I looked back. Jessica, wearing purple and cream, walked with a crowd, her hand clutching the arm of a man with an athletic build. I nodded at her. She did not nod back. She looked away to make conversation with a ruddy-cheeked man rather than engage me at all. A face I knew stood out from the crowd.
“Geraldine,” I said. “Wow. Hi.”
Trompe l’oeil street artist Geraldine Stark looked at me, then Jonathan, and smiled. She’d let her curly brown hair go wild and wove sparkled strands through it. Her dress was a macramé shift of a thousand colors over a black satin slip. She gave me a Los Angeles hug, but I felt her eyes on Jonathan, who kept his hand on my back.
“Oh my God,” she said. “Did you hear about Kevin?”
“No, I—”
To my side, Jonathan greeted Mr. Athletic. They shared words I couldn’t concentrate on. As the crowd moved toward the elevators, I heard Jessica laugh behind me. Her voice was caught in the lilt of small talk and joyful greetings.
“He’s stuck in Boise,” Geraldine hissed. “Three years.”
“What? Why?”
“His parole is real strict. He gets actual jail time. They’re pissed. So…” She glanced at Jonathan, then back at me as we stepped into the elevator. She thought I didn’t know she’d been with him. She thought she would surprise me for dramatic effect. She thought wrong. Looking meaningfully at me, then at Jonathan, who spoke to the blond guy, she muttered, “Have you heard about your date? It’s all over town.”
“The thing about Kevin is terrible. Honestly.” The news shook me. I didn’t care if she’d f**ked Jonathan a couple of nights back when I didn’t know he existed. I didn’t care if she wanted to rub my face in it for fun. Jesus Christ, I knew the guy wasn’t a virgin. A hundred women in the city could commiserate on my lover’s prowess if I were the commiserating type. Which I wasn’t. I was the type who got upset when her ex-boyfriend went to jail. “It’s awful.”
Geraldine looked away. I hoped she was ashamed.
“We incorporated light into the design,” Jessica said to someone I couldn’t see. “The right temperature of light was the hardest to achieve. We wound up finding old tungsten bulbs in a warehouse in Torrance.”
The doors opened onto the patio at L.A. Mod, which had been decked out in hanging lanterns and silver streamers. The effect was beautiful, incandescent, as if a few dozen artists had collaborated on the décor.
“Five minutes,” Jonathan said in my ear as the crowd filed out. “Stay in my sight.”
Geraldine’s date pulled her with the tide out toward the patio, but not before she grabbed my hand and said “Do it...” She laughed as she disappeared into the throng.
Photographers and reporters waited, and the flashing lights made me wince. I waved to her quickly to say good-bye, and she waved back. I wished she’d stayed, even to talk about sex or prison time, because I was alone. Jonathan was ten feet away by a serving stand, talking in serious tones to the light-haired guy. Jessica was surrounded by a gaggle of people, all laughing as if they didn’t have a care in the world. Jonathan and the big guy looked as though they were going to come to blows. He glanced at me and held out his hand in a slight gesture that meant “stay away.”
The elevator doors slid open and another group got out. I heard the phrase again, though Geraldine was far from me.
Do it...
It sounded recorded. I looked behind me. Two girls stared at a phone, the light glowing on their faces.
Do it...
One pocketed the phone when they stepped onto the patio, giggling.
Jonathan’s conversation wasn’t going well. I couldn’t stand there. I just couldn’t. I walked over.
“Hi,” I said. Jonathan slipped his hand over my shoulder. “I’m Monica.” I held out my hand. The blond guy didn’t take it.
“You stole something from my house.”
Jonathan pulled me closer. I felt his body inching between the other man and me. “This conversation is over.”
“It hasn’t started. I’ve got a lawyer.”
He seemed aggressive and off-kilter. As big as he was, he was so non-threatening, I couldn’t be scared. He was handsome and looked fine in his tuxedo, but he wasn’t wearing it...it was wearing him. He had no presence, no voice, no significance. Then I realized who he was. Erik. The man Jessica left Jonathan for.
That woman needed a cunt transplant.
“All these phones look alike,” I said. “It was dark. I thought it was mine.” I pursed my lips, trying to keep my mouth in some kind of line that didn’t resemble a smile. But I failed on some level. He didn’t believe me. A four-year-old wouldn’t have believed me.
“You know what he did?” Erik said. “To her?” He jerked his thumb in the general direction of where Jessica may have been standing.
“I hear she was asking for it.” The elevator dinged behind me.
“You’re both sick,” Erik said.
“O’Drassen!” A voice came from behind us, at the elevator. Jonathan turned me around and led me toward Eddie. He wore a white jacket and black tie, his hair combed into a pompadour.
“Ed,” Jonathan said, “take care of her.” He pushed me toward the guy he’d objected to taking me to the event in the first place.
“No problem,” Eddie replied. “And I’m doing great, by the way. Thanks for asking.”
“I mean it. Not out of your sight.”
Some guy thing happened between them, because Eddie stuck out his hand and Jonathan shook it, taking him by the bicep. Then he kissed me. “Be good.” He turned back to Erik, who had been joined by a man with darker hair and ruddy cheeks.
“I feel like I’m stranded in Manland,” I said to Eddie.
“You are.”
As we went into the throng of photographers, I glanced back to find Jonathan and Erik talking heatedly as if I hadn’t even interrupted.
“You ready to be Carnival’s newest face?” asked Eddie.
“Unless you try to put me in a leather mask.”
“Yeah, well that’s off the table. Coulda made a lot of money. This new idea’s a clunker.”
“You could drop me.”
“And let some douchebag from Vintage pick you up? Hell, no.”
The flashing lights were blinding. Between the women in sequins and the men wearing black, it was a high-contrast world. I heard laughter and chirpy voices. I heard clearly one phrase had caught on. It was whispered and shouted and giggled over.