by Julia Dumont
Their movements were seriously restricted inside the sports car, but it didn’t matter. They weren’t looking for all-out lovemaking at that moment anyway. Simple gestures and soft touches carried more than their weight in sensual impact. She moved a hand to his thigh, he, one to her breast . . . and just kept them there, not moving, just sensing, their deep kisses transporting them over the Los Angeles sprawl below, like a couple in a Marc Chagall painting, she thought. Apparently they were operating under Chagall’s laws of physics.
She felt his hand under her blouse and had absolutely no recollection of him untying the elaborate laces that held it together. He wasn’t kidding about the Boy Scout stuff. And just as his lips touched the skin adjacent to the laced upper hem of her bra, and his tongue found its way under that hem . . .
Knock! Knock! Knock! A flash of light. A flashlight, in fact. Someone was at the window on her side.
“Open up!”
“Jesus!” said Cynthia and Jack simultaneously. He instantly covered her up and lowered the window.
“Yes, officer?”
“Just get out of the car.”
So they did. They readjusted their clothing as much as possible and stood up, the bright headlights of the cruiser in their eyes.
“What seems to be the problem, sir?” asked Jack in a completely calm tone, not riled in the slightest, despite the fact that on top of everything, Cynthia at least noticed that he had a distinct circus tent happening in his trousers.
Cynthia squinted into the glare and saw that beyond the cop there were other people and other cars. Some had cameras.
“Nothing,” said the officer, “we just get some wild kids up here. Can I see an I.D. please?”
“Sir,” said Cynthia, “my license is in my purse. In the car.” She was always fairly paranoid when she got stopped by a cop——who isn’t——but thinking about her purse also reminded her of her phone and the fact that she still had a bunch of details to attend to for tonight’s dates. The day had so slipped away. Pete, Lolita, Tanya, Max, Jack. What on Earth? She was suddenly full of anxiety about everything. It had been a wonderful afternoon with Jack, but this last turn of events just made her realize how she had let time get away from her. She must have looked a little freaked out. She really couldn’t go any further with Jack. She needed to focus more on Second Acts and less on the heat of the moment. No matter how hot the moment was.
“That’s okay, lady,” said the cop, ”his will be enough.”
Jack handed over his license and the cop held it up to the light. He paused and moved super close, like he was reading braille with his nose. Then he looked at Jack and back at the license. Then he shook his head and smiled.
“No shit. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you, Mr. Stone. Sorry, it’s just so dark. What are you doing up here, anyway? Wait,” he said, apparently finally noticing their generally disheveled appearance, and smiling again, “Never mind.”
A couple of camera flashes went off and the cop turned around.
“Get the hell outa here! What’s the matter with you, anyway? Everyone needs to do some making out at a beautiful Mulholland lookout sometimes! I did it when I was in high school! Get the hell outa here right now and I won’t give you all tickets!”
“Tickets for what?” asked one pissed-off paparazzi.
“I don’t know, for being a stupid a-hole?!” said the cop.
The photographers got back into their cars, but not before snapping a few more photos and muttering a few more complaints.
“Thanks,” said Jack. “You, sir, are a hero.”
“No problem, man. I love your work. Except The Long Way Down. I walked out on that.”
“He directed that one,” said Cynthia, trying hard not to laugh, which only made her and Jack burst out laughing harder.
“Yeah,” said Jack. “It was kind of a clunker.”
“Sorry, man, I don’t know why I even said that,” said the cop. “I didn’t see the whole thing. It might have gotten better.”
Then all three of them laughed.
“This is weird,” said the cop. “Can I maybe get an autograph for my wife?”
Jack happily signed the only piece of paper the officer could find--a blank Los Angeles moving violation ticket.
“There you, go,” he said. “In triplicate!”
They all laughed and said goodbye. Then Jack pulled out onto Mulholland and they continued winding their way west.
“Jack,” said Cynthia, “I just realized I really have to make some calls and answer some emails. Don’t mind me. I’ll do it while you drive.”
“Good, great,” he said, “Otherwise I’d be tempted to stop at the next lookout.”
“I know,” she said, “that was kind of an abruptus interuptus.”
“Yeah, well, the night is young,” he said.
And so they wound their way along the ridge, finally descending into Bel Air and to his house.
They entered the house and were greeted happily by Scarlet O’Hara, who desperately needed to be let out to pee and then eat.
Cynthia sat on the couch, finishing up some final arrangements, reassuring one client here, another there, a third who had come down with the flu and had to reschedule. Donald Griffin O’Brien, the café guy, had called to say an employee had called in sick and that he would be late for his date with Adriana Gomez, but that she was fine with it and asked him to just come up to the Casbah whenever he was ready. Which did not sound half bad. And then Cynthia noticed something. Something she should have noticed a whole lot sooner.
Marjorie Amas was paired off with Dominic Orlando. What the hell! How did this happen? And then she remembered exactly how it happened. She had taken the short cut. She had simply okayed their match-up because they had already pre-approved each other. This was the first time she’d ever used that feature of the website and this was the result. Dominic Orlando, serial womanizer, with her mother?
She called her mom. Ringing . . . ringing.
She didn’t pick up. “Mom. Call me. Now.”
She got up and paced around Stone’s gorgeous living room. It was beautiful in a whole different way at night. The twinkling lights of Hollywood had replaced the natural vista from earlier. But it was still amazing.
Mom, call back. Call back.
She really didn’t have a sense of the depth of Dominic’s depravity. She liked him, he was a good friend, but who knows what anyone becomes when sex is thrown into the mix? She couldn’t imagine that he was dangerous, but he might be a bit kinky. We were talking about her MOM, after all.
She called again. Ringing . . . ringing. “Mom!”
Stone came into the room.
“What’s happening? Is there a problem?”
“Oh, it’s just that it turns out my mother is on a date with a sex maniac, that’s all.”
“Wow. How did that happen?”
“Well, they did it through my site. I mean, the guy is a friend of mine, but he’s not the kind of guy you want hanging around your mom. He’s totally girl crazy.”
“I’m pretty girl crazy.”
“Yeah, I know, but . . .”
“But what? If she’s anything like you, she’ll be fine.”
Cynthia thought about that. Maybe he was right. I mean, Dominic really was a nice guy. As long as Mom didn’t let him out of her sight while she was with him, he probably wouldn’t cheat on her during dinner.
“You’re upset,” said Jack. “And tense. All worked up. You need to relax.”
“I can’t relax,” she said. “I can’t stop thinking about her.”
“Sit back down. I’ll rub your back a bit. Then we’ll take off for Steven’s house.”
She did what he said. She really didn’t think it would help, but pacing certainly wasn’t either.
He rubbed her neck and shoulders with skill that no masseuse had ever exhibited. She suspected it was partly his technique and partly that he was simply Jack Stone. It was remarkable. He rubbed her head too, applyin
g pressure at the temples and forehead, seeming to squeeze the anxiety right into thin air. She started to nod off . . . she was suddenly beyond relaxed. It felt like everything in her life stopped spinning and all that existed were his fingers and her skin and nerves beneath them. He was a virtuoso.
He moved in and kissed her shoulder, collarbone, then earlobe. She instantly felt warm. It was like he’d started a fire in the fireplace or the house itself was in flames. “Jack,” she said, touching his face tenderly with her fingertips, then pushing softly but with conviction, sending the clear message that he should stop. “Shouldn’t we get going?”
Day 2, Chapter 17
Lolita had thought the Vespa’s gas tank was full, but she was sorely mistaken. Max was now pushing the scooter along Sunset Boulevard, while she sat and steered. The traffic was Friday-night heavy. More than one speedster living out a Mario Andretti fantasy honked his horn at them, Max reacting by using every swear word he knew and some he made up on the spot. Lolita suddenly remembered the brandy flask in her purse.
“You are the sexiest St. Bernard I have ever met,” said Max, taking a swig and pushing onward.
“Woof,” she said, whipping him with a branch she’d snagged from a nearby willow. “You’re a pretty cute sled dog yourself.”
“Woof,” he said.
Lolita, being Lolita, just trying to keep the conversation flowing, divulged the Maximillian Schell “little pink Vespa” anecdote and after that, Max would not stop talking and even singing about it.
Nothing could be finer,
Than to push your pink vaginer,
In the morn-or-or-ning.
Nothing could be sweeter,
Than your Vespa when I meet her,
In the morn-or-or-ning.
“Again,” she said, “Just checking. I thought you were in love with Cynthia.”
“Again, I am,” he said, “I’m still only partially in love with you, but the number of your parts which contribute to that love is growing.”
“Got it,” she said, whipping him again.
This stretch of Sunset was not exactly lousy with gas stations. They were coming up to 26th Street and Lolita suggested heading off course to Brentwood, where she knew there was a station on the corner of San Vicente, but Max insisted they keep forging west to the Palisades. “Go west, young woman!” he kept saying. He had a knack for keeping his chin up during times of stress. He didn’t care how far he had to push, he would not go out of his way, goddammit.
Then something a tad unusual happened. Lolita looked into the small rear view mirror and noticed a small, frantic dog gaining on them from behind. Oh, my god: Wilfredo.
“Stop!” she screamed, leaping off the scooter, running against traffic to her baby, and scooping him up in her arms.
“Wilfredo! What are you doing here?!”
He licked her face and neck as she carried him back to the scooter. He was unbelievable happy to see her.
“Good god,” said Max. “Do you know all dogs everywhere? Are you like the human ambassador to the worldwide canine community or something?”
“Max, this is my dog. Somehow he found me, despite the fact that I left Beverly Hills early this afternoon, went to the Hollywood Hills, then came back out, past my neighborhood, and he found me! He must have been on my trail all day!”
“I’ve been hot on your tail all day,” said Max.
“Max!” she said, slapping him on the chest, “Listen. Now that we’re moving kind of slow, no offense, he caught up with us. He’s a super dog.”
“Wow,” said Max. “This is turning into a three dog night. Sled dog, St. Bernard, and Wilfredo-edo-edo, the Wonder Chihuahua-wah-wah-wah!”
Max pushed his face up close to the face of Wilfredo, who sniffed and licked him all over, from nose, to eyes to ears and back around again. Max made no attempt to wipe off his face. In fact, while this was going on, Max was scratching Wilfredo behind his ears and rubbing his belly.
This was duly noted by Lolita. “So,” she said, “you’re a dog lover?”
“Oh, please,” he said. “Are you kidding? Me and dogs go way back. That whole man’s best friend thing is no joke, you know. It’s only been going on for fifteen thousand years or so.”
Wilfredo dove back into Max’s neck, working his tongue like an aardvark hunting ants.
“Wilfredo is happy to hear that,” said Lolita. “I am too.”
“Well, good,” said Max. “I hope you’re equally happy to hear me say onward!”
“Yes, onward!” repeated Lolita, remounting the scooter——now with Wilfredo clamped happily between her thighs. Max pushed on toward the Palisades, singing verse after lewd verse about Lolita’s lady bits.
Nothing could be better,
Than to be inside your sweater,
In the morn-or-or-ning.
Nothing could be nicer,
Thank to shag you once or twicer,
In the morn-or-or-ning.
Lolita and Max were laughing now. This was turning into the best vehicle malfunction ever. Max didn’t bother trying to come up with a chorus. He just sang another verse:
Oh . . . you can sing the chorus,
While I nibble your clitoris,
In the morn-or-or-ning.
Lolita screamed at that one. Max could make bad rhymes forever. Pretty soon she joined in:
Serve me up some strudel,
With your cock-a-doodle-doodle,
In the morn-or-or-ning.
Max literally fell down laughing. He landed on the soft grass near the entrance of Will Rogers State Park. Lolita and Wilfredo joined him. Wilfredo licked Max’s face again while the two humans laughed it out.
“I don’t even care if we make it to the Palisades,” said Lolita.
“Hold on,” said Max, grabbing Wilfredo playfully and holding him at arm’s length. “Never ever say that. Don’t abandon hope! We’ll make it to the promised land!”
“We shall!” she cried, getting back with the program.
They leaped up and soon he was pushing and singing again. The next verse was so filthy even Wilfredo may have blushed.
Day 2, Chapter 18
Cynthia and Jack got back into his car at 7:15. He had put on a jacket and white shirt, but jeans and no tie. “I really only wear one for awards shows.”
They headed down the front way, the south side, of Bel Air, to Sunset Boulevard and headed west. The Friday night traffic was heavy.
“If you don’t mind,” she said, “this has to be another working trip for me to make sure all’s well in date-land.”
She called her mom. Voice mail. “Hi, Mom, just checking in, making sure you’re all set for tonight. Okay, give me a call.” She hung up.
She sat and thought for a moment before calling her mother again.
“Hi, Mom, I just saw that you’re seeing my old friend Dominic. He’s a really nice guy and a whole lot of fun. I just wanted to warn you. Even though he says he is, I’m not completely convinced he’s serious about looking for a long-term relationship. Okay. Call me. Bye.”
“Wow,” said Jack, “still concerned, huh.”
“Yeah, well. The guy she’s seeing . . . I don’t know . . . he works at Marmont. He’s kind of a . . .”
“Wait,” said Jack, his head snapping toward her. “Are you talking about Orlando? Dominic Orlando?”
“Yeah, why? Do you know him?”
“Everyone knows him. I mean women know him a lot better than men. But, wow.”
Cynthia called her mother again. Ringing, ringing . . .
“Cindy?” said her mother with a tone drenched in concern, which Cynthia immediately picked up on.
“Mom,” she said, “are you all right? I never should have let you choose Dominic. He’s really not right for you. I’ll call him and we can reschedule something for next week with someone else. This is my fault. I’m so sorry.”
Long pause. Then laughter. Two people. Her mother was on speaker with a familiar, deep, Italian-accented mal
e.
“Cynthia, my dear,” laughed Dominic, “we’ve had a couple of drinks and are already on the way to dinner. Listen, I like-a your mother and she like-a me. Right, Margie?”
“You’re telling me, you Sicilian stallion, you.”
Cynthia could not believe her ears.
“Cindy, honey,” her mother continued, “Dominic has told me all about his history.” Then she giggled, “I told him history was always my favorite subject.”
She and Dominic burst into laughter. It was so loud, in fact, that even though Cynthia’s phone was not on speaker, Jack totally got what was going on. He and Cynthia looked at each other and rolled their eyes.
Her mom continued, “Look, honey. I know you are looking for something long-lasting and that’s great. But I’m really not. I’m looking for a good time. Dinner, some laughs, who knows. Anyway, you really don’t have to worry about Dominic or me. He’s a gentleman and even if he gets a little bit less gentlemanly later, I’ll tell you a secret.” She brought her voice down to a whisper, but the kind of whisper designed for everyone to hear anyway, “I won’t mind. In fact, I’m very much looking forward to it.”
Jack turned to Cynthia and smiled, shaking his head in mock judgment. “Crazy kids.”
“Yeah,” said Cynthia.
“What, honey?” asked Cynthia. “I can’t hear you too well. We’re in a canyon. Hello?”
Cynthia smiled, realizing that this was the good kind of mother-daughter role reversal, where the daughter suddenly feels the kind of letting-go the mother had felt years earlier. She knew that later, as her mother aged, there’d be plenty of the other kind. Knowing that made her appreciate this moment. A lot. Her mother could take care of herself. And so what if Dominic turned into a no-strings-attached one-night stand? It would have to be fun. He was fun without sex. And he certainly had satisfied plenty of customers over the years. Who was Cynthia to stand in the way of her mother’s happiness?
“Okay,” she said, “Have fun, Mom. And you treat her right, Dominic. I know where you work.”
“Okay, Cindy!” said Marjorie.
“Bye-bye,” chirped Dominic. “We can’t hear you too good. I’m a-going through a tunnel!”
