Page 67 of Mastered By Desire
“I must, because this dude had murder in his eyes.”
“He was drunk, most likely, or under some other influence.”
“Gagey, you aren’t listening. He jumped the curb. When I leaped out of the way, he looked directly at me. He had on some kind of face mask and big sunglasses, a hat. He was in disguise.”
“Did you go to the police?”
“No.” She snorts. “They’ll just ask for autographs.”
She isn’t taking this seriously, so how can she expect me to take it seriously? I love her, but sometimes it’s very difficult to be her friend.
“Claudia, if someone attacked you, you should document it. They might be able to pull up surveillance footage from storefronts or traffic cameras.”
“Yeah, I’ll think about it.” Her tone has me doubting her veracity. “Talking to you helped calm me down. It always does,Gage. Thank you. Have you thought more about coming down to visit? Everyone misses you. They came over for dinner. Jessica found these old pictures. Oh here, I had her send me one of us.”
I brace myself for “us” meaning all the Shinies, but the photograph that comes through is solely of Claudia and me. Her wavy blond hair is piled on her head in an elaborate style. Her dark blue eyes are clear, bright—this is an early photo, taken before everything fell apart and she fell into substance abuse.
In the picture, I’m standing next to her, leaning in. My face is stretched in a grin. I look so incredibly young. Naive.
Nostalgia hits me with the force of a wrecking ball.
I can’t stop staring at my phone screen. “That’s a good photo.”
“We’re beautiful and young.” Her voice is wistful.
“You’re still beautiful, Claudia.” It’s the truth. “It doesn’t matter that we’re not as young. We’re not old, either.”
“I’m a woman and I’m going to be forty next year and I live in LA.” She laughs. “It’s getting better for the big-name female actors. But for someone like me in Hollywood, forty is as good as dead. Nobody would call usShinynow.”
Dmitri
My grandfather’s house is one of the smaller ones located at the edge of Old Thirty-Three, but it’s still fucking impressive. Gated drive, set back from the road. It’s two stories and made to look like a cabin. But there’s nothing rustic about the state-of-the-art alarm system and full-time staff of housekeepers, cooks, and bodyguards who work here.
Granddad has perfect posture, a full head of dark-gray hair, and affectionate blue eyes. He’s waiting at the front door with his arms open.
I can’t dodge his hug on principle, even though I want to.
It’s complicated. He’s done really bad things. Continues to do them. But he’s still the grandfather who took care of me when I was sick, who taught me how to fish. He’s the guy who “hired” me to do chores around his house that absolutely didn’t need doing so I could afford parts for my Mustang. He taught me how to fix Mom’s favorite drink so I could surprise her on her birthday when I was eleven.
The sex talk Dad was too embarrassed to have with me? Granddad took over.
“When I got your message you were coming, I thought my hearing must be going,” he says as we embrace. “It’s been too long, Dmitri.”
“Sorry, Granddad.”
“Well, come in, come in.”
He leads me into the living room. A breakfast spread is on the coffee table. He must have had his cook prepare it for me.
“Really, Granddad?” I gesture to the display.
“What, you’re a growing boy. Don’t tell me you made yourself a proper breakfast this morning, because I won’t believe you.”
He won’t leave me alone until I load up a plate, so I grab an almond croissant and a handful of strawberries. He pours me a mug of his favorite coffee, some fancy shit I can’t pronounce.
“Have a seat.” He pours a second coffee for himself. “Eat. And tell me what problem is bothering you. I will fix it.”
“I don’t want you to fix anything, Granddad. I just want to make sure you aren’t involved.”