L. A. Burning by D. C. Taylor

Author:D. C. Taylor
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: CROOKED LANE BOOKS

Chapter Twenty-Five

“Pick me up in an hour,” Curtis said. I was driving, because his house was on the way to the party, wherever that was. When he called, the only thing he’d told me was that he was taking me to a party and that I would find it interesting. Curtis amusing himself by being mysterious.

“I don’t even know what we’re doing. What am I supposed to wear?”

“Late-afternoon Malibu beach party, swimming not required unless you’re an actress showing the goods. Wear something elegant, fashionable, something sexy in a way that says you may be available if the guy is a god, says that you’re smart, wildly interesting, serious, but a lot of fun, cool, and hot.”

“I’ve got just the thing.”

Curtis laughed, but from his look I must have gotten it right. “Wow. Come on in. I’ll be ready in ten minutes. I’m just going to jump in the pool. I lost track of time.” A lie. Curtis never lost track of anything. He was barefoot and wore only yoga pants. His body was tanned, muscular, and sheened with sweat. I had an urge to lick some of it off him. The night with Alex Ames from the dance club was a long time ago. Did Curtis know me that well? Or was he just testing?

I followed him out to the pool. He stripped off his yoga pants and went naked into the water in a flat dive. He swam a quick, effortless freestyle to the shallow end, got out, grabbed a towel from one of the deck chairs, and went into the house. “I’ll be quick.”

Disappointed. At least he could have hit on me so I could say no.

Curtis’s house was a beautiful two-story white stucco with a red-tiled roof, bought, I assume, after he fell into money at Black Light. It was tucked into the side of a hill above the Pacific Coast Highway. There were no houses close by, and there was a spectacular view of the ocean from the deck where I stood. I went back into the large living room. Money had been spent to furnish it with comfortable sofas and chairs covered in gray-blue heavyweight cotton enlivened by colored throw pillows. The floor was dark-red terra cotta tiles softened in places by bright-patterned Mexican throw rugs. The mantel over the big fireplace at one end of the room was made from a roughly carved piece of weathered wood. There were a few abstract paintings on the walls, and one big photorealist painting of a blue-green wave with a curling white break. A long dark-wood table held a scatter of magazines and books and a pair of running shoes. A leather jacket was tossed carelessly on one of the chairs. It was a comfortable room, but aside from the jacket and running shoes, it didn’t look lived in. I wondered where Curtis hung out. His bedroom?

He was good to his word, out in ten minutes with his hair still wet. He wore khaki-colored linen pants and a dark-blue shirt.

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