CoverBoys & Curses

by Lala Corriere

  The man sitting on the patio was speaking on the phone. Yelling on the phone. He looked up, saw me, then rushed inside his house. The door was slammed shut and the curtains drawn.

  “What is it?” Brock asked. “You’ve stopped dead in your tracks and now you’re shaking.”

  I hadn’t realized it. I took a deep breath of the cool and damp night air. “I just thought I recognized a man that was sitting out on that deck.” Or maybe it was I thought he recognized me.

  “Some movie star?”

  “Just some guy that looked like the man we saw at Dr. Coal’s house. Dressed in black and same demeanor. That’s all.” With a ponytail, I thought.

  “Let’s get you back to the house. You need a wrap. I’ll make a fire.”

  There’s never any real privacy on the beach. In spite of the laws that dictate the beaches are public, Malibu real estate owners with beachfront properties fight for privacy. There is an unspoken tenet in beach etiquette that calls for spatial distancing. Maybe I was the one breaking the rules and this man I had seen felt his space had been invaded.

  The dog seemed to comprehend the game was over. He tossed his head back and forth and ran off in the opposite direction. I hoped it was toward his home.

  “You know I’m the poster boy for good behavior when I’m playing, but I’m a born rule breaker,” Brock said. “Let’s finish that bottle of wine of yours.”

  As we walked toward my house Brock said, “How’s Sterling doing?”

  “I was going to ask you the same question. I haven’t seen her since the infamous dinner party at Gabri’s. I believe she was your date.” I controlled the pout in my voice but it did little to abate the humiliation and hurt emanating from my body language.

  “That is weird!”

  “Brock, if you say weird one more time, I’ll—”

  “You’ll what?” He put his gentle and firm arm around my waist and cinched me toward him.

  I shrugged, almost caving into the stealth shield of his body, but I kept on walking with a straight gait.

  “I mean it, Laurs. I thought the two of you had conspired against me because she hasn’t returned my calls.”

  The hurt intensified. So, he’d been calling her. I stepped outside of his reach. “I guess you’re not quite the catch you think you are.”

  He changed the subject. Too easily. “How’s Gabri?”

  “I haven’t heard much. She’s keeping a low profile after news of her dinner party made the rounds. She still thinks you’re mad at her for blowing some real estate deals.”

  “She’d be damn right. It was a few flips. Quick flips. I’d buy distressed properties, have some guys fix them up, and sell them. She wasn’t paying attention. The woman lost me some big money.”

  I watched his pulse grow faster with flinched indentions at his temples. His gait stiffened and he walked with urgency.

  “She thinks you might have been mad enough to commission that painting of her, then have the gall to be her guest when it was presented to her.”

  He turned to me, “For the record I wasn’t there when she opened up that damn thing.”

  “So? Did you do it?”

  “Is that what you think?”

  “I can tell you’re mad.”

  “Mad as hell. But it’s only money. Now I might have commissioned that painting if I’d had the time to dream up such a scheme, but I’m a gentleman. I’d never be her guest, eat her food and drink her wine, only to let her open that piece of atrocious shit.”

  “I know,” I said as we neared the stairs that led to my deck. “I know you better than that. I’ve seen you rescue a chinch bug from your kitchen floor and deposit it outside rather than just step on it.”

  “That’s not to say Gabri’s any better than a chinch bug.” He made it sound like a joke. A sick joke. Brock was mad. Mad as hell.

  He pecked me on the cheek and called it a night. A big brother thing. No friendly benefits.

  As he pulled out of my driveway I noticed a black convertible Corvette pull down the street. The driver had a long black braid.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Skeletons

  CARLY CALLED TO SUGGEST a cocktail hour. I finally concurred. Per usual, Sterling ran late.

  We sat at a window table at the crowded restaurant, Insolence, where sandwiches were pricey and the caviar—the priciest in town. A show-me-the-money kind of pick-up place. The waiter summed us up. He might as well have said what was on his mind. Show me your bank account register before you order.

  I guess we passed his scrutiny although it crossed my mind Sterling would have helped if she had arrived on time and oozing in her bibelots du jour. We ordered two Stolis.

  “I’m still in awe of your design work at my beach house,” I told Carly.

  “I’m glad.” Her words—laconic.

  “No, really! You’re an incredible talent.”

  She scowled and pretended to look at the menu.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “For starters, I’m bored to tears.”

  “How can you be bored? You’re booked out six months in advance.”

  “I truly enjoyed doing your house, Lauren, but most of my projects suck.”

  “Not fun anymore?”

  “Anymore? My entire career has been about prying painters off the ceiling because they show up to work high on god knows what. I have to deal with damaged or late shipments. Do you know last month I finally had time to sit down and read the morning newspaper with a cup of coffee? The words popped off the front page of the business section. A barge sunk in the middle of the fucking Atlantic. And guess whose furniture was on it? My biggest and most loud-mouthed client. And take one guess as to whose fault it was? Mine.”

  “Not as glamorous a business world as it sounds, huh?”

  She rolled her eyes and said, “If I have to place one more Barcelona chair on a slab of white travertine in a house that looks like an abandoned igloo I’m going to puke.”

  Her eyes diverted to some place far away. I knew the look.

  “You already have a plan, don’t you?”

  Carly giggled. She never giggles but with a mischievous and feisty guttural resonance from deep within her larynx. “It’s going to take some time, Laurs, but I want to open an antique store. A big antique store.

  “I’m going to have the best of the best in furniture, art and collectibles, even architectural obscurities. Hell, I may even throw in some old cars.”

  “Wow. You’ve thought this through. So what’s stopping you?”

  “Capital. And before you ask, I’m not looking for investors or loans. It’s going to be all mine or nothing.”

  I didn’t have to ask. Carly was the most stoic and proud woman I knew. She would never accept monetary help. Never.

  “What about the equity in the Bel Air home?”

  “Not available.” Her answer was curt. Off limits to further discussion.

  A glistening light walked toward our table. Sterling. We hadn’t been together, the three of us, since our failed and dismal trip to Tucson.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Sterling’s voice roared above the noisy gathering spot. “I had a massage at Calm and got stuck with some Russian masseuse. She was belching up more vodka than they have lined up on the shelves in this place.”

  Sterling got the attention of the waiter along with every patron in the place, and ordered a drink.

  “First time we’ve been together since we did it!” Sterling said. She lifted her lanky but curved leg up to the table and showed off the friendship tattoo. We all succumbed to the impulse of staining on our ankles.

  “And I can’t stay long. I have a date with a hunk.”

  “A name we should know?” Carly asked.

  “Yeah. Hunk!”

  “A professional athlete?” I asked.

  “I have no idea. It’s a blind date. Why?”

  “They seem to be your type,” I said, probably laced with sarcasm.

  “If they
have money, an Adonis body and a penis they’re my type.” She quickly added, “Hair is a bonus. I like hair.”

  “But in the right places,” Carly added.

  Sterling scowled at us mockingly. “Don’t be snippy. I have some information you’ll want to hear.”

  “You’re engaged to the Prince of Sheba”, Carly said.

  “I’m not even sure there is a place called Sheba but in a tin of cat food. But I am sure about something more important. Skeletons.”

  “Skeletons?” Carly asked.

  I didn’t need to ask. I knew immediately it was news about Payton’s email to me. Three skeletons.

  “Turns out they call the innards of a dead saguaro skeletons. They’re ribs. Big thick rib-like wood.”

  Carly sat speechless.

  I fumbled with the words, “You fake a dumb blonde real good, Sterling. How did you find out?”

  “Crazy. Something called Google,” she smirked. “Believe it or not I even know how to turn on a computer.”

  “When we were there we looked for three tall and very much alive saguaro. Or anything else we saw in threes. But we weren’t really looking at the ground. Not for any fallen cacti. So who’s on board to go back to Tucson?” I asked.

  “Sure,” Carly said. “I have nothing better to do than go looking around for three dead cacti in acres of desert.”

  Chapter Forty

  Like Duct Tape

  I RETURNED TO MY BEACH house. Exhausted but fulfilled. Winning. What I was winning, I hadn’t a clue.

  Something about the beach always made me feel centered no matter how much frustration I felt toward the world. I guess that’s the way most people feel. And why beachfront property is about a million dollars for every lineal foot of ocean frontage.

  Mostly when I was feeling too confident, when I thought I was on top of this world, I would return to the beach to have it temper my ego with its omnipotence. The sun had been replaced by a brilliant glow of moonlight and this night it offered me a boost. I felt significant and alive. And very humble.

  A wrapped gift package sat by my front door. Usually I would have pulled into the garage but instead I parked on the driveway, grabbed my mail, the iridescent package and my keys, shoving the gold one into the lock that would permit me into the sanctuary I so badly needed.

  The package screamed of Queen Geoff. Rainbow colored ribbons smothered the neon wrapping paper. I laughed. Out loud. What could Geoff have possibly dropped off as a house warming gift, I wondered. Whatever it was, it would fit into the category of the outrageous.

  I struggled with my key to fit it into the lock. It wasn’t working. I jammed. I twisted. I stuffed it in further, then pulled it out just barely to try and turn the chambers in the lock.

  Nothing.

  I’d have to pull my car into the garage and enter my house through that door. I heard nothing, my focus so intent on the lock that would not turn.

  The black glove slammed across my mouth. Leather. I could smell the leather. My attacker reined me in taut against his body. As my legs buckled with the limpness of a jellyfish, he pulled me up tighter by grabbing onto my hair and yanking my head back closer into his chest. He held me flush against his body. More black leather. That is all I could see, or smell, or feel. My vision spun in circles like a kaleidoscope with broken stained glass. No focus. Just the colors of the rainbow streaming from the pretty gift-wrapped package amid all the blackness.

  The monster’s other hand barely allowed for my breath. Apparently the only true sense I had left was that of hearing.

  “You have no business in Tucson, Bitch. That ship has sailed. You need to disappear off the radar map or let us make that happen for you. You understand?”

  I nodded my face up and down under the steel leather-cloaked hands that still bound my mouth like duct tape.

  “I’ll be leaving a friend to watch out after you. You do as I say and you’ll have no problems with any jugular bites.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Wolf Dog

  THE MONSTER DREW BACK in one swift movement. The weight of my body fell free from his massive arms which caused my knees to buckle and drop to the hard flooring of my front porch. My keys clanked as they scattered across the terrazzo tiles. Out of reach and I didn’t care.

  His car sped away, so dark and in so much fog I couldn’t make out anything but blackness.

  His sentry showed up in the same thicket of mist. My intruder had promised me bites to my jugular if I were not to behave myself. The wolf-like creature, black and with demonic red glowing eyes, snarled at me from my porch steps.

  Too weak to stand or try and square off with the animal, I managed to pretzel myself into a ball against the door, hiding my face between trembling legs. I had no false sense of security. This was a real threat. This was when I had to face my demons. Unfortunately, my head was lodged between my knees and I didn’t think it would come out any time too soon.

  Then I saw it. Lodged between my legs was my cell phone. Slowly I reached for it and dialed 911.

  Help was on the way. How long? It would be too long, I was certain. I lifted my head and focused on the glint of light. The sliver of the waxing moon’s light streamed from the brass umbrella stand Carly had appointed to my front door. I dared to reach out for the object. Being only seven or eight inches away it might as well have been a fathom and the seas between us ran red with blood. I managed to grab the stand by its rim and pull it slowly toward me.

  The wolf-dog, for I still cannot believe it was a mere dog, howled with the rage of evil chromosomes. Its fangs, too, glowed in the slight moonlight.

  Weighty, I struggled to pull the brass stand near me. I clutched it between my legs, secured my grip on it and heaved it toward the creature, smacking it on its nose. I swear I heard some of those fangs crack. It whimpered and retreated, but I could feel its eyes still fixated on me.

  Backing up, I neared the side of my garage and the key pad. Fingers shaking, I pushed in the five digit code to raise the garage door. The creaking noise did little to disarm the creature. His stare grew fiercer. Glistening bloody drool fell from the sides of his mouth to the ground.

  There was nothing between us except a garden hose, and his fierce stare told me even a fire hose wouldn’t deter his desire for a fresh kill. Instincts told me that I couldn’t outrun him. Still, I lifted my feet out of the high heels. I’d stand a better chance barefoot and the spikes on those shoes just became my only weapons of self defense. I threw one at him. It bounced off his front leg and caused the broad body to flinch.

  I glanced around in the garage and spied the bag of golf clubs. I hoped if only I had time to unzip the travel bag I could possibly defend myself with the steel rods.

  The animal strode forward. Taking his time. Making me squirm with fear. Stalking me.

  I backed up further into the garage and with two more short steps I managed to drag the golf bag in front of me as if it would be a buffer from harm. The animal moved five more steps closer. He sounded a predatory call, half bark and half howl, and he was now no more than five feet from me. I had another twelve feet behind me to reach the safety of the door.

  Thank god I was sloppy when it came to security. I knew that door would be unlocked.

  I pulled from memory anything and everything Brock had taught me about pitching baseballs, then hurled the second shoe at the wolf-dog with perfect aim. It smacked him square in the eyes. I knew I had only seconds to unzip the golf bag and pull out the steely weapons.

  I had only a split second. The wolf-dog whimpered, shook off the pain like a sheet of warm water, and lunged at me.

  Having freed the clubs, I grabbed all that my hands could hold and slung the rods at the animal, then I ran for the door and my very life.

  The door slammed shut as the wolf-dog’s nose poked through. I thrust my weight against it and recovered my phone. I called Carly. No answer. I called Sterling. Then I called Detective Wray.

  It was Sterling that arrived first
, even before the police and with twice the miles to travel. And the wolf-dog was nowhere in sight.

  While waiting for any authorities Sterling opened the package as I watched. The box fell apart with absolutely nothing inside it except for black tissue paper.

  Sirens neared. Sterling rocked me in her arms and we spoke no words.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Oh, and By The Way

  MY VOICE MUST HAVE sounded like mud to Detective Wray. The Malibu police had all but shouted out their joy when the detective showed up and told them he’d take care of the situation, meaning me. There was no fight over jurisdictions like you see on TV. They sped away.

  “I guess there were a few things I didn’t tell you the other night, Detective. I just didn’t think they mattered at the time.”

  “I guess there are a few things I didn’t tell you the other night, either, Ms. Visconti. Because they hadn’t happened.”

  “You have something to tell me?”

  “And always a pleasure to let the lady go first. Maybe you can start with what occurred here tonight.”

  I recounted what little I knew. The shiny package. The black glove snatching at my face. The hushed, gravelly voice that delivered the warning. The wolf-dog.

  “What was in the package?” he asked.

  “Nothing. I knew it was lightweight. I remember thinking maybe it was a scarf or something. Sterling opened it. Nothing.”

  “Figures. A distraction.”

  “What?”

  “You were focused on the gift. Gave the perp opportunity to catch you off guard.”

  The detective asked me to describe the scene. Any sights. Sounds. Smells. I didn’t see anything but the wrapped gift and the black glove. I’d already told him the voice was but a graveled whisper. And the only smell was from the leather glove.

  He asked me to relay the man’s words. The meat of the threat. The warning to stay away from Tucson. I told him about Payton and her suicide that wasn’t a suicide. It couldn’t be a suicide. “That’s what you need to know! That’s what I should have told you!” I screamed.