Malibu Rising

by Jenkins Reid, Taylor

  Nina looked at Tarine and a small smile crept out of the corner of her mouth. She took a sip. And then she drank some more. Good God, she could drink the whole bottle right now.

  “I didn’t expect him to come back,” Nina said.

  “I know.”

  “Once he left … I don’t know, our relationship felt over for me. I was mourning it.”

  “Rightfully so.”

  “And I’ve been really sad,” Nina added. “That I … that I meant so little to someone who had made me believe I meant so much.”

  Tarine grabbed Nina’s hand and squeezed it.

  “But there was no part of me that wanted him back,” Nina said, finally looking Tarine in the eye.

  Tarine smiled. “Good,” she said with a firm nod.

  Nina lifted her wineglass to her lips again. She could smell the sweet astringency of the contents of the glass and she felt like she could get lost in it. And then she had this image, suddenly, of her mother on the couch in front of the television. Her blood ran cold.

  Nina put the glass down. “When he showed up here tonight, do you know what I thought?” she said.

  “What?”

  “I went, Oh fuck, now we have to do this whole song and dance?”

  Tarine smiled. “But you do not.”

  “No,” Nina said. “I don’t, do I?”

  She didn’t have to do any of this. The victimization, the acceptance of bullshit, the leaving your heart in the hands of an asshole yet again. She could just decide not to.

  Nina smiled. She had to sit with that one for a moment. It was almost too good to be true.

  Jay dropped the photos back into the glove box and tried to pretend that he hadn’t seen them. That it hadn’t happened. That it wasn’t true. That his brother wouldn’t do that.

  He must be misunderstanding the photos. He must be. Because he could not possibly believe that his brother was not only that much of an asshole but also that much of a liar.

  He tried to put the thoughts out of his head by moving on top of Lara, by refocusing his attention on her. But as he put his hand up her skirt, as he unzipped his own pants, the thought just kept reverberating in his head, that he couldn’t possibly deny what he’d seen with his own two eyes.

  Lara moved from under Jay and pushed him down onto the bench seat. He let her do whatever it was she wanted to do, lost in his own thoughts, hoping desperately she could take him somewhere else.

  Lara climbed on top of him and began to move, her shirt lifted to expose her breasts, her skirt around her hips. The top of her head kept hitting the ceiling of the truck and Jay, trying so very hard to focus on Lara, couldn’t help but wonder if Hud had fucked Ashley in this truck, just like this. If Ashley’s head had also hit the ceiling.

  When they were both done, Lara leaned off him, pulled down her shirt and her skirt, and said, “You’re nearly catatonic. What’s the matter?”

  Jay looked at her as he sat up. “I think my brother is sleeping with my ex-girlfriend,” he said. “And lying about it. Earlier tonight, he sold me some bullshit about wanting to ask her out. And I said no. And now I find out he’s probably been fucking her this whole time.”

  Lara sat up straighter, surprised. “I’m sorry,” she said, putting her hand on his back.

  Jay’s anger raged inside his chest but Lara’s soothing hand helped calm him. “If I had to find out about this shit, I’m glad it’s with you,” he said.

  Lara smiled but Jay noticed that it didn’t look very sincere. It was like the smile you give to the guy who bags your groceries.

  “I meant what I said earlier,” he said. “About thinking I might love you.”

  “Jay …” she said.

  “I guess I’m saying that I do, love you. I love you.”

  Jay was expecting Lara to smile or get a little weepy or blush. Women had pressured him to say it before and he never had. But now here he was, saying it. And he was excited for whatever would come next, however happy it would make her. But, instead, he watched as her eyes went blank and her smile stiffened.

  “I … I don’t know that we feel the same way about each other,” she said.

  Jay shook his head, confused. “Wait, what?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Jay’s face hardened slowly but steadily, from a warm, languid pool to a glacier. “Wow,” he said, stunned.

  “Jay, I really am sorry. I think I misunderstood what you were looking for.”

  “I wasn’t looking for anything,” he said, moving away from her, putting his shoes back on. “But clearly you’re not the person I thought you were, so whatever.”

  “Jay, that’s not—”

  “No, I should have known,” he said as he opened the driver’s side door and hopped out of the truck. He stood with both feet on the ground, looking at Lara, who had not moved from her seat. “That’s why I didn’t tell anybody about us. Because I knew you were this kinda girl. I knew you weren’t the kind of girl you marry.”

  Jay could think of no bigger insult and so he felt he’d reclaimed some sense of power after lobbing it at her. But she seemed unfazed.

  “All right,” Lara said, putting her hand on the door handle.

  “Get out of my brother’s car,” Jay said, his voice rising.

  “Please be careful,” Lara said as she got up. “I’m worried about your heart.”

  Jay narrowed his eyes and slammed the door shut.

  “I guess I should go,” Lara said. They stood on either side of the truck looking at each other.

  “I honestly don’t care what you do,” Jay said before walking away, swiftly at first, eager for distance. He slowed down when he got closer to the front door of the house. There were clothes all over the yard and people milling around, holding their drinks, smoking their cigarettes, all consumed with talking about something. But Jay wasn’t listening.

  Just as he got to the front door, he turned around, to see if Lara was still there.

  He saw her getting her car from the valet. She took her keys, got in the front seat, and began to drive off.

  When she turned onto the road and out of sight, Jay thought he’d feel better, but he didn’t. Of course, he didn’t.

  Mick took a right onto PCH off Chautauqua but he did not bother to use his blinker. Speeding up the highway, ocean to his left, mountains to his right, he turned his attention briefly to the invitation.

  He found himself growing a tiny bit nervous, his heart beating an irregular rhythm.

  He was preparing his apologies in his head, framing and reframing his past actions to create a story his kids would understand, one they could forgive. Now was the time for them all to run down to the ocean and baptize themselves in the sea and start again.

  He was doing this for himself, yes. But he was doing this for them, too. What broken family—no matter how shattered or tattered or bruised beyond recognition—does not ache to be reunited? What child, no matter how lost or abandoned, does not ache to be loved?

  Mick pulled up to the red stoplight at Heathercliff Road. And when it turned green, he turned left without his blinker.

  Kit was standing in the outdoor bathroom staring at the stars. Ricky was sucking on her neck so hard she was pretty sure she was going to end up with a hickey.

  She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t bear to. So she kept looking up at the night sky, trying to find the Big Dipper.

  • • •

  Ricky could not believe his good fortune. He was here, making out with Kit Riva, in an outdoor shower. Kit Riva. In an outdoor shower. He wanted to take her out on romantic dates to Italian restaurants, and buy her flowers, and go surfing with her, and just generally be in her presence all the time.

  Ricky was so flabbergasted and ahead of himself, so enchanted and eager, that it was almost as if his excitement could sustain them both.

  Almost.

  Ricky was no Don Juan but he’d been with women before. He’d had a high school dalliance, a college girlfriend. He knew how
it felt when a girl was as excited to be with you as you were to be with her. And Ricky was starting to worry—because of the way Kit wasn’t looking him in the eye, the way she kept freezing up when he touched her, the way she moved her pelvis farther from him—that she didn’t really want to be here.

  Ricky stood back for a moment and tried to get Kit to look at him, but she averted her gaze.

  “Kit?” Ricky said.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “Why wouldn’t I want to do this?” Kit said.

  “I don’t know.” Ricky shrugged. “I was just getting the impression maybe you weren’t into it.”

  “Well, I am,” Kit said.

  “OK,” Ricky said. “If you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure,” she said and she pulled him to her and kissed him again.

  • • •

  Kit was hiding, and she knew it.

  She understood, very clearly, that once she admitted to herself she didn’t like kissing Ricky, she would have to admit she didn’t want to kiss men at all. That she didn’t like their roughness, their smell, the coarseness of their faces. That she’d never once looked at a man and desired him.

  She knew that as soon as she pulled away from Ricky Esposito, she was going to have to accept that she had always, her entire life, desired softness. Curves and smooth skin and long hair and soft lips. She had always ached to be touched with gentle hands.

  Kissing Ricky felt all wrong because he wasn’t Julianna Thompson. He wasn’t Cheryl Nilsson. Or Violet North. He wasn’t even Wendy Palmer, the waitress at the restaurant with whom Kit always felt a thrill when they shared a shift. She wished, for just one moment, he was that cocktail waitress she’d met earlier tonight, the one with the red hair. Caroline. But Kit kept kissing Ricky, hoping some internal desire would kick in, even though she knew that she had all the answers she’d been looking for.

  Kit knew now—in her heart, in her body—that she liked girls the way other girls like boys. All she had done this evening by finally kissing a boy was show herself just how much she’d never cared about kissing a boy at all.

  She pulled away from Ricky. “You’re right. I can’t do this.”

  “OK,” Ricky said, backing off. “Sorry if I pushed you or anything.”

  “No,” Kit said. “It’s fine. I …” She wasn’t sure how to finish her sentence and so, instead, she sat down on the bench in the shower.

  Ricky sat down next to her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t think I’m … this kind of person.”

  “What kind of person?”

  Kit wasn’t sure how to say it or even what she wanted to say. “The sort of person that wants to make out with a dude in an outdoor shower right now.”

  Ricky nodded, forlorn but keeping a smile on his face as best he could. “OK,” he said. “I got it.”

  “It’s not you,” Kit said.

  Ricky looked at her. She was finally looking him in the eye. “But I should take the hint that this is probably it for us, huh?”

  Kit smiled at him, kindly. “I think maybe we should think of ourselves as friends.”

  Ricky nodded and stared at his own feet.

  “But, like, real friends,” Kit added, trying to get his attention back. “Like I sincerely mean that. If I was going to like a guy … I think it would be you.”

  Ricky cocked his head to the side, not quite sure what she was trying to tell him.

  “Ricky …” Kit said, unsure if she could even complete the sentence she was starting. But didn’t she have to start somewhere? And wasn’t this the safest place to start? With someone she could avoid for the rest of her life if need be? “It really isn’t you. It’s …”

  Ricky caught her eyeline. “It’s what? You can tell me, honestly. I’m a really good listener.”

  Kit closed her eyes and let it fly. “What if I told you I like … girls?” She opened her eyes, unsure what she might see on Ricky’s face.

  Ricky was quiet for a moment. All Kit could discern was surprise.

  “That makes sense. Girls are hot,” he said, nodding. And then he laughed.

  And Kit laughed, too. She threw her head back and cackled, her shoulders moving up and down as the laugh ran through her.

  Ricky looked up at her and felt even more drawn in, the way her eyes looked so warm and bright, the way her smile created little dimples on her cheeks. He had been so close to the girl he’d always wanted. And now he understood it truly was never going to happen. But that’s how life goes, Ricky thought. You don’t always get the things you want.

  “Thank you,” Kit said. “Thank you for that.”

  “Hey, that’s what friends are for, right?” he told her.

  “I guess so,” Kit said. “Yeah.”

  “So, look, here’s the real question: If we are actually friends, as you say … does that mean you might teach me to surf?” he asked her.

  Kit laughed. “You don’t know how?” She really did like him. He was easy to be around.

  “I’m not very good,” Ricky said. “Certainly not as good as you.”

  “Nobody’s as good as me,” Kit said.

  And Ricky laughed. “I know! So you gotta teach me.”

  Kit smiled at him and hoped that one day she might meet a girl like Ricky. Someone kind. Someone who didn’t have anything to prove. She had so much to prove. There wasn’t any room for anyone else to prove much.

  “All right,” Kit said. “I’ll teach you.”

  And then she leaned over, and she kissed Ricky on the cheekbone. It was the first time Kit had kissed someone with all of her heart.

  Tarine had been wrong. Brandon wasn’t packing Nina’s things. He had taken a bottle of Seagram’s upstairs and sat down in the first open bedroom, one of the guest rooms. And now he was wallowing on the floor.

  This was the room he’d imagined would belong to his first child. Now, he was sitting in it, crying by himself, back against the nightstand, drinking whiskey out of the bottle.

  What the fuck is the matter with you, Brandon? Either one of those women would have made you happy, would have given you more than you ever deserved. How did you fuck that up?

  God, this was bad. He really didn’t want to be left alone at the end of all this.

  He drank more of his whiskey and gagged at the sheer amount that was flowing down his throat. He wiped his mouth.

  He had to fix this. He had to get one of them back. He had to. And he could! He knew he could. All he had to do was convince one of them that he wasn’t a shit. Which was easy enough because he really had not been that much of a shit until recently. Even the tabloids would tell you, he really was a good guy!

  He just needed to listen to his gut and choose the love of his life. And then he would get her back and be a good husband and have children and win more titles and have his life look just like it looked on the pages of the magazines. Just like it was supposed to.

  Brandon Randall was about to pass out but once he woke up, world, watch out. He was gonna go get one of those women back if it was the last thing he did.

  Jay was searching for Hud everywhere.

  He scanned the crowds in every room, pushing through people giving him dirty looks at being moved aside, smelling cigarette smoke and skunkweed, body odor and perfume. Hud was not in the front yard, downstairs, or upstairs. He was not in the backyard as far as Jay could see through the windows.

  Jay made it back to the bottom of the landing. He turned to a brunette woman in a polka-dot dress smoking a joint. “Have you seen Hud?” Jay said.

  “Who’s Hud?” the woman asked, completely uninterested.

  Jay looked at her sideways. “Who the fuck are you?” he asked her.

  “Heather,” she said, smiling.

  “Well, Heather, Hud is my brother and he’s fucking my girlfriend and I need to find him.”

  Heather put out her hand, offering Jay the butt of her joint. “You need this
more than I do.”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Jay frowned and took the joint from her. He put it to his lips and pulled in the smoke. He closed his eyes, let it permeate his lungs, sink into his body. He opened his eyes back up.

  “Do you feel better now?” Heather asked him.

  Jay thought about it. “No. Not at all.”

  “OK,” Heather said, shrugging. “Well, that’s all I got.” She turned away from him and resumed her conversation with the Laker Girl she’d been talking to. “OK, but, like, Larry Bird is good though.”

  Jay closed his eyes and pinched his nose, wondering why the fuck anyone would be defending the Celtics, but he didn’t have time to fight her on it.

  He made his way to the backyard again, still trying to find Hud. He was still seething inside but his rage had nowhere to go. He tried to relax, tried to calm himself down. He didn’t see Hud anywhere.

  Now Vanessa was sitting in the lap of Kyle Manheim, making out with him. Jesus, Vanessa. Jay made a note to himself to tell her she could do better than Kyle. But for now he simply tapped her on the shoulder.

  Vanessa turned and looked at him. “Hey,” she said. She seemed tipsy but far from blotto.

  “Have you seen Hud?” Jay asked her.

  Vanessa shook her head. “No. And you know what? I don’t care that I haven’t seen him. How’s that? For once in my life, I can honestly say I just don’t care.”

  Jay had already stopped listening. His eye caught sight of the cliff’s edge and the stairs to the beach. “Yeah, cool.”

  He walked, slowly and deliberately, making eye contact with no one until he got to the edge of the lawn.

  He looked down at the water, at the sand. On the beach, he saw two people in an embrace and he could instantly recognize the asshole he was looking for. Hud.

  Jay’s rage turned red hot once again as he realized Ashley was there with him. This was fucking rich.

  Jay watched them start to make their way up the stairs to the backyard. He paced around, talking himself up and down, unsure of what he would do when they reached the top.