by Elise Sax
Heaven knows why, I believe him.
“I believe you,” I tell him.
“Don’t be sarcastic,” he implores me, as the cops remove the back bumper and throw it into the shrubs behind us.
“I’m not being sarcastic,” I say the moment the cops find two more bricks of heroin. “I totally believe you.”
“Yeah, right,” Rock grumbles.
“Maybe the Aston Martin people put heroin in your car by mistake,” I suggest, yelling over the noise of the freeway and the power tools, which are taking apart the luxury sports car easily. “Maybe your car was made for Scarface or something. Or maybe it was made for a doctor. Maybe it’s doctor heroin.”
“There’s no such thing as doctor heroin, Olivia,” Rock says.
“I’m pretty sure there’s doctor heroin,” I say.
“No, there’s not. Oh God, not the steering wheel.”
The steering wheel sails through the air over our heads. The entire shell of the car is gone, and now the cops are working on the luxury interior, which is now the exterior. They find another brick of heroin under the passenger seat.
About ten minutes later, when they’re down to the driveshaft, Rock’s phone rings, and he answers a FaceTime call. “What the hell do you want?” Rock demands into the phone. I look at it, and I’m surprised to find Cole’s face smiling back.
“I just wanted to see your face,” Cole says.
“Why?”
Cole breaks out into hysterical laughter, the kind where you can’t catch your breath.
“What did you do?” Rock growls.
“Pass me to Steve and Phil,” Cole says.
“Who’s Steve and Phil?” Rock asks.
The second cop grabs Rock’s phone. “You owe me one, bud!” he yells at the screen, laughing.
“You got it!” Cole says. “Anything you want, but you have to admit you had fun.”
“You should have seen him when I brought out the dog.”
“And the power tools,” the other cop says into the phone. “I thought we were going to need the paramedics. Dodgers game next week?”
“I’m sort of on my honeymoon,” Cole says, drying his eyes. “But I’ll send the tickets for the suite to you guys. You can bring the division and everyone’s families.”
“Sounds good,” the first cop says. “Who’s going to pick up this mess?”
“Who cares?” Cole says. “I’m sure he’s insured.” He barks some more laughter and hangs up. The cop hands the phone back to Rock.
“No hard feelings, man,” he says to Rock.
“This was all a practical joke?” I ask.
“What does Cole have against my cars?” Rock asks the cops.
The first cop shrugs. “He said something about pussy cars.”
“But James Bond drives an Aston Martin.”
“I don’t know, man. Something about Idaho. But you have to hand it to Cole. He knows how to rib a guy. He had twenty pounds of powdered sugar put into your car to look like heroin. I thought I was going to jump for joy when your girlfriend made the drugs comments. How perfect was that? It fit in totally with the gag. You guys want a ride?”
Chapter 8
Olivia
Rock is smiling ever so slightly, his mind somewhere else, I assume. I’m right here, though. I’m focused entirely on Rock, upset that I can’t stop looking at him. I’m trying so hard to think of all the reasons why I should be thinking of anybody or anything else, but my brain doesn’t believe any of them. Stupid, traitorous brain.
The cops drop us off at a Denny’s, where we sit and sip sodas while we wait for a car service. The orangutan enclosure event is long over, but Rock insists that we go to San Diego, anyway.
He snaps out of his reverie and smiles wide at me. “That bastard is going to get it. I just have to figure how to do it. He’s trashed two of my cars. Two!”
“Why does he keep doing it?”
“No reason. I mean, there was the time in high school when I glued him to the ceiling, but that’s nothing to hold a grudge about.”
I wonder if Rock holds a grudge toward me. I wasn’t kind to him in the car, and even though what happened wasn’t my fault, I sort of was the preamble to the whole thing. But Rock seems to have forgotten it and has even forgotten that he doesn’t want commitment. Because when the limo arrives, he takes my hand and walks out with his arm wrapped around my waist.
Right here and now, I know that I’ll take whatever Rock is willing to give me. Even without a happily ever after, I’ll take a happily for now.
Ironically, the thought brings tears to my eyes, and I wipe at them before Rock notices.
The San Diego Zoo is officially closed, but it’s open to billionaires and their personal assistants. In this case, one billionaire and his personal assistant, who has never actually assisted him in anything. A zookeeper meets us at a side entrance, and we ride in his cart to the new orangutan enclosure.
The zoo is magical after hours. It’s almost like we’re on a safari. The animals are making loud noises in the quiet night. The orangutan enclosure is impressive, bigger than any zoo enclosure I’ve ever seen.
“It’s five times as large as the old enclosure,” the zookeeper explains as we walk through a forest of trees and down a ramp. “It mimics the orangutans’ natural habitat, which is a rainforest.”
“And that’s why they’re endangered,” Rock tells me. “The rainforests are being decimated.” I think about his land developing and wonder if he’s responsible for some of the destruction of orangutans’ homes. Rock seems to read my mind. “I’m very careful not to develop land that shouldn’t be developed, Olivia. I’m strictly urban, suburbs, and exurbs.”
I take his hand and give it a gentle squeeze. We walk down the rest of the ramp to an enclosed area with Plexiglas on one side. Through the glass, I can see a big chunk of the enclosure. A large male orangutan sits by the glass. When he sees Rock, he puts his hand on the glass, and Rock eagerly puts his hand up against his.
I’ve never seen Rock so genuinely happy. Sure, he’s normally childlike, a Peter Pan type, who just likes to have fun. In fact, he even goes at his business with a sense of fun and adventure, not like it’s daily drudgery. But this is the first time I’ve seen him truly happy, solid in the knowledge that he’s done something good for something he loves.
As a young orangutan comes down to the glass to see what’s going on, I put my hand up against the glass, hoping that it will put its hand up, and much to my joy, it does.
“This is wonderful,” I say. “Do you just like orangutans, or are you a fan of wildlife?”
“I’m crazy about animals,” Rock answers. “Back home in Idaho, I used to love to just lie down in the grass surrounded by cows. And of course, I learned to ride a horse before I learned to walk. But there’s something amazing about the great apes. And I don’t know why, but I feel personally responsible to try and save them from what man is doing to their habitats.”
“That’s wonderful,” I say, softly. I’m not lying. Rock is a sexy international playboy. He’s glamorous, sophisticated, and richer than Midas. I’ve had a crush on him ever since I first saw him, but it’s not until now, watching him commune with an orangutan at the San Diego Zoo, that I really see into his soul.
And I love what I see there.
A loud crack of thunder makes me jump and sends the orangutans scattering to the trees, away from our view. “We better get back,” the zookeeper tells us. “We don’t want to get soaked.”
“It’s not due to rain until tomorrow,” Rock says. “I think that’s just a little warning thunder. Would you mind if Olivia and I walk to the exit ourselves, alone? I promise we’ll go there directly.”
The zookeeper doesn’t look convinced. He rubs the back of his neck. “I’m not supposed to leave you unescorted outside of zoo hours.”
“You know what I was just thinking about?” Rock asks him. “I was thinking how nice it would be for the keepers to have all new trucks and carts.”
>
The zookeeper squints at Rock, as if he’s trying to understand him. “That’s hundreds of vehicles.”
“What’s your point?” Rock asks, innocently.
“Are you shitting me?”
“As a zookeeper, I’m sure you have enough shit in your life. So, no, I’m not shitting you. I can make the vehicles happen right before I fund a new enclosure for…help me out, here. What do you guys want next?”
The keeper’s mouth is open, and he closes it. “Uh…the bears could use something.”
“I like bears. How about you, Olivia? Do you like bears?” Rock asks.
I nod. “I like bears.”
Another clap of thunder rocks the night. “I guess it’s okay if you walk straight to the exit,” the zookeeper says. “So, I should tell my boss about the vehicles?”
“Yep,” Rock says.
“Don’t forget the bears,” I say.
The keeper doesn’t lose another minute. He double-steps up the ramp toward his cart. There’s more thunder, this time louder.
“Why did you do that?” I ask Rock.
“To walk alone through the San Diego Zoo at night? Just us and the animals? Are you kidding? It’s better than Disneyland.”
“You’ve walked through Disneyland at night alone?”
“Oh, sure,” Rock says. “Renting out Disneyland doesn’t cost as much as you think.”
It takes me a moment to register what he’s said. “You can rent out Disneyland? The whole thing? I’ve never been able to take my kids to Disneyland. You know how much tickets are?”
There’s an awkward silence where I figure the reality of the difference between a billionaire playboy and a destitute single mother hits Rock for the first time.
“Maybe I can take you and your kids to Disneyland,” he says.
“But they’re children,” I say, not too charitably. “You know, with needs and wants. Commitment.”
Rock flinches, but his face quickly transforms into a wide smile. “That was good, Olivia. Very good. I like how you brought it back to that. You do guilt great.”
“I went to a Catholic camp one summer.”
“It must be that.”
“Only one summer, and I still worry about impure thoughts.”
Rock steps closer to me, as the thunder explodes above us. “You have impure thoughts? You wouldn’t believe how much that makes me happy.”
“Are you going to kiss me again?” I ask, breathlessly. “Did I say that out loud?”
Rock leans in even closer and wraps his arms around my middle. “I like where this conversation is going.”
His lips find mine like a homing pigeon finds home, and suddenly my tongue is in his mouth again, like it has a mind of its own and it likes Rock’s mouth better than mine. I silently urge my tongue to return to my mouth, but it refuses.
My arms aren’t listening to me, either. They’re wrapped around Rock, like he’s a ship in a storm. And I guess he is. He’s my ship, and my brain and my heart are the storm.
We don’t come up for air for a long time, and I wonder if I could get a job as a pearl diver in Japan. I’m a natural at not breathing.
I’m also a natural flier. My head is spinning fast, and I’m flying high above me, looking down, like I’m having a near-death experience. Maybe I am. Maybe I’m two seconds away from dying. Maybe that’s why I’m not breathing. Maybe that’s why my body’s not listening to me.
Sure. It makes total sense.
It’s a killer kiss.
Rock’s lips should be registered as lethal weapons. As our kiss deepens, and Rock’s hands travel down my body, I realize that commitment or no, birth control or no, I’m going to get naked at the new orangutan enclosure and christen it in a naughty way.
It occurs to me that if a kiss could almost kill me, doing the nasty with Rock could do serious permanent damage. But I don’t care. My hormones are in charge, and there’s more of them than there are of me. I don’t stand a chance.
So, when my knee lifts to Rock’s hip, I don’t fight it. I don’t try to stop. I just let myself go. It’s now or never, and never is definitely not a possibility. Rock seems to be in complete agreement. His ardor has turned to passion, which has turned to desperate need. It’s getting serious very fast.
And then—just like reaching the last potato chip in a chip bag—it all stops. One of the orangutans pounds on the glass, and Rock jumps back. It turns out that there’s a whole family of the apes watching us, and they don’t seem pleased that we’re using their house for our honey snuggles.
“Sorry,” Rock tells them and waves. “Maybe we should get out of here. We did promise the keeper we would walk directly to the exit.”
“Okay,” I croak. I need a stiff drink. Or something stiff.
We wave goodbye to the orangutan and walk hand in hand up the ramp. “You know this walk is costing you thousands of dollars,” I tell him.
Rock laughs. “If only. The orangutan enclosure cost me twenty million dollars. I have to imagine that bears need even more.”
I clutch my chest. “Are you crazy? Are they crazy? The orangutans have a twenty-million-dollar house?”
“I know. Southern California real estate is astronomical.”
By the time we leave the enclosure, the rain has started. “You know, there’s no such thing as warning thunder,” I tell Rock.
“What’s a little rain? It’ll be a nice walk.”
The zoo, which was full of animal noises, is now completely quiet, except for the sound of the rain. The animals must have found shelter from the rain, which means that they’re smarter than we are.
“Is it my imagination, or is it raining harder now?” I ask.
“We need rain,” he answers, dodging the question. “Look over there. That’s where the bears are now.”
I squint against the rain, which is falling sideways. The zoo is built on a series of hills, and the rain is running down the hills like waterfalls.
“I definitely think it’s raining harder, now,” I say, wiping wet hair off my face.
“Do you remember if the exit is over there or over there?” Rock asks.
“What the hell kind of question is that? You don’t know where the exit is?”
“I haven’t memorized the map of the San Diego Zoo. I was planning on following the exit signs.”
I try to find a sign, but the rain is blinding me. “There are no signs,” I say. “It’s hurricane Sandy out here. It’s washed away the signs.”
“It hasn’t washed away the signs, and San Diego doesn’t get hurricanes.”
“Oh, no?” I say, as the water rushes over my feet. “The zoo is flooding. We’re going to drown. Oh my God. What if the tigers swim out of their cages, and they eat us?”
“The San Diego Zoo is a world-class conservation organization. They don’t have cages.”
I turn toward him and stomp my foot, splashing water all over me. “Don’t play games with me. We’re about to get eaten by tigers. This is serious.”
“I’m almost totally certain that we’re not about to get eaten by tigers.”
“What about drowning? We aren’t going to drown, right?”
Rock shrugs. “Drowning is a possibility. San Diego isn’t built for rain.”
I grab his shoulders and try to shake him. “I’ve already almost drowned once this week. I don’t want to drown, Rock! My children need me. If I’m dead, they’ll be raised by my mother. Do you know what that means?”
“Something bad?”
There’s a flash of lightning close to us and a couple of seconds later, loud thunder. “How close was that?” I ask Rock. “Really close, right?”
“Not close,” he says. “But maybe we should get out of here.” He puts his arm around my waist, and we walk slowly up the hill, against the driving rain. There’s a lightning strike just ahead of us and almost instantaneously, there’s a crack of thunder.
“That was closer. Wasn’t it?” I ask.
“Don’t be sill
y,” Rock says. “It was miles away. Miles. We’re going to be fine. Hold on, I think we’re going the wrong way. We should have made a left at the hyenas.”
“You should call 911. We need emergency personnel. Firemen. Army Rangers.”
“We’re going to be fine. It’s just a little water. Holy shit!”
We’ve stumbled into a whirlpool where two streams of water meet. The water goes up to my knees. “Where are Army Rangers when you need them?” I shriek. “I don’t want to die like this. I don’t want to get eaten by tigers, either, but I don’t want to die like this. I thought I would die from eating nonorganic chicken. Not drowning at the zoo!”
“Don’t panic. Stay calm,” Rock says and swoops me over his shoulder. “I got you. We don’t need Army Rangers.”
I grip onto his butt with both hands for balance. His ass is like granite. He must do a thousand lunges a day. Nobody has an ass like this. It’s shaped like an ass, but it has no give like a normal ass. It’s solid muscle. I didn’t even know that butts had any muscle at all. Now I’m self-conscious about my ass. I hope he doesn’t touch my ass. He’ll be repulsed by my ass.
“Don’t touch my butt,” I tell him.
“What?” he asks, raising his voice over the rain and thunder. The torrential downpour is being blown to kingdom come with what has to be a four-hundred-mile-an-hour wind.
“My butt! My butt!” I yell.
He pinches my butt. “There. Better?”
Oh, God. He touched my squishy tushy.
“Are we still lost?” I ask.
“We’re getting closer.”
“Closer to the exit?”
“Closer to not being lost.”
“My poor kids. My poor kids,” I moan.
Rock trudges up a steep hill, walking against the current with me still over his shoulder. “Nope, that’s not right,” he says and turns around.
“We’re going to get hit by lightning,” I cry.
“No, we’re not. Think non-metal thoughts.”
“What the hell is non-metal thoughts? Like Ziplocs and Saran Wrap?”
“Yes, think about those things.”
“Why couldn’t I fall for an Army Ranger?” I moan.
