Page 77 of There is No Devil

“You’ll be fine. I’ll set an alarm.”

“Alright,” she agrees, sighing in relief. “Otherwise I’ll be exhausted.”

We settle in at the Chateau Marmont, where I’ve booked us a suite overlooking Sunset Boulevard. I thought Mara would like its architecture and the Old Hollywood history.

“Howard Hughes lived here,” I tell her. “Desi Arnaz would come stay whenever he was fighting with Lucille Ball. Bette Davis almost burned it down—twice. And Sharon Tate moved out of the hotel six months before she was killed. John Belushi and Helmut Newton both died here.”

I looked all this up beforehand, knowing it would interest her. Mara likes anything historical, tragic, or glamorous.

“The hotel’s in lots of movies, too,” I continue. “La La Land … A Star Is Born …”

“Really?” Mara gasps. “La La Land’s one of my favorites.”

“I know,” I laugh. “You play that one song from it all the time.”

“That’s right,” Mara says, pleased that I remembered.

Our room isn’t as luxurious as some of the places I’ve stayed, but Mara is never picky. She runs around the room, admiring the old-fashioned furniture and striped wallpaper.

She’s keyed up about the interview, equal parts giddy and terrified.

“I always think I want attention until I actually get it … I hope I don’t say something weird that gets turned into a meme. Like when Brett Kavanaugh told everybody he was a virgin in school, and for ‘many years after.’ ”

Mara shudders, imagining her face splashed all over templates.

“All publicity is good publicity.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“It is when you’re this hot,” I say, seizing her and throwing her down on the bed, which creaks and groans beneath her.

“Wait,” she says. “Give me the Ambien first.”

“You sure? Those things are strong.”

“Yeah. I like that floating feeling in sex. Like I’m half in my body and half out. Like you could do anything to me …”

My heart rate spikes as a gallon of adrenaline dumps into my bloodstream. I have to bite down hard on the inside of my cheek to keep control of myself.

“You kinky little fuck.”

I hand her the small pink pills and a bottle of water stamped with the hotel’s logo. Mara tosses down the pills, chugging half the water as well.

“Perfect.” She grins.

She’s full of rowdy energy, amped up with nerves and excitement. She pushes me back on the bed, saying, “Sit there.”

I lean back against the pillows, waiting to see what this wild little thing has in mind.

Mara is the only person on this planet from whom I occasionally take orders, purely out of curiosity. No matter how much time I spend with her, I still can’t predict exactly what she’ll do next. That’s why she’s endlessly fascinating to me. She doesn’t fall into routine. She doesn’t pick the obvious choice. And she sure as fuck doesn’t behave herself.

Mara takes my Bluetooth speaker out of her suitcase, the one that usually resides in the bathroom. She sets it up on the dresser, streaming music from her phone.

The Devil is a Gentleman – Merci Raines

Spotify → geni.us/no-devil-spotify

Apple Music → geni.us/no-devil-apple

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