Oddly…
When he made a move at touching her hand, then pulled back, she made serious eye contact and smiled, gave him psychic space for a second attempt.
Instead, he said, “Laura, is there any possible way you'd consider going out with me?”
Liana said, “I would.”
“Really?”
“How about now?”
They walked north on Ocean toward Ivy at the Shore as Steve cell-phoned the restaurant and asked if a table was available.
“It can get jammed, all those movie types,” he told her, while on hold. As if she'd never been there.
She'd her arm laced through his. The boy was built solid. Sweating, though the night was cool.
“Yup,” he said, “I'm still here-okay, great, thanks, see you right away.”
They got seated inside, at a table next to a noisy party of rich kids, a placement Liana knew was D list. Steve hadn't a clue, was thrilled to get in.
They both ordered Sapphire Martinis and as usual, Liana nursed the booze. So did Steve. Explaining, “I'm not a major-league drinker.”
She ordered the soft-shell crabs that were always on “special.” He had a steak.
As they ate, they small-talked some more while Liana figured out a way to bring up Adella Villareal.
Tough, because it meant a confession of her own.
The proper moment never came up. They split key lime pie. Drank decaf. Steve left a generous tip and they stepped out to a briny night. Most of the lookie-loos hovering around Colorado Boulevard were gone, a few nocturnal cyclists wheeled by on Ocean Front. Several of the homeless psychotics Santa Monica welcomed with open arms prowled the sidewalks.
Steve put his arm around her shoulder as they headed back toward Riptide, where they'd both parked. Instinctive protectiveness, no weasely attempt to cop a feel.
For some reason, this felt like the senior year she'd never had.
They walked in silence. Steve had a bounce in his step, but not the triumphant stride of a player who'd closed the deal. Just being with her made him happy and she knew she should cut it off, return to the bar, try to do something for Aaron.
She offered Steve a cheek to peck, changed her mind at the last minute and aimed her lips at his. Parted them and gave him some tongue.
He broke away, gasping. “Wow.”
Soft eyes. You couldn't fake that.
Liana said, “Let's go do something.”
Working hard to erase Adella Villareal's face from her head.
The baby.
Her baby.
Aaron Fox's polished, almost too-handsome face. Now, there was a player.
When Steve said, “Pardon?” she said, “Let's hang out a bit more. Unless you're tired.”
“No, no-um, at the risk of being… my place isn't that far. You could follow me. If you're comfortable, with that, I mean… or sure, we could find somewhere to hear live music-”
Liana said, “Which car is yours?”
He pointed. “That VW” White Passat.
She said, “I'll follow you.”
“Isn't that far” turned out to be a high-rise on the south side of the Wilshire Corridor, a few blocks east of Westwood.
L.A.'s highest-end condo row. Nice crib for a Ph.D. working on grant money. True, Steve's building was comparatively plain, when appraised alongside its neighbors-simple, beige, sparingly landscaped. One of the earlier structures, starting to show its age. But still, serious money.
Full-service, with a uniformed doorman out front.
The guy said, “Evening, Dr. Rau.”
“Hey, Enrico. This is my friend Laura.”
“Ma'am.” Enrico tipped his hat, hurried to open the door. “Ma'am.”
As they entered a small, mirrored lobby, Liana was wondering if she'd stay Laura.
Twelve floors to the building. The elevator was déclassé gilded mirror and flocked wallpaper. Kind of an old-person smell.
Steve's one-bedroom unit was four stories below the penthouse, with a nice view of city lights. The furnishings, also geriatric: fussy, quilted floral couches in unfashionable colors with all sorts of buttons, pecan-wood furniture, brown shag carpeting, a shade of green on the walls Liana hadn't seen since the seventies.
Avocado appliances in a kitchen.
Time warp-a time before Steve's. Some kind of inheritance? Even so, why not update?
Maybe inertia-or being stingy-had led the ex-wife to split. But, no, he'd tipped thirty percent.
He said, “This is it… ta-dah… want some water? I'm a little parched myself.”
“No, thanks.”
“Another decaf? Anything.”
“I'm fine.”
He filled himself a glass from the tap. “Oh, sorry-please sit, make yourself comfortable.”
Liana perched on a sofa. Stuffed as firm as a surfer in a wet suit.
Why am I in this guy's place? He just happens to show up at the bar? Okay, he's a regular, he didn't stalk me. But that could be even scarier; a regular at a place where two women disappeared, and for all I know, I've walked right into his-
Aaron's voice overtook her own: Stupid, Lee, not what I pay you for. Run like hell…
Steve Rau rinsed his glass, walked toward her, stopped a couple of feet away. “Ultrachic décor, right?”
“It's… nice and domestic.”
He laughed. “Full disclosure: My parents own it. Five years ago they moved to a retirement community outside Las Vegas and what started out as house-sitting ended up quasi-permanent. I say quasi, because they keep threatening to come back.”
Liana said, “The boomerang generation.”
“That's good-I think I'll steal it for a paper.”
“Be my guest.”
“Anyway, I'm not allowed to change a thing, just in case. Except the books-they took all their paperbacks and Dad's medical stuff, so at least I've got that.”
He pointed to a case full of drab textbooks. Econ, poli sci, business, math, computer programming, human-factors psychology.
Exactly what you'd expect for what he claimed to be. And he'd used his real name-the doorman's greeting was proof of that.
Doctor Rau.
And Gus the bartender had confirmed the ex-wife thing.
So far, on the level. Unlike someone else we know.
Liana said, “If my parents left me anything, I'd be thrilled.” She sashayed to a large, single-pane window. “Look at that view.”
“I love it, but I should still get my own place.” His voice was low, throaty, warm against her ear. He'd moved behind her silently.
She turned, faced him.
He said, “Oh, man, you are so incredibly beautiful.”
Oh, man?
Oddly enough… she kissed him.
He was putty.
The first time was on one of his parents’ floral couches. Scratchy polyester itched Liana like crazy but for the ninety seconds the whole thing took, she was okay.
The second time was in his bed. A whole lot better, in all regards.
He drifted into REM sleep, eyes shifting beneath the lids, back and forth like windshield wipers.
Liana extricated herself, sat up, waited, making sure he was out.
His mouth dropped open. He began snoring. She slipped into her panties, left the bedroom, explored his living room.
Frozen dinners in his freezer, three bottles of Heineken in the fridge, along with an old pizza and a single orange growing penicillin. The avocado oven looked to be rarely, if ever, used. A microwave sitting on the counter smelled of oregano, tomato paste, and stale cheese.
She examined some of his textbooks. In many, he'd printed neat notations.
Does this connect to Ecuador?
Corr, caus, both? Orthogonal? Reg.analysis worthwhile? Prob no.
Hedge fund manip of unreg fuel funds relev to short-term per/barrel? Saudi p.f?
A small desk in the corner comprised his study. In the drawers were bank receipts and credit card bills that confirmed his identity and said he was frugal. And doing all right: a hundred nine thousand bucks in a money market account. He paid his credit card debt in a timely fashion.