Page 110 of Enthrall
CAMERON’S WESTSIDE HOME SAT right on the front of Venice Beach’s boardwalk.
These eclectic properties were apparently worth millions despite their modest size. On the other side of Cameron’s gray painted home lay a promenade lined with strolling tourists, vendors selling homemade wares, as well as artists, poets, and pot heads. The place buzzed with its own unique arty flavor.
I knocked several times on his front door.
After no answer, I tried the doorknob and to my astonishment it opened.
“Hello?” I stepped inside the slim entranceway, questioning Cameron’s sense of security and hoping this really was his place.
The decor leaned toward an eerie sparseness. Brick walls with their numerous black and white prints gave a mere suggestion someone had tried to make the place homey. The minimalist theme of a couple of armchairs and a leather sofa gave an airy feel. Several barstools ran along a kitchen counter, though the open-plan kitchen itself looked bare. A fridge, a coffeemaker, and a flashy microwave were the only appliances. Tucked in the corner of the countertop was a full wine rack with two long stemmed glasses beside it.
Voices carried from upstairs. I moved in that direction, hoping I’d gotten the address right.
Beyond this sitting room lay a courtyard with patio furniture in the center. Tourists ambled along the pathway on the other side of that short wall and beyond that lay the beach. I wondered why anyone would want to be so close to so many strangers wandering by. Within the courtyard, resting up against a wooden fence, were two surfboards side by side. The first was a dark blue Billabong board and next to it rested a slightly shorter one with a mermaid fading away from years of use. A surreal moment came over me as I recognized it.
“Mia?”
I spun round to see Tara standing in a doorway. She wore a skinny bikini, her hair wet and tangled from what looked like a morning of surfing.
“Tara?” I said. “What are you doing here?”
Cameron appeared behind her. He’d wrapped a plush white towel around his waist, perhaps from having just taken a shower. He looked so different from the Cameron I’d seen last night, when he’d dressed in a tux and hosted his party, or more appropriately an evening of debauchery.
I felt like a criminal. “The door was open.”
“Everything all right?” said Cameron.
“You’re friends?” I said.
Which was ridiculous, with Tara standing there and with her having worked at Enthrall. She’d also spent time with Cameron at my housewarming. These two looked like they really knew each other.
“It’s not what you think.” Her frown deepened as she took in my clothes.
Richard’s shirt and shorts looked odd on me, and from the way Cameron eyed me up he thought so too. I wondered if he could see I’d been crying.
The quiet made me feel awkward, and at the same time I felt upset for Bailey.
“We’re just friends,” said Tara, as though reading my mind. “I come down here to surf. That’s all.”
My gaze took in Cameron and his bare chest, his messed up hair, and his confident air that could stun a Stingray.
“Coffee?” He edged past me and sauntered into the kitchen.
Unable to grasp this terrible revelation, I turned away from her and faced Cameron, watching him place a filter in the machine. He opened a packet of coffee and poured the grounds into the filter. With a flick of a switch, he had the machine brewing.
“How’s my best friend?” he said.
I managed a nod.
“Last night?” he said. “How did it go?”
“Good.” I recalled Richard and I making out on that sun lounger beneath the trees. Even though we didn’t go all the way it was still pretty dreamy.
Right up until our Hadron Collider crash this morning.
Cameron arranged three mugs on the countertop. “I’m delighted to see you of course, but usually what follows a night of romance is breakfast with your beau.”
I neared the other side of the counter and sat on a barstool.
