Chapter 42

They surrendered to a passion that was complete but discreet, meeting at odd hours in one of those roadside motels up the coast—a holdover from the sixties—that was always described as ramshackle. It was long and white with Pepto Dismal pink walls, as Jade referred to them, and white wicker furnishings that looked as if someone had punched a few holes into them. But the rooms were surprisingly clean; the view of the ocean, lucent; and the manager, appropriately amnesiac.

“Welcome to Barbie’s Malibu beach house,” Alicia would say, opening the door to their room. “Pretend you’re my forbidden lover come to carry on a torrid, clandestine affair.”

“But I am your forbidden lover come to carry on a torrid, clandestine affair.”

“Oh, that’s right,” she cried, leaping into his arms and wrapping her thick, smooth legs around his back.