thong and heels, she sashayed toward Jeremy in big pronounced steps. (It was a walk she had learned at a bridal shower years ago, where a stripper had been hired to give the girls lessons.) In one move, Sally slipped one leg out of her underwear and raised her turned-out leg so her foot was next to Jeremy’s waist. Not something he got the pleasure of seeing every day, she was sure of that. He grabbed a breast in each hand and pulsed them. She smiled once, then again to mask a wince. The last thing Sally needed was for Jeremy to come before they made love, which she knew was a serious possibility. Therefore, she couldn’t risk licking or even touching his penis. She wanted them to come together this time, their first time, for the romance.

“You turn me on so much,” she said. “I swear, I think I might come as soon as you stick it in me.” She picked up his dick, now thick and vanilla, like a Twinkie, and lowered herself onto it. Jeremy’s eyes rolled back in his head. She knew it — he was coming! She let out a yelp and faked it, “Jeremy! Jeremy!” He closed his eyes and gulped. “Oh God,” she said. “Did you come, too?”

“Yes.” His eyes were still closed.

Sally rolled onto her side and covered her face with her hands. “I’m so embarrassed.”

His eyes flew open, but he didn’t look over.

“I’ve never done that before,” she said. “I bet you do that to all the girls, naughty boy.”

“Do what?” His eyes moved across the ceiling, as if he were counting the white cork tiles.

“Drive the girls crazy with your statistics.”

“No girl has ever done that to me.” Jeremy pulled his pants up and shuddered, as if the cheapness of what happened had just penetrated him. He fixed his eyes on the floor.

Sally could tell she was losing him. They had both partaken in the desperate act of a middle-aged woman in a Marina del Rey condo. She was lying naked, a stranger’s sperm dripping out of her onto someone’s jean jacket. All because she had played it wrong too many times before. The married travel agent who didn’t leave his wife for her like he had promised; the Pepperdine law student who had moved in with her for two years, then dumped her the day he passed the bar for some paralegal who “was a better fit intellectually”; the would-be garment king who had talked her into bankrolling his leather jacket business, then dumped her, along with twenty-six grand of credit card debt in her name.