She slapped him again.
“This how it was?”
He reached for her pants and she hit him harder this time, fist closed, knuckles ringing off his eyebrow. He caught her knee with his palm as it slammed upward toward his crotch, then spun her around and pushed her down to the floor. She sprawled, slid, gathered herself up, and charged him. Frye caught her first blow with one arm, her next with the other. She teetered off balance, and he shoved her over the back of the couch. Her shorts and panties came to her knees with one tug; he yanked them away, then forced her head into the cushions. He was a little afraid of how easy it was.
“Or was it more like this?”
She straightened and swung her empty leather purse. It hit him flush in the head, a whack that left his ear ringing and one eye screaming in pain. He pushed her into the bedroom. He could hear the lock clicking, her rapid breathing.
And he could smell himself, a wicked, high-pitched stink unlike anything he’d ever smelled before, a smell of attack and cruelty, a smell of rage. He lowered his shoulder, ran three steps, and blew the door right off its rusty old hinges.
She ran into the cave. Frye followed. There she was in the darkness, pale flesh retreating. He lunged toward her golden hair, following it like a beacon. Amazing, he thought, how weak her arms are when you get a good solid hold of those wrists.
She threw her knees at him, but he just angled forward and they caught him in the thigh. Crashing through his box of Christmas ornaments, they tumbled over to the cold damp earth.
Frye stood over her, a foot on her ankle, one of her wrists locked in his fist.
She was panting below him, hair on dark earth, sweat-slick body shining.
“This what it was like?”
“Kind of. They were rougher. Come on, Chuck. Finish it off.”
He stepped off her, let go of her arm, and pulled down his pants. For a moment he considered his dick, limp as a sock in the half-light of the cave. He pulled his pants back up. “I don’t understand this part of it. When you get this pissed, the last thing you want to do is fuck somebody. I guess I’m not the type.”
“I didn’t think you were. You don’t have the nuts.”
Frye was tempted to punch her in the face, but he was losing his sense of purpose. “This’ll sound dumb, but I thought we had something good going,” he said.
“We did.”
“You got something I could love. But I wouldn’t believe you if you said good morning.”
She was silent for a moment. He could hear her breathing. When she spoke again, her voice was hard. “I hate you,” she said.
He walked back to the living room, threw all her stuff into the purse, and heaved it onto the floor by the door.
She came out a few minutes later, an earth-smudged mess, blouse ruined, hair wild, eyes down. She found her shorts and stepped into them. A tear tapped onto the hardwood as she leaned over and lost her balance. Her knees were scraped. Her face was red.
She went to the door, picked up her purse and slung it over her shoulder.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“What hold does he have on you?”
“The same as you — none at all.” She looked at Frye, then wiped her face on the back of her hand. “What you believe now doesn’t matter.”
“Get out of my life.”
She fiddled with the lock, swung open the door, and walked out.
Burke Parsons called five minutes later. “Haw Chuck, how’s it hangin’?”
“Funny you should ask.”
“Well, things are sure good here at this end. Lucia’s back from Washington and we’re having a few good pals over for drinks. You and Cristo-hoosey wanna come by?”
“What for?”
“For drinks, like I said. Celebrate the MIAs and all. Just casual. Your ma and pa are coming. Bennett’s wrapped up in something, but I thought you might as well join us. I got some news from Rollie Dean.”
“Not interested.”
Burke paused. “Chuck, truth of the matter is, I’d like to talk to you about something. Private like. I think there may be some misunderstandings I can straighten out.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t talk business on the phone, Chuck. Superstitious. All I can tell you is I got something you’ll want to hear. I been involved in some stuff you might want in on. I ain’t gonna beg you, boy, it ain’t my style. We’re in that little old mission-style deal down on Crescent Bay. You’ll see the cars out front.”
Frye figured it might be as good a time as any to tell his father that Burke was getting ready to screw him. “Why not?”
“See ya in half an hour, Chuck. Bring that girl now, if ya want to.”
“Haven’t seen her in a while.”
“Hell, bring someone else. Imagine a guy like you’s got plenty of arrows in the old quiver.”
Parsons’s house was a three-story Spanish style on Crescent Bay, with flower pots under the windows, iron grates over them, and brown tile on the roof. Frye noted his father’s car on the street and Burke’s black Jaguar in the driveway.
Lucia answered the door with a smile on her face and a glass of wine in her hand. She’d permed her hair since the show, and now the black locks fell in curls to her shoulders, over her forehead. “Come in, Chuck.”
“Congratulations, Lucia.”
“Thank you. It was worth every hour I put in. No Cristobel?”
“Apparently not.”
She gave him a sly smile, then led him down a wide entryway done in Mexican tile, potted palms, a gurgling fountain that fed a wide pool. Gray, foot-long fish moved through the water with a languorous, automatic, side-to-side rhythm. “Baby sharks,” said Lucia. “Burke loves them. Ugly, aren’t they?”
The hallway opened to the huge living room on the left and a dining room and kitchen to the right. Past Lucia’s shoulder, Frye could see Edison and Hyla. And at a glance: General Dien, Senator Lansdale, Carole Burton, a local millionaire who’d made his fortune in car wax, the Orange County DA, a soap actress and her cleavage competing for Burke’s attention, an Angels’ first baseman who could hit for power, an insanely tanned TV evangelist who’d recently taken up residence in Laguna Beach.
It’s just too crème de la crème for words, Frye thought. I could puke.
He took some champagne from a passing waiter and downed it.
Edison performed an elaborate greeting; Hyla hugged him and kissed his cheek. Lucia introduced him to a few people, then moved off to greet another guest.
“I guess Benny’s got that rally to get ready for,” said Hyla. “I wish he could have come. I think he needs a break or... something.”
“He’s all right, Momma.”
“I hope so.”
Edison glommed two glasses of champagne, presenting one to his wife. “Lucia’s done a job, I’ll say that for her.”
“Burke’s about to do a job on you,” said Frye.
Edison drank. “How so, Chuck?”
“Come outside.”
Burke appeared as if conjured, standing between Frye and his father now, a glass of champagne held out to Chuck. “Haw, Chuck. How do you like our digs?”
“Looks nice, Burke.”
“This ain’t but a bit of it. We got three stories here and a basement that’ll blow your mind. Ed and Hyla’s seen it all, but how about I give you a tour?”
Parsons guided him away with a grin. “I’ll bring him back in two shakes, Hyla. Won’t be time for me to get him in trouble.”
“Oh, Burke.”
“Lovely lady, your mom, Chuck. Real lovely.”
He led Frye through a sliding glass door, across a patio with another fountain. A guest house stood at the far end of the yard, under a tall stand of banana trees. “That little place is where Lucia’s staff works — around the clock, sometimes.” They entered the west wing of the house. “This is my part. And I got the whole second floor and basement. Lucia’s got the third.”