“You want me to be your spokesmodel?”
“Yes, my dear Tania Marie. Real life. That’s what you can share with our Killer Body members.”
She looked down at her thigh, and his fingers on it. “I don’t want to see this body on any damned pendant.”
“Of course not. The world is changing. We must change, as well.” He took the final gulp of his juice, and Tania Marie detected the mean scent of alcohol on his breath. “No one can take the place of Jules, of course. We’re not trying for that. We’re trying to do what Lucas calls updating. As happy as I am that Princess Gabby is getting an opportunity on television, I want someone less refined, a survivor—the same kind of street-smart survivor I am—for the new Killer Body.”
Tania Marie stared out at the ocean and forced herself to hold back the tears. It was really happening. Really, really, really. But, as much as she wanted it, she couldn’t, wouldn’t go back.
She glanced down once more, pushed her fear out of the way.
“Thank you very much,” she said, as if it were one long word. “I’m honored, I really am. But Bobbo. If we’re going to work together, let’s get it straight right now. Take your F-ing hand off of my leg, okay?”
Rikki
Lucas and I said our goodbyes yesterday, so I’m surprised to see him as I’m lugging my suitcases to the front of the motel. When he shares Tania Marie’s news, I’m glad he’s come, and I tell him so.
“It’s going to be a different Killer Body,” I say.
“Tania Marie’s already calling him Bobbo.” He looks down at the bags. “You need some help with these?”
“Hamilton can do it. He just called from the road. He’ll be here any second.”
“Then I should go.” He pauses. “Sure you don’t want to apply for a job with theTimes?”
“I hate Los Angeles, remember?”
“Maybe I could help you like it better.”
“You already have, Lucas. Los Angeles. Santa Barbara. My life. You’ve made me like all of it so much better.”
He starts to say something but, instead, pulls me into a kiss. Arms around his neck, I absorb the heat and power of him. When we break away, I go for a hug.
I hear Hamilton’s Volvo before I see it. My cheeks hot, I break away from the hug, still squeezing Lucas’s arm, feeling the tenseness through his jacket.
“Send me a postcard from Tahiti,” I say.
Hamilton stands outside his blue Volvo. His face looks more florid than usual, probably because it’s in contrast to his wrinkled denim shirt. His paunch protrudes slightly, and I hope Lucas isn’t evaluating him as I am.
“Want me to come back later?” Hamilton asks, not taking a step toward me.
I glance over at Lucas, the swell of muscles under his sport coat, his unmussable hair.
“No,” I say. “I’m ready now.”
Hamilton’s face changes, charged with surprise, mixed with something I can’t read.
“Have a safe trip,” Lucas says. “Be careful, Rikki, will you?”
“I’ll try. You, too.”
He picks up my suitcases and moves toward the car with sure steps that I know must pain him.
“I’ve got those.” Hamilton yanks them from him, puts them in the back seat.
Then it’s all polite conversation and best wishes and no body contact whatsoever.
I watch Lucas drive away in his silver car, and I look at Hamilton, letting him know that we can leave now.
