Palm Springs Heat (20 page)

* * *

Lara woke up early the next morning
rested and ready to rumble. After having breakfast on her deck, she hit the
gym. Thinking while on the elliptical trainer about what she would say to
Sushma and anticipating every possible objection to her arguments about Kyle’s
bogus “information,” she hammered away, breaking her personal record for
calories burned in half an hour.
A good sign
.

 Wearing the carbon gray
Armani business suit Chartre had picked out for her, Lara felt pumped when she
entered Sushma’s ICE House office.

“I’d like to speak to Ms. V,” Lara
said to the assistant. She had never been told to call Sushma “Ms. V,” but
since everyone else in the organization did, Lara thought it would be good to
act as though she thoroughly belonged.

“Oh, good,” the assistant said.
“Then, you got my text?”

“Text?”

“I know, I sent it kind of late.
But since you’re here, it’s cool.”

The assistant hit a button on her
phone. “Miss Dixon is here.”

“Send her in.” Sushma managed to
sound cold even through a speakerphone.

The grim décor spooked Lara.
The
desk looks like a casket, the chairs like instruments of torture. And that
painting looks like the aftermath of a nuclear bomb. No wonder she’s always so
grumpy.

Sushma remained seated and focused
on the desktop monitor. “Good morning, Miss Dixon.”

Not a smidge of warmth
.
“Good morning.”

“Have a seat. Would you like tea?”

“Thank you, but I’m not—”

“It is Tieguanyin,” Sushma said,
finally making eye contact with Lara.

Lara waited for more information as
Sushma calmly poured herself a cup of a liquid that, when sunlight passed
through it, took on a deep amber hue.

“I take it you do not know about
Tieguanyin?”

Lara shook her head.

“Smell the leaves,” Sushma said,
pointing to the box. Lara leaned forward and saw that the box, which appeared
to be quite old, held a ceramic bowl full of tea leaves, a wooden scoop and a
bamboo whisk.

“Pick up the bowl and hold it close
to your nose.”

Lara carefully raised the scoop to
her face and took a whiff. It had a strong, flowery aroma.

“Interesting,” Lara said.

“I would say so.” Sushma sipped her
tea. “This is spring Tieguanyin, fully baked in accordance with very ancient
and strictly guarded traditions. It is one of the rarest teas in the world, and
it costs one thousand, five hundred dollars per pound.”

“Oh!” Lara put the bowl down
reverently.

“Do not tell me you are worried
about what might happen if you dropped it.”

“At fifteen hundred dollars a
pound, I’d rather not find out.”

Sushma picked up the bowl, took two
steps to the deck and committed the tea leaves to the wind. “Fast Lane,” she
said, “can afford to lose a few paltry measures of tea.”

Nice display, but I won’t be so
easily intimidated today.

“Tieguanyin is named after a
Buddhist deity.” Sushma sipped from her cup. “The Iron Goddess of Mercy. Are
you sure you do not wish to try some?”

“I’m sure. Look, the reason I came
here—”

“The reason you came here is that I
sent for you.”

“I never got a message.”

“I see. Then, please, by all means,
tell me why it is that you came to my office.”

Lara moved back in the chair and
placidly smoothed out wrinkles in her skirt.

“It’s about the…material…you showed
me yesterday.”

Sushma looked at her without
expression.

“I assume you were trying to…warn
me…about something that might be a cause for concern.”

Still no hint of emotion.

“I thought you’d be interested in
hearing my side of the story before you made any judgments.”

Sushma took another sip of tea.

“My ex-husband is not what you’d
call a…reliable…source of information. At least, not about me—and certainly not
about our marriage. He tried to pull something like this during the divorce,
but backed off because he was afraid of a little thing called perjury.”

Lara wanted to say more, but the
divorce had taught her to offer only as much information as was absolutely
required.

“Is that all you have to say?”
Sushma asked.

Lara nodded. Sushma put down the
teacup and stood up.

“Once a woman is officially brought
into the organization, she will never be left wanting again.” She looked at the
blank wall and paced, very slowly, behind her desk. “If she wishes to drink the
best tea in the world, gallons of it will be provided. If she desires to own a
thousand pair of shoes, they will be delivered to her door. If her dream is to
produce movies or to create a charity that will feed a million people, she will
have access to the best contacts and all the capital such undertakings require.
I am talking about lifetime privileges. This is true for anyone who has sat in
your position.”

She stopped, turned on her heels
and looked at Lara. Directly. Accusingly. “Members of The Rotation are royalty
in the eyes of the company.”

Now Lara sat expressionless.
Where
is this heading?

Sushma turned toward the window and
resumed pacing. “What the company asks in return is that you meet certain
standards. Do not use illegal drugs. Do not become involved in embarrassing
public scenes. Refrain from excessive partying and carrying on. Do not do
anything that would harm the functioning of the company.”

She stopped. “Or its image.”

Okay. I get it.

Sushma turned to Lara. “Your entrée
to The Rotation was exceptional. In every other instance, candidates were
thoroughly vetted before being invited to join us.” She paused for a long time,
keeping her eyes trained on Lara. “May I ask why you believe I would be
concerned about the…material…as you call it?”

“You’re worried people will think I
won’t be faithful to one man,” Lara replied. “The whole idea of The Rotation
works only if people believe all these women are devoted to Clay while he
remains free ’n’ easy and…and in charge.”

Sushma nodded. “Again, you
demonstrate that you are at least not stupid.”

Lara ignored the left-handed
compliment. “That’s not what concerns
me
, though.” She rose to her feet.
“What concerns me is what that lying S.O.B. told you is simply not true.”

“You are certain of it?”

“Of course.”

Sushma opened the top drawer of her
desk, took out a slim remote control, aimed it at the ceiling monitor and
clicked.

Grainy video footage, obviously shot
with a security camera in insufficient light, appeared on the screen. A naked
woman, blond hair hanging down over her face, on all fours. A man entering her
from behind. The woman sweeping her hair to one side. The man leaning over to
fondle her breasts.

Lara’s jaw dropped.
What the
fuck?

The man: Kyle’s brother, Drake. The
woman: Lara.

Sushma did not watch the monitor.
She kept her eyes on Lara. “You are certain of it still?”

Lara felt woozy. She fought off
panic.
No way I’m passing out in front of this bitch again.

“This is wrong,” Lara said, her
throat tight.

“I am glad to hear you acknowledge
it.”

“That’s not what I mean—and you
know it.”

“So, first you are telling me there
is something that I do not know, and now there is something that I do?”

“This is fake. I don’t know how…but
it’s fake. I would
never
—” She looked up at the screen and grimaced. Her
stomach turned—from stress
and
from the very thought of having any part
of Kyle’s slimy brother inside her.

“I am not an expert in such
matters,” Sushma said as she clicked off the video. She opened the drawer again
and pulled out a sheet of paper. “However, I have an affidavit signed by your
ex-husband which attests that what you have just seen has not been altered or
manipulated in any way. A
legal
document.” She thrust it toward Lara.
“Would you like to examine it?”

Lara gritted her teeth. “Whether I
examine it or not, it’s still a sham.”

She walked to the door
deliberately, working hard to retain her dignity. She was tempted to slam the
door behind her, but her better judgment won out and she closed it gently,
nodded to Sushma’s assistant, and left.

16

Out in the hall, Lara took a moment
to collect herself.
Okay, this is bad. But how bad?
Lara’s divorce had
been messy, but she never expected Kyle would stoop so low as to fake a sex
tape. Even if she proved it was fake, she would be seen as just another bimbo
who’d gained fifteen minutes of fame by simply spreading her legs.

And lose Clay.

So, pretty bad.

As she headed back to her suite, a
door behind her opened—the door to Corynne’s suite. Lara glanced back as
Corynne stepped out.
Just who I wanted to see
. Lara smiled politely,
intending to dash off, but Corynne smiled at her, oddly triumphant. Lara’s
heart skipped a beat when someone else exited the suite.

Clay.

Some previous commitment!

Clay never saw Lara. Corynne swung
him around, looked into his eyes and said, “It was a wonderful night, Clay. It
always is when I’m with you.”

She kissed him, but trained her
knife eyes on Lara. Lara spun and bolted around the corner.

* * *

Lara raced through the labyrinthine
halls of the ICE House, heedless of where she was going. She turned a corner
and slammed into Taequanda.

“My, my, my. Someone’s gotten
herself all worked up into a situation.”

You don’t know the half of it.
Out of breath, Lara kept her head down in a futile attempt to stop Taequanda
from seeing her tears. “I’m sorry, I just—” The tears came even harder.

Taequanda put an arm around Lara.
“Why don’t we step into my room so we can talk about it?”

“No, I’ll be all right. Really.”
Lara’s face was streaked, her eyes puffy and red.

“I can see that.” Taequanda sounded
like a mom in a sitcom.

Lara half-laughed through the
tears.

“You know,” Taequanda said, “we
don’t
have
to talk. We’ll just drink some tea and make chit-chat an
option.”

Tea?
But Lara followed
Taequanda into the suite.

It was a feast for the eyes.
Original African paintings featuring stylized dancers in outlandish headdresses
adorned red-orange walls accented with rich purple streaks. A potted aloe plant
rose like a spiny bonfire in tongues of flame that were green at the base with
dusty burgundy tips. Fierce three-foot-tall wooden war masks lorded over the
room from one wall, while a mahogany dresser guarded by intricately woven
raffia dolls stood sentinel against another. Between them sat a papasan chair
mounded with Beanie Babies.

And then there were the paintings,
photos and figurines of naked women in amorous poses with other women.
What’s
up with those?

“Really nice,” Lara said.
“Interesting.”

“It’s the room I always imagined
when I was a teenager. ’Course, I was a very messed-up teenager.”

Taequanda put two mugs of water
into a microwave oven. “Check this out.” She opened a tea box and held it up to
Lara’s nose. The powder had strong mint overtones.

“Nice. What kind is it?”

“I don’t know. I just tell my P.A.
to get me more when the box is low.”

“It’s not Tieguanyin.”

“The Iron Goddess of Mercy. The
vaunted Ms. V thinks she’s all about that tea, which she may be—except,” Taequanda
counted off the points on her fingers, “she’s not so tough, not much of a
goddess and wouldn’t know mercy if it bit her in the ass. But she’s right about
one thing: She is as nasty as that shit tastes.”

“She said it costs fifteen hundred
dollars a pound.”

“Like costing the most makes it the
best.”

“It smells good.”

“It does. But what difference does
that make if you don’t like it?”

 The microwave beeped.
Taequanda motioned for Lara to sit in one of two rattan chairs near the window.
Lara looked out as Taequanda mixed a spoonful of tea into each mug.

“Now, this,” Taequanda said,
handing Lara a steaming mug, “this is something God herself thought up.”

Herself?

Lara gazed into the mug. Sparks of
golden light reflected off the wavy surface. Sumptuous clouds of steam bathed
her face. She could feel the red disappear from her eyes and the confusion from
her mind.

“Go on, drink,” Taequanda said. “I
don’t make it too hot.”

“I was just wondering—what is it
with tea around here?”

Taequanda sat in the other chair.
“It’s like everyone’s a pusher, right? I used to hate tea. But, then, they
don’t have anything like this at the Albertson’s.”

Lara took a sip—and it was
heavenly. Peppery
and
sweet.

“You know what messed me up when I
was a kid?” Taequanda mused.

Lara shook her head.

“My parents.”

“Your parents?” Lara couldn’t help
glancing around at all the female erotica.

“Oh, I see. I was going to say my
parents because they were too normal. You were thinking maybe I had some kind
of conflicted sexuality.” Taequanda had an admonishing look, but a teasing
tone.

“I didn’t mean—”

Taequanda tapped Lara’s knee. “Lots
of people think that. But, believe you me, there was no conflict. I knew I
wanted to be with girls all along. That’s right. I am a lezz-bee-an. Lez-bo. One
hundred percent, dyed-in-the-wool, DNA-fueled Daughter of Sappho. You’re cool
with that, right?”

“Of course,” Lara said.
No
blondes allowed at Fast Lane—but a lesbian’s okay?
“Taequanda—”