My weakness. It’s always irritated me, the way I can circle the lake, look at it, but never reach it. Trespassing is highly illegal, of course. Dangerous. There’s a circular concrete drain that looks like the place they used to drop the bodies of aged-out starlets. There are slippery cliffs and wild animals. Security patrols the perimeter twenty-four hours a day. In a city where people are tucked into every street corner, hidden in every crevice, where people camp on the islands that crop up on the LA River at low tide, this place is protected. Even the rich can’t access it.
It’s also beautiful: remote, disquieting. One of the few places in LA that no one can touch. The trees are green and wild. There are herds of roving deer. The water is baptismal blue. Even the air feels cleaner, fat with refreshment.
It’s like Margo’s gardens, exquisite but fenced in. The beauty is the trap.
* * *
WHEN I GET back to the house, the courtyard is empty. My muscles are tight, almost cramped, as I look for the man from yesterday, imagine all the places he could stuff his too-big body. I tell myself I’m scared of him, but really, I am scared of me.
I set my shoulders and start down the stairs. I am the predator. She is the prey. It’s just a game. I need to win. I walk softly, not wanting Demi to hear me coming.
When I reach the patio, there is a weird smell, sickly, like an artisan candle titled Sweat and Blood. I tell myself I am imagining it. I shake it off. I knock loudly on the door.
I feel her freeze, feel her like she is living inside me, renting space there.
I knock harder.
I hear footsteps approach. I have her right where I want her. She is walking right into my trap. The door opens a crack.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Hi.” Suddenly she pushes through it. She shuts it fast behind her, hiding what’s inside. She is standing on the patio in front of me, so close I take a quick step back.
She is dressed in sharp black heels, a bounteous black coat. Her skin glows. She crosses her arms. “Is there something wrong?”
“Not at all.” I step out toward the edge of the patio. The air is so close down here, it packs in my throat. The weird trees twitch overhead. The hillside is coated with vines with heart-shaped leaves. “I just wanted to check in after yesterday. That man—”
“I’m fine. Thanks.” She is dismissing me but I don’t mind it. In fact, I enjoy the discomfort it causes, my not leaving, invading her space. I turn on my toes, face her.
“You’ve been home a lot this week,” I point out. Has she been fired? Was her whole job a ruse? Is anything real? Is everything a game?
“I’m working remotely now,” she explains. “So, you know, I’ll just be in here on my own a lot, working. It’s better if I’m not disturbed.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
I approach the stairwell like I’m going to leave, but I’m not. I have no plans to leave and I wonder if she can sense that, if that is why her eyes are so wide. “I wanted to ask you: I go for a walk every day around the reservoir. I thought you might like to come.” It’s not a question. That’s intentional. “I thought it might be nice for you to have a friend in the neighborhood.” I stretch my lips in a smile. It hurts a little.
She tugs her ponytail. “That’s sweet of you,” she says but her words are prickly. She twists her neck and gazes back at the house. “But I can’t right now.” She reaches for the doorknob.
“I’ll come back later.” A lunge.
“You don’t need to.” A parry.
“I’m sorry.” I’m not. “The thing about living here . . .” Does she ever blink? “Margo is very particular about her tenants. We like them to be friends. Family, even.” I can practically see the hairs on her neck rise but she holds her own, holds her breath. “This is Margo’s house after all. So is mine. We’re all living in her home. It’s important that we all know one another so we feel comfortable.” I am making her uncomfortable. “Do you understand?”
“I think . . . I get it.” Good. “If you just give me a second to change, I’ll meet you upstairs.”
She waits for me to start up the stairs before she opens the door. I imagine a wall of televisions playing security camera footage focused on my every move. A small armory. An earpiece that connects her directly to Margo. She has an attack; we have a riposte!
I’m paranoid, but anything is possible—that’s the thing. When you have the means, anything is possible. I reach the courtyard and perch on the edge of the fountain, muscles poised, mouth twitching, ready for her.