Lust, Loathing And A Little Lip Gloss

The busboy looked up from the glass, surprised, and then, noting Dena’s expression, his eyes widened with understanding. “No problem,” he said uncertainly, glancing over his shoulder, presumably to ensure that he wasn’t the cause of the giggles coming from the women at the nearby table. But the women were deeply involved in their own conversation and he turned back to us with more confidence. “I’m Kim. Just call me over if you need anything else.”

“What a wonderful invitation, Kim,” Dena said. “It seems only right that I should reciprocate.” She pulled a business card out of her purse and wrote her home number on the back. “Obviously I’m attracted to you,” she said simply. “However I’m not looking for a serious relationship and I don’t tolerate chauvinists. If you’re okay with casual and you’re not a sexist then you can call me over and I’ll…show you what’s on my menu.” She slipped her card into his hand and added, “If you’re opinionated and smart I might even take you out for a nice dinner first.”

The busser flushed and then turned even redder after noting what it was that Dena did for a living. “Sole proprietor of Guilty Pleasures? Is that a…you know…a—”

“We sell upscale lingerie, sex toys and things like that,” Dena said matter-of-factly. “Some of it’s rather tame and romantic. Some of it would make Fergie Ferg blush.”

For a moment it appeared that Dena had rendered Kim speechless. “I think you may be the most amazing woman I’ve ever met in my life.”

Dena lifted her thick Sicilian eyebrows in amusement. “We’ve only just met.”

“Yeah, but you just basically told me that you want to…to…have an affair!”

“So all I had to say was that I wanted to mess around with you and I become the most amazing woman you’ve ever met? That doesn’t say a lot for your sex life, Kim.”

“No, I mean…most women are more coy and, you know…”

“I don’t do coy, and I don’t play games.”

Kim turned his gaze to me.

“Yes,” I said, reading the question in his eyes. “She’s for real.” Kim’s shock was a totally natural reaction. I should have been shocked, too. But I had become so accustomed to Dena’s brand of insanity that it honestly didn’t faze me anymore.

“Okay,” Dena said, running her hands through her short dark hair. “You have my number both literally and figuratively. What’s yours?”

“You mean my phone number or…”

“Who are you? What’s your story?” Dena clarified.

“Right,” he said grinning sheepishly. “I guess I’m sort of smart. I’m in my last year at SF State.”

“What are you studying?” Dena asked.

“I’m a radio and television major with an emphasis on audio production and recording.”

“Really?” Dena asked. “So what’s it going to be, radio or television?”

“I’m thinking about music production. I DJ a couple nights a week now and I’m always mixing my own stuff. I think maybe I can make a real career out of it. I’m going to try anyway. Either way it’s a hell of a lot of fun.”

Dena threw an arm over the low back of her chair and nodded approvingly. “See, that’s a conversation topic that could get us through a long dinner at a three-star restaurant.”

Kim lit up and then caught sight of a man watching him from the other side of the restaurant and immediately straightened his posture. “My manager’s watching me, but I’ll call you tonight,” he whispered. I noticed Dena didn’t bother leaning back when he reached for her plate, thus causing him to “accidentally” brush her right breast. He blushed again before hurrying away under his manager’s watchful eye.

“I arrived with the expectation of meeting with one incredibly beautiful woman, but here I find two!”

Dena and I both looked up to see Scott standing a few feet away. He stood with his left hand tucked away in the pocket of his dark denim jacket and the bulk of his weight on the corresponding leg, a still figure against the hustle and bustle of the sidewalk and street behind him. The passing tourists probably thought he was pausing to admire the outdoor café, but I knew he was posing for the benefit of the women in the area, and the knowledge made me queasy. Perhaps he noted my disgust because he broke into a self-conscious chuckle and strode over to our table. “Dena Lopiano,” he boomed, “I haven’t seen you in years.”

“Yeah,” Dena said wistfully, “those were great years.”

Scott laughed again and sat down between the two of us. “Any chance you two would agree to a few drinks and small talk before we get down to business?” he asked hopefully.

“No,” Dena and I said in unison.

“Very well.” He contorted his face into an exaggerated frown before relaxing back into his trademark Rembrandt-White smile. “Here’s the deal with the house. If Kane has to list it, he’s going to list it for $1.75 million with the expectation of having to reduce it to as low as $1.6. Personally, I think he stands a good chance of getting the full listing price.”

“Shit!” I seethed. I did some quick math in my head. I might be able to swing it if I got a really big loan from a bank at an extremely low interest rate. I gazed at my wineglass. Goodbye fine wines, hello cheap wine coolers.

“But if you buy it,” Scott continued, “and you make an offer right now, he’ll sell it to you for the original price of $980,000.”

Dena and I exchanged confused looks. This was fantastic news, but it didn’t make sense. “Scott, are you playing a game with me?”

“Kane is sentimental about that house. He grew up there, and when he heard his father had died, he briefly considered moving back in. But as it stands he’s already living in the house he inherited from his grandparents. He doesn’t want two houses and he doesn’t want to be a landlord or deal with property managers. Still, he doesn’t want to sell to just anyone.”

“But I’m just anyone,” I pointed out. “I’ve never met Kane. I have no relation to him. Nothing connects us at all.”

“On the surface, you’re right,” Scott said. “But Kane doesn’t see it that way. He knows that under normal circumstances I wouldn’t give a potential buyer a night tour of a residence. And normally you wouldn’t come within fifty feet of me, in the day or night. Hell, I haven’t even been able to get you to return my calls. But then, out of the blue, Oscar calls me up and tells me he wants me to sell his place ASAP. On that same day you show up at the open house I was holding in the Marina, and I convince you to come to see Oscar’s place at eight-thirty that night, the night Oscar died.”

“So?” Dena asked.

“So Kane thinks that means something,” Scott explained, still addressing me. “He knows you want the house, but he also thinks the house wants you.”

I brought my fingers to my temples in an attempt to massage away the headache that was beginning to form there. “If I understand you correctly,” I said, “you’re telling me that Kane is crazy.”

“Poor people are crazy, Sophie,” Scott corrected. “Kane is eccentric.”

“I see. Are his eccentricities ones that can be medicated?”

“Probably, although I don’t think Kane approves of drugs that aren’t recreational. But that’s neither here nor there. What’s important is that you can have the house, and you’re getting it for a song—at least by San Franciscan standards.”

“This is too good to be true,” Dena said. She was looking at Scott, but her eyes had become so narrowed with suspicion that it was questionable if she was able to see anything beyond her own eyelashes. “There’s got to be a major catch.”

“A major catch?” Scott scoffed. “He wants to sell you a house for over $600,000 below market. There are militant vegetarians who would eat a truckload of Big Macs just to get a crack at the deal I’m offering you. All Kane wants from you is a one-month escrow, your word that you’ll treat the house well and your commitment to become a lifetime member of the San Francisco Specter Society.”

“Excuse me?” Scott had said the last part so fast that I wasn’t sure I had heard him correctly. I certainly hoped I hadn’t.

On the sidewalk some man was screaming obscenities, but none of us turned to see what the problem was. “It’s not as bad as it sounds,” Scott said in a voice that was something less than convincing. “It’s a group of people who get together twice a month for about an hour or so just so they can hang out, schmooze and, um, try to talk to ghosts.”

Dena burst out laughing while I tried to digest this unexpected request. “Scott,” I said slowly, “please tell me this isn’t a deal breaker.”

“You won’t have to go to every meeting,” Scott quickly assured me. “Just go regularly for the first year or so and then if you can only make it to a meeting every two or three months after that I’m sure Kane will be okay with it. The group really isn’t as weird as its name implies. Venus is a member and so is Kane. Even Oscar came to a few meetings, although he hasn’t for a long time.”

“That’s what you meant when you said Oscar and you traveled in the same circles,” I said slowly as I pieced everything together. “Your current circles consist of a bunch of ghost-loving freaks. Really, Scott, isn’t it a little bizarre for a necrophobic to hang with people who are trying to raise the dead?”

“First of all, they’re not freaks,” Scott said defensively. “I’m not even convinced that all of the members believe in ghosts even though they all say they do. They just like listening to ghost stories. I’ve been to over twenty meetings with Venus and they haven’t been able to channel a single disembodied spirit. Trust me, if they had, I wouldn’t attend no matter how much Venus insisted. And Sophie,” he paused to wave a hovering bee away from his face, “it is a deal breaker.”

“But that’s ridiculous! Why is it so important to Kane that some stranger joins his precious society?”

“I keep trying to tell you, Sophie, Kane doesn’t see you as a stranger. He thinks your discovery of his father connects you in some peculiar way and he thinks…okay, try not to laugh, but he thinks that if he’s going to successfully channel his parents’ spirits the people who found his father right after his death need to be part of the séance.”

“Really?” Dena asked, her curiosity overcoming her mirth. “Is that some kind of Wiccan rule?”

“I have no idea,” Scott grumbled. “What I do know is that I’m stuck going to these meetings for at least another year. But really, they’re not that bad,” he said switching back into salesman mode. “And Enrico Risso is a member so we usually get to sample some dish that he’s thinking about adding to his menu.”

“Hold up.” Dena’s chair audibly scratched against the concrete floor as she scooted forward. “Are we talking about Enrico Risso, the executive chef at Sassi? The man who was just voted one of the nation’s twenty best chefs in Gourmet Magazine?”

“The one and only.”

Dena blinked and then turned to me. “I’m not saying you should join, but if you do you should invite me to one of the meetings. Enrico’s risotto is enough to make you cream your panties.”

Scott shot Dena a bemused smile. “You really haven’t changed at all, have you?”

“Before I agree to any of this I’m going to need to have a contractor come out and look at the pipes, foundation and whatnot,” I interjected. I really didn’t want to dwell on Dena’s panties remark.

“Naturally,” Scott agreed. “You can have a contractor come out anytime. Kane’s already moved all his father’s things into storage so it’ll be easy to check out all the floors and walls.”

“He’s already moved everything out?” I asked. “That was fast.”

“Kane’s efficient. But before you call a contractor you should take another look at the place. Make sure you really want it.”

Scott said the last words suggestively, implying that I might want more than just real estate from him. I didn’t. But I’ll admit I was pleased to know he still desired me. It put me in a position of power, and with Scott it was always important to keep the upper hand. “When can I look at it again?”

Scott glanced at his watch. “What are you doing right now?”

After saying my goodbyes to Dena I got in my car and followed Scott to Ashbury Heights. Well, follow isn’t really the right word because Scott got a significant early lead on me thanks to his Tango. It was the same electric vehicle George Clooney drove. Scott said he got it last Christmas—it was Venus’s version of a stocking stuffer. Apparently Venus’s parents owned and ran Organically Yours, the food product line that sold energy bars and whole grain cereals all over the country. That bit of information explained their entire relationship to me. Scott was a gold digger and Venus was his sugar-mommy. They were a perfect match.

So by the time I got to the house Scott had already parked and was presumably inside. I pulled my car into the driveway and climbed the steps. My hand was shaking with excitement as I pushed on the front door that was already open a crack. The place no longer smelled of Pine-Sol. The floral couch and overstuffed armchairs were gone and the beautiful mahogany bookcases were empty. It took me a moment to adjust to the change. I hadn’t liked the furniture, but I didn’t realize how much it had detracted from the strength of the architecture. The vaulted ceilings felt higher now and the wide, dark wood staircase had a boldness of design that I hadn’t noticed before. In fact the whole house felt bolder…no, bold was the wrong word. Power. That was better. The house seemed to have a power all its own. Yet its power had a magnanimous quality. The ambiance of the room seemed to embrace me and despite what I had found upstairs only weeks earlier, the place made me feel safe. I almost believed that the house was going to take care of me—like a father.

Suddenly I was struck with a sense of déjà vu. I had been here, not weeks before, but years before; before I had ever heard of Oscar or even Scott.

But that was impossible. My mind had to be playing tricks on me. Yet the sense of déjà vu didn’t go away and oddly enough made me want the house more than ever. It was calling to me.

And then I heard the footsteps of my father. He was walking through the dining room toward the living room. But that, too, was impossible. I turned my head in the direction of the sound.

It definitely wasn’t my father. Scott was standing next to a guy with an army-camouflage T-shirt and brownish-red hair cut close to his scalp. He was wearing rubber-soled sneakers, which explained why I had only heard the one set of footsteps.

“Sophie, this is Kane,” Scott said, patting the man on the back.

I smiled and shook his hand. “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

“And I didn’t know you were going to be here,” he said. “Seems fate wanted us to meet. More proof that this is all meant to be, don’t you think?”

“Sure.” I struggled to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. I was one of those people who firmly believed in coincidences.

I started to pull my hand away, but Kane held on to it firmly. His expression had become serious and I found myself unable to break eye contact. “Do you feel anything?”

“Umm…the palm of your hand?” I said, unsure if he was playing some kind of game with me.

Something crossed Kane’s face. I couldn’t read the emotion, but I had a feeling it wasn’t a good one. But before I had a chance to come up with a better answer he released me and eased his mouth into a lazy grin. “Guess my parents aren’t around right now. But they’ll make an appearance soon. I’m sure of it.”

“Right, well, if I see them I’ll be sure to let you know,” I assured him.

“So there you have it,” Scott said with what seemed to be forced enthusiasm. “Sophie’s the person you should sell to. Not only is she a believer, but she’s willing to notify you if she makes contact.”

What the hell was he talking about? But one look from Scott told me that if I wanted the house I’d be wise to play along—at least for a while. I swallowed and stepped around them into the formal dining room. “This really is a great property.” I flicked on the light switch and watched the chandelier illuminate.

“You still want it?” Scott asked hopefully.

“I’m going to do a walk-through,” I said absently as I furnished the room in my mind. “But yeah, I want it. I’ll have a contractor out here in the next few days.”

Kane walked over to one of the windows and peered out into the street. “You should move in soon, before escrow closes.”

I did a quick double take. “Um, wouldn’t that sort of complicate things?”

“I have a sense about you, Sophie,” Kane said. “I do think you’ll treat this house with the care it deserves. I just have to be sure of that.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“Yeah,” Scott said, suddenly uncertain, “What are you suggesting, Kane?”

“Just one more stipulation written into the escrow agreement. Nothing major, but I think it would be a good idea if you stayed here during that month that we wait for escrow to close. If you don’t treat the house with respect I’d like to have the option to back out of the arrangement.”

I opened my mouth and then closed it before slamming the back of my hand against Scott’s arm. “You knew about this, didn’t you! You just brought me here to fuck with me!”

I whirled around and started for the door. Scott reached out and held me back and I made a halfhearted attempt to pull away, but I was afraid that if I put too much effort into fighting him I wouldn’t have enough strength left to hold back the tears. So I just stood there, stoically facing the door.

“Sophie,” Scott said urgently, “no one is fucking with you…not that I wouldn’t like—”

“Don’t even start!” I snapped.

“Right, what I meant was that everyone here is serious about the sale, right, Kane?” he said, pronouncing his question like a warning. “You don’t expect Sophie to agree to move in here and go through all the trouble and stress of escrow knowing that you could call the whole thing off and throw her out at any moment for something as ambiguous as her not respecting the place. That would be crazy and we all know you’re not crazy. You’re a businessman. A reasonable businessman.”

I heard the house exhale in a roar as hot air rushed through the vents. Central heating. Was there anything that this place didn’t have? I imagined myself standing up against those vents on the coldest of days, letting the air press against my feet and ankles until they prickled from the heat. Somehow I had to make this work.

“I’m sorry you think I’m being unreasonable,” Kane said, seemingly nonplussed. “I certainly don’t want you to think I’m not earnest in my intent to sell to you. How about this, we’ll let an attorney find a word that’s more to your liking than respecting. I’ll pay for all the utilities during that month…in fact, why don’t we cut escrow in half and make it two weeks. And we’ll put in a clause stating that if I do put an end to our deal before escrow closes I’ll have to pay you…how about twenty grand? That should cover the rent for your apartment for almost a year, right?”

Now I did turn around, but for the life of me I couldn’t remember how to speak.

Scott had no such problem. “Yeah,” he said, his voice an octave higher than normal, “that’ll work.”

Kane beamed. “Great! Then get the contractor out here so you can start moving in.”

“I feel there has to be a catch,” I choked out.

Kane laughed. It was the least contagious laugh in the world. “Sophie,” he said, “I may be a bit different, but I’m not so peculiar that I relish the idea of giving huge amounts of money away at the drop of a hat. If I thought there was a good chance that I would need to pay you the $20,000 I wouldn’t be making the offer. But this was once my mother’s house. It was her dream home. I just need to be assured that whoever ends up here will love it the way she did and not just flip it the moment the market improves. Can you understand that?”

No. I didn’t understand anything about Kane. But how could I say no to this? “When’s the first Specter Society meeting?” I asked.

Kane’s grin widened. “In three weeks,” Kane said. “Why don’t we have it here? It could be your first social gathering in your new home.” Kane ran his hands along the wall with the gentleness that one usually reserves for a lover. “It would be a great way for you to introduce yourself to all the members…and to anything else that might make an appearance.”

Anything else. I understood his meaning, but it didn’t bother me. It was, after all, the most conventional thing he had said in the five minutes I had known him. “I’m going to want my own lawyer to go through this escrow agreement with a fine-toothed comb,” I said.

“Of course, Sophie,” Kane said. “Whatever it takes to get you to trust me.”

I tried not to smile. I’d sooner trust my ex-husband. But if a lawyer gave me a thumbs-up it really was a spectacular deal. If I could get a contractor and a lawyer to work with me right away, I might be able to start the escrow process in about two weeks, which meant that in four weeks I would either get a fantastic house well below market or I would get $20,000.

What did I have to lose?

4

Dinner parties would be so much more fun if you were allowed to actually throw your dinner at the guests!

—The Lighter Side of Death

I DIDN’T WASTE A MOMENT. I HAD A CONTRACTOR COME OUT TO THE HOUSE and a lawyer storm Scott’s office. And as soon as I was told that both the house and the escrow agreement were in good condition I signed on the dotted line. I had moved over the furniture from my apartment, and although many of the pieces didn’t really suit the new space at least they were mine. In a fit of optimism, I had put the bulk of my belongings in boxes and brought them over, as well.

During the first week of escrow Kane had come over for a visit, and while he seemed slightly disappointed that I hadn’t heard any thumps in the night, he did praise the passion I had for the house. I was just one week away from officially owning my own home, and now I was preparing to pay for it. Not with money, but with a combination of time and lies; time that I would spend at my first Specter Society meeting and lies that I would tell to convince my guests and fellow members that I desired their company. Scott had explained to me that if I wanted escrow to go through I had to pretend to believe in ghosts and the mystical power of the séances that supposedly called them to this world. It was a stupid but acceptable compromise of my integrity.

Of course the gathering required some planning and for that I had called in the big guns—or to be more accurate, the big gun, my sister and special-event-coordinator-extraordinaire, Leah. At my request she had spent most of the afternoon (and the better part of the past week) setting up for the séance I would be holding that evening. All my unpacked boxes had been moved into the bedrooms and the garage and there was a rented round table in the middle of the living room covered with a white linen tablecloth. In its center were three thick beeswax candles that Leah had strong-armed me into buying despite their ridiculously high price point. And in front of ten antique wood dining chairs there were metal place-card holders molded into the shape of fallen leaves. Many of the names they held were foreign to me and the few that I knew—Venus, Scott and Kane—didn’t exactly make me feel warm and fuzzy. Enrico was the only person I was looking forward to meeting. I had spoken to him on the phone several times in the last few days, and now Leah and I were waiting for him to arrive before the others, with trays of delicacies that would undoubtedly make the rest of the evening a bit more tolerable.

Mr. Katz let out a mew of protest as Leah removed him from one of the chairs and dropped him unceremoniously on the floor.

“Hey, be careful with my baby,” I admonished.

“The only baby here is sitting on the couch,” she said distractedly as she rearranged the candles one more time, pulling at their wicks until they stood up like little soldiers trying to impress a drill sergeant. Of course she was referring to her two-year-old son, Jack, who was at that moment quietly watching her every move. It was unclear to me if his gaze was one of admiration or calculation. His pudgy little hands looked innocent enough while they rested on his lap, but they had often been used as the instruments of destruction and torture, like the time he had tried to clean my cat with Clorox or when he pulled out a fistful of hair from his swim instructor’s chest.