8:33 P.M., PST
As Anna walked back to the reception, she thought about Sam and was perplexed. Just when she’d been certain that Sam and company had been cast from the same mold as the three witches from Macbeth, Jackson Sharpe’s daughter had shown her more-than-human side. Anna almost kind of sort of liked her. And she felt as if Sam almost kind of sort of liked her, too.
Los Angeles was just so bizarre.
Like the Shakespearean crones, Sam proved to be a prescient soothsayer. As predicted, a couple dozen kids were happy to ditch the wedding reception. Also as predicted, Ben was among them, though he expressed a certain disbelief that Anna would voluntarily go someplace in a group that included Cammie Sheppard. But Anna had dealt with bitches before; her private school was full of them. Same shit, different coast, she figured.
There was, however, the issue of couture. The plan was that Ben and Anna would stop at Anna’s father’s house so she could change clothes. But as they drove away from the party, it occurred to Anna that she really didn’t want to stop at her father’s house. He might actually be there, in who knew what kind of state. And Anna didn’t want Ben to see him like that. There was no need for Ben to see all of Anna’s warts in one night.
On the other hand, she was wearing nothing but a skimpy lace chemise and Ben’s jacket, and it wasn’t as if there were a boutique open just for New Year’s Eve shoppers, though she kept her eyes open, anyway, as Ben steered west on Sunset Boulevard.
He rounded a bend and stopped at a red light. That was when Anna realized she’d been wrong. There actually was one store open—a large glass-fronted place on their left. The question was, did she have the nerve?
“Pull in there,” Anna said, before the saner portion of her brain could stop her. She nudged her chin in the direction of the store.
Ben’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “There? Are you sure?”
God, no. “Absolutely.”
“But … that’s a sex store,” Ben explained.
“I can see that,” Anna agreed. “The bondage mannequins in the window are a dead giveaway.” She gave him her brightest smile. “Let’s go.”
I am walking into Larry Flynt’s world-famous Hustler sex emporium hand in hand with Ben Birnbaum, Anna thought. I am not self-conscious. I am fine.
Anna hoped that if she kept that litany playing in her mind, she could prevent herself from melting into a puddle of embarrassment.
“That sign says this is the largest store of its kind in America,” Anna pointed out as they entered.
“You’ve never been to anyplace remotely like this before, have you?” Ben guessed.
“Not even close,” she confessed, relieved not to pretend that she was taking all this in stride.
The Hustler store sold everything from anatomically correct blow-up dolls to edible massage lotions to leather dominatrix outfits. It was jammed with customers planning to usher in the New Year, each in their own special way.
Anna and Ben dodged around a couple in matching chaps looking through the porn DVDs. Anna tried not to stare as across the aisle, a woman who’d obviously had more plastic surgery than Joan Rivers was heaping rubber goods into the arms of a studly man young enough to be her grandson.
Finally they found the clothing area, such as it was. Mostly see-through nighties with matching crotchless thongs, leather bras with the centers cut out, and a large selection of dominatrix boots.
“Not exactly Bloomingdale’s,” Ben opined. “Not that I’d mind seeing you in any of this stuff, you understand.”
“Hel-lo, I’m Carmen,” said a bass-voiced black clerk as he sauntered over. Carmen’s thigh-high, stiletto-heeled boots below red hot pants made him tower over both of them. He gave Ben a quick once-over. “And you, I’d love to help personally.”
“We’re fine,” Anna demurred. After the he-geishas, Anna was starting to feel as if cross-dressing was some kind of Los Angeles motif.
“I can see that,” Carmen agreed, his eyes locked on Ben.
Ben scratched his chin. “Okay. Nothing personal, but go away.”
“Well, just scream if you want me, Love Muppet. Kiss-kiss.” He added a wink for Ben’s benefit and sashayed off to assist other customers.
“It must be hard to get help on New Year’s Eve,” Anna said, trying to keep a straight face.
“No shit.”
Ben looked embarrassed, which was so cute that Anna felt emboldened. “I’ll make you a deal: I’ll pick one thing to try if you will, too.”
“I don’t know …”
“Oh, come on,” Anna coaxed, hardly believing her own audacity. She kissed him softly. “It’ll be fun.” She kissed him again, harder this time. One part of her was saying, “What the hell are you doing?” and another part of her was telling the first part to shut up. She felt like a snake, shedding one skin for another.
“How can I possibly say no to that?” Ben asked. “But I draw the line at wearing any of this shit out of the store.”
They shook on it. After much deliberation Anna chose some low-slung, leopard-print vinyl pants that zipped all the way around from the back to the front. She slipped into a dressing room and determined through experience that actually putting them on could be hazardous to a girl’s anatomy. They were very, very tight. On a whim, she rolled up the bottom of her chemise and knotted the material under her bust. Between the bottom of the chemise and the top of the pants, she was exposing more skin than she was covering. But she had to admit: she looked kind of sexy … in an incredibly lowbrow, sleazy sort of way. She could almost hear Cyn’s applause from the other side of America.
All righty, then.
She pulled open the curtain to the dressing room and stepped onto the sales floor. What she saw made her crack up. Ben had traded his tuxedo trousers for black leather chaps. “Where’s a photographer from the Princeton University newspaper when you need one?” Anna said, still laughing.
“Ha ha. I’m changing before Carmen decides to drag me home and make me his love slave. You, by the way, look fantastic.”
Anna looked down at the tacky pants. “This is so not me.”
“That’s what makes it so hot.” He kissed her lightly and returned to the dressing room. When he came out, they found Carmen. Ben paid him for Anna’s pants, then Anna slipped Ben’s tux jacket back over her new “outfit.”
“Buh-bye,” Carmen called as Ben and Anna pushed out of the store. “Hey, girlfriend? At the stroke of midnight, you ring that boy’s chimes for me.”
They stepped out into the brisk night. Anna had never felt so alive, so on the edge of possibility before, in her entire life.
Ring Ben’s chimes, huh? Anna thought. Carmen, I might just do that.