Palm Springs Heat

by DC Thome

  Taequanda looked down and calmly plucked a loose thread from the neck of her toga. “As you know,” she said, “it is my policy that when you’re talking to one of us, you’re talking to all three.”

  Then she looked at him. With eyelids at half-mast.

  “Oh, come on,” he said with a self-conscious giggle. “There’s no reason to get your panties in a bunch.”

  The three people standing closest to him each took a step back.

  “My what?”

  Everyone else in the room took a step back.

  “You’re talking about my what? My panties? How about let’s have a little conversation about the ones you’re wearing?”

  “How about, why don’t we just proceed?”

  “Oh, I do not think so.” Taequanda stood up on the reclining bench and scowled. “Before we do anything, you need to give ’em a tug here and there.”

  “I beg your par—”

  “You heard me: A tug here and there. Give your junk a little breathing room.”

  “I really don’t understand what—”

  “That’s right, you don’t understand. You know that girl’s never done anything like this before.”

  Not wanting to make waves, Lara sat up and offered, “Thanks, but it’s all right. Really. I just have to get used to—”

  “You ever do any modeling before today?”

  “No.”

  “Then it is not all right.”

  Taequanda glowered at the assembled multitude. “In fact, it’s all wrong. I have never in my life seen so many people with their shorts on so tight.” She softened her expression and turned to Lara. “Seriously, I’ve never seen these people so wound up.” The glower returned as she turned back to the crowd. “Now, I want everyone—and that would include you two”—she pointed at two assistants who were still conversing at the back of the room—“to loosen their shorts.”

  Everyone stood still, blinking at the tall, dark, majestic woman towering over them in glowing white, flowing robes.

  “Do I have to demonstrate for you people?” She hiked up her stola, whisked her underwear down to her ankles and kicked them right at Spike.

  Lara surveyed the shocked faces. Thank god they’re all looking at Taequanda instead of me. Then she noticed Corynne looking down and covering her face, trying not to let everyone see how hard she was laughing.

  “Come on! Loose shorts all around!”

  Spike sighed as he took Taequanda’s underwear off his shoulder and nervously flexed the waistband between his index fingers.

  “Tae, dear,” Spike said, “I think you’ve quite made your point.”

  Taequanda’s arms were crossed now. “You all had better hope so. Because if I don’t start feeling a more relaxed vibe tout de suite, some asses will get kicked.”

  After a moment of silence and trepidation, Spike twirled his arm above his head. “Everyone take two to chill.”

  The buzz returned to the room, but at a much lower decibel level. Corynne stopped trying to hide her laughter. Taequanda, though, was all business as she turned to Lara.

  “You know it’s their job to make you look comfortable even if you feel like you’ve got lobsters pinching on your eyelids.”

  “It’s just that, every time I tried to put something up to my mouth, I felt this…thing…tugging me or sliding off my body.”

  “Let me show you a secret.” Taequanda lifted one side of her toga before sitting on the bench.

  “See how it just ends up in the right place?” The material seemed to cooperate no matter how she moved her head and shoulders and arms, even when she reclined into the traditional Roman dining position.

  Lara copied Taequanda’s trick and got the same results.

  “How could it be that easy? I feel so dumb.”

  “It’s not you. They just throw you into these situations and expect you to perform.” She turned toward Spike, who was talking to an assistant. “Hey! Annie Leibovitz—shake a leg!”

  Spike stopped midsentence and looked at her.

  “That’s right. I said you may continue.”

  He snapped his fingers. “People, her highness, the queen, wishes for us to get on with it.”

  The entourage snapped into gear like a machine.

  “Around this place,” Taequanda said to Lara, but loud enough for everyone to hear, “you are a queen. It’s their business to make you look good, not the other way around.”

  12

  Taequanda’s advice helped ease things for Lara as the day wore on. Spike took shots of the girls in the kitchen. Shots of them playing pool. Shots of them goofing off in the backseat of one of Clay’s massive Pierce-Arrows. A Jacuzzi shot was planned, but when Lara confided her aversion to hot tubs, Taequanda asked Spike—politely, and with her underwear in place—to skip it.

  The next shot still, however, required wearing a swimsuit. Trim though she was, Lara found picking a swimsuit stressful. Tiffany laid out a half-dozen choices, all of them black one-pieces.

  “Which do you think?” Lara bit a thumbnail as Tiffany scrutinized each suit.

  “I couldn’t totally say unless I saw you in each one. But, I don’t see how you could go wrong, since Chartre picked them out.”

  “Chartre picked them out?”

  Tiffany nodded.

  “Then, which one would Ms. V pick?”

  “Definitely not this one.” Tiffany pointed to an Amalfi bandeau. “This one, for sure.” She held up an Athena Maldives “fauxkini.” Lara snatched up the Amalfi.

  Lara felt fine about going strapless, but when she saw her Rotation mates on the rocks below the War Room, she thanked her lucky stars the bandeau covered her hips. Not afraid to reveal all her assets, Corynne had chosen a tankini with a plunging neckline from Victoria’s Secret. Taequanda, of course, looked the best of the three in a Monica Wise suit with side cutouts that Lara would dream of wearing only in a nightmare.

  Wranglers kept sunbathing seals at bay as the trio posed on boulders that were as big as some houses in the neighborhood where Lara grew up. The sun felt warm, but every now and then a wave smacked the rocks and launched plumes of chilly spray that made Lara shiver. Lucky seals. No one cares if they have enough blubber to keep them warm.

  At the end of the shoot, as the Rotation mates’ respective assistants appeared with fuzzy pink robes, Spike stopped in front of Lara and nodded. “I have to admit,” he said, “you do know how to wear a swimsuit.”

  Lara smiled demurely. “Thank you.”

  Tiffany held the gigantic robe up to allow Lara to peel off the freezing swimsuit. As soon as the spandex hit the rock, Tiffany wrapped the robe around Lara the way a fight trainer would a boxer. The terry cloth tickled her skin, and she warmed up immediately.

  Clay never showed. But Lara, feeling the need to play it cool, didn’t ask why. Instead, she dutifully followed Tiffany to her own space in the ICE House, a suite that overlooked the ocean from two flights above the deck.

  * * *

  “Here ya go!” Tiffany said as she threw open the double doors.

  The ante room was bigger than Lara’s entire apartment at Eleventh and Pearl—and much nicer. The décor was feminine but not effete, functional but comfortable. And even with its infinite view of the ocean, it seemed cozy. Lara thought the radiant hardwood flooring and plush oriental carpet had something to do with that.

  Lara checked out the spacious bathroom. “No waterfall?”

  “I hope that’s not going to be a problem. The shower is totally boss, though.” Tiffany danced out of view.

  Lara followed her through a dressing room big enough for two people to live in. Chartre’s mountain of clothes had been neatly hung and obsessively arranged by occasion and color in a huge walk-in closet. Lara stopped and stared.

  All this is mine?

  Lara heard the shower go on. Still staring at the clothes, she headed toward the bathroom but stumbled over something in the doorway: Tiffany’s boots. Tiffany’s shredded stockings lay on the til
e just inside the bathroom. Lara looked up to see her barefoot assistant marveling over a glass-encased stall big enough to hold three, or maybe four, people.

  “You can make it do all kinds of wild things by turning this knob,” Tiffany said gleefully. As she rotated the control, jets of water shot out of the walls from various angles.

  Lara stuck her arm into the stream. Tiffany turned the knob to make the water pulse. “As good as a waterfall, for sure,” Tiffany said. She turned off the water and scooped up her boots and hose.

  “I hope you don’t mind me taking them off,” she said without guilt. “I just love the way the natural stone feels on bare feet.”

  They moved back into the bedroom. Lara stared at the comically high pile of pillows burying the bed. “Are there enough pillows?”

  “Why? Do you want more?” Tiffany tucked her boots and hose under one arm and typed a note on her phone.

  “I was being facetious.”

  “Oh.” Tiffany stopped typing. “Because, I can get you more pillows.”

  “No. These will be fine.”

  Tiffany shrugged and put her phone away. “So, the room is cool?”

  “I like it very much.”

  Tiffany picked up a remote from one of the nightstands. “Well, in two seconds, you’re going to like it to death.”

  She clicked a button and the blinds opened to a sunset coloring the steel-green canvas of the sea incandescent oranges and pinks.

  With the touch of another button, she made the glass door open. “Voilá! Your own private deck.”

  Deck?

  Each sunset gave Lara a deeper appreciation of the romantic appeal of the city she had lived in all her life. And she had wondered why that romance had so often seemed to be so maddeningly out of reach. She went onto the deck and stood mesmerized. Many times in the past two years she had watched the sun set from the top of the bluffs over Santa Monica Bay, staying until the last dazzling rays shone like a halo over Point Dume. Malibu. And, now, me.

  “Pretty decent, no?” Tiffany brushed the smooth wood of the deck with her feet.

  “It’s just like in the song,” Lara said.

  “There’s a song about a deck?”

  “No. The sunset.”

  Tiffany joined Lara at the railing.

  “The Doors song, L.A. Woman.”

  “The Doors? Were they on Jimmy Fallon last week?”

  Lara laughed. “I don’t think so. There’s a verse about how a woman’s hair looks like hills on fire, like she’s standing in front of a sunset.”

  “I can totally see that.”

  They stood in silence for a few moments and watched the explosion of color.

  “Okay, so, I’m supposed to ask if there’s anything you want brought here from your place in S.M.”

  “What?”

  “Ms. V said it’s cool. All the girls do it.”

  “That’s nice, but I don’t think—”

  “It’s not like you’ll need anything. But maybe you’d like to, you know, personalize the space. Maybe you have some beloved clothes? Or a favorite snuggly?”

  “Snuggly?”

  “A teddy bear or a dog. Or a big, cushy walrus with googly eyes. Like that.”

  “A big, cushy walrus with googly eyes?”

  Tiffany nodded. “Like that.”

  Lara turned back to the sunset. “There’s so much here…I don’t think I’m going to miss anything back in ‘S.M.’ for a few months.”

  “Or, like, your laptop? I could arrange to have someone pick it up for you.”

  My laptop? It does have my research on it. But the last thing I need is anyone from Fast Lane…

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Are you sure? Because it’s no—”

  Lara spun around. “I don’t need it.”

  It surprised even Lara how bitchy she sounded, but paranoia was spreading through her like an infection. Could all these compliments and banter about “snugglies” be Tiffany trying to lull her into a false sense of security? Why did Taequanda always take her side? Sushma has me second-guessing everyone.

  “Okay, cool.” Tiffany poked at her phone. “So, tomorrow, you can sleep in to, like, eight, if you want, and still have time for a workout and breakfast.”

  Tiffany’s nonchalance made Lara feel even more off-balance.

  “Um, okay.”

  “Cool.”

  Lara forced a smile. “Cool.”

  Tiffany floated toward the door.

  “Oh, and Tiffany?”

  “Yes?”

  “Tomorrow, could you please wake me up by calling me on my phone?”

  “Gotcha, Miss D.”

  * * *

  Alone, Lara became aware of how big a silence could be in the wake of a hurricane. Still, the exchange with Tiffany and L.A. Woman buzzed in her mind.

  Am I a lucky lady? Or lost in a city of light?

  The last ember of sun glowed the color of the sparkle in Clay’s eyes. Lara leaned against the railing and looked at the rocks so far below. The water now lapped lazily against the bluff.

  Her phone rang.

  Why at a moment like this? Lara thought about letting the call go, then went inside to answer it.

  It was Clay.

  “Hi.”

  “How was your day?”

  “Kind of hectic. Yours?”

  “Kind of hectic.”

  “I’m guessing your days are always hectic,” Lara said.

  “I never showed up during the photo shoots.”

  “I noticed.” Lara tried to sound more inquisitive than disappointed.

  “Like you said: Things come up when you run a major business enterprise.”

  “But if you’re the one running the enterprise, don’t you get to say when the plans change?”

  “Sure, but…” Clay paused. “I delegate.”

  “You have people tell you where you should go and when you should go there?” Lara went back onto the deck so she could watch the colors fade from the sky.

  “Frees me up to think about more important things.”

  “Such as?”

  “You.”

  “Ha! How often did you do that?”

  “Just about, oh, once a minute.”

  Lara batted her eyelashes. “And what, specifically, were you thinking once every minute?”

  “I was wondering, ‘How’s Lara doing on her own with all those sharks?’”

  How many sharks? “You mean Spike? He’s more of a guppy.”

  “You had Taequanda on your side.”

  Gulp. “Someone told you?”

  “No one told me anything. Those two are so predictable, like an old married couple. He practically begged to have his ass kicked, and she was happy to oblige. Am I right?”

  “That’s a pretty dim view of marriage.”

  “Why? Don’t we all need someone who’s happy to kick our ass, keep us honest?”

  Lara laughed self-consciously and brushed the luxurious pile of the robe with her free hand.

  “Spike’s a good photog,” Clay continued, “but he’s also a fool, and Taequanda does not suffer fools gladly.”

  “Thank god for that.”

  “Anyway, like your new digs?”

  “What’s not to like?”

  “How ’bout the deck?”

  “Great place to hang with Sol,” Lara said with a sigh.

  “Sol?”

  “Watch a sunset. Sorry.”

  “No, ‘hanging with Sol.’ I like that. Malibu is the greatest place to hang with Sol.”

  “I don’t know about that. I like where I usually go.”

  “Where do you usually go?”

  “Ocean and Arizona.”

  “It is nice there. So how would you improve the view from your deck?”

  Lara looked toward the corner of the sky where the light had faded to deep red with purple edges that blended into the gathering blackness. “Maybe if you moved the sun a little to the left.”

  “I
could talk to someone about that.”

  “So you do have clout around here.”

  “On the other hand,” Clay continued, “my view might improve if you moved a little to your left.”

  “What?”

  “Just a step.”

  Lara looked left, then right, then turned around.

  “Perfect!” Clay said. “Reminds me of the first time I saw you on the Upper Deck, standing at the railing.”

  “Wait. Where—?”

  “Up here.”

  Lara looked up to see a leg swinging from a dormer a few feet above her deck. Clay was perched on the roof wearing an ear-to-ear grin. He slipped his phone into a pocket and slid forward, deftly landing in front of Lara.

  “How long were you…”

  Pushing aside a few stay strands of hair, his eyes were ablaze with desire. “Long enough to realize you’re the only thing in the world that could improve a sunset.”

  Lara snapped her phone shut. Clay cradled her chin and kissed her.

  * * *

  Lara felt the blood rush from her head as Clay’s tongue danced ever so lightly across hers. Her shoulders went limp, and the rest of her followed. Clay put his hand on her waist and pulled her close. Their breathing became synchronized. Their bodies melded.

  Only forty-eight hours had passed since they’d made love in the waterfall at Heat, but with all that had happened in those hours, it seemed like a lifetime ago. The pace of the day had been physically demanding and emotionally grueling, with constant reminders of how she was faking it. Of how far in over her head she was. Of how wrong she had been about Clay. Lara’s body and soul focused on the immediacy of his presence; her mind kept jetting forward to a time when she would have to get out of the hole she was still digging.

  That time could be now. She could break off this kiss and confess everything. Clay would understand. He would want to help me. He would help me. Or maybe he’d have me shipped back to “S.M.”

  Or Sushma would. No matter what, confessing to Clay would put an end to Lara’s Big Plan. Would that be so bad? What earth-shaking revelations had she dredged up? Spike personified the most egregious gay stereotypes, but was a closet hetero lecher with wandering hands. Heat hosted naked pool parties for young, beautiful people. Women in The Rotation didn’t write their own tweets. Clay wasn’t really in charge. All firmly between “ho” and “hum” on the Richter scale.