Malibu Rising

by Jenkins Reid, Taylor

  Tarine looked at Kyle, sizing him up, and then said, decisively, “Not going to happen.”

  Kyle walked away and Tarine took a sip of her wine. She closed her eyes as she tasted it, as if everything else could wait. When she opened her eyes back up, she said to Nina, “Today has not been easy. I found wrinkles between my breasts.”

  Nina laughed. “What are you even talking about?”

  Tarine put her wineglass on the counter and surreptitiously pulled the top of her dress down. Nina had to admit she could see the faintest set of lines along her friend’s cleavage.

  “I am getting old. The offers are going to start to dry up,” Tarine said.

  “Oh, stop it,” Nina said. “You still have plenty of time.”

  “Three more years, tops,” Tarine said, and Nina knew this was probably right. In the world they lived in, they had to make hay while the sun shined because once the sun set, it got very cold and dark indeed.

  But part of Nina ached for that time, the time when people stopped looking, stopped caring. Part of her wished she could take her beauty and hand it over to someone else, someone who wanted it.

  “Three years is still a long time,” Nina said.

  “I am not sure I agree,” Tarine said.

  “So is that why you’re with Greg?” Nina asked, quietly. “Some security?”

  Tarine shook her head. “I am with Greg because I find his gray hair sexy and I like talking to a man that has been alive long enough to have had interesting experiences. I do not need anyone’s money. I have a lot of it and I use what I have to make more of it.”

  Nina smiled. “I shouldn’t have expected anything less.”

  “No, you should not have,” Tarine said.

  It surprised Nina that Tarine had been accumulating money in such a purposeful way. It had never really occurred to Nina to try to secure outlandish wealth for her future. She had only ever wanted money because it solved problems. Anything more than that seemed superfluous, like extra air.

  “I cannot believe you took him back,” Tarine said, grabbing her glass again and folding her arms. She looked right at Nina, square in the eye. “You know what? I am going to do you a favor and tell you what your problem is.”

  “Oh, I have a lot of problems,” Nina said.

  Tarine shook her head. “No, you do not actually. That is what is so remarkable. You have just one very big one. Most people, all of these people here,” Tarine said, pointing in the general direction of everyone surrounding them, “all of us have thousands of little flaws. I have a lot of them. For instance, I am very judgmental but I am also very absentminded, and that is just the start of it.”

  Nina did think of Tarine as judgmental but she didn’t see it as a problem. And she would never have thought of Tarine as absentminded. “But you,” Tarine said. “With you, it is just the one problem. And it affects everything you do and, Nina, I am sorry to say this but I hate it about you.”

  “All right,” Nina said. “Go on and tell me.”

  Tarine sipped her wine and then said, “I suspect you have not lived a single day for yourself.”

  Ricky Esposito knew only two ways to woo a woman. One was reciting Shakespearean sonnets. And the other was doing a magic trick.

  Ricky chose magic. And so he was rummaging through the kitchen drawers of Nina’s home, looking for a deck of cards, while Kit drank her club soda out on the patio alone, granting half smiles to the half strangers that littered her sister’s lawn.

  Kit spotted Vanessa talking to Seth over by the grill.

  Vanessa had seemed so sad earlier. But then Vanessa had told Kit she was “determined to meet someone new,” and Kit had decided not to push her on what “new” meant. If she was getting over Hud, great. Now Vanessa was laughing as if Seth Whittles was the funniest guy in the world. She had her hands in her hair, playing with a section of it by her face. Kit watched as Vanessa put her hand on Seth’s shoulder and pushed him ever so slightly, teasing him. For a moment, Kit felt a flash of dread. Was she going to have to act like Ricky was funny? Ugh.

  She thought of Nina gazing up at Brandon like she was proud to stand next to him. She thought of the way her mother used to talk about her father like he was the second coming of Christ.

  She couldn’t be like that.

  She turned away just as Seth kissed Vanessa and suddenly Ricky appeared in front of her, flushed, with a deck of cards in his hand, catching his breath.

  “Pick a card, any card,” he said, and as he said it, Kit regretted every single choice she’d made that had brought her to this moment. This is what she had always wanted to avoid: being forced to pretend men were interesting.

  Kit looked at Ricky and then at the cards fanned out perfectly in front of him. She grabbed one from the middle.

  “Do I look at it?” she asked, with a sigh.

  “I know it seems lame, but humor me. I’ve practiced this a lot and I might just blow your mind.”

  Kit smiled and, despite herself, began to root for him. She looked at the card. The eight of diamonds. “OK,” she said. “I’ve got it.”

  Ricky offered the deck back to her, this time cut in two. “All right, put it back,” he said, gesturing to the lower half. Kit did as she was told and Ricky shuffled. Her card was now lost, one among many.

  Ricky palmed the cards in his hands and as he did it, Kit found herself distracted by the commotion around the pool. She couldn’t see what was happening but it seemed like things were getting loud.

  Ricky held up a card from the top of the deck with flair. “Is this your card?” he asked. A three of clubs.

  Kit shook her head. She had wanted him to get it right, she realized. She had wanted him to dazzle her. “No, sorry.”

  Ricky smiled. “Oh, OK.” He flicked the deck like his finger was a magic wand and picked up the card again. It was now an eight of diamonds.

  The tiniest charge ran through Kit. “Wow,” she said, genuinely impressed. She did not know how he had changed the three of clubs into the eight of diamonds. She knew it must be something simple but she couldn’t begin to suspect what it was.

  “Do you want to know how I did it?” Ricky asked, pleased to have pleased her.

  “Aren’t you supposed to never reveal it?” Kit asked.

  Ricky shrugged and so Kit stepped in closer, shortening the distance between them.

  “All right,” she said. “Show me.”

  Ricky pulled the deck out again and did it in slow motion. When he revealed the true sleight of hand necessary for the illusion—picking up two cards and making it look as if they were only one—Kit was close enough to notice that he smelled like fresh laundry.

  “That’s all there is to it,” Ricky said, showing her the way he held the cards. “It’s called a double lift.”

  “That’s rad,” Kit said. He smelled really good. How did he do that?

  “I can show you how to do it,” Ricky said. “If you want.”

  “Nah,” she said. “But do it again. I want to see if I can spot when you do it.”

  She did not actually care. She just wanted to smell the sleeve of his T-shirt. She just wanted to feel the thrill of his interest.

  It was then that Ricky took a step closer, and with haste and trepidation, kissed her. His lips were soft and gentle.

  But as his body moved against hers, Kit knew in her gut this was all wrong. This wasn’t it. Whatever “it” was supposed to be.

  Because she liked Ricky—she did. He was sweet and sort of embarrassing in a lovely way. But the second his lips hit hers, she knew that she had never truly wanted to kiss him.

  She was pretty sure she did not want to kiss any guy at all.

  Suddenly, Kit felt desperate to quiet the voice that she now realized had been calling to her for years. And so, she kissed Ricky Esposito harder. She put her arms around him and pushed her chest against his, as if, if she really tried, she could deny everything she knew was true.

  Tarine had gone in search of a good
joint so Nina hung out in the kitchen, talking to a couple of movie producers. She was almost positive that both of them were named Craig.

  “Your 1980 calendar is hands down the greatest calendar of all time,” First Craig said. He was stockier, meatier, but strong. He looked like he probably worked out two hours a day.

  Nina smiled, acting flattered, pretending she cared.

  “I mean … July?” Second Craig said. He was blond with a square jaw, even his posture was arrogant. “The one in the white bikini …” He whistled.

  “I still think about it,” First Craig said.

  “That’s nice,” Nina said dryly. And then she quickly added a “What?” in the opposite direction, as if she heard someone calling to her from the stairs. “I’ll be right there!” And then she smiled and left them in the kitchen.

  When she got to the stairs, she saw Brandon out by the front door talking to some Olympic runner Nina knew she was supposed to remember. But instead of going to join the conversation, she turned and went up the steps, looking for a moment of peace. That was all right, wasn’t it?

  She walked past a couple making out against the wall of her hallway. She smiled at the two former child stars sitting on the floor rolling a joint.

  When she got to her bedroom, she shut the door behind her. She went into the master bathroom and stood at her mirror. She reapplied her lipstick and smacked her lips.

  Was Tarine right?

  How do you live a day for yourself? Nina didn’t know. She imagined what a day of her life would look like if she were living only for herself. Maybe going somewhere on her own. Like the coast of Portugal. Just her and the sunshine, a good book, and her Ben Aipa swallowtail surfboard. Small pleasures. She’d spend her time surfing and then eating good bread. And cheese.

  But really, Nina just wanted peace and quiet so long-lasting and secure that it might even settle into her bones.

  “Excuse me?”

  Nina turned toward her bedroom door, the one that had been closed just a moment before. Now it was open and there was a young woman standing in the hallway, one hand on the doorknob.

  The girl in the purple jersey dress.

  “Nina?” the girl said.

  “Yes?”

  The girl was short—and young, maybe seventeen or eighteen. Her hair was dark blond, her skin was alabaster and perfectly clear, as if she had never spent a day in the sun.

  “I was wondering if I could …” The girl’s fingers were shaking. And with each word the girl said, her voice became more uneven. “I was wondering if I could talk to you. Just for a moment.”

  “Um,” Nina said. “Sure, come on in. What can I do for you?”

  As Nina was looking at the girl standing in front of her, the answer was already beginning to come to her. But she couldn’t quite grasp it yet.

  “I wanted to … well,” the girl said, wringing her hands and then catching herself doing it. “My name is Casey Greens,” she said.

  “Hi, Casey.” Nina could hear the slight edge in her own voice. She tried to hide her wariness better. “You seem like you want to say something.”

  And that’s when Nina saw it. Or, maybe more accurately, realized what she had already seen. Casey’s lips.

  A big lower lip, full like an overstuffed cushion.

  Casey Greens did not look anything like Nina or Jay or Hud or Kit or Mick. Except for that lip.

  And Nina’s heart sank.

  Casey spoke up. “I think Mick Riva might be my father.”

  • • •

  Casey Greens didn’t belong here. In Malibu, of all places. With the rich people and their perfect bodies. She knew that. She could feel it with every step she took on the thick, expensive carpet. She’d never stood on anything that plush, that soft before. She had grown up in a world of worn-out shag carpeting.

  Shag carpeting and wood paneling and screen doors that still let in bugs. She came from a home of warmth even when it was cold, a home of beauty even though it was categorically hideous. Her town was called Rancho Cucamonga. Her parents were Bill and Helen. Her home was a California ranch. It had a birdhouse built on the top of it.

  She was an only child, good at getting straight A’s—the kind of kid who liked spending Saturday night with her parents. Her mom made the very best tuna casserole in the world. And Casey would ask for it every year on her birthday. She understood that she had lived a pretty sheltered life—right up until she lost both of her parents in one fell swoop.

  Casey still heard the term in her head, woke up with it in her mind and fell asleep with it in her ears, even weeks after her parents’ car accident: died on impact.

  Her parents—her deceased parents—hadn’t prepared her for a life without them. They hadn’t prepared her for loneliness, for true adulthood, for the shocking revelations that would now have to come to light.

  Casey had always known she was adopted, that her biological mother had died during childbirth. But she didn’t know much more. And that was OK with her. She had parents. Until she didn’t.

  Days after the funeral, she was packing up her parents’ things, trying to determine what to do with the life they all had shared. What was she supposed to do with her father’s clothes? Where was she supposed to put her mother’s antiperspirant? She was packing and unpacking, repacking. She was caught in a whirl of thoughts. The statements “Leave everything exactly where it is” and “Get all of it out of my sight” fought for dominance in her heart and head.

  She sat down on the floor and closed her eyes. And she got the wild idea to do something that had never occurred to her: to look for her birth certificate.

  It took an hour and a half to find. It was in a locked box underneath a few other papers.

  Casey grabbed it and looked at it. Casey Miranda Ridgemore was her given name. Her birth mother had been named Monica Ridgemore. The space for the father’s name was blank.

  The next thing Casey found was a photo of a young woman. Blond, gorgeous. Big eyes, high cheekbones, an all-American kind of smile.

  When Casey turned the photo over to see what was on the back, in handwriting she didn’t recognize, it said, “Monica Ridgemore. Died August 1st, 1965.” Below the date was another note. “Claims the baby is result of a one-night stand with Mick Riva.”

  Mick Riva? Casey thought she must be reading it wrong. She must be misunderstanding. Mick Riva?

  She pulled out the R volume of her mother’s encyclopedia set just to make sure she wasn’t insane.

  Riva, Mick—singer, songwriter, born 1933. Considered one of the greatest American recording artists of all time, Mick Riva (né Michael Dominic Riva) came to fame in the late 1950s and swept the charts with his romantic ballads and smooth vocals. His chart-topping success, classic good looks, and impeccable style has made him one of the most notable icons of the twentieth century.

  Casey closed the book.

  It took her a couple of weeks to come to terms with the idea. In moments when she felt she could get out of bed, she stared at her face in the mirror, compared it to the album cover she found in her father’s pile of records. Sometimes she thought she saw something, other times she thought she was crazy.

  Even if there was legitimacy to the idea, what was she supposed to do? Track down one of the most famous singers in the world and confront him?

  But then, three weeks ago, she saw someone named Nina Riva on the cover of Now This. It said she was the daughter of Mick Riva and lived in Malibu, California. And Casey thought, Malibu isn’t very far at all.

  Before her parents died, Casey had been accepted at UC Irvine to start in the fall. After her parents died, she knew going away to college was the only thing she had left in the world. College would have to be where she began again.

  But after she packed up her truck and headed for freshman orientation, Casey drove past the entrance for the 15 South that would take her to Irvine. She found herself getting on the 10 West, headed for Malibu.

  What am I doing? she thought. Do I thi
nk I’m just going to somehow find this Nina Riva person?

  Still. She kept driving.

  When she hit the coastline, she drove up and down PCH trying to find the grocery store in the photo. The one Nina had been walking out of.

  In the article it had said that Nina and her three siblings had lost their mother almost ten years before. And when she looked at the photo of Nina again, she detected sadness in her eyes, perhaps a world-weariness. Casey figured she was probably imagining it. But still, she reasoned, Nina must know how it felt to lose a parent.

  There aren’t many grocery stores in Malibu. It wasn’t long before Casey found the right one. She walked in and stood in line with nothing in her hands. When she got to the cashier she said, “Sorry to bother you. Do you know Nina Riva?”

  The cashier shook her head. “I mean, I’ve seen her but I don’t know her.”

  Casey tried this with every cashier she saw, as well as the butcher, the entire bakery department, and the shift manager. Until finally someone said, “Why don’t you just go to Riva’s Seafood?”

  Casey drove out to the restaurant she’d just learned about, parked her car, and walked in. She stared at every single customer, every single server. She went up to the counter. “Is Nina here?”

  A blond woman with a name tag that said WENDY looked up at her and shook her head. “No, sorry, hun.”

  Dejected, Casey walked out to her truck. She was crazy! Driving to Malibu? Trying to track down a famous model with a famous father? That’s what stalkers do!

  Casey backed out of the parking lot and turned south. She stopped at a gas station to fill her tank, trying to decide if she was filling it up to go home or to go to her first day of school in Irvine or to drive off a cliff.

  She got out of the car and asked the cashier to put twenty dollars on pump number two. She went back to her car and put the nozzle in her gas tank and pressed the trigger on the hose. Which is when Casey overheard two men at the pump next to her.

  “Are you going to the Riva party tomorrow night?” the tall one asked.

  “No doubt, man.”