Page 60 of Malibu Rising

“Cool,” Jay said, pulling his keys out of the ignition.

Jay got out of the truck, but Hud sat for an imperceptible second longer, processing the fact that he was—to put it mildly—completely fucked.

The doorbell rang.

Nina was teasing her hair in the bathroom. She looked at the clock: 6:51P.M.So eager,she thought. But the world is full of all kinds of people and some are the kind who show up for a party before it even starts.

Nina opened her bedroom door and saw Kit considering herself in the mirror in the hallway and Jay coming up the stairs.

Jay was shocked to find his little sister in such a tiny shirt but, after this morning with the dress, he knew better than to say anything.

“Can you open the door?” Nina said to both Kit and Jay but to neither one of them in particular.

“Yeah, sure,” Jay said, turning back around.

Hud was stacking the extra liquor in the pantry. He came into the foyer to answer the door at the same time Jay reached the bottom of the stairs. And so, somewhat embarrassingly, they opened the door together.

There, in a pair of Dockers and a Breton striped light sweater over a polo shirt, stood floppy-haired Brandon Randall.

Jay, with his hand holding on to the side of the door, had the impulse to slam it shut. Hud, with his hand on the inside door handle, was inclined to open it farther to see what the hell Brandon wanted. And so, with the push and pull of the two brothers, the door stayed where it was.

“Hi,” Brandon said.

“Brandon?” came a voice from behind them. Nina had reached the foot of the stairs and was stunned at the sight in front of her.

“Hi, Neen,” Brandon said, taking a step into the house.

“What are you doing here?” Nina imagined that he had come topick up some clothes or grab something from the safe. But as she watched the look on Brandon’s face—soft, hopeful—she felt a pit in her stomach, worried he was going to say …

“Can we talk?”

Nina breathed in deeply without even realizing it. “Uh …” she said. “Sure. Come on upstairs, I guess.”

Jay and Hud watched as Brandon followed Nina up to the second floor. Kit, coming down, froze when she saw them. She stood there on the landing as Nina and Brandon walked past her, a look of disbelief on her face. When they were finally out of sight, Kit looked at Jay and Hud and said, very plainly, “What the fuck.”

• • •

Nina walked into the master bedroom—her bedroom? their bedroom?—and gestured for Brandon to join her. She found herself unable to decide what to say to him, what to even think of his being there.

“What is going on?” she asked.

“I love you, Nina,” Brandon said. “I want to come home.”

1981

It was February ’81. Brandon was doing a series of photo shoots for the cover of theSports PagesApril issue. It was timed to publish ahead of the French Open, one of many contests he was the favorite for in the upcoming year. The plan was to feature him playing tennis in what would look like exotic and unexpected locales. Fortunately, Southern California can deliver beaches, deserts, and snowcapped mountains.

After shooting a day in Big Bear and a day in Joshua Tree, Brandon and theSports Pagesteam set up shop just in front of the Jonathan Club, a Santa Monica beach club right on the water.

At that very hour, Nina and Kit were seated at one of the tables at the restaurant by the sand. They had decided to go out for lunch—Nina’s newfound cash flow making certain parts of the coast available to them that had never been available before. Such as a beach club with white cloth napkins and four different types of glasses at the ready. It was still unusual to them, not entirely natural. Nina didn’t like how subservient the waiter was to her. Kit thought the other patrons were all assholes.

Brandon was down the beach a distance, in the sand, wearing his tennis whites, holding a black racket, angled in front of a camera, the ocean to his back. He was tall and sturdy, with sandy brown hair, and mild features—average-sized blue eyes, wide cheekbones, thick eyebrows. His face was attractive but forgettable, as if fate had not taken a single risk in composing it.

“Who is that?” Kit asked, watching him. There was a break between shots and Brandon sat down on a milk crate, holding a bottle of Perrier. “I know that I know him but I don’t know where from.”

“I think he’s a tennis player,” Nina said, picking at her salad. Bythis point, per her agent, Chris’s instruction, Nina had already cut out all cheese, butter, and desserts. She’d lost eight pounds. “You stay slim, you get rich,” he’d said to her. Nina had bristled when she heard it but still, she obeyed. And now she found herself quickly growing tense anytime she was hungry. Her body was their whole cash cow.

Brandon took a sip from his Perrier and then screwed the top back on. He stood up, ready to get back to work. And as he did, his sight landed on the patio in front of him and then zeroed in on Nina.

---