show at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art. It’s a week from Wednesday night. I love that museum. Anyway, that’s our community service.” “Ah yes, the Anna Percy who is up for new experiences. We shared some of those.” He sipped his own coffee and smiled.
Damn. Maybe he
had
noticed her goose bumps. Before the fact, she’d wondered what it would be like to have sex, and then, more specifically, what it would be like with Ben. As it turned out, it was wonderful, amazing, and fantastic. It took her out of her head, something that rarely happened. When Ben made love to her, she was all feeling.
“You ought to come by the club sometime,” Ben suggested casually. “Maybe on a Monday.”
“You know I’m not really the clubbing type.” He smiled. “That’s why I said Monday. I had this idea and we’re trying it out, because Trieste is pretty empty on Mondays, anyway. So we’re doing some different things in the different rooms. There are poetry readings on the back patio, jazz in the dance room, and short reader’s theater plays in the main bar, all of which are actually set in bars. It’s pretty cool. Mondays draw a very different kind of crowd. No second-generation club kids, no wanna-bes from the Valley. I think you’d like it.” “This was your idea?” Anna was impressed.
Ben nodded, broke off more of a rugelach, and chewed it before he answered. “I’ve been going on basically no sleep, but it’s incredibly exciting. We did the first Trieste Monday last week, and we’ve got another one this coming Monday. The owner knows Chick Corea—amazing jazz pianist—and he’ll be playing as a surprise at midnight. Then we’ve got some really cool one-act plays.” Wow. She
never
would have expected this from Ben. He’d never talked about being a club promoter. “Maybe I’ll check it out.” He smiled winningly. “I’d like that.” Then, ever so casually, he asked, “You still seeing that guy with the tattoos?” “Caine. Yes. We’re . . . dating.” It was weird. She felt sheepish saying it.
“Dating.” Ben laughed. “Wow, does anybody really
date
anymore?”
Anna stiffened. “Evidently I do.”
“Evidently you do. The two of you could come by, then. Drinks are on me.” “Okay, thank you.” She sipped her coffee, wondering why he was being quite so accepting of her
dating
, when the person she was
dating
was not him.
“This is amazing!” Anna exclaimed, as the Ferris wheel swung skyward into the cool night.
“Welcome to the best wheel west of the California coastline. Which also happens to be the only Ferris wheel west of the California coastline.” Caine had picked her up at nine as promised. But instead of the pickup truck, he was on a black 1960s BSA motorcycle that he said he’d restored himself, complete with an extra white helmet for Anna. “Put it on,” he ordered with a grin.
She did, with some trepidation, never having been on a motorcycle before. Yet within three minutes she was completely comfortable, as Caine followed Sunset Boulevard to Barrington, then cut over to San Vicente and took it east to the ocean, dodging between cars with total confidence. It was a warm night, and she clung to his body, picturing how they must look to passersby.
Like lovers
, she thought.
We must look like lovers.
He said he had one more surprise in store, and pulled the bike up near the Santa Monica pier, which jutted into the sea off of the Pacific Coast Highway. At the west end was an enormous Ferris wheel.
“A hundred and thirty feet high, and powered by the sun,” he told her.
“Even at night?” she joshed. She’d taken enough high school science to know that solar energy could be stored in batteries, just like any other kind of energy.
“Let’s go and find out.” He looked at the crowded parking area. “Two thousand Los Angelenos can’t be wrong.” Fifteen minutes later, they’d walked through the polyglot mass of humanity that was the Santa Monica pier on a
Damn. Maybe he
had
noticed her goose bumps. Before the fact, she’d wondered what it would be like to have sex, and then, more specifically, what it would be like with Ben. As it turned out, it was wonderful, amazing, and fantastic. It took her out of her head, something that rarely happened. When Ben made love to her, she was all feeling.
“You ought to come by the club sometime,” Ben suggested casually. “Maybe on a Monday.”
“You know I’m not really the clubbing type.” He smiled. “That’s why I said Monday. I had this idea and we’re trying it out, because Trieste is pretty empty on Mondays, anyway. So we’re doing some different things in the different rooms. There are poetry readings on the back patio, jazz in the dance room, and short reader’s theater plays in the main bar, all of which are actually set in bars. It’s pretty cool. Mondays draw a very different kind of crowd. No second-generation club kids, no wanna-bes from the Valley. I think you’d like it.” “This was your idea?” Anna was impressed.
Ben nodded, broke off more of a rugelach, and chewed it before he answered. “I’ve been going on basically no sleep, but it’s incredibly exciting. We did the first Trieste Monday last week, and we’ve got another one this coming Monday. The owner knows Chick Corea—amazing jazz pianist—and he’ll be playing as a surprise at midnight. Then we’ve got some really cool one-act plays.” Wow. She
never
would have expected this from Ben. He’d never talked about being a club promoter. “Maybe I’ll check it out.” He smiled winningly. “I’d like that.” Then, ever so casually, he asked, “You still seeing that guy with the tattoos?” “Caine. Yes. We’re . . . dating.” It was weird. She felt sheepish saying it.
“Dating.” Ben laughed. “Wow, does anybody really
date
anymore?”
Anna stiffened. “Evidently I do.”
“Evidently you do. The two of you could come by, then. Drinks are on me.” “Okay, thank you.” She sipped her coffee, wondering why he was being quite so accepting of her
dating
, when the person she was
dating
was not him.
“This is amazing!” Anna exclaimed, as the Ferris wheel swung skyward into the cool night.
“Welcome to the best wheel west of the California coastline. Which also happens to be the only Ferris wheel west of the California coastline.” Caine had picked her up at nine as promised. But instead of the pickup truck, he was on a black 1960s BSA motorcycle that he said he’d restored himself, complete with an extra white helmet for Anna. “Put it on,” he ordered with a grin.
She did, with some trepidation, never having been on a motorcycle before. Yet within three minutes she was completely comfortable, as Caine followed Sunset Boulevard to Barrington, then cut over to San Vicente and took it east to the ocean, dodging between cars with total confidence. It was a warm night, and she clung to his body, picturing how they must look to passersby.
Like lovers
, she thought.
We must look like lovers.
He said he had one more surprise in store, and pulled the bike up near the Santa Monica pier, which jutted into the sea off of the Pacific Coast Highway. At the west end was an enormous Ferris wheel.
“A hundred and thirty feet high, and powered by the sun,” he told her.
“Even at night?” she joshed. She’d taken enough high school science to know that solar energy could be stored in batteries, just like any other kind of energy.
“Let’s go and find out.” He looked at the crowded parking area. “Two thousand Los Angelenos can’t be wrong.” Fifteen minutes later, they’d walked through the polyglot mass of humanity that was the Santa Monica pier on a
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