by Julia Dumont
They agreed to go. Cynthia would be on call for her clients on their dates, but things went so well the first night, she was absolutely sure she could handle it. Especially because the higher-than-high maintenance Lolita was probably off the books.
Paul left the room so Cynthia could get dressed, but it seemed oddly formal after the previous intimacy. She would never look at paper gowns in the same way. She almost wanted to take this one home, but realized that was just too ridiculous. She did fantasize about seeing Paul in one, though——something about wanting to share the vulnerability. She daydreamed about him having an erection while wearing the thing. Suddenly it seemed like the sexiest attire she could possibly imagine——the simple utilitarian nature of the garment, together with its thinness, easy access, and tear-off-ability. She pictured his boner busting through the paper and laughed out loud. She looked in the mirror, then at the reclining leather table and all that stainless steel. She shivered. There was a knock on the door.
“Are you dressed?”
She’d been so thoroughly lost in dreamland, she had only gotten as far as bra, panties, and blouse.
“Just a minute!” she called, unbuttoning her blouse. “Okay, you can come in.”
He opened the door. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
“No, no,” she said, re-re-buttoning, “no problem. We’re old friends by now.”
“Okay,” said Paul, “should I pick you up tomorrow, then?”
“Perfect,” she said, wriggling up her skirt, “Here’s my info.” She tore off a square of paper from a small notepad advertising the latest gynecological miracle and wrote her name, number, and address. “It starts early, I think around four, so there’s daylight hijinks, dinner, drinks, dancing, bonfires——your basic wanton debauchery.”
“Sounds lovely,” said Paul, smiling and looking down at the small piece of paper. “See you then.”
“So long, Doc,” she said.
Chapter 24
Driving along Sunset, she thought about how Paul had come along at a very good time. Just the fact that she was dreaming up outlandish fantasies about someone other than Max had to be a good thing. She passed the Beverly Hills Hotel and realized she was only a few blocks from Lolita’s dog grooming shop. She wasn’t all that anxious to see her, but, down deep, she knew she did want to get past the Diego debacle. She took a hard right turn through a stale yellow at Rodeo.
It was amazing to see Lolita in her element. Cynthia had never seen so many gorgeous dogs outside of the televised shows from the Kennel Club of Philadelphia. These dogs had bigger net worths than most people.
“Tanya,” said Lolita to the young woman shaving the exquisite poop-shoot of a perky Pomeranian, “I’m taking a break. Could you please do my eleven-fifteen toy Doberman?”
Tanya was bopping to something in her ear buds. She popped one out with a look of disbelief. She was an incredibly thin Asian girl with almost zero boobs, except that the points of her nipples poked so pertly at the fabric of her thin tank top, they were way more distracting than full-blown Dolly Partons. She brushed dog hair off her hot pants. “But you know Miss Kardashian will only let you touch him.”
“Make it a back-room job. Remember to put a pink and purple ribbon on the little bitch and the big bitch will never know.”
“Right on, boss,” said Tanya, reinserting the music and cheerfully returning to her current client’s butt.
They sat in the back room and sipped cappuccinos. Lolita’s dog King was sitting at attention in the corner. Cynthia defended Diego and told Lolita she was by far her worst customer. She said she didn’t think Lolita really even wanted a man … not a relationship anyway. She said that Lolita would have a few more years of fun and then start a gradual decline and finally probably die alone.
The amazing thing was that Lolita was nodding all the way through and didn’t even seem hurt by it in the slightest.
“You’re probably right,” she said. “So, can you get me another date?”
Cynthia couldn’t believe it. She looked over at King and explained that he and the other dogs were a definite impediment to Lolita’s love life. She would have to take serious steps to control their behavior.
“And, please, no more about their paranormal tendencies. It really gives off a strange vibe and kind of scares people.”
Lolita smiled. “You hear that, King? No more talking about your tendencies.”
Just then, King breathed in and stretched up a little straighter. He sighed very deeply, sounding so much like a human sigh, it scared Cynthia slightly. Then King shook his head slowly and deliberately, creating the impression at least that he not only understood everything being said, but that he disapproved of Cynthia and her remarks. At first she hoped he wouldn’t hold this against her, but then she felt idiotic for thinking he was capable of such thoughts. But suddenly King made a low humming sound. It was something she had never heard come out of a dog. He squinted at her like a gunslinger. Suddenly she found herself in a stare-down with a dog.
It didn’t take long for the dog to win.
Cynthia averted her eyes. She tried to say, “Lolita,” but it came out, “Lo…Lo…Lo…”
“Don’t worry about him,” said Lolita. “What can I say? My dogs are not normal.”
After the stare-down, Cynthia was slightly less skeptical about Lolita and her dogs. They were certainly extraordinary in some indefinable way.
“Hey boss,” said Tanya the Nipple Girl, boogieing into the room, “the Pomeranian is ready to rock, except she’s looking a little peaked. Her eyes are super funky.”
“She’s just stressed, Tanya,” Lolita replied. “Pomeranians get like that. She misses Europe and her royal past. You know Queen Victoria had Pomeranians. Even Beverly Hills can’t compete with Buckingham Palace.”
“But Lolita,” said Cynthia, “I’m pretty sure this particular Pomeranian has never been to Buckingham Palace.”
“Oh, I know,” explained Lolita. “But she knows what she’s missing. And I know how she feels. I came from a privileged background myself and I know what losing all that can do to a girl. Listen, Tanya, make her a two-egg omelet with avocado, with a sprig of parsley. And a bowl of organic chicken broth. And see if there’s any of that black caviar left.”
Tanya and Cynthia both stared at Lolita without saying anything for a moment.
“What? Come on, she needs a little TLC.”
“Right,” said Tanya, turning and exiting. Cynthia figured Tanya hadn’t worked there too long and was still getting used to Lolita’s idiosyncrasies. She sensed that Tanya liked her boss, but had some doubts about her sanity. Cynthia was able to deduce this because she felt exactly the same way.
“So,” said Cynthia, “I don’t know a lot about you, because you didn’t fill out a questionnaire. A life of highs and lows I guess?”
Lolita nodded. She used an index finger to snag the last bit of foam from her cappuccino cup and deliver it to her tongue. “Yeah, well, when daddy goes to prison, baby’s world turns upside down for quite a while.”
“Wow,” said Cynthia.
“Yeah, it’s not the kind of thing one is overly anxious to include in a bio.”
“What was he in for?” asked Cynthia, immediately realizing that sounded like a cliché from a prison movie from the 1930s. “Sorry, I mean, why did your father go to prison?”
“Oh, he was really good at making investments. Better than anyone, really. But it turned out to be too good to be true. He was kind of a west-coast Bernie Madoff, but long before Madoff. It wasn’t as much money——instead of fifty billion it was more like one or two, but still, when he got caught, Mom and I went from nine thousand square feet in Bel Air to a two-bedroom apartment in Tarzana. Kind of a shock to the system. Mom was a wreck. I mean a total wreck. She died in an institution. I barely got through it and I never would have survived without them.”
“Who’s them?”
Lolita cocked her head at Cynthia as if to say——You really are thick, ar
en’t you?——and then glanced at King. “The dogs. They were my support system through the whole thing. They still are in a lot of ways.”
Cynthia looked at King. “Okay, but c’mon, Lolita. This dog couldn’t be older than ten, so he was definitely not around when you were a kid.”
Lolita rolled her eyes. “Of course not, silly. I just replaced them with new dogs … the same breed and coloration. They’re amazingly similar. Very comforting.”
“Oh,” said Cynthia, somewhat relieved. “Well, the dogs do seem very special … unlike any I’ve ever met. No doubt about it. But anyway, I’ve really got to go. I’ve got a costume to dream up for tomorrow night.”
“Okie-dokie,” said Lolita. “Oh, yeah, by the way, I found a date for Halloween.”
“Oh, really? Somebody you’ve known for a while?”
“Nope, no, he’s actually a new guy. Trying to figure out what to do. Where are you going?”
“Oh, nothing too exciting, really. Just a little thing at Zuma. No big deal. I’d ask you to come along with your mystery man, but it’s more of a quiet, intimate thing.” Cynthia wished she hadn’t even mentioned it. She felt like she truly needed a break from Lolita. Plus, Lolita on a date was ten times more difficult than just plain-old Lolita, and she really didn’t want her anywhere in the vicinity of Zuma Beach tomorrow night.
“No problem,” Lolita replied, walking Cynthia to the door. “I’ll figure something out.”
They wiggled their fingers at each other and said goodbye.
Lolita returned to the office. She kissed King and massaged the bridge of his nose until he closed his eyes in contentment. “Sorry I said you were a new dog, sweetie. You are obviously irreplaceable. You, Max, and Wilfredo are my family. You’ve loved and protected me since I was a little girl. You are special canines with very special powers … my guardian angels. But, please, that must remain our little secret. If the wrong people got wind of what you can do, they’d try to turn you into a stupid circus act or something.”
Chapter 25
Cynthia pulled out onto Beverly Drive, passing Will Rogers Park, where George Michael was busted for performing a lewd act in front of a police officer in the late nineties. Weird how the cowboy philosopher and first honorary mayor of the “The Garden Spot of the World” was now inextricably linked to that sordid little episode. There were landmarks of shame like that all over town: the house where actress Lana Turner’s fourteen-year-old daughter stabbed her mother’s lover, Johnny Stompanato, to death; the Hollywood sidewalk outside the Viper Room where River Phoenix breathed his last young, beautiful breath; the jewelry store in Venice where Lindsay Lohan shoplifted her way into jail, and out of jail, and into jail … ad infinitum; the exact spot where a bald and bonkers Britney Spears waged her bizarre war against an SUV with an umbrella. People took tours in busses to see these places. Hooray for Hollywood.
Cynthia was speeding along Sunset when her mom called.
“Hello, Mother,” she said, pulling up to the light at Doheny. “What now?”
“Why say ‘What now?’, like you’re just so sick and tired of me? Didn’t I introduce you to somebody worthwhile for a change? Isn’t that grounds for a little gratefulness? Honestly Cindy, when is the battle going to end?”
Her mother was right. She did thank her once already, but that was before the appointment and making the date. And she knew that Margie always had her wellbeing at heart. “Okay, Mom, thank you for introducing me to Paul. I’m actually seeing him tomorrow for Halloween. So, again, did I mention? Thank you, thank you, thank you. I mean it, I’m sincerely grateful. You are the best.”
“Oh, for goodness sake,” said Margie, feigning modesty, “no thanks necessary. You’re my daughter, after all. I gave birth to you. Nine months of misery. Fourteen hours of excruciating labor. No drugs.”
Cynthia couldn’t believe her mother had folded childbirth into the mix. This would have set her off when she was younger, but she held her tongue, letting Margie continue.
“But don’t mention it. It was nothing. I’d do it all over again. Well, maybe not now … but I would have not that long ago. I’d do anything for my darling daughter. So, where are you going together?”
“Oh, nowhere special.”
“It’ll be special if you’re there.”
“Oh, thanks, Mom.”
“But really, where are you going? I’m just curious.” “Okay, Just Curious. There’s this thing at Zuma Beach. It’s called the Halloween Beach Ball Feast and Fest. There’s swimming and music and food. We’ll probably be the oldest people there. It’s mostly for young hipsters, I think.”
“I’m the one who’s too old. You and Paul are young hipsters, sweetie.”
“Okay, Mom.”
“Really, sweetie.”
“Okay, Mom. Listen, I’m losing reception. I’m going into a tunnel.”
“Tunnel, what tunnel?”
Geez Louise! What made her lie to her mother about a stupid tunnel? What was the point? She was two minutes from her apartment in the Hollywood Hills, miles from the nearest tunnel. She was probably about to lose the signal here, anyway, so why lie about it? “Oh, um … I’m downtown, it’s the 4th Street tunnel.”
Her mother shrieked. “Cynthia! I’m a couple of blocks away! I’m at MOCA! There’s some crazy art in here! Have you seen these canvasses all covered with little naked ladies having relations with alien monkeys? And the ladies have machine guns and teddy bears! And high heels and pacifiers shaped like dildos? I’d love to get your opinion on this stuff, Cindy! C’mon, let’s meet for a drink!”
Cynthia almost felt like crashing her car into a tree, but she knew that at her funeral, her mother would whisper to some relative, “She was a wonderful daughter. But, you know, her last words were a blatant lie to her own mother about going into a tunnel. She was nowhere near a tunnel. Why would she do that? What was wrong with her?”
“Cindy, honey, I also thought we could talk about your date tomorrow night! I know Dr. Willowby very well, you know!”
“What, Mom? Sorry, it’s breaking up! I’m losing you! Tunnel! Tunnel!”
Chapter 26
The next day, Dr. Paul Willowby picked Cynthia up at 4:15 PM. They both burst into laughter when she opened the door. He had dressed as Tarzan and she as Jane. And they had not planned it. This was kismet! Actually, it wasn’t. She had meant to look like Betty Rubble, the sexy neighbor from the Flintstones, but after he walked in and said, “Me Tarzan!” and grabbed her with mock-primitive lustiness and kissed her, how could she argue with that? What can one possibly say but, “Me Jane!” Especially if you’re not the best costume designer in the world and you look a lot more like Jane than Betty anyway.
The beach party started at four and it would take about ninety minutes to drive there——even longer if the traffic was bad, which it probably would be. But that was okay. Cynthia wasn’t really a day-beach person. She loved it at night, but she had no patience for lying around in the sun. They’d get there in time to hang out a bit before dinner, which was perfect. She was really looking forward to sundown, with bonfires, costumes, and wildness. And the Tarzan and Jane combo was absolutely perfect.
They were excited and ready to go. They discussed the various routes. Way down to the 10—bad, all the way west to PCH—very bad, and finally, the long slog up the coast—picturesque, but bad, bad, bad. Or you could go over the hill via Coldwater to the 101—bad, go north through the vast San Fernando Valley, which would be mind-numbingly horrific, then cross the mountains via one of the gorgeous canyons—probably Kanan Dume—really the most pleasant leg of any of the options, thus avoiding at least some of PCH and weekend traffic hell. The third way was sneaky and involved Mulholland Drive, snaking along the top of the Santa Monica Mountains, but they were not really sure if it went all the way. They’d heard it did, but both had vague memories of coming to lonely dead ends, where you have to descend into maze-like valley neighborhoods that you might never get out of. Ever.
Chapter 27
But who cares? They got there in time for dinner. And the place was just spectacular: ocean, mountains, bonfires, island music, long luau-style tables full of incredible food, hundreds of revelers in amazing costumes. Just seeing people in the more elaborate get-ups trying to eat and drink was worth the price of admission. A gigantic Dora the Explorer held a large red drink up to the mouth hole in her mask, only to dribble the entire contents down her front.
They were both glad they chose simple, skimpy costumes. It was remarkably warm if you stayed near the fires and heat lamps. Costumes encourage a certain reckless abandon. And, let’s face it, Tarzan and Jane are sexy. Cynthia had recently rediscovered the Pre-code sequence from Tarzan and His Mate (1934), in which Tarzan (Johnny Weissmuller) and Jane (Maureen O’Sullivan——that’s Mia Farrow’s mom, people)——go for a swim. Jane’s skimpy outfit gets snagged on a tree branch, leaving her totally nude while she swims with Tarzan for three long minutes. Talk about jungle fever. So this was in Cynthia’s mind as she assumed the role. Being Tarzan and Jane brought out certain playful, primitive techniques when it came to sharing food in the dark at the beach. Kissing, feeding, kissing, eating, kissing and more kissing. It was fun.
And the people-watching was fabulous. “Check that couple across the way,” said Cynthia, nudging Tarzan in the ribcage. He laughed when he saw a very gloomy octopus with Marilyn Monroe. The Marilyn was very convincing, although they disagreed about which sex she was. At one point Marilyn had her head in the octopus’s lap, if there is such a thing. The octopus still looked just as sad, but the sounds emanating from within indicated that he was feeling a whole lot happier than he looked.