Page 76 of Malibu Rising

Greg put his hand on Tarine’s shoulder comfortably—and that is when Nina realized her twenty-seven-year-old friend was dating a man who was at least fifty.

Nina made her way over and Tarine smiled at her. Nina leaned in and gave her friend a tight hug. “I’m so glad you made it,” she said.

“Yes, well, I know it is the party of the century,” Tarine said.

“Greg, hi,” Nina said, shaking his hand. “Welcome.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Greg said. “I’m fond of your father. Some of my first big jobs were on his records. Great guy.”

Nina flashed her perfected smile. Brandon spotted them all and came to join the conversation.

“Hi, Tarine,” he said, raising his glass to her.

“Brandon,” Tarine said, her face blank. “A surprise.”

Brandon smiled and introduced himself to Greg. Greg shook Brandon’s hand and then looked around the living room, clocked the DJ.

“Any chance I can get behind that deck?” Greg asked.

Nina turned in the direction Greg was looking, at first not sure what he meant.

“Greg cannot stand it when another soul is in charge of what he is listening to,” Tarine said, holding Greg’s hand.

Brandon looked at their hands, intertwined together, for a moment too long, and something about the way he did it gave Nina the impression that he was less surprised about their age difference, and more surprised that Tarine was dating a black man.

“Are you kidding?” Brandon said, recovering quickly. “We would love to have you in charge of the ones and twos.”

Nina wasn’t sure what she cringed at more. Brandon trying to sound like Greg Robinson or Brandon saying “we” so casually.

“I’ll take you over,” Brandon said.

“I don’t want to upset your guy. I’m sure he’s great,” Greg said.

“No,” Brandon said, waving Greg off. “He gets paid either way. He’ll understandtheGreg Robinson is here.”

Greg laughed and then the two of them walked in the direction of the DJ, with the intention of breaking his heart.

“I need your best red wine, my love,” Tarine said, the moment they were out of earshot. “Not the low-shelf stuff you give to everyone. The stuff you reserve for people like me, please. It has been that kind of day.”

Nina laughed. Tarine could be completely and utterly obnoxious. But Nina simply didn’t mind. She admired the way Tarine never pretended to be anything she wasn’t, the way she was so confident inexactly who she had chosen to be, as if there were never any other option.

“I do not mean to be rude,” Tarine said. “Obviously. But there are men smoking cigarettes in saggy pants outside. I cannot drink the same wine as them.”

Nina laughed. “They’re drinking Coors from a keg.”

Tarine frowned and it was clear to Nina that she had never heard of Coors, did not have a context for it other than to know it was beneath her. “I suspect you are proving my point,” Tarine said.

Nina took her friend by the hand and brought her around the foyer to a small hidden door under the stairs. She hit four digits on the keypad and showed Tarine the wine cellar.

“Choose whatever you want,” Nina said and then she slipped her hand out of Tarine’s. “Just close it up after you take your bottle.”

“Do not think you are leaving me here,” Tarine said.

The music changed abruptly, from New Wave to Top 40. Nina watched as a rush of young women came running through the kitchen on their way to the living room. Tarine and Nina overheard one of them say, “No way is Greg Robinson here! No way!” The whole party got louder, everything elevated: the melody, the beat, the screams of excitement.

“I was going to see how things were faring outside,” Nina said as she pointed toward the lawn.

Tarine shook her head, raising her voice above the din herself. “No, you are not. You are going to stand here with me while I choose my bottle and then we are going to go somewhere and you are going to tell me why Brandon is here. I thought we were done with that snake.”

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