San Diego Noir

The cross was at the top of the mountain. Parking surrounded it, and walking paths, mostly used by tourists and lovers who looked out at the nearly 360-degree view and made out in the dark. Everyone who had been there more than once knew to dim their lights when they pulled into the little circle. People fought about the cross all the time, since it’s on public land. One side considered it an inappropriate display of religion, the other insisted that its value is historical, not specifically religious, and it should be left alone. A few years earlier someone had decided to get around the controversy by converting it into a war memorial honoring anyone whose family ponied up the money to buy a plaque. When I was up there, I barely saw the cross, because it was in the center of the circle and the view was on the outside.

I made it there in ten minutes. She was five minutes late. That left me plenty of time to wonder about what she wanted, why she hadn’t wanted me to come to the house. Time to wonder, and fantasize.

When she emerged from a black Lexus IS F10, I didn’t wonder anymore. I didn’t do anything but stare.

She was fully dressed this time, in a blue tank top and faded jeans that clung to her thighs like a sheen of perspiration. Her hair was loose, like before, and if anything she looked even sexier. More relaxed.

I was glad one of us was relaxed, because I was buzzing. On fire.

“Hello, Mike,” she said.

“What … what can I do for you, Mrs. Paulson?”

“Please, Mike. Sharon.”

“Okay, Sharon. What did you need to see me for?”

She shot me a you’re kidding look. “What do you see when you look at me, Mike? Be honest.”

I couldn’t be completely honest. “A very beautiful woman. Wealthy, happily married—”

She stopped me with an arched eyebrow and a waggled finger. “Don’t. Mike, don’t patronize me, please.”

“What?”

“Tell me what you see.”

“I see probably the most amazing woman I’ve ever encountered. Are you really real?”

“I don’t come from money, if that’s what you mean. Everything I’ve got is what I was born with. You like it?”

“It’s impressive. You’re impressive. Your husband is a lucky guy.”

“He gets what he wants, I get what I want. It’s a trade-off, but it works for us.”

“What do you mean?” I didn’t know why I felt so stupid around her, but apparently it wasn’t going away.

She came closer, enveloping me in a musky scent that made the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand up. It was feral and rich at the same time, and I didn’t want to exhale and let it go. She took my hand and walked me away from the cars, toward one of the overlooks.

The air was alive with a brittle clarity. I could see the lights of Del Mar and beyond, up the coast. Looking back the other way, while waiting for Sharon, I had seen SeaWorld and downtown San Diego and Mexico past that. Closer in was the working-class community of Clairemont, and below us La Jolla glittered, then dropped off to black at the coastline.

“Like I said, I don’t come from money. I need it, though, and do what I need to do to get it. My mom’s not well, and my little brother … he’s got MS, we don’t know how long he’ll live but while he does he needs special care, special equipment. Terry’s generous. But he doesn’t give me everything I need.”

“Like what?”

“What do you think? I’m a young woman, Mike. I have needs. Terry is kind, he’s gentle, but …” She let the sentence trail off. By now even I had figured out where she was going, but I wasn’t going to let her not lead the way. I stayed quiet, and she picked up where she’d left off. “Viagra’s great, but at a certain point, the world’s finest chef could prepare his finest meal, and a man who’d just eaten a three-pound steak wouldn’t touch it. Availability and appetite are two different things. I’m lucky if he wants it once a week.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. It was stupid, but I was at a loss for words. “I’m sure you could get—”

“There are plenty of guys I could get. The question is, which one do I want?”

She pushed me down on a bench and stood in front of me, hands on my shoulders, leaning in, letting her breasts brush my face. “See, I have a much bigger appetite than Terry does. I’m just about always hungry.” She ran her hands down my chest, lowering herself to her knees in front of me, and clawed at my zipper. I sat on the bench, hands pressed against the cool stone, feeling her heat on me and my response to it, and at the same time feeling like a trout that had just bit into a nightcrawler only to find a barbed hook hidden inside.