Another client owned two houses side by side—one of them they lived in and the other one was the kids’ playhouse. Playhouse! Homeless people lined up at church soup kitchens and lived in parks and alleys around the town. Life was indeed unfair. And I was a little envious. Some people in Orange County had too much, while others had so damn little.
On the west side, everyone—the Latinos, the working-class heroes, even the dogs—was, for the most part, lackluster. There were artists who added color, I suppose, but every day I read the police files in the Daily Pilot, and so much of the crime in coastal Orange County happened right around where I lived. Here were the factories, auto shops, taquerías, and lavanderias, and so many of us were scraping by, but on the east side that bordered Newport Beach, that’s where the real money was, that’s where the Orange County life that I had imagined and fantasized about resided. I’d been to Disneyland but never got why they called it the Happiest Place on Earth, not with all those screaming children and tourists with blue-white legs and lunky cameras strangling their necks. But a house on the east side, now that would make for a happy day, every day.
Levi came home from installing shelves in what he said looked like the kitchen of a TV cooking show: marble—not granite—countertops, Viking stovetop, a fridge the size of our bathroom. He rambled on about how the homeowner didn’t even have a wife. I was standing at the stove, stirring Arborio rice, adding vegetable broth every few minutes, to make risotto. What you pay for at a restaurant when you order risotto is not the ingredients, but the time it takes for some sadly underpaid restaurant worker to make the rice swell all plumplike. Biscuits, which I had flattened with my marble pastry roller—my most prized kitchen implement—and baked in the dollhouse-sized oven with a stovetop that only had three working burners, were cooling on the rack.
Levi could see I was down, so he kissed my cheek hard and wrapped his arms around me from behind. After a day among kids who treat substitute teachers like dog doo, Levi’s touch was heaven. He snaked his hand beneath my skirt and found my sweet spot. I wanted to shoo him away—you can’t leave risotto for one minute—but once Levi got on a certain track, there was no stopping him.
Levi liked to give me pleasure, or maybe he knew this was the main thing he had to offer, so he got on his knees and buried his face down there and I about went nuts, but kept stirring until I just couldn’t take it anymore. I let the spoon clatter to the counter and dropped to the aqua and white linoleum. I pulled Levi down with me. It didn’t take us long, which is another thing I liked about Levi—he wasn’t one of those guys who needed to linger and stretch it out.
We finished, and I washed my hands before returning to my risotto, but it was too late. The pot of rice was one sticky clod. I dumped it into the sink. Levi cracked two beers and ordered a pizza. While we waited, we went out onto the balcony. We drank our beers and watched the pool where a lone pink inner tube floated.
“Get this, Mimi,” he said. “The house I was at today, it also has a three-car garage. Three fucking cars! And there’s just one dude who lives there, with his kids.”
“Where’s the wife?” I asked, taking a swig.
He shook his head. “Died from cancer or something—and not long ago. There’s fucking art all over the place and expensive dishes are stacked in a monster cabinet the length of our living room wall. His brats have these little motorized cars they drive around the neighborhood. They live on this dead end—a cul de sac. Old money Costa Mesa, looks like. People have got serious funds over there. More than they need.”
“Some people have all the luck.”
“We deserve that kind of life,” he said.
“Everyone thinks they do.”
“But we really do. His fucking housecleaner knows more about his stuff and what he has than he does. He has so much crap he wouldn’t miss a few things disappearing.”
“I hate it when you sound stupid,” I said. “You think you can just help yourself? Is that what you’re saying?”
Levi shrugged, took a long pull off the bottle, and slipped out of his red leather cowboy boots, setting them inside our apartment doorway. He pulled off his T-shirt. He was still that sleek boy, a beauty. His curly brown hair was streaked blond and he had just the right amount of growth on his face. His teeth were white-white and his bare feet were perfect. He could be a model, that’s how handsome he was. Feet and teeth, I always say, have got to be superior. His physique made me overlook the fact that he wasn’t the brightest bulb in the room.
“Shepard needs a nanny for his kids, pretty much right away,” Levi said. “Someone smart enough to tutor. He’s running an ad but says he can’t find the right person.”
“I’m a teacher,” I reminded him, “not a nanny.”
“But you could be a nanny . . . for a time. Then we’d both be working there.”
“You think he’d go for a fricken handyman and his older girlfriend both working for him? Please.”
“Don’t call me a handyman,” he snapped.
“That’s what you are, babe.”
He looked hurt. “I aspire to more.”
“Sure you do,” I said. “I just don’t like where you’re headed with this.” I stroked his chest and tickled his nipples, which always put him in a good mood.
“Shepard would like you, Mimi. I told him about you. He seems lonely. I mean, who wouldn’t be, your wife up and dies and leaves you with little kids? But once he sees a pretty young thing like you, his day’s suddenly gonna seem a lot brighter. Don’t you want to brighten up a widower’s day?”
“I’m not that young.”
“You’re the sexiest thing going,” he said, running his fingers along my collarbone. “We could both be working there.”
“And then?”
“Who knows? But you deserve better’n this,” he said, his hands describing an arc about him, his voice going low. “You think all the rich fucks in this town work for what they have? A lot of them got old money. Inheritances. Bank accounts handed down. Or they have great gigs, businesses that haul ass. We weren’t lucky that way. Shit, Shepard has an entire goddamn library! He’s old, Mimi, but he has money.”
“Levi, you’re scaring me.”
“Don’t be scared, baby. How about I just introduce you to him?” He put his hands on my shoulders and looked down at me with his seawater eyes. “C’mon, Mimi. As long as you don’t like him that way, and why would you?—he’s not me—it could be fun.”
“Ripping off your employer . . . fun, huh?”
He shrugged. “Like I said, it’d be better’n this.”
We turned our attention back to the pool and that pink inner tube bobbing about when a pizza boy came whistling into the courtyard, looking like a waiter holding a tray with that flat box poised on his fingers.
“We’d need a plan,” I said, as the pizza boy looked up, trilled the fingers of his other hand like we were in some Hollywood musical, and headed for the cement stairway.
“Mims, I’m all about planning,” Levi replied, pulling a twenty from his pocket.
* * *
The stinking economy, even here in glorious Orange County, had pushed substitute teaching gigs further and further apart, so the next day, around lunchtime, I was sitting on the balcony smoking a hand-rolled and scanning the classifieds. A cherry pie cooled on the counter. I had to do something fast to rescue my financial situation. Levi’s truck skidded in. He threw a veggie bologna sandwich together—white bread from Trader Joe’s, Dijon mustard, and four slices of fake lunchmeat—and said he was taking me with him to Shepard’s house, ten minutes away.
I climbed into his truck, a major gas hog, which you just about needed a ladder to get into. As we passed Latinas with long black braids that touched their waists who pushed strollers, and homeless guys wearing tattered backpacks, he said, “Um, by the way, Shepard thinks you’re my older sister, so just play it cool.”
“Excuse me?”
“I decided he wouldn’t like the idea of you being my girlfriend.”<
br />
“Sometimes you fucking make me wonder.”
He nodded, keeping his eyes fixed on the road. “I just thought of it. Brilliant, huh?”
“Yeah, right. Incredible genius you got goin’ in that head of yours.”
But as we crossed over Newport Boulevard, leaving the not-so-good side of town for the lush, moneyed side where tall eucalyptus swayed in the faint ocean breeze, Costa Misery segued to Piece of Heaven, California, with its cute cottages, palm trees, rosebushes, magenta bougainvillea, and Jaguars, BMWs, and hybrids.
We pulled into his boss’s driveway. A tall husky guy in khakis and a polo shirt, with short graying hair, futzed in the garage. He was a bit thick in the middle and wore conservative beige shoes.
“You owe me big time,” I said, pushing open the door as Mr. Orange County Republican approached us.
“That a promise?” he responded, as I jumped from the cab.
The guy had probably been a hottie once and was handsome in an almost-fifty way, but he was so not my type. He held out his hand. “You must be Levi’s sister,” he said, giving me a warm handshake. “He didn’t tell me you were so pretty.”
“He’s been forgetting to take his ginkgo biloba,” I countered, playing it off, but I was charmed. And it takes a lot to charm me.
Levi laughed as if I were the funniest older sister in the entire universe.
“You two get acquainted,” said Levi. “The back fence is calling me.”
Shepard gave him the thumbs-up sign and said, “Shall we go inside?” His eyes were friendly as he gestured me in and hit the electric garage door button. “The kids are at school, but I’ll show you around so you can see where you’d be spending your days.”
I forced a smile, tried to look interested.
“School’s out tomorrow,” he said. “I need someone who can be a nanny and a teacher. Only occasional sleepovers, when I’m out of town.” He had a gap between his front teeth, which were white and even. I had a boyfriend once with a gap I loved to tongue.
“Your brother said you’re a teacher.”
Brother? Then I remembered.
“I was, back east,” I said. “Taught drama and English. I’ve been substitute teaching since I moved here. Not a lot of work these days for teachers without seniority.”
“That’s too bad,” he said, touching my shoulder to direct me into the living room. He must have noticed how my gaze fell on the baby grand because he said, “You play?”
“Used to.”
“Like riding a bicycle, don’t you think? You’re welcome to . . .” He nodded toward it.
“Ah, no, maybe another time.” Being able to play piano impressed people, but it didn’t impress me. You could learn anything if you wanted to.
“Your brother said you like to bake.”
“I’m obsessed with making pies.” When we have extra money, I almost added.
“You’re welcome to bake here, anytime. I can’t remember the last time a pie came out of that oven. Just give me a list; I’ll buy you what you need.”
If it were possible to fall in love with a house, I was falling—hard—especially for the kitchen. With that kitchen, I could bake a million pies and never grow bored.
“Like something? Coffee? A soda?” he asked, sticking a glass into the opening of the fridge’s front panel. He pushed a button. Ice dropped and chinked into the glass.
“Diet Coke?”
“Sure thing,” he said, taking one from the fridge. He moved toward the cabinet.
“No glass,” I said, so he tore a paper towel from the roll and wiped the top of the can clean before handing it to me. No one had ever done that before, and I swear, he looked different after that. Charming.
We talked about my background and his needs, and an hour later, when the kids were dropped off, he gave them big bear hugs and introduced us. “Bella and Dante, this is Mimi. She might be helping out. Want to show her your rooms?” The kids appraised me like I was a new piece of furniture, and then Bella took my hand.
“My room first,” she said. Her little brother led the way, running his Hot Wheels police car along the wall.
They showed me their rooms and I liked them. Levi stuck in his head and said he had to run off for a while, and when he returned at five, he seemed hyper, strange, and rushed me to go.
As we pulled away from the curb and headed down the tree-lined street, Levi said: “He’s not bad, right?”
“He was fine,” I replied, almost adding, He was more than fine. “And you’re lowdown.” I had never felt so cold toward Levi. But he didn’t seem to notice.
“He tell you what he does for a living? I think he’s a developer or something.”
“Something like that,” I said.
“Major bucks.”
“Construction’s taking a dive.”
“He tell you that? Don’t believe it,” he said, turning onto a street with houses behind high walls, pulling over and putting the truck in park. He scooched over to me, took me in his arms, and started kissing my neck. Melted me every time. Stupid guys who were cute made the best lovers. It was the truly smart ones you had to watch out for, who could fracture your heart with one skewered word.
“C’mon, baby, don’t be mad. It’s a way for us to get ahead.”
“But his kids weren’t brats. They were sweet.”
He pulled a blanket from under the seat, covered us as he pushed me down with kisses, and said, “After this, we’ll go eat. I’m starving.”
* * *
We sat across from each other at Wahoo’s Fish Tacos, a popular haunt on Placentia, down the street from where we lived. The exterior was covered with chipping teal paint. Surf stickers smattered the windows. The menu offered Mexican entrees that weren’t gourmet, but were good enough, priced for artists and people on limited incomes, and for rich Orange Countians who wanted to feel they were getting away with something. As he talked about what we’d do with the money—a new truck for him, a kitchen for me—you’d think I was one hungry fish, the way I went for it. I must have been beyond bored. We’d go slow and easy, figure things out, and when we had all the pieces, we’d make our play, he said. But I had a bad feeling.
Levi started staying up late, figuring out where we’d escape to once we had a few of Shepard’s more high-end belongings that Levi would give to a friend of a friend who would split the proceeds. I did a bit of research and learned that Shepard had paintings and antiques worth thousands. He had one Chagall lithograph, The Artist with a Goat, #1026, that was worth thirty grand. Even inane simple drawings of dolphins that lined the hallway by that overrated Laguna Beach artist, Wyland, sold for three grand apiece. Levi’s idea was we’d leave Costa Misery for Mexico. No one can find you down there, he said.
A week into my new nannyhood, as Levi and I were wrapping it up for the day and I was saying goodbye to the children, Shepard said, “The kids are going to their aunt’s. Why don’t I take you out to dinner, my thanks for coming to our rescue.”
Levi didn’t miss a beat. “Go ahead, sis,” he said. “It’d be fun for you.”
Sis?
I scanned what I was wearing—jeans, a purple pullover, lowtop red Converse. “I’m not exactly dressed up.”
“You’d look gorgeous in a flour sack,” said Shepard.
Levi winked at me. I shrugged. “Okay, then.”
Levi hurried off a little too quickly with a nonchalant wave.
“Let’s have a taste before we go,” said Shepard. “Pick anything you like from the wine cellar and I’ll meet you out by the pool.”
The cellar was a converted closet off the kitchen with a slate floor and thermostat that said fifty-three degrees. I chose a 1987 Tondonia because I liked the name. He carried our glasses to the back patio that overlooked the pool. This pool was a million times better than the one at the Arms.
“I could get used to this,” I said, after we clinked glasses.
“I hope you do,” he said, his voice all syrupy and warm, like the
wine.
Soon Shepard and I were in his Jag cruising up Newport Boulevard to Habana, a Cuban restaurant in a funky open-air mall with an oil-drum waterfall and tattooed, pierced hipsters. Habana was dark, lit only with candles. You could barely see who was sitting next to you, but the waiter could see well enough to recognize Shepard and make a big deal, and it was different being with someone before whom people groveled.
Shepard ordered a bottle of Barolo red, which he explained was the king of wines. We toasted and he said to order whatever tickled my fancy. Those were his words. During dinner, a second bottle of wine arrived and for dessert we shared a Cuban flan. Our fingers brushed against one another.
“We’re delighted you came to us, Mimi. The children like you very much.”
“They’re sweethearts,” I said.
“Actually, to be honest, I’m the happiest.” He stroked my arm and focused on it as if it were a great treasure. “You’ve got great skin.”
“This light would make anyone look good,” I said, feeling guilty over how much I enjoyed his attention. Then I thought, What the hell. Levi got me into this, and I gave in. Right then and there I felt myself loosen and open to Shepard. When his hand found mine, I let it. And when he brought my hand to his lips, I let him. We left the restaurant and returned to his Jag, his arm laced around my shoulder. He opened the passenger door and I slid onto the butter-soft leather seats that reclined at the touch of a button. He got in and buzzed down the windows. He turned to kiss me and I kissed him back, tongued that gap in his front teeth. The wine was talking; I’ve always been an easy drunk. His hand found its way under my pullover and then he was in my jeans. I pressed against his fingers and before long I shuddered. Who cared if he was a conservative and a bit too husky—he had the touch of an angel and I liked how sweet and considerate he was. He was different from anyone I’d ever been with. Maybe older guys with money could afford to be patient, considerate.
“What about you?” I asked into his neck, rubbing him down there.
“There’s time for that,” he said, gently removing my hand and kissing it.
When I got home, Levi wanted to know where we went and what we did. He wasn’t so laid-back about it anymore. I didn’t tell him everything, and I distracted him with sex. It always worked. I had to keep my OC Republican a secret for now.
USA Noir Noir: Best of the Akashic Noir Series Page 19