Kissing Persuasive Lips

by Dale Wiley

  “I’m gonna do more than that.”

  “Mr. Lord, I don’t want more than that. I’ll make it good. Just put me back like I was. I’ll have to find something else to do. Maybe that’ll be good.”

  Mick started half a dozen sentences. None of them sounded remotely acceptable. He tapped the passenger side door.

  “Look. It’s not far back to the hotel. I think I’ll just walk,” he said lamely.

  She smiled at him. “Okay. I sure do appreciate you,” she said, grabbing a strand of her hair.

  He knew she meant it, even with all she had been through.

  That was the worst part.

  * * *

  Mick looked down at his Tag Heuer watch and realized he had forgotten about the meeting with Kinley.

  Kinley. He couldn’t get over that. She sounded like one of Barbie’s friends.

  He had to look for a cab, which still took ten minutes, even in Beverly Hills, then headed to the headquarters of Omega, which was just to the west of them, in Century City.

  The building had many floors and was not specifically devoted to Omega; just the top floors. The rest of the building held lawyers and accountants and businesses who needed a tony address to bolster their image. Mick had been there a few times for different reasons, but he always remembered his first trip, while he was still in banking, when he was first talking to Omega about taking over. He had been to LA some, but was still getting used to it. It seemed like a million times bigger than Austin.

  In the elevator on the way up, a nice-looking young woman got on with him. She never took off her sunglasses. He knew he had seen her. She melted into the corner of the elevator, obviously hoping he didn’t speak to her. He finally figured it out, maybe ten floors up. It was Lindsay Lohan, at that time one of the biggest stars in Hollywood, but on her way out. She looked so sad and lost. She was obviously there to visit her lawyer. She should have had the world by the tail, and instead she was afraid to be wherever she was. That was always Mick’s cautionary tale about Hollywood. Use fame and money the wrong way and your punishment extends to every waking moment of the day.

  He hoped this trip would be more pleasant than Lindsay’s had been.

  * * *

  Mick arrived at the top floor, and was greeted by a big, bright, unfeeling space that was exactly what he remembered. He had been a frequent visitor during the buyout, and always felt the space was devoid of creativity and warmth. There was art, but it was either old, so dumb it made you feel stupid, or sharp, crisp portraits of indigenous people that was the ultimate in irony. He doubted that Omega was saving anyone there; they didn’t have enough capital reserves.

  The receptionist had been alerted to his appearance; he could tell that. She smiled and pressed her pantsuit against her belly like people do if they’re nervous or interested. She was most likely both. Mick sat for fifteen minutes, trying to avoid the reflection of his shiner, and trying to not get his hopes up too high. Certainly he could put this matter behind him, chalk it up to some honest mistake and go on his way.

  * * *

  A young man, dressed in an incredibly expensive suit that did not fit him, came and got Mick after another five or so minutes. It seemed like he had been sitting for a long time. They walked back to the corner, where Kinley Baron’s office took up what seemed like an entire wing. She had walked out to meet him. He was impressed.

  She was lovely. Charles had been right. He couldn’t stop looking. She was just under six feet tall, had long straight blond hair, eyes full of glacier water, and a top lip that just dared you to lean in for a kiss. She was wearing a jacket and skirt, so he couldn’t see all he wanted to, but Kinley was a vision. Her handshake was firm, and those peaceful blue eyes seemed filled with intelligence and class. This one was worth a dozen of the bimbos he had been sullying himself with. He hated himself for doing that at the moment. This was the kind of woman who made you wish that you had never met her. She was a prize.

  They said their hellos, Mick managed to do his best to calm his mind after it had raged into gear, and they sat down. He could see a beautiful view of Los Angeles and the hills in the distance. This was someone going places.

  “I imagine in your looking at me you noticed the rather pretty colors I’ve got around my eye.” Kinley looked away instinctively, as everyone did. It was a nasty looking eye.

  He continued. “I was out in Vegas, attending a convention of the Amish,” he winked at her, “when someone came up and sucker punched me. He had a gun and was ready to kill me if my better half hadn’t been there,”

  “I’m sorry about that. Someone told me that this had happened. I’m just trying to figure out exactly how it involves the bank.” Her voice was even but pleasing. But he could tell she was a company woman. She was playing this out by the playbook.

  “I guess that’s why I’m here. The man showed me some paperwork that he said came from you, and it sure looked like it did. It had my name on it, which makes no sense. Did they send it to you?” He realized he should have brought a copy.

  “They did. I’ve got it right here.” She pulled it out and scrutinized it.

  “That’s not my handwriting. Not even close. Not on my worst bender.”

  Kinley gave it an oh-well shrug. He wasn’t going to leave with that.

  “Ms. Baron, I know that I am not an especially big cog in this wheel, especially now that I’m not even a stockholder at all. But I can’t let you use my name illegally to foreclose on people.”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s not illegal…” she said with a half-chuckle that indicated to him that she had just met with corporate attorneys.

  “Well I’m a dumb guy and I’m pretty sure I’ve got a concussion because of all of this. But whatever word you want to use, I don’t think Omega is allowed to use my name and forge my signture. And yeah, that sure sounds illegal to me.”

  Kinley brought the mood back to even. She was good at this job. “Well, Mick - okay if I call you Mick? - We’re looking into it. We don’t want anyone to be unhappy.”

  That was the weirdest answer he had ever heard.

  Then she turned those sea-deep eyes on at him:

  “Can we discuss it over dinner?”

  * * *

  Angie and Spider were in their appointed places when Mick finally got around to coming back to the hotel. He had walked around the streets close to Santa Monica Boulevard like Charlie Chaplin, tracing his fingers along railings, not really seeing anything he looked at. He thought he was over being this empty. Kinley confused him. He was amazed by her and was pretty sure he could hold his own with her, even with a concussion. But there was something off there; she treated him the way he treated some of his female friends. He obviously wasn’t hurting for company, but now he wanted hers. He was wary and excited and very mad over the whole encounter. And couple that with helping Danielle. There had to be an answer to this that wasn’t simply defeat. On that front, he thought he had one favor he could call in.

  Mick had served on a charity board for the LA County Sheriff’s Department a couple of years ago. It was a lot of silly work for what amounted to a once-a-year fundraiser at the Santa Monica Pier, where everyone gathered and played the same rigged carnival games, but paid insane amounts to do so, all in the name of charity. Mandy had encouraged him to broaden his circle, and she glowed at the thought that Mick would be involved in a charitable cause, even one as badly managed as this one.

  There were too many meetings where too many people talked about the same things; it was a fundraiser in one of the more beautiful and wholesome spots in the whole nation; the amount of over-thinking that went on was incredible, but he had made a couple of drinking buddies from the experience, and felt like he now had the ear of Kara Aoki, a rising star in the LA County District Attorney’s office. She was young and pretty and most certainly interested in Mick, but that was back in the day when he had no time for any other woman. But he had always had a good rapport with Kara, and if anyone could help him, he tho
ught it would be her.

  When he got back to the roof, he was searching through his old emails on his phone, trying to find her number.

  “We’re doing fine,” Angie said, trying to bring him out of his funk. He hadn’t even looked at either of his companions since his return.

  Mick looked up. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m just highly preoccupied.”

  Spider was put off by all of this as well, but refused to say anything. “What did you find out?”

  “That we have a horrible, bought and paid for police department in the town we live in.”

  “Tell me who that surprised.”

  Mick turned around and glared. “Me. That’s who it surprised. Me. My naivete is being revealed by the minute.”

  Angie continued her two-day-long streak of eye rolling. “Come on, Mick. Give it up. You gave her a hell of a lot of money, or at least I’m assuming you did. She can get some surgery done in Tijuana and keep the rest of the money. What should she have expected?”

  With that, Mick turned over the small table with the fresh fruit on it, said “fuck you” to Angie, and headed inside. Both of his friends expected him to turn back to them. He didn’t. The bowls clattered against the concrete for what seemed like a very long time.

  * * *

  Mick called Kara three times, managing to wait an hour between the calls, leaving his info each time. She hadn’t called back, and it was killing him. She was the only person in the world he really wanted to hear from. He ignored Spider and Angie, and just opened up the doors to the deck to his suite. Warmth combined with that ever-present breeze made it a beautiful place to spend an afternoon, even if you happened to be in the foulest of moods. He stripped naked and lay on his bed, with only the bedsheet covering him, feeling very sorry for himself.

  The problem with being a thinker is you know the things you are doing to make things worse. But at your bad moments, you just can’t do anything about it. He felt like he needed to be miserable. That was the only way he could start feeling better.

  Mick knew he needed something to focus on that wasn’t related to sleeping with everyone woman he saw or drinking his liver away. But what?

  He had no concentration.

  He had no drive. Helping Danielle had given him more of a purpose that he had had in months. Maybe years.

  He needed to do something meaningful. He had built a bank and in the end turned it over to a bunch of vipers for a vault full of money. He had then made silly TV shows that would not be remembered in five years, much less ten. It was time for him to do something that would outlast whatever time was left for him.

  Or maybe not. Maybe he would just run out the clock and see how that felt.

  * * *

  Finally, around six, Kara called. He noticed it wasn’t from the office, which was the number he had, but from her cell. They exchanged pleasantries. She knew about his loss and so she did the dance everyone felt they had to do. He was used to it by now, and knew everyone felt they had to do it. It wasn’t a bad thing, but it was painful. They were sorry, they had to say. They knew they didn’t have the words. But they just wanted him to know… Everyone said the same thing. Every time he heard it, it seemed to take a little more out of him.

  The shadows were stretching and the sun was getting closer to the edge of the sky. He had still been ignoring calls from Spider and Angie, and he was well on his way to a strong buzz. He made himself participate in a little small talk with Kara, then asked if she wouldn’t mind coming by the hotel and seeing him. She hesitated for a second, then said she’d be right over.

  Mick decided to make himself at least a little presentable, so he ran his hand through his hair and tried to find something less wrinkled than what he had worn earlier. He took the casual look to the extreme, and it worked for him. He put on a pair of jeans and a white linen button up, rolled up the collars and went downstairs. He sat in the corner of the lounge by himself and ordered a Modelo with lime. He didn’t need to get any more drunk, and Mexican beer always let him drink without getting drunker. He nodded politely at the people that came in and out, some of whom recognized him. Some of them tried to play it cool, some clearly tried to convey a note of sympathy through their glance. He hated that, but he knew they meant well. All these people meaning well, none of them did any damn good for him. Story of his last year.

  Kara came in and looked like a dream. Even though she had obviously come from work, she made the power of her job work as an accessory. She wore a knee-length dress and a simple strand of pearls, and he marveled at her creamy skin and dark eyes. When he saw her, Mick remembered that it was almost as if she made a point never to smile. She would never have a wrinkle; she didn’t have enough fun to even come close. He wondered if she was so serious because she thought people found it sexy; it gave him a headache. Mick put himself in light-flirt mode. He didn’t want to close any deal tonight, but he wanted to make sure she thought that was a possibility.

  They moved outside, to a small patio surrounded by walls and trees. Its seemed too small, and every time Mick stepped out there, he wished it was bigger, because the effect was soothing and secret, another hidden treasure in this understated playground. Night had fallen, and with it the day’s heat had been swept away and replaced by that crisp chill that made every action seem imbued with purpose. He ordered them both a glass of La Crema pinot, and he listened.

  Kara quickly told him there was a boyfriend, hopefully serious, but she was clearly not opposed to other ideas. She twirled her hair, she touched her jewelry, she constantly smoothed her taupe dress she had worn from work. All signs of her interest in him. He made small talk as long as his constitution would let him. and then edged into his topic.

  “I witnessed something a few days ago,” he said, hoping it sounded sufficiently nonchalant.

  Kara deepened her scowl. At first, he thought she was upset he brought this up, then he realized this was her “concerned” look.

  “I saw a man cut a woman very badly on the face.”

  “Oh my god! What happened?”

  “It was up on the roof. A lady of the evening in the morning and her very old, very rich john.”

  “What?”

  “She was cancelling their deal, and he was mad. He smashed a glass and cut the hell out of her cheek.”

  “What the hell?”

  “I know. It was disgusting. I rode down to the police station with her and they want nothing to do with her. A bunch of judgmental bitches.”

  “Wouldn’t talk to her just because of who he was?”

  “I think that plus her less-than-ladylike profession. It was a combination.”

  “Do you need me to take a look at it?” She asked, making that face again, the one that required her to talk an octave lower than she normally did.

  “That would be really great,” Mick said, meaning it. “I would love that.”

  Mick smiled - really smiled - for the first time that day. This woman could get justice. She was serious and nice to look at, and could get it done. Mick didn’t want to screw anything up by going to bed with her at that point, but if the time was right, the boyfriend would not pose a problem.

  * * *

  Mick had told Kinley he would pick her up a little after nine. She had given him her address, a nice spot in the Hollywood Hills.

  He thought about taking the Ferrari, but decided against it. That car was too over the top for the moment. He didn’t want to make her think he was trying to impress her, even though he clearly was.

  He had a very ordinary Lexus sedan that was his favorite car. It was a champagne color and barely made a sound, in so many ways the opposite of his new toy. He had the valet bring it to him, and he headed up Sunset, then up further to Mulholland, where he took a left. This was the place of Mama Cass, of Joni Mitchell, of Henry Diltz and all of those heroes of his that had made Laurel Canyon sing. Kinley’s place was hard to find but very nice, a ranch house that would probably set someone back the better part of a million bucks, a
starter Kinley Dream House.

  She answered the door dressed in jeans and a black sweater. The curves were easier to see now. She had a smile on her face that said she hadn’t been out in a while, but everything seemed practiced with this one. He would have to watch out for her.

  He was sure she expected him to name some super-snooty one-word named restaurant that had a month-long waiting list. He didn’t. Instead, he told her, “I want to take you to the Rainbow.”

  Her answer made him happy:

  “Oh fun!”

  * * *

  The Rainbow Bar and Grill was down the hill from them. It was early for that crowd, so Mick valeted and had her in the door within ten minutes.

  “I’m sorry. You may have pictured something nicer, but this is more my speed,” he grinned.

  “I’m not stuck up,” she said. “I know that’s what they say.”

  “I haven’t talked to ‘they’. But this is just kind of old-school now and some people don’t like that.”

  “Are you kidding? Have you had their pizza?”

  “I’ve had about everything on the menu.”

  It was a little windy out, so they put them inside, in what had to be one of the darkest places in the city. The Rainbow had originally been a well-known Hollywood restaurant, where Joe DiMaggio and Marilyn Monroe had their first date. It later changed its name, and became the landing place for rock stars from Elvis to Led Zeppelin, and even now you were likely to see more interesting people there than anywhere else. Priscilla Presley. Ron Jeremy. Lemmy. they all came there for food and friends.

  The decor was red and black, and boasted rock and roll trophies from all of its customers. The emphasis was on comfort, not style, and he loved sliding into the old-style booth, and feeling like that corner of the world was yours.

  As they waited for their food, they got to talk. It would have taken a real expert to notice, but Kinley was playing him to a certain extent, and genuinely interested to a certain extent. He didn’t know how far it would go, but it was a little too much of an experiment in perfectly-matched body language to be all genuine. Mick figured she wanted to be whatever he wanted her to be that night, but that didn’t mean he had to buy everything she was selling.