Emancipated (23 page)

Guzman stood, and pointed at the door.

Lucy rode the bus home wrapped within a tense silence. When she reached the house, Grace and
John-Michael were on the couch watching TV, while Paolo fixed himself a protein shake with strawberry-flavored whey powder. She paused, reviewed her plan to go to her room and light up a joint. Maybe she should try to resist. Paolo beamed at her as she wandered into the kitchen. She dropped her schoolbag to the floor and reached for the Wonder Bread. Only a grilled-cheese sandwich could attack this despondency.

As they prepared the snacks, Lucy updated Paolo. He listened, looking serious.

“That sucks,” he said when she'd finished.

“It really does.”

“Can you get the grades?”

“I don't think so. I haven't paid much attention in class, if I'm honest.”

“Writing songs or thinking about me?” Paolo asked, straight-faced.

A wry smile. “Oh, it was all you, baby.”

Paolo slid across the kitchen counter, positioning himself between Lucy and the living room. He glanced swiftly over his shoulder at the others, engrossed in their TV show, then back at Lucy.

“There is another solution.”

“Like what?”

“Like, if you're going to get a low grade this year, why don't you drop out? Go into a public school, but in the grade below.”

“Do-over?”

“Yeah. Think about it—what your parents save in school fees could pay for an extra year of rent. You've had a disruptive year. John-Michael's doing it.”

A smile began to appear at the edge of her mouth. “An extra year here? Any idea which school I should move to?”

“Van Buren is okay, I guess.”

“Van Buren, huh? Isn't that your school?”

“And John-Michael's.” Paolo gave her a mischievous grin. “Rides to and from are guaranteed.”

“And in August, what, start the year over again?” She shook her head with a bemused smile. “Same grade as you?”

“And John-Michael,” he added softly.

Lucy pondered. “Interesting idea . . .”

“I thought so.”

“. . . Now to try to convince my folks to keep paying for me to live here, even if I don't go to the school they chose.”

He watched her eyes for a second, and then leaned in and softly kissed her lips. Lucy didn't move or respond. When he moved away, she shook her head.

“Not very cool, bro.” Her tone was faintly admonishing.

Paolo just shrugged. He was trying brush it off. Just the same, an angry response flared in his cheeks.

“The offer stands,” he told her. “For now.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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VENICE BEACH, FRIDAY, APRIL 24

“Dude, you do not look happy.”

Paolo wrenched his thoughts away from Lucy for a few seconds and focused on Candace. Her Prius was parked in the spot next to his. He'd have to wait for her to get inside before he pulled out. He tried to smile but it came out a little flat, so he changed the subject.

“You recording tonight?”

“‘Fraid so.”

“You got any lines today?” he teased.

Candace gave a knowing smirk. “Not today. How ‘bout you; pimping yourself out at the country club?”

He smiled. “You'd better believe it. Two lessons. Another hundred bucks.”

It was a lie. He didn't have any students tonight. It was months since he'd stayed after a lesson with a student. Lucy's brush-off, though, had been the last straw. He'd been nice to her, he really cared, and he'd shown it. Okay—she wasn't into him. Fine. But to let himself stay in some kind of hypnotic trance, unable to even think about seeing another girl? He was starting to look pretty dumb.

There was
whipped
and then there was
total friggin' control
. The girl didn't even have a clue what she was doing to him.

Paolo waited for Candace to leave and then set off for the Malibu Lawn Tennis Club.

Forty-nine minutes later he was dressed in dazzling tennis whites and cruising the bar. This was how he'd found his first student. One week later, they'd wound up in bed—at her suggestion. That time was exciting, but not as much as with the former babysitter who'd seduced him after they'd bumped into each other at a local coffee shop. Even with the third girl, it had been pretty thrilling. Only with the fourth, Allegra, had Paolo started to wonder if this was all there was—some excitement, a few laughs? And then what?

In his mind, he'd felt nothing. He'd even tried broaching the subject with some guys at school. They'd either misunderstood or pretended to. One guy, with total frankness, had said, “Maybe you're just not that into women?”

It was this thought that ate at Paolo. Six women and he hadn't cared about any of them. Surely, surely he should have felt more—even for one of them? That guy's comment had made him wonder. Could he be right?

Then he'd met Lucy and that theory had crumbled. Lucy turned him on like no one he'd ever known—a smile from her was enough. She was like a virus in his blood, circulating, omnipresent. A mania.

He was wound tighter than a clock. He couldn't take this much longer.

From across the room, Talia Kravic smiled at him. She was recently over from the Czech Republic. At eighteen, she was the second youngest coach in the club. Talia was taking her seat at one of the outdoor tables, placing two glasses of ice and lemon on the table, and chatting to her companion, another woman. When the woman turned around, Paolo noticed that she was quite a bit older than Talia. At least forty. She had the kind of permatan you saw on some bleached blondes. Not one of Talia's typical students. He'd noticed that Talia took on a higher-than-average count of the aggressive young banker types. They probably fantasized about beating her in a match.

Darius would wipe the floor with all of them
.

The fleeting thought caught Paolo unawares. He thought he'd finally managed to put Darius out of his mind. But apparently not.

He peered at the woman with Talia. She was about five feet eight with a slim, toned physique, straggly, overtreated hair, her eyes gray and flinty. There was something familiar about her. Had he taught her once? He hated when he ran into a former student, the type who moved on after one lesson. Invariably, he'd forget their name. They always looked kind of annoyed when he admitted it. There had to be a way to get them to tell him their name without looking like a jerk, but he hadn't thought of it yet.

Talia waved him over. Paolo began to make his way to their table very slowly, all the while racking his brain for the elusive name.

“Hello,” he said, smiling at Talia and her companion. The older woman remained seated, giving Paolo a rather calculating look. She sipped from her drink, a gin and tonic to judge by the small bottle of tonic water next to it. He'd certainly seen her before, and not all that long ago. When it came to a name, though, Paolo drew a total blank.

“Hi,” said the woman. “I didn't catch your name.”

Relief flooded him. She didn't know him, either.

“I'm Paolo.”

She just nodded. Paolo sat down. He had to suppress the urge to stare at her in open curiosity.

So familiar. Yet apparently not one of his students. How did he know her?

Talia began to chat. She'd been applying for tennis scholarships. Things were looking good. She'd been accepted at USC and Irvine, but what she really wanted was to go to Duke. Her boyfriend from the Czech Republic had just started a doctoral program there and she was dying to join him. Paolo wondered quietly if the boyfriend was as eager for Talia to get an offer from Duke. She was pretty good-looking, with all that fine, ash-blonde hair and toned arms and thighs. But she talked nonstop and she wasn't even funny. He'd been sitting there for seven or eight minutes and she hadn't let him get one word out apart from his name. Meanwhile, the older lady was silent, smiling a knowing smile at Paolo, barely acknowledging Talia at all. Paolo avoided looking at the companion as much as was barely polite, but it wasn't a sustainable strategy.

Then she spoke. “Talia, sweetie, would you go get me some pork rinds?”

“Pork rinds?”

The fortysomething woman blinked calmly. “Let's give that Lipitor something to work on.”

Talia turned toward the bar with a vaguely puzzled air.

“Lipitor?” Paolo gave a quizzical smile. It was something to say.

“I'm not taking Lipitor.”

He shrugged. “Honestly, I don't even know what it is.”

The older woman smiled. “I just wanted to get rid of Talia.”

Paolo froze. He recognized her sudden predatory grin.

“You looked cuter as a blond,” she said, her voice silky smooth. “I almost didn't recognize you.”

He stared.

Very softly she said, “Do you remember me now?”

Paolo glanced around. Talia had struck up a conversation with the bartender. She didn't seem in a
hurry to return.

“You and that Darius fellow made a pretty big fool out of my son.”

He felt his heart lurch within his chest. When eventually he spoke, his voice was barely audible. “Jimmy's mom?”

“Answer me one thing—why'd you leave the Boxster so near to my house?”

Paolo began to murmur an excuse, but she interrupted him.

“Jimmy found it. But do you think he thought of going to the police? No. Darius—or whatever his real name is—was long gone by then. So Jimmy told me and his father that the deal from your silly game had been to swap the cars. The police picked Jimmy up in that Boxster about two weeks later. Took a lot of fast talking from an expensive lawyer to get him off the hook.”

“I didn't know the car was stolen.”

“Oh, I see. You just abandoned it as an act of charity?”

Paolo said nothing, lowered his eyes. She nodded as though he'd confirmed her suspicions. She took a sip. “You're the honest type?”

“I try.”

“But not very hard, at least not that day.”

“Darius didn't give me a lot of choice.”

“No. From what Jimmy says, I imagine he can be fairly persuasive.” She gazed at him intently. “Can you be persuasive, Paolo?”

“Ma'am . . . I'm really sorry.”

“I'm not interested in your remorse. What I want is an answer to my question.
Can you be persuasive?
” She let her words sink in for a moment. “I'm open to persuasion, Paolo. I could be convinced to develop a
very
short memory. Maybe I'll forget the forty thousand dollars we spent on Jimmy's Corvette, and the extra ten we spent on his lawyer. Maybe I'll forget all those questions the cops asked me about the mysterious tennis players who showed up at my house that time.”

She placed her hand gently on his leg. Paolo forced himself not to flinch, forced himself to return her stare.

“Just before you came over, Talia told me you have something of a reputation here.”

He didn't dare say a word.

“Are you teaching tonight, Paolo?”

His throat felt like sandpaper. “No.”

The sharkish smile returned. “I'll be outside in my car. Look for a silver BMW.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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CLARION INN HOTEL, FRIDAY, APRIL 24

Paolo pulled his tennis shirt down over his head. Awkwardly, he asked,
“Are we good?”

Jimmy's mother hadn't moved. She wound one end of the sheet around her fingers, eyeing him lazily. After a moment she said, “We're good. Just one thing. Did you have a good time?”

“It felt amazing,” he said simply. It wasn't a total lie. He'd imagined he was with Lucy and any inhibitions he'd had simply vanished.

He took it slow on the drive back to the house. Allowed himself time to think. It didn't help matters. Paolo arrived home just as shaken as he'd been with Jimmy's mother. He'd sunk pretty low tonight—having sex with a stranger in a hotel to cover up a crime. Not much that was more wretched, by conventional standards. John-Michael, hustling for food and shelter, was a paragon of virtue by comparison.

Yet Paolo felt strangely at peace. It had been a more than fair transaction the way he saw it. Jimmy's mom had seemed pretty satisfied. And now, hopefully, the whole Montecito tennis hustle was a thing of the past.

Any other judgment, he decided, was simply society planting its moralizing fingers where they didn't belong.

In the Venice house, only Lucy and Candace's light was still on. Paolo showered in the second-floor bathroom. He was still thinking about Lucy. Still damp from the shower, he pulled on some jeans and a T-shirt and climbed the stairs.

To his surprise, Lucy was at her desk, working on her laptop, her books open on the floor and on her lap. She glanced at him with a clear expression of relief when he walked in. She placed a finger over her lips and jabbed a purple-polished fingernail in the direction of the bed where Candace lay, peacefully asleep.

“Aw, she looks so sweet,” Paolo chuckled. “Are you
studying
?”

Lucy nodded, frowning.

“Take a break?”

She seemed hesitant. “Maybe a little one.”

In the kitchen, Paolo offered to scramble up some eggs. What he wanted now was to eat and spend time with Lucy. He'd already decided on a couple of eggs; no toast, just a little ketchup and hot chili sauce. But she wasn't hungry, just poured herself a glass of skim milk. As he tended to the eggs, Lucy told him that she planned to spend the entire weekend studying and writing term papers in chemistry, Spanish, and literature.

Paolo shook his head, stunned. “Don't you have a gig this weekend?”

“Our first one,” she agreed.