Strut

by Susan Diplacido

  Inside, it’s already crowded. Stocked with hip, hot twenty-somethings, the guys with their hair meticulously messed up and the chicks trying to show as much firm flesh as legally permissible while still making it look nonchalant.

  But the music is what gets me. Mom immediately threads her way to the front, not the least bit fazed by the younger crowd, and I follow close on her impressive, supposedly magical heels. Rick’s band is good. Really good.

  He sets down a hard driving beat and they all follow. It’s very L.A. rock, the kind that makes you fall into the groove. I love it. Before long, I realize I had gotten mesmerized watching Rick. It’s warm in the club, and he’s working on the drums. From where we stand, I can see his biceps and triceps flex when he hits the snare. His shaggy dark hair gets damp and sometimes rivulets of sweat fly when he hits a hard downbeat.

  A couple songs in, I’m a little confused. I vaguely recognize the melody, but something sounds different, and I can’t put my finger on the song. I didn’t think Rick’s band did cover tunes, either. But then, once the singer kicks in, I’m not confused, but I am shocked senseless. I look over at Mom to see if she realizes it yet, and of course she does. She looks at me and whoops and then raises a fist in the air.

  I suppose I should be embarrassed. Being out at a club with my mom. My mom who’s wearing fuck-me heels that she thinks are filled with Hollywood magic and who’s pumping her fist in the air and acting like a teenager. But I’m not embarrassed. I’m both humbled and proud. Really proud of her.

  The song that Rick’s band is playing? It’s her song. It’s the one she and Rick played yesterday. I am...I’m overwhelmed.

  “One of these days I’m gonna have it all

  A lotta money, always sunny, live a life and have a soul.”

  My lord. It’s rearranged, but it sounds amazing as a hard-driving rock song. In fact, I think Mom would admit it sounds even better. It’s so California chic I can barely stand it.

  When they finish their set, Rick comes and greets us, and before I can praise him, Mom grabs him and shakes him. Mom, she says, “I loved it!”

  “Did you?” he asks, smiling, obviously already knowing she’s being sincere.

  “That was great,” I say. “So cool to hear that. But everything was great. You guys rock!”

  “I’m so glad I was finally able to get you to come.”

  I don’t miss a beat. Loud, I say, “That’s what he said!”

  “Boss. You just made my night.”

  “You made ours. Thank you.”

  “Going to stick around, have some drinks?”

  “No,” Mom says. “I have to get going home. It’s too late for an old lady like me to be out. Especially on Sunset Blvd. People will start calling me Norma Desmond soon.”

  “Mom, stop,” I say.

  “You’ll make sure Lisa gets home, right, Rick?” she asks.

  “Mom! Really! Stop! I’m coming with you.”

  “No, you stay,” she insists.

  “I have to go. I have to go back to the Smithton-Moore house again.”

  And then, Rick, he goes, “I’d be happy to take you.”

  “But. But you have to stay. Play.”

  “No,” he says. “We were just doing the opening set here tonight. I’m free.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” I tell him. “Don’t you have to break down the equipment?”

  “Nope. The other guys can do it. Besides,” he says, looking down at my mother’s feet, “I can see you have a lot of business to attend to over there. Maybe I can help.”

  “That’s right!” Mom says. Then, she takes hold of my arm for balance as she leans down and starts unbuckling the shoes. When she has them off, she hands them to me and says, “Give me yours.”

  “What?”

  “I can’t leave here in bare feet. Give me yours. You can wear these until you get rid of them.”

  “You are absolutely intent that I put those damn shoes on, aren’t you?”

  “They already worked for me,” she says. “I got to hear my song played by a professional band. And it rocked!”

  I don’t know what else to do. I do need the shoes. So I slip off mine and we swap. Unlike her, I do have quite a bit of trouble balancing in them at first. And I feel extremely tall. And powerful. And...almost wicked. I suppose that’s because I know they’re contraband. But for some reason, I like it.

  ***

  Rick takes a long, winding route around to Beverly Hills. On his way up Mulholland, I realize that he’s definitely going way out of his way and I get a small flutter in my stomach. When he pulls over at a lookout and then gets out and comes around and opens my door, the flutter turns to a quickening. That’s the first time I dare to admit to myself just how much I like Rick. I’d always admitted he was attractive, and charming, but I kept it at a distance, without ever admitting he was attractive to me, and that he charmed me on a daily basis.

  As he takes my hand to steady me as I climb out, my heart thuds again, very hard, but in a very different way than it had earlier when I was scared of getting caught with the shoes. And the nervous tingles ruffling through my limbs are different, too. It’s not fear this time. It’s something else entirely.

  “You ever see the view from here before?” he asks me.

  “Of course.”

  “Oh. So it’s no big deal to you, Boss?”

  I lean against the railing and gaze down at the glittering lights of downtown Los Angeles. I answer him by saying, “I loved your band tonight. You were really good.”

  “Really think so?”

  “Yes. I admire you. I could never do that.”

  “You do something else. You write.”

  “That’s different,” I admit to him. “Some people are stars, Rick. Honestly? Maybe there’s something wrong with me, but I never really wanted that, or that sort of attention. My dad always wanted more for us, and I think I picked writing because the attention wouldn’t be on me. I’d still be in the background. I like the thought of that, you know? That’s how my dad was. Like, all those lights down there? That’s all you notice this time of night. But it’s not really only the lights. There are all these big buildings around them, supporting them, making them possible. But that simply fades into the background and you don’t even notice it. I’d like to be part of things, but in the background like that.”

  “That is so not Hollywood, Boss.”

  “I know,” I admit. “You, my mom, you’re the bright lights that make this city sparkle.”

  “I’m not exactly a star, Lisa.”

  “Not yet,” I say. Then, coyly, “I bet you already get your fair share of groupies though.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Cause you’re sexy when you’re up there playing.”

  Rick, he smirks. “You thought I was sexy.”

  “You know what I mean.” And then, I blame the shoes, but I take the risk. Admit, “Yes. You were very sexy. You always are.” I sneak a look over at him, trying to gauge his reaction. If this doesn’t work out in my favor, I could be really humiliated tomorrow. He doesn’t say anything. I swallow thickly. I can feel the tide already turning and I start slipping to a bad place, so I try to backtrack. Shrug and say jokingly, “You know you are. You know Mrs. Farris thinks you are, too. I bet you have your pick of hot, hip twenty-year-olds.”

  Rick, he looks at me intently. Says, “I don’t want a hot twenty-year-old. I want you.”

  I know he means it as a compliment, but instead of being completely melted by the sentiment, a small part of me also latches on to how that came out, and he must see that on my face, because now he backtracks, saying, “I mean, you are hot, Lisa.” As he says it, he places a hand on my hip. Even through the fabric of my pants, I can feel the warmth of his touch.

  I wish he’d kiss me. Just, enough with the talking and kiss me. That’s all I really want.

  And then he does.

  He moves closer, places his other hand on my waist, pulls me
close, and leans down and kisses me. Warm breath, plump lips, the slightest hint of stubble brushing across my cheek. And it is great. Then, just right, just perfectly sexy, his tongue slips out and glides across my lower lip, and then against mine.

  Electric. I shiver with the goodness as my stomach quickens and my knees go weak. He moves again, he arms wrapping tighter around me, warming me, holding me close as he doesn’t miss a beat on my mouth, sucking, licking and kissing.

  Suddenly, I feel warm and happy, lit up brighter than the cityscape below us and pulsing brighter than the stars above.

  Before I know it, my arms are wrapped around his neck. My hand runs down his arm, feeling his warm, smooth skin and his muscles tensing under my touch. Rick leans into me, lowers his one hand and caresses my ass. I raise my leg for him as he backs me against the safety rail, sliding himself close. He’s hard against me and I lift my leg higher, he pulls me closer, grinds himself against me, crotch to crotch, sweet friction as he keeps tonguing my mouth.

  My blood sings and head swims it’s so good. We get breathier, both of us, our hands moving more intently, holding tighter. He moves off my mouth and kisses my cheek, hot, heavy breath tingling as he whispers in my ear, “I want you so bad, Lisa.”

  I squirm against him. He has no idea. He tugs my leg, pulling my hips against him again and I can’t contain a sigh. I’m fevered all over. The heat and hardness of him presses intently against me and I feel a throb of longing.

  That’s when the shoe drops. Literally.

  The shoe that’s on my dangling leg slips and falls to the ground.

  “Oh my God,” I say.

  “I know,” he agrees.

  “No. No no no!”

  “What? Wait. What?”

  “Rick,” I say, placing my hands on his shoulders and gently pushing him back. “I’m so sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am. But I really have to get to the Smithton house.”

  “You’re fucking with me right now, right?”

  “I wish I was.”

  “It’s that important?”

  “Believe me, I would really rather stay here with you. And, when I’m done, we can, well, we can do...something. But I have to get there and check on that heater.”

  I can feel his frustration as he leans his forehead against mine for a few seconds, but then he relents. He goes, “Whatever you say, Boss.”

  After we climb back in the van, I steal a glance over at him. I cannot believe I actually pushed this guy away to go check on a pool. I’m deranged. This is taking responsibility to ridiculous levels. I can see that his face is slightly flushed, and though I know he’s frustrated physically, I don’t sense anger from him. So I try to cut the tension. I tell him, “I like it when you call me Boss.”

  He fights off a smirk and doesn’t look over at me. But he says, “I know you do.” Then he does glance over with a wicked grin. “And I like calling you Boss.”

  “That’s good. Keep that in mind in about an hour.”

  Rick, he just bites his lower lip and keeps driving.

  Chapter Six

  On the way to Beverly Hills, I realize what a dumb move it was to swap shoes with my mother. Luckily, I always have spare clothes stashed in the van because I’m so often diving in unexpectedly to rectify problems. So I move to the back and find a shabby old pair flip-flops. They won’t match my outfit, but at least I won’t be wearing the hot evidence on my feet. Then I find my spare tool bag and I stuff the shoes inside. As I do, a strange thought crosses my mind. My mom was wearing them when she got one of her wishes—she got to hear one of her songs performed to a big crowd. And then, I got my secret heart’s desire—Rick kissed me.

  Interesting, but I can’t really put those things in the magic column. Instead, they both fall under the Rick-is-a-super-cool-guy umbrella.

  When we arrive at the Smithton-Moore house, instead of Herman answering the door to allow us in, one of the housekeepers greets us. “Where’s Herman?” I ask her.

  “Night off.”

  I get a small surge of hope. It seems quiet, and I don’t see any signs of the power couple around. They’ve probably already gone to bed for the evening. And though I don’t have my chance now as the housekeeper leads us outside, when she doesn’t follow us to the pool, I think I may have a good chance to toss the shoes in the living room before leaving, and the whole ordeal will be done with.

  Outside, Rick and I are halfway across the pool deck when the two Chihuahuas descend on me. Yapping, their short little legs moving with amazing speed and alacrity as they’re seemingly barking at my tool bag. They follow me directly into the pool shed, and right away I can smell the buildup of gas. The pump is still running, too. Herman never shut it down as I feared.

  I place the tool bag on top of the heater to keep it away from the dogs, and that’s when I hear it. Between their insistent yipping, I hear the distinctive click of the heater trying to ignite.

  “No!” Panic. I freeze for a second, and then I hear the second click. I reach down and scoop up one of the dogs and yell for Rick to grab the other one and then tell him, “Get out of here!”

  “What?”

  “GO!” I push him with my free hand, cradling the small pet with my other, hoping that I end up looking foolish and paranoid for being overly alarmed.

  But I don’t. I don’t end up looking paranoid, that is. I probably do still look foolish, though.

  I don’t hear the third click, because we’re far enough outside the shed, thankfully. But I feel the burst and blast as the heater does, indeed, finally ignite, along with all the residual gas built up in the shed.

  It blows. Hard enough to knock me off balance and into the pool, combusting with not just a whoosh, but an actual crack, like thunder. The roof of the pool shed splinters, sending fiery shard airborne. I turn in the water to watch. Among those falling shards are two curious objects. Though they’re completely ablaze, they still retain their distinctive stiletto shape, flames engulfing even the heels as they seem to rise in slow motion, lighting the sky above us. Slowly, as if in a dream, or, perhaps more accurately, in a nightmare, they begin their descent. One twists and loops, falling with an inglorious plunk onto the marble, still smoking and flaming. And its mate does a twisting half-gainer and then plops into the middle of the pool, releasing smoke and steam along with it.

  “Well,” Rick says, looking at the charred carnage. “You got your wish. Like it or not, you certainly did add to the glow of this evening.”

  “Just go turn off the damn gas line,” I tell him.

  “You’re the boss,” he says as he sets down the dog and hurries over to the valve to contain the problem.

  I set the small dog I was holding on the deck, but before I can lift myself out, I look up and see Mrs. Moore standing over me.

  “On the bright side,” I tell her, “the water temperature is definitely up there.”

  ***

  After the fire trucks have cleared out and Rick and I have cleaned up as much of the debris as possible, I assure Mrs. Moore that we’ll be back tomorrow to fix everything. She’s icy, but I’m considering myself lucky that she’s not pressing charges.

  In the van, Rick says, “Interesting night.”

  “Had its ups and downs. Not exactly a Hollywood ending, though.”

  “It’s not quite over yet,” he says tauntingly. “Maybe we haven’t reached the climax.”

  “That’s definitely what she said,” I say with a smile.

  “You keep that up and you’re going to be getting the free beers tomorrow.”

  That’s the disadvantage of living in L.A. Things move fast, and momentum can change in an instant. One minute you’re up, and the next you’re destroyed, with all your hopes shredded—or burned. After what’s just happened, I should cut my losses and go home and crawl in bed and lick my metaphorical wounds. I haven’t simply messed up an important client’s pool house, I’ve literally blown it to smithereens. I’m certain I’ve lost the customer, and I was already h
anging on with dwindling revenue. Not to mention that I’ll have to pay to repair all the damage. I’ve also destroyed a valued piece of her personal property, after allowing it to be stolen from her home. And I wasn’t just caught red-handed, I was caught en flambé. Not to mention that even if I don’t believe it, other people had considered those shoes an enigmatic and important piece of Hollywood history. And believe me, they are hopelessly beyond repair. The one that landed on the pool deck incinerated itself into a black, melted pile that to the naked eye was indistinguishable from a lump of coal. And the other in the pool didn’t fare much better. It retained some semblance of a shoe shape, but the fabric and decorations were completely melted and charred.

  “Speaking of that,” I say, taking a sober attitude. “I’ve been thinking, Rick. I um, I don’t want things to be uncomfortable between us at work. After what happened tonight, it could just be awkward.”

  His expression falls.

  And that is the advantage to living in L.A. Even after the night I’ve had, you come to realize that the very essence of this city is about chasing dreams. Even after you’ve crashed and burned, you have to keep trying, or you might as well move back to blustery Chicago. And I really don’t want to invest in a new pair of faux shearling-lined snow boots.

  So I play it cool and look straight ahead but say, “All this unresolved sexual tension would be too distracting. So, I think we should do something about it.”

  He glances over at me and a smile plays at the corners of his mouth. Asking, “So we should resolve it, then?”

  “Just don’t expect me to pay you overtime for it.”

  “Can I still call you Boss?”

  “Oh, I’m really hoping that you do.”

  Rick, he licks his lips. Says, “You just put the biggest smile on my face.”

  And I answer, “That’s what she said.”

  “No, that’s what you’re going to say.”

  “Don’t let your mouth write checks that the rest of you can’t cash, Rick,” I taunt him.