Dangerous
Authors: Sandra Kishi Glenn
Dangerous
by Sandra Kishi Glenn
Copyright © 2011 by Sandra Kishi Glenn.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission from Sandra Kishi Glenn. Your support of author’s rights is appreciated.
Cover art and illustrations by Sandra Kishi Glenn.
On the Web: www.sandrakishiglenn.com
Edition date: May 09, 2012
For V.
table of contents
Part One
1 luminous garbage
2 hungry
3 leap of faith
4 training
5 tasting
6 elements
7 tangled
8 brunch
9 commission
10 millie
11 details
12 debut
Part Two
13 milton
14 breach
15 adrift
16 grace
17 houston
18 party
19 scrapbook
20 gondriel
21 keeper
22 dislocation
23 clubbing
24 hooky
25 chamber
26 instructions
27 masks
Part Three
28 closure
29 holocaust
30 halcyon
31 questions
32 reset
33 dragon
34 coda
Shimmering-throned immortal Aphrodite, Daughter of Zeus, Enchantress, I implore thee: Spare me, O queen, this agony and anguish, crush not my spirit.
Whenever before thou has hearkened to me— to my voice calling to thee in the distance, and heeding, thou hast come, leaving thy father’s golden dominions,
With chariot yoked to thy fleet-winged coursers, fluttering swift pinions over earth’s darkness, and bringing thee through the infinite, gliding downwards from heaven,
Then soon they arrived and thou, blessed goddess, with divine countenance smiling, didst ask me what new woe had befallen me now, and why thus I had called thee.
What in my mad heart was my greatest desire? Who was it now that must feel my allurements? Who was the fair one that must be persuaded? Who wronged thee, Sappho?
For if now she flees, quickly she shall follow, and if she spurns gifts, soon shall she offer them, yea, if she knows not love, soon shall she feel it, even reluctant.
Come then, I pray, grant me surcease from sorrow, drive away care. I beseech thee, O goddess, fulfill for me what I yearn to accomplish, be thou my ally.
Sappho,
Hymn to Aphrodite
part one
1
luminous garbage
AS I REACHED to drop my cup in the trash can, I was transfixed by the sight of the most beautiful garbage in the world.
“Oh my god,” I gasped, my voice unexpectedly loud in the hush following the band’s first set.
“It’s really something, isn’t it?” said a woman beside me, in a dusky contralto.
I would have been compelled to see who owned such a voice, but I couldn’t tear my eyes from that trash container.
One of the ice cubes in my drink was plastic, a clever fake inserted by the bartender, ablaze with the light of a vivid blue LED. Everyone’s drink at this party glowed a different color, an effect which magically transformed the warm Los Angeles evening into fairyland.
But I was unprepared for the magic’s poignant aftermath: a garbage can filled with a luminous mass of soggy napkins, discarded cups, melting ice…and all those glowing ice cubes. The whole thing shone polychromatically, somber as a drowned Christmas tree, surpassing every modern art installation I’d ever seen.
“It’s…amazing,” I said in wonder, though I found it a little obscene too. Those brilliant cubes must have cost a small fortune, and had probably been assembled by Chinese slaves. It was a perfect example of Western decadence—so much extravagance and toil for a disposable party gimmick no one gave a second thought. But tonight I moved among the rich and famous. As F. Scott Fitzgerald observed, they are very different from you and me.
“You must be an artist,” said the woman, and I wrenched my eyes from the luminous garbage.
“Um…an artist?” I turned to face her.
“Yes, dear. I’ve watched many people throw cups in there, but you’re the first to appreciate it. You’re sensitive to things of an aesthetic nature. Or have I misread you entirely?” It was almost a challenge.
“I don—” I began, and words left me. My first sight of this woman was as arresting as the spectacle of the trash.
She was two inches taller than me, and somewhat more slender. I guessed she was in her early thirties, making her five or six years older as well. Her frost-blond hair was caught up in a loose French twist, secured by a pair of ivory hairpins. But most remarkable was her pale, almost albino skin, rendered even more striking by her expensive smoke-colored pantsuit. Gray-green eyes regarded me with laser intensity; her generous lips were curled in a seductive, carnivorous grin. She wasn’t Annie Lennox, but could have been her cousin.
Yet the most striking thing about the woman was her
presence
. She was immaculate, magnetic, powerful. And at this moment, all of her formidable attention was focused entirely upon me.
She let me flounder for a moment before extending a hand. It was graceful, with short, well-manicured nails. Her handshake was firm. Confident.
“Hello, by the way. I’m Val,” she said.
“Koishi,” I offered in kind. The woman’s eyes swept over my body, and beneath that security-camera gaze my white tulip-tiered dress suddenly felt too short, too revealing.
“Koishi.” She repeated it slowly, as if sipping fine wine. “Delightful. May I ask your last name?”
“Paz,” I said, wondering where this was going.
“Ah yes,” Val said, and thought a moment. “Your father served in the military, didn’t he? He was stationed in Japan when he met your mother. But your family came to Los Angeles before you were very old.”
“He was stationed in Guam, actually, but…my god. How do you know all that?”
She laughed. “Simple logic. Lucky guesses. You’re obviously Japanese-American, and your last name says your father has Latin blood in him. I can see it in the shape of your eyes. Your first name suggests you were born overseas, otherwise you’d be another Mary or Jennifer. Yet you speak unaccented Southern California English, so you must have moved here at an early age. All of that tells me your father is either a businessman or military. I’m guessing the latter.”
I could only nod, I was that amazed.
“And that is what’s known as a cold reading. You were very obliging,” she said with a grin. “What I
don’t
know is how you came to attend this party. You must be a personal friend of our host, because you don’t strike me as a Hollywood insider.” She touched my arm lightly. “Don’t worry, that’s a compliment.”
I tried not to seem flustered. But she had guessed right again. “Yeah, Brent and I dated a while in college. We just stayed friends after.”
“Your friend’s done very well for himself,” she said.
He certainly had. Brent Braden was both talented and incredibly lucky. Fresh out of college he landed a screenwriting internship at Paragon Studios, where he helped turn
Alternate Reality TV
from an offbeat show into a surprise hit. When he repeated that success with the nerdy paranormal show
Edge Case
, his name became Hollywood gold. Brent leveraged that capital to take the executive producer role on
Time Twister
, now in its fourth season.
He’d grown shockingly rich in a short time, and purchased a three-million-dollar Encino mansion along the way. Which, as it happened, was the site of tonight’s Christmas party.
“We used to hang out a lot more,” I said. “Dinner, movies, you know…just friends. Now he works twenty-four-seven. But his assistant still sends me invites to these Christmas parties, so I guess no one bothered to take my name out of the Rolodex.”
“I can think of many reasons to keep your name in the Rolodex.” Good lord, she was
flirting
with me.
“I almost stayed home tonight. All my friends were busy and I hate coming to these things alone.”
“Yet here you are,” she said with a smile.
At that moment we were joined by a woman wearing a burgundy Fifties-style dress and a velvet choker about her neck. She had long, black, artfully mussed hair with tints to match to match her outfit. Plucked brows, kohl-rimmed eyes, and dark lipstick gave her a slightly goth look.
I recalled seeing her earlier, talking to some of the other guests. She’d seemed pretty then. Up close, however, she had fox-like features and a crafty glint in her eye I vaguely mistrusted.
“Ah, and here
you
are,” said Val. “Koishi, I’d like you to meet my friend Millie.”
“Hello, Miss Koishi,” the woman said with unusual formality. She stood close to her friend, at an angle meant to thrust an invisible wedge between me and Val. Resentment radiated from her like the heat from an iron. Were they a couple, or what?
Val’s face remained pleasant, but her eyes narrowed in a way I couldn’t read. “Millie, Miss Koishi needs a fresh drink. Be a doll and fetch her a…” She looked to me.
“I guess another martini,” I said, realizing I’d been maneuvered into playing Val’s game, whatever it was.
“And I’ll have my usual,” Val added.
Millie’s eyes smoldered behind the mask of a smile before she strode to the bar with an angry flounce.
“I don’t think Millie likes me,” I said, feeling awkward. "I can go, if you—”
“No, stay." It was an order. "She forgets her place, and I’m going to teach her a lesson.” Her cheerful indifference spoke volumes. And then the carnivorous grin was back. “I like you, and that’s what matters.”
Her words kindled something in me, a warm pulse for which I was unprepared. But people who arrive as couples don’t normally flirt with strangers. Not even at Hollywood parties.
Then I remembered the empty cup still in my hand. I reached for the trash can again, but stopped with a pang of guilt. “I can’t throw it away,” I said, and plucked out the lighted cube before discarding the rest. I used a napkin to dry it off. “I want to take it home, but the battery will die by tomorrow, so what’s the point?”
“May I?” Val said, with an extended hand. When I gave her the cube, she whacked it against her open palm. The light went out. “There’s a switch inside,” she said, handing it back to me.
