LADY

Chapter 1

It was the end of summer, the heat had arrived harsh and bright, bleaching the sidewalks and choking the flowers before they had a chance to wilt. The freeways shimmered, any hotter and they might crack, might explode, and the poor cars would confetti into the air. People were complaining, they were moving slowly. They were swarming the beaches like tiny bugs upon the backs of dead animals. I preferred to stay home: ice cubes in the dog bowl, Riesling in the freezer. The air conditioner was broken. I had taken to sitting in the living room with the curtains drawn, my body edged with sweat like frosting on a cake, daring to see how hot it could get. I ate salad for dinner every night and had almost checked myself and the boys into a hotel. I’d refrained because of the babysitter search. What would applicants think if I requested they meet me poolside at the Roosevelt? Instead I waited. It didn’t take long for the job hunters to come calling.

The doorbell rang eight minutes ahead of schedule and I jumped. This was the first interview. I’d been fluffing and re-fluffing the couch pillows, adjusting my ponytail.

When I opened the front door, a gust of gritty air came rushing at me and I felt its particulates dirtying my lungs. A young woman stood on the welcome mat, smiling so wide I could see where her gums webbed into her mouth.

I’d expected her to be pretty, almost all young women in L.A. are, especially those raised here, the beauty’s in the tap water, but she was plain-looking, her wide, hazel eyes too far apart, her dark blond hair thin and flat.

“Esther?” I finally said.

I knew she didn’t go by her full name, but “S” felt so pretentious, as if she’d rebranded herself at sleep-away camp.

“Please,” she said. “Call me S.”

I admired her assertiveness. “S it is then. Come in.”

She was wearing a cheap floral-print dress and leather sandals. The dress was loose where it should have been fitted and it accentuated her wide hips. As my mother might have said, the poor girl doesn’t know how to dress her own body. Know thy size and shape. Being female is a lifelong lesson that starts with how to wipe (front to back), and ends only with death, graceless always. Clearly, this young woman hadn’t been properly instructed.

With another gummy smile she stepped into the house. There was no hesitation.

“Sorry it’s so stuffy in here,” I said. “The air conditioning isn’t working—something’s wrong with the ventilation system. It needs to be completely rehabbed. I keep hoping the heat will break, but it just gets hotter and hotter. I’m sure there’s a wildfire or two in our future. Maybe the whole city will just burst into flames. That might be kind of fun, actually.”

I realized I was babbling and shut my mouth. S still hadn’t said any- thing, she was too busy taking in the high-beamed ceiling of the living room and the framed prints on the wall: the antique circus poster, the black-and-white photograph of a Pizza Hut that my sister-in-law Kit had taken and given to me and Karl as a wedding gift. I wondered if she’d ask for it back.

S walked closer to the photo and I recalled that she had graduated with a minor (a minor!) in art. In an email she’d written that she loved the Pre-Raphaelites.

“Was there traffic coming up the hill?” I said.

“Not too bad,” she replied,...