A small smile touched the corners of her mouth. 'Kylie, you're one of a kind,' she said. 'You really are.'
I left her sitting on my bed communing with Julia Roberts, and went to have a shower myself, but not before I said to Ariana, 'You won't choof off the moment I get under the shower, will you?'
'I guess that means skip out on you. I'm exhausted, Kylie. I'm too tired to even think about getting up and leaving.'
She wasn't kidding. Sparkling clean, wrapped in a terry toweling robe, I bounded out of the bathroom to find Julia Roberts and Ariana curled up on my bed, both sound asleep.
Still in her jeans and T-shirt, her blond hair spread across the pillow, she slept like a child, relaxed and vulnerable. I didn't want to disturb her, so I turned out the light and, still wrapped in my robe, eased myself onto the bed beside her. Julia Roberts sighed, leaped gracefully to the floor, and left us. Three, apparently, was a crowd.
I may have dozed a little, but the delight of having Ariana's sleeping self beside me kept me pretty much alert. Her breathing was slow and easy. There was enough reflected light in the room for me to discern her unguarded face. I thought there was a real possibility my heart would melt with tenderness.
Ages passed. The world spun on its axis, unheeding. She lay within the crook of my arm. I didn't wish for morning, even though my arm had a severe case of pins and needles. I heard the cadence of her breathing change, and realized she was awake. After a few moments, she said, 'Hi.'
'G'day.'
In the silence, I was conscious of the faint rumble of traffic on Sunset Boulevard. I eased my arm out from under her and flexed my fingers. 'Pins and needles,' I said. 'You're heavier than you look.'
Ariana gave a soft laugh.
'Crikey,' I said, 'that wasn't very romantic, was it?'
'Not very.' Her voice was husky.
Leaning on my elbow, I looked down at Ariana's face. In the near darkness the devastating blueness of her eyes was masked. My heart was hammering so hard I thought she must hear it. Perhaps she did. She slid her hand under my robe, encircled my shoulders, and pulled me down into a kiss, slow and deep.
The touch of her clothes against my bare skin was intoxicating. I felt her reach for her waistband. 'Don't undress, Ariana. Not yet.'
She made a soft, languorous sound as I ran my fingers down the seam of her jeans. I pushed up her T-shirt, kissed her stomach, stroked her nipples with my tongue.
'Kylie,' she said.
My name in her mouth ignited such longing, such passion that I heard myself moan. I'd reached the zenith. Afire, I knew I couldn't feel more, couldn't desire more. Then Ariana touched me, and I found I'd only brushed the edges of ecstasy. I muffled my cries against her throat.
Ariana-cool, controlled Ariana-had vanished in an incendiary flash. She ripped the T-shirt over her head and tossed it aside. She lifted her hips as I peeled her jeans down, quivered as I tasted her.
She was lightning; she was quicksilver; she was my Ariana.
FIFTEEN
After making love with Ariana, anything else was set to be an anticlimax. On Saturday evening I arrived at the radio station at the appointed time. I'd been quite looking forward to sitting in the studio watching Pen, as Dr. Penny, dispensing advice to callers, but now my thoughts were fixed on something far more disturbing-and exciting.
As I parked my car in the lot beside the khaki-colored building that had seen better times, I reminded myself I had to collect a compilation of the suspicious calls that Pen had had made up from the master recordings of her show. My name had been given to security, so after I'd been thoroughly checked to make sure I was who I said I was and then provided with a badge reading VISITOR, Pen was summoned to collect me from the reception area.
Bubbling with enthusiasm, she punched the button to summon the lift at least ten times. 'That Lonnie of yours, he's quite a ladies' man,' she said. 'Sexy as all get-out.'
'Lonnie?' Chubby, dimpled Lonnie-sexy? Pen had to be referring to someone else.
'He did a great job installing the pinhole camera,' Pen continued. 'And he stayed for quite a while. We found we had so much in common.'
I visualized Lonnie next to the Amazonian Pen Braithwaite. He was shorter than me, so he'd probably be about her breast level. And Lonnie was a total technology freak, who didn't seem to have a private life at all. What could he and Pen possibly have in common?
'Now, don't tell Rube,' said Pen, smiling girlishly at me. 'He can get quite jealous at times, although we do have an open relationship.'
'There's nothing to tell Rube,' I pointed out. 'Lonnie just installed a surveillance unit for you.'
Pen's smile widened. She gave me an affectionate, one-armed squeeze that pushed most of the air out of my lungs. 'Little you know!' she said, following this with a hoot of laughter.
Could she mean it? Lonnie had written: 'Dr. Penny! Cool!' on the bottom of his note to me about the camera installation. But, Lonnie and Pen Braithwaite? Quite unexpected pictures danced in front of my eyes.
'I hope you'll be very happy together,' I declared.
'Speaking of happy,' said Pen, peering closely at me, 'you look positively sated, Kylie. Some wonderfully sensual experience?'
I knew I was blushing. 'Fair,' I said, offhand. 'Nothing to write home to Mum about.'
And that was true. My mum would never hear a word about my night with Ariana.
Thankfully at this moment the lift arrived with a tired wheeze, and Pen swept me into it. She jabbed the floor number multiple times. 'Come on,' she said, 'Come on!' The lift doors creaked arthritically closed.
'Bloody elevators,' said Pen. 'Got stuck in this one the other day. And I was by myself, worse luck. Now, if it gives up the ghost right now, it'll be you and me, Kylie, all alone. What do you say to that?'
'Help?'
'Love it,' said Pen, chuckling, 'that Aussie sense of humor.'
Heeding my urgent prayer, the lift opened on the correct floor. 'Better luck next time, eh?' said Pen, striding in the direction of double doors with an illuminated ON AIR sign.
We passed a window through which I could see a bloke at a console speaking animatedly into a microphone, although we could hear nothing until we entered the control room, where his voice was fed through speakers. He was giving news headlines: high-speed police pursuit of a carjacked SUV, influence peddling scandal in City Hall, gang-related shootout in one of the poorer L.A. areas, top movie star checks into upscale substance abuse clinic.
'Same old, same old,' said Pen.
In quick succession, she introduced me to several preoccupied people, each of whom said. 'Hi,' then went straight back to preparing for the coming program. One called Roger seemed to be in charge. Then I was bundled into a cramped studio, seated in a high-backed leather chair, and fitted with cumbersome earphones. 'Can you hear me?' boomed in my ears. I gestured to the sound engineer to indicate I could.
Then there was a lull in proceedings. Through the window between the control room and the studio, I could see Pen waving her hands around as she spoke to a diminutive woman who for some reason reminded me of an aristocratic whippet. If she'd been larger, I reflected, it'd have been a greyhound.
With nothing to distract me, my thoughts boomeranged back to Ariana. This morning we'd breakfasted together, and Ariana had been quiet but not cold. If anything, she'd been pensive, even sad. I'd silently admonished myself not to say too much. Any declaration of love, for example, was definitely not on the schedule. Both of us scrupulously avoided discussing our night together, and I managed not to impulsively blurt anything out about undying devotion over my porridge.
The rot had set in when I'd walked Ariana to her dark-blue BMW. She said a casual goodbye, slid into the driver's seat, shut the door, started the engine.
