Page 70 of Malibu Rising

Nina had wandered away from Brandon and was talking to a group of young runway models by the front door. They wouldn’t stop asking her questions like who designed her skirt and what eyeliner she was wearing.

“Like, what are you doing for your skin? It’s fucking … radiant,” the tallest, lankiest one said. She was brunette with blue eyes and Nina had gathered, based on how often she kept bringing it up, that she’d walked in McLaren and Westwood’s Fall show last year.

“Oh, thank you,” Nina said, kindly.

“And what are you doing for crow’s-feet?” the sweeter-looking woman asked.

“What am I doing for crow’s-feet?” Nina asked.

“Like, to prevent it.”

“Oh, you know, just zinc when I’m surfing sometimes. And moisturizer,” Nina said.

“La Mer?” the taller one said.

“I don’t know what you’re asking me,” Nina said.

“La Mer,” said the sweeter-looking woman. “Crème de la Mer. The moisturizer?”

“I just use Noxzema,” Nina said.

The taller woman looked at the sweeter woman and they exchanged glances. Nina became overtaken with the sense, one she had often, that she wasn’t a very good model.

She pulled herself away from the group, as if someone had called for her. She continued to move through the party.

Brandon was holding court in the living room, talking to a crowd of photographers and artists that had gathered around the Lichtenstein hanging above the fireplace.

She watched Brandon from a distance, seeing his hands gesticulating wildly, everyone in rapt attention. She decided she needed a glass of wine and so she made her way toward the kitchen.

She waved as she walked past the surfers up from Venice who were sitting on her living room sofa drinking beers. She smiled at the three actors trying to pretend they weren’t doing coke off of her entry table. She said hello to the four women talking to each other aboutDynastyoutside her guest bathroom.

Before Nina could make it to the wine bar set up in the kitchen, a cocktail waitress came by with a tray of merlot and Nina smiled at her and took one.

“You have a lovely house, if you don’t mind me saying,” the waitress said. She was a redhead with green eyes. Nina liked her smile.

“Thank you,” Nina told her. “My husband picked it out.”

And then the waitress kept walking and Nina stood right in place, people moving all around her.

Actresses, models, musicians. Surfers, skaters, volleyball players. Agents and executives. Development assistants. Writers, directors, producers. Those two asshole comedians with that stupid movie everyone loved. Half the cast ofDallas.Three Lakers. It was barely nine o’clock and Nina already felt like everyone in the world was in her house.

She sipped the merlot in her hand slowly, with her eyes closed, breathing it in as much as tasting it.Can I go hide in my bedroom?

Suddenly, the DJ put on “1999” and it broke something open in Nina’s chest. Just the sound of Prince’s voice, the beat. This song, in this moment … Nina felt like she could leave the world behind—all the people,Brandon—and simply enjoy herself for a second.

She walked out onto her lawn to join the partygoers who had started to dance.

“All right! Nina! Gettin’ down to boogie,” a woman called to her from the mass of bodies moving. Nina looked up and saw Wendy, from the restaurant.

“You made it,” Nina said, smiling. She started bopping her buttfrom side to side, sliding her shoulders. She wasn’t much of a dancer but when you love the song, it doesn’t matter.

“It’s nice to see you like this,” Wendy said. Wendy was a much better dancer than Nina, a much more sexual dancer. Nina marveled at the freedom it took to hump blindly in midair like that.

“See me like what?” Nina called out, over the music.

“I don’t know, you seem lighter, maybe. Carefree?”

Nina wondered if everyone secretly thought she lived with a stick up her ass. And then she wondered if maybe she did.

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