Malibu Rising: A Novel - Taylor Reid (top 10 motivational books .TXT) 📗

Los Angeles, California 90077

After decades on the road, he had settled down in a home in Holmby Hills, less than thirty miles from his children. Five years ago, Kit had tracked him down. And since then, every single year, she addressed that envelope the exact same way.

This year was the first year he’d noticed.

• • •

Mick slipped his dress shoes on, grabbed his keys, and walked out the door.

He got in his brand-new black Jaguar and put his foot on the gas. He sped down Sunset Boulevard, toward the ocean, with a handwritten invitation sitting on the passenger’s seat.

It was just after midnight when Wendy Palmer took off her dress and slipped off her underwear. She stood there, bare, in the backyard, just to the side of the Jacuzzi, and then began to slowly step down into the steaming water.

The far corner of the Jacuzzi was in the far corner of the pool, which was in the far corner of the lawn. So only a few people saw her, at first.

Soon, Wendy was submerged in the bubbling water, floating over to the only other people in the Jacuzzi at that moment.

The two men stopped talking to each other in order to look at her. She smiled and raised her eyebrows ever so slightly. “Hi.”

Stephen Cross and Nick Marnell both stared at her, instantly intrigued. They were the bassist and drummer of a British New Wave band with the number three song in the country.

This was not the first time they’d found themselves in a Jacuzzi with a naked woman.

“Hi,” Nick said.

“Hello,” Stephen said slowly.

Wendy kissed Nick first. And then Stephen. And then moved them all into a spot where people could watch before continuing with her plan.

“Are we really doing this?” Nick mouthed to Stephen.

And Stephen shrugged.

And so it began. Just as Wendy wanted.

Wendy had come to the party with the intention of having sex with two hot guys while people watched. She didn’t want people to watch her for their sake. She wasn’t trying to entertain anyone. She was not there for anyone’s amusement but her own. This was something she’d always wanted to do. She’d thought about doing it from time to time when she got a little too drunk or found herself pressed up against a man, wishing they weren’t alone. But she’d known when she woke up that morning that if she was ever actually going to do it, it had to be tonight.

Because the Riva party was Wendy’s last hurrah.

It was time to leave Los Angeles. She had made the decision to give up on her acting career, quit her job at Riva’s Seafood, and end the lark once and for all. Soon, her partying days would be over, too.

She’d grown homesick for Oregon. And she had finally decided that it was time to go home and marry the son of her father’s best friend.

His name was Charles and he had loved her since they were children. She, a waiflike blond girl with a headband. He, a brown-haired, round-faced sweetheart who always picked up his toys. Now, Wendy was small-town gorgeous in a big city. And Charles was losing his hair at the age of twenty-six.

Last Christmas, Charles had confessed to Wendy that he still loved her. “If you told me to wait, I would …” he’d said in the hallway of her parents’ house on Christmas Eve, just as her mother was setting the ham down for dinner. “I’d wait if there was even a small chance.”

Wendy had kissed Charles on his cheekbone. And they’d both walked away from it suspecting she would make her way back to him.

When she returned to L.A. right after New Year’s, she could smell the smog the second she landed at the airport. Her studio apartment depressed her. She kept being called in to audition for the roles of nagging girlfriends and nagging wives. She kept losing the parts to Valley girls who raised their voices at the ends of their sentences as if everything they said was a question. The only part she scored was to writhe around in a bikini on top of a sports car. They had teased her hair with so much Aqua Net, she had to wash it four times afterward.

When her agent told her that at the age of twenty-six she was too old to play Harrison Ford’s girlfriend, Wendy knew she was going home.

She would marry the sweet man with the thinning hair and the money. And she would have kindhearted children, whom she would love with all of her heart. And she would probably gain some weight. She would lose herself for long stretches of time, when the rush of dance recitals and sleepovers and basketball games took over with such force that her own personality began to drift away. But that was all OK by her. That life now sounded sort of wonderful.

This morning, she had booked a one-way ticket to Portland. She was leaving L.A. for good next Tuesday.

But first, she needed to fuck two rock stars in a Jacuzzi while everyone watched.

Lara had gone to the bathroom at least ten minutes ago, so Jay was killing time. He was by the fireplace in the living room talking to Matt Palakiko, a retired surfer. As a teenager, Jay had idolized Matt. He’d even stuck some of the photos of Matt’s greatest waves on his bedroom wall. But now Matt was a father to twins and lived back home on the Big Island of Hawaii. He was in L.A. for the week taking meetings about licensing his name for swimwear.

Jay was listening to Matt talk about how the purity of surfing had returned to him when he stopped competing.

“But that’s a ways off for you, man. You have a long career ahead of you,” Matt said. “Everybody’s saying so.”

“Thank you,” Jay said, nodding.

“And, look, if you play