Lust, Loathing And A Little Lip Gloss

With that statement my potential loss hit me with renewed force. I had already fallen in love with this place. I wanted it, and I wasn’t good at walking away from things that I wanted.

3

One of the unfortunate side effects of my medication is that it hinders my ability to act crazy.

—The Lighter Side of Death

“HE DIED OF A HEART ATTACK. WHAT’S THE BIG DEAL?” DENA REACHED around the wood pole that held the yellow oversize umbrella above our outside table and handed me back the obituary that I had brought along for her to look at during our lunch date at MarketBar. She took a moment to peel off her fitted leather blazer before continuing. “You know you’re just obsessing over this to distract yourself from the fact that you might not get the house.”

“Bite your tongue,” I muttered, even though I knew she was partially right. It’s not that Oscar’s death hadn’t actually affected me. It had. I had seen Oscar’s pale, dead face in my dreams on more than one occasion since I’d found him. The cameo, the smell, the photographs…it all came together to create a scene that was as harsh as it was ominous. But I had seen worse and I had learned how to tuck my fears away into the dark corners of my mind that I rarely explored. But the house…that house had dominated my thoughts ever since I had laid eyes on it.

In a few minutes Scott would be here to tell me my future. Would I be buying the home of my dreams from Oscar’s son, Kane, at a price I could afford or was I fated to buy some $1.4-million-dollar rat hole on a fault line? I had called Dena and asked her to join me for lunch before this pronouncement of destiny, and to stay with me during its actual telling. My reasons for this were obvious to both of us. I needed my best friend for support and I needed her to help me stay grounded despite my agitation.

Dena took a sip of the cappuccino she had ordered in place of dessert and then licked the foam off her burgundy painted lips. “I don’t suppose you ever found out why Scott was calling you before?”

“Nope, and I’m not going to ask him about it.” I let my gaze linger on the clock tower that soared above us only fifty feet away. Time seemed to be passing slower than usual. “The goal here is to get the house and then get Scott out of my life—for the second time.”

Dena nodded and took a moment to ogle the cute Eurasian busboy who was clearing off a nearby table. He wasn’t really my type, although I recognized his beauty. He was tall and sinewy, almost feminine in his grace. She reached forward and emptied her previously untouched glass of water in three consecutive gulps.

“Okaaay.” I reached forward and tapped her empty water glass. “Are you suffering from diabetes or something?”

Dena smiled wickedly. “I have my reasons.” Just then the busboy crossed to our table to refill her glass. “Thank you,” Dena purred. “I was hoping you’d come over here and quench my thirst.”

The busboy looked up from the glass, surprised, and then, noting Dena’s expression, his eyes widened with understanding. “No problem,” he said uncertainly, glancing over his shoulder, presumably to ensure that he wasn’t the cause of the giggles coming from the women at the nearby table. But the women were deeply involved in their own conversation and he turned back to us with more confidence. “I’m Kim. Just call me over if you need anything else.”

“What a wonderful invitation, Kim,” Dena said. “It seems only right that I should reciprocate.” She pulled a business card out of her purse and wrote her home number on the back. “Obviously I’m attracted to you,” she said simply. “However I’m not looking for a serious relationship and I don’t tolerate chauvinists. If you’re okay with casual and you’re not a sexist then you can call me over and I’ll…show you what’s on my menu.” She slipped her card into his hand and added, “If you’re opinionated and smart I might even take you out for a nice dinner first.”

The busser flushed and then turned even redder after noting what it was that Dena did for a living. “Sole proprietor of Guilty Pleasures? Is that a…you know…a—”

“We sell upscale lingerie, sex toys and things like that,” Dena said matter-of-factly. “Some of it’s rather tame and romantic. Some of it would make Fergie Ferg blush.”

For a moment it appeared that Dena had rendered Kim speechless. “I think you may be the most amazing woman I’ve ever met in my life.”

Dena lifted her thick Sicilian eyebrows in amusement. “We’ve only just met.”

“Yeah, but you just basically told me that you want to…to…have an affair!”

“So all I had to say was that I wanted to mess around with you and I become the most amazing woman you’ve ever met? That doesn’t say a lot for your sex life, Kim.”

“No, I mean…most women are more coy and, you know…”

“I don’t do coy, and I don’t play games.”

Kim turned his gaze to me.

“Yes,” I said, reading the question in his eyes. “She’s for real.” Kim’s shock was a totally natural reaction. I should have been shocked, too. But I had become so accustomed to Dena’s brand of insanity that it honestly didn’t faze me anymore.

“Okay,” Dena said, running her hands through her short dark hair. “You have my number both literally and figuratively. What’s yours?”

“You mean my phone number or…”

“Who are you? What’s your story?” Dena clarified.

“Right,” he said grinning sheepishly. “I guess I’m sort of smart. I’m in my last year at SF State.”

“What are you studying?” Dena asked.

“I’m a radio and television major with an emphasis on audio production and recording.”

“Really?” Dena asked. “So what’s it going to be, radio or television?”

“I’m thinking about music production. I DJ a couple nights a week now and I’m always mixing my own stuff. I think maybe I can make a real career out of it. I’m going to try anyway. Either way it’s a hell of a lot of fun.”

Dena threw an arm over the low back of her chair and nodded approvingly. “See, that’s a conversation topic that could get us through a long dinner at a three-star restaurant.”

Kim lit up and then caught sight of a man watching him from the other side of the restaurant and immediately straightened his posture. “My manager’s watching me, but I’ll call you tonight,” he whispered. I noticed Dena didn’t bother leaning back when he reached for her plate, thus causing him to “accidentally” brush her right breast. He blushed again before hurrying away under his manager’s watchful eye.

“I arrived with the expectation of meeting with one incredibly beautiful woman, but here I find two!”

Dena and I both looked up to see Scott standing a few feet away. He stood with his left hand tucked away in the pocket of his dark denim jacket and the bulk of his weight on the corresponding leg, a still figure against the hustle and bustle of the sidewalk and street behind him. The passing tourists probably thought he was pausing to admire the outdoor café, but I knew he was posing for the benefit of the women in the area, and the knowledge made me queasy. Perhaps he noted my disgust because he broke into a self-conscious chuckle and strode over to our table. “Dena Lopiano,” he boomed, “I haven’t seen you in years.”

“Yeah,” Dena said wistfully, “those were great years.”

Scott laughed again and sat down between the two of us. “Any chance you two would agree to a few drinks and small talk before we get down to business?” he asked hopefully.

“No,” Dena and I said in unison.

“Very well.” He contorted his face into an exaggerated frown before relaxing back into his trademark Rembrandt-White smile. “Here’s the deal with the house. If Kane has to list it, he’s going to list it for $1.75 million with the expectation of having to reduce it to as low as $1.6. Personally, I think he stands a good chance of getting the full listing price.”

“Shit!” I seethed. I did some quick math in my head. I might be able to swing it if I got a really big loan from a bank at an extremely low interest rate. I gazed at my wineglass. Goodbye fine wines, hello cheap wine coolers.

“But if you buy it,” Scott continued, “and you make an offer right now, he’ll sell it to you for the original price of $980,000.”

Dena and I exchanged confused looks. This was fantastic news, but it didn’t make sense. “Scott, are you playing a game with me?”

“Kane is sentimental about that house. He grew up there, and when he heard his father had died, he briefly considered moving back in. But as it stands he’s already living in the house he inherited from his grandparents. He doesn’t want two houses and he doesn’t want to be a landlord or deal with property managers. Still, he doesn’t want to sell to just anyone.”

“But I’m just anyone,” I pointed out. “I’ve never met Kane. I have no relation to him. Nothing connects us at all.”

“On the surface, you’re right,” Scott said. “But Kane doesn’t see it that way. He knows that under normal circumstances I wouldn’t give a potential buyer a night tour of a residence. And normally you wouldn’t come within fifty feet of me, in the day or night. Hell, I haven’t even been able to get you to return my calls. But then, out of the blue, Oscar calls me up and tells me he wants me to sell his place ASAP. On that same day you show up at the open house I was holding in the Marina, and I convince you to come to see Oscar’s place at eight-thirty that night, the night Oscar died.”

“So?” Dena asked.

“So Kane thinks that means something,” Scott explained, still addressing me. “He knows you want the house, but he also thinks the house wants you.”

I brought my fingers to my temples in an attempt to massage away the headache that was beginning to form there. “If I understand you correctly,” I said, “you’re telling me that Kane is crazy.”

“Poor people are crazy, Sophie,” Scott corrected. “Kane is eccentric.”