Chapter 1: L.A. Woman
There was a word for it: meetingitis.
These days the board could meet up to three times a week just to talk themselves into oblivion. Sometimes the pie charts had not even changed, the curves had kept their shape, and the speeches had found different words to tell the same thing. Still, an emergency focus group had to gather up for any misplaced comma in a report.
All it needed was a word, a phonecall, a nod to an assistant. An order. From the elder, Richard. No reason ever invoked, not even the Layman building project so close to launch; there were the weekly meetings and there were the unscheduled meetings and everyone had to be there.
One reason could have been that Richard Andrew was the kind who liked to hear himself talk, this was obvious, but the motivation which always spilled through his smile was that it was important to show the Andrew siblings were up to the task of ruling the company. And by siblings he meant himself. As behind the talk there was the scheme.
Here was a man who wanted to bore his two sisters away. It had been clear from the day the parents had died and the four children had inherited the big machine, then it got blatant when Marcus, the middle brother, dropped from a brain aneurysm. It wasn’t even a year ago. And only a few months after the plane crash that had made them orphans and definitively adults.
More grief for them. More shares too. They used to be four. Now they were three. Richard, thirty-one; Victoria, twenty-six; Madison, twenty-five. Against a ruthless, restless world.
And the thing is, he was right. Victoria hated all this. She didn’t have much interest in the company besides the money it brought her. Being a trust fund baby was no problem to her. No guilt. Only the sunny fastlane through life.
Driving downtown to sit and look at her brother’s lackeys commenting over a Google Slide was not her idea of fun, even with a 23% stake.
Yet she would not sell. Not while those motherfuckers Störme-Sterne Pharmaceutical were elbowing their way to get 4% more. Not while b-hole big bro had his own 23. And not while her baby sister was so relentlessly harassed to give up hers.
Sweet little Maddie, still wearing cheap sneakers and not gonna comb her mop, and ten times a millionaire.
Victoria looked at her. She was sitting across from her at the long table, as usual.
No, not as usual. It was relatively new, actually.
Madison was squirming in her leather chair thinking about the moment she could go back to some contemporary art studio where she would pretend to be fascinated by some “artist” and make some money off one of his overthought doodles.
The Andrews were cynical pricks, each in their own way.
The two women’s eyes met, only for a brief moment, and it closed the circuit reviving the butterflies in their stomachs. For that brief moment they were not so cynical. They were true, and fragile.
Or maybe the cynicism was even worse. Bordering on plain wrong. And that was making Victoria squirm in her chair.
Maddie chewed on her pen cap. Vic curled her toes inside her Louboutins.
Parents dead. Brother dead. Should it be an excuse to go insane? Unsane? They wanted so bad to be out of here to answer the question.
It was only a matter of hours now.
Richard concluded his rambling about their concrete empire. Always so eloquent in the spotlight. Fifteen suits listening, a few interns and two girls fidgeting about.
“Next meeting tomorrow morning, restricted panel, 10 sharp at the Layman site,” he finally said. “Victoria, you’ll pick up your sister so she’s on time.” It was an order.
Already the girls were standing up, nodding vaguely, stretching out, as everybody followed in a rattle of chairs and clothes and shoes.
Richard was the only one staying put. Like he owned the place. He did. He sat back in his chair, at the head of the table. His secretary was gathering his stuff.
He added, just to be his usual asshole: “Madison, going to a fashion show? Bring some drummer boy home?”
Or some drummer girl? Victoria thought.
“Vicki, mani-pedi? The gym perhaps?”
They both nodded again at his ignored presence, already on their way out, above his sarcasms, which he had learned to veil inside a faultless smiling chuckle, perfected up to three times a week.
He was barely paying attention anyway, his phone about to meet his ear. Vic and Maddie left the room, waved at the few employees in the procession they really liked.
Not a word in the elevator. Seven people there with them. Three lattes. Four briefcases. One undiagnosed burnout. All strangers. They shared the office building with Deep Green Alliance. They had no idea what this company made. It wasn’t their world.
But the underground parking garage was restricted to the execs. So now they were only two.
A glance. A sigh. Shoulders drooping briefly. But not a word. And no goodbye when the doors opened and they walked out, parted.
Maddie took a second and a twist of the neck to spot her old Fiat 500e, having forgotten where she had parked it. Meanwhile, Victoria had unlocked her Porsche SUV.
“Hey, I never told you.”
She turned around, to hear what it was that Maddie had never told her.
“You car makes you look like a divorced woman.”
“You’re wrong,” Vic replied, her voice echoing across the empty space. “Divorced women have white cars.”
Hers was fiercely red.
And she proved her point by bursting out of there in a gust of screeching tires and roaring first gear.
Yes, she would hit the gym. She was on her way. She may not be a divorced old crone, at twenty-six she started to look her age, or at least feel her age. And she liked exercising anyway, up to three times a week. She didn’t need a reason, did she?
“Just you wait, you little twerp,” Victoria whispered at the windshield, thinking about tonight.
Tonight she would feel twenty-five. She would feel eternal, infinite. She hoped.
She smiled.
* * * * *
It rained over Holmby Hills that evening, yet Victoria had parked her car on the huge alleyway of her house. Away from the garage, away from the front door. Just to wait there. And be at the right angle to see anyone driving through the gate.
Exceptionally today, she had taken her shower at the gym instead of doing it later at home. She could sit and wait without her car smelling like a sock.
The L.A. rain was clattering on the roof. She was brooding. It was so unlike her. She could be in her living-room. But no.
As planned, Çolak, the head of security, left his shift early. It meant it was 8pm. Fuck me. Victoria tapped her left foot on the brake pedal and her right thumb on the wheel. She had a ring on that finger; it made a noise. It instantly annoyed her.
The man ran toward and into the staff garage, his vest over his head. A minute later he drove past her and they exchanged a nod. Victoria hoped the tinted windows obscured her blushing enough.
He was gone. She was alone in her 15,000-square-foot mansion till tomorrow.
It wasn’t the first time. She liked to have people do everything for her but on some nights she liked to be perfectly on her own.
It could have been one of these nights.
Of course she’s gonna be late.
But she was staying in her car and watched the sun setting behind the mantle of clouds.
She had time to wonder if she should start biting her fingernails again after twelve years of abstinence. Yet it wasn’t dark when she finally saw the headlights of the old Fiat in the distance.
Madison pulled up next to the Porsche and turned the engine off.
And just as her sister, she stayed inside sitting. She wasn’t surprised to find her there. She understood.
They looked at each other. They saw a soft smile beaming clear as day through the rain between their windows.
They were tempted to speak over the phone, but Maddie found better. As her smile grew wider, she raised her hand and showed three fingers.
As in Three, two, one, go.
Vic gestured, Waiwaiwait, ok, three… She mirrored the three fingers.
A pregnant few seconds passed. Then:
Two fingers.
One.
They got out. And ran to the house. Yelps of joy, feet crunching in the gravel, hair and clothes dodging the drops of rain, shoulders bumping, as they swept together.
They reached the front porch and they were so close together, almost fighting to be the first to open the door and drag the other within. But in this spinning movement they could see their faces saying the same Are we sure about this?
And also the same answer, though personalized:
Victoria was You came. I’m so happy, so scared that you came.
Maddie was Fuck ’em.
It was a tie. They crossed the threshold together. The door closed down behind them.
Their squabbly waltz became immediately awkward. Self-conscious. Self-aware.
“You hungry?” Vic said, which made Maddie laugh, like relief.
Yes, she was.
She cupped Victoria’s cheeks and pressed her lips on her lips.
They kissed, for the second time of their lives.
They kissed for such a long time that Maddie even dared to add a little wetness, and then a little tongue.
Nothing like their first time, a week ago, interrupting the most innocent hug (they thought), a stolen kiss then, almost, desperate, surprised. Dry and ashamed. A daring kiss, coming out of nowhere, and which had winced under the possibility of a slap or a scream or whatever violent reaction they feared from one another.
The screams and the violence had not happened, only disbelief and caution, some looks around, the quiet reaction to their forbidden love now revealed. Irreversible.
Or maybe not. Maybe they still had a way back. Maybe they wanted one, or feared one, or maybe they wanted to destroy it if there was one. Or they just didn’t know. And as absurd as it sounded, they had decided the best way to sort out what the clusterfuck just happened would be a meeting.
Dinner. Vic’s place. As usual.
In the meantime, they could deny the event. And replay it in their head over and over.
Or not.
Schrödinger’s feelings, Maddie called it.
Victoria responded to the tongue. Their hands too. And the hair on their forearms.
They kissed until Maddie wanted to hide her tears and pulled her sister against her.
They still hadn’t talked. They still didn’t.
As their chests touched, it was unlike any of the hugs they had before. They could feel the changed presence of their bras, their breasts, and underneath, way more obvious, hammering heartbeat.
A third kiss became increasingly necessary.
Victoria initiated. But their bodies getting closer and closer, their boundaries smashed to pieces, the two women realized they wanted to look each other in the eye. They wanted this obscene contact, sustained, of their gaze full of shame, lust and incomprehension. They had glimpsed it a week ago, they wanted it again, and now. So this third kiss went of a different kind: the snatched peck of lovers who don’t have to think about it anymore but at the same time that’s the whole point.
It made that cute squeaky popping sound.
They parted a bit, just enough. They revealed their tears. Victoria had some down her chin too. But nothing as intense as their eyes, looking at incest in the face.
They were looking for a question which had to do with time: When did you know? Why did we wait so long?
They knew none of those made sense. Their immemorial love and their impromptu love intertwined without beginning or end in nonsensical shapes they ultimately didn’t really care about.
Being so close in age, they grew up almost like twins, so time had no meaning, no arrow. They loved one another. They always had. The ways they expressed this love didn’t need some kind of logical progression, even toward such an aberrant extreme, all the milestones had always been already there, undealt.
It meant they could kiss before the first date was even a date at all. Right there, by the door.
It meant they could have sex and ask questions later.
Victoria felt a hand on her butt, and she didn’t mind that the girl this hand belonged to was tearing up at the same time. And laughing. And shaking her head like wondering what the hell they were doing.
Vic passed a hand through Maddie’s hair and nuzzled the inside of her neck, where it’s soft and warm.
She was wet. Maddie too, without a doubt.
And their bodies separated. As casually as a Monday morning. They both were hungry.
At last they turned toward the within of the house and walked.
They wouldn’t have to make any effort to have a normal dinner together. As normal as the thousands they had before this one, when they didn’t know they were in love. Maddie lit the candles. Victoria uncorked the wine.
They ate, they drank. Two, three times the chat and banter bent with romantic undertones. Left overlooked. All went smoothly, they thought. Weird loves could be compartmentalized, they thought. By the end of the meal, they were stuck.
Dessert eaten, steaming espressos being blown on, eyes staring into eyes when they dared. The very new problem they had not expected was that neither of them could remember what they did usually after a date dinner with someone.
Or even: “And what do we do usually when we spend the evening together?”
“Damn, I don’t know either.”
Everything was different.
“There’s the Succession finale.”
“You wanna watch TV??”
“Should we maybe… You know, initially we were here to…address the problem?”
“There’s a problem?”
“No.”
The one who had said this stood up, walked around the table and brought a tender kiss upon the other.
Fourth time ever.
“We were never here to talk, weren’t we?” Victoria asked.
“Guess not.”
“Should we bring the candles to the bedroom?”
It wasn’t out of place. It was out of time.
“Y-yea…” Maddie said in a murmur.
Are we…sure about this?
… Yes.
They had so many questions left, the most obvious one would have been Have you ever had sex with a woman? but instead they trotted hand in hand to the huge bed and sprawled over it, giggling and pushing, pretending they weren’t terrified.
But they couldn’t fight on the bed like when they were kids. They were here for a grown-up thing today.
So they had a moment of silent hesitation. It was part of the movement. Looking each other, searching each other.
Vic rolled to her side. With a hand she positioned Maddie on hers, face to face, close enough that they could touch each other’s nose.
Again their bras touched. Their zippers touched. Their toes touched. Couldn’t separate ever again.
“Isn’t it weird that I’ve already seen you naked so many times?”
They chuckled.
“Isn’t it weird that I’ve already told you I love you so many times? Before you were my date.”
“I wanna make love to you, Vic.”
This last one left them both speechless. Even Maddie couldn’t believe it had just slipped out of her mouth. And there were so many questions that could burst out from this statement, like as many different directions. Things like,
‘It’s weird, right?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Sick?’
‘I dunno…’
or
‘What happens if we become lovers? What happens tomorrow?’
‘I don’t know.’
but they had better things to do than asking.
“I want to be with you too, Madison. I want to um—” Victoria fumbled for words. She wanted to phrase it differently. “I want to…yes…to make love with you. I want it.”
And touched by her sister’s awkwardness, Maddie resorted to asking away: “So is that it? It was the only thing missing for us? Sex?”
“Shut up.”
“You shut up.”
Meanwhile, step by step, fabric separated as she was taking Victoria’s clothes off.
She herself felt fingers unhook her bra, felt a hand pulling on the hem of her shirt.
Vic hesitated. The questions came back with a vengeance. She asked, “You ever did it with a woman before?”
“You know I did.”
“No I don’t!” And now Victoria was shocked, and cheerful, and assailed by images of her sister deploying her sensuality onto the soft skin of another woman; a thing so unknown to her.
Maddie moved on with the irreversible disrobing and asked without malice: “Have you?”
“Never,” Victoria admitted while two hands were finally extricating her panties from her ankles. And now she was naked.
Maddie took a look at her handiwork. She saw her breasts, fake but in such a perfect way, almost unnoticeable. Perfect shape, perfect size, not too big, although bigger than hers. She would need some time to get confident enough to touch them in a sexual (and thus ravenous) manner. She saw her mons, so thoroughly waxed for so many years, nothing would grow back if she ever stopped. But this vision was cut short by the bumpy passage of her shirt over her face.
“…but I think I get the gist of it,” Victoria added while in one single move Maddie found herself clothesless and smothered by lips and wrapped in arms and legs.
Vic saw armpit hair and pubes. But she didn’t care that Maddie didn’t care much for grooming habits. She knew it actually was fashionable again. Had been for a few years now, according to magazines. Either way, it looked nice, she thought.
Like a secret. Yeah. Like a…
