The cellar was a converted closet off the kitchen with a slate floor and thermostat that said fifty-three degrees. I chose a 1987 Tondonia because I liked the name. He carried our glasses to the back patio that overlooked the pool. This pool was a million times better than the one at the Arms.
“I could get used to this,” I said, after we clinked glasses.
“I hope you do,” he said, his voice all syrupy and warm, like the wine.
Soon Shepard and I were in his Jag cruising up Newport Boulevard to Habana, a Cuban restaurant in a funky open-air mall with an oil-drum waterfall and tattooed, pierced hipsters. Habana was dark, lit only with candles. You could barely see who was sitting next to you, but the waiter could see well enough to recognize Shepard and make a big deal, and it was different being with someone before whom people groveled.
Shepard ordered a bottle of Barolo red, which he explained was the king of wines. We toasted and he said to order whatever tickled my fancy. Those were his words. During dinner, a second bottle of wine arrived and for dessert we shared a Cuban flan. Our fingers brushed against one another.
“We’re delighted you came to us, Mimi. The children like you very much.”
“They’re sweethearts,” I said.
“Actually, to be honest, I’m the happiest.” He stroked my arm and focused on it as if it were a great treasure. “You’ve got great skin.”
“This light would make anyone look good,” I said, feeling guilty over how much I enjoyed his attention. Then I thought, What the hell. Levi got me into this, and I gave in. Right then and there I felt myself loosen and open to Shepard. When his hand found mine, I let it. And when he brought my hand to his lips, I let him. We left the restaurant and returned to his Jag, his arm laced around my shoulder. He opened the passenger door and I slid onto the butter-soft leather seats that reclined at the touch of a button. He got in and buzzed down the windows. He turned to kiss me and I kissed him back, tongued that gap in his front teeth. The wine was talking; I’ve always been an easy drunk. His hand found its way under my pullover and then he was in my jeans. I pressed against his fingers and before long I shuddered. Who cared if he was a conservative and a bit too husky — he had the touch of an angel and I liked how sweet and considerate he was. He was different from anyone I’d ever been with. Maybe older guys with money could afford to be patient, considerate.
“What about you?” I asked into his neck, rubbing him down there.
“There’s time for that,” he said, gently removing my hand and kissing it.
When I got home, Levi wanted to know where we went and what we did. He wasn’t so laid-back about it anymore. I didn’t tell him everything, and I distracted him with sex. It always worked. I had to keep my O.C. Republican a secret for now.
But things had changed and Levi knew it. Now when we arrived at work in the morning, there was no mistaking the glimmer in Shepard’s eyes. He’d hang around the house to have coffee with me before taking off. On occasion, when everyone was out of the house, we’d fool around.
“The dude fucking likes you,” Levi said a week later, his eyes flashing. We were in his truck, at a stop light.
“What are you talking about?”
“He’s been asking me all about you. He’s in love with you.”
“He can’t be,” I said, secretly wishing it were so.
“Hey, it could be good for us,” he scowled.
“What do you mean?”
“Shit, what could be better for us than if he wanted to marry you?”
“Excuse me?”
“It wouldn’t have to change things between us. No one’s as great for you as I am. You’d never go for someone that old. And if you did, I’d kill you.” He laughed, then added, “You’d just have to live with him for a time. It would help us pull off our plan.”
“You’re talking too crazy for me,” I said, as we crossed over Newport Boulevard and Piece of Heaven turned back into Costa Misery, with its pawnshops, its dive bars. But that night, after Levi went back out to do who knows what — he wouldn’t say — I stood on the balcony and smoked a hand-rolled. As the lit murky water below pulled my focus, the sounds of the compound drew close — TV, a neighbor singing off-key, kids screaming — and my own version of an old Animals song spun an endless loop in my brain: I gotta get outa this place, if it’s the last thing I ever do.
The next day, after Shepard’s sister picked up his kids for an overnight, he said, “Let me take you to the fair. You’ve been to the Orange County Fair, right?”
“Um, no,” I answered. I’d left Bumfuck where “hooptedoodle” was a favorite expression, and I had no desire to return.
“Then you got to let me take you.”
“Fairs are a Republican thing.”
“Pshaw!” he said, tucking in his turquoise polo shirt with a tiny alligator over the left breast.
“Shouldn’t you take your kids?”
“They’ve been, and I’ll take them again before it ends. Tonight it will be just you and me. How about it?”
I said yes. I said yes to everything — to Levi and his schemes, now to Shepard.
I went to freshen up.
Levi called from another job while I was in the bathroom; Shepard had run out of work for him. I told him I had to work late. I’d been spending more and more time at Shepard’s and less and less time at our sorry excuse for a home. It was getting to Levi. I knew because when he talked about Shepard, he no longer used his name.
“The motherfucker tell you anything interesting?” or “What’s up with the motherfucker?” I found a bindle with white powder in Levi’s things. His skin was becoming all mottled and he was losing weight. He denied using crank, said he had gotten it for a friend, but he was short-tempered and negative. Now I just wanted to escape with Shepard, go someplace where Levi couldn’t find me.
Shepard and I walked hand in hand to his dusty blue Jag and moments later were gliding down Broadway to Newport and up to Del Mar, his hand on my knee, my hand on his thigh, to where the dark sky was lit up all red from the lights on the rides and the midway. The Ferris wheel spun lazily around, its colorful, happy life temporary — like mine, I feared. This happiness wouldn’t last — it couldn’t; it hadn’t been a part of the plan for me to fall for an Orange County Republican. Levi would never let me have Shepard. I wanted to confess and tell him what Levi was planning, but I didn’t know how I could put it where he wouldn’t just fire me and tell me to be on my way.
We parked and walked toward the lights, toward the Tilt-a-Whirl and the rollercoaster with purple neon cutting the black sky, teenagers on all sides of us running amok, clutching cheap stuffed animals and stalks of cotton candy. Shepard bought us caramel apples, fried Twinkies, and roasted corn on the cob. We got wristbands and drank draft beer.
It was going on 11:00 and the fairgoers were pouring through the gates, probably to get a jump on the freeways. Shepard and I moved against the flow, heading toward the livestock area, past Hercules, the giant horse, llama stalls, and a corral where the pig races took place. He said he’d been coming here since he was a kid. Fair diehards moseyed about. My phone rang — Levi’s ringtone — but I ignored it, and I feared it. Levi said he could always find me. Something about the GPS positioning on my phone and how he’d rigged it. Cell phones didn’t make you freer — they made your whereabouts known, and I didn’t like it one bit, this hold Levi had on me.
Couples lingered in the shadows. Shadows scared me. I worried Levi might be hiding in them. Lately everything got on his nerves and he suspected everyone. He’d screamed at the next-door neighbor to quit his fool singing. He’d even pierced the pink inner tube in the pool because he no longer liked seeing it floating there.