Paullina Simons - The Tiger Catcher

“No, sunshine, of course it’s not true,” Ashton said, putting his broad arm around Riley’s shoulder and drawing her to him. Riley was tall, but Ashton was taller. “You heard him, he only said it to make Gwen feel better.” Icy blue glare from Ashton’s ice blue eyes. “Right, Jules?”

Julian swore under his breath. “Ash is right,” he said. “I only said it to make Gwen feel better.” He closed his fist around his sharp keys.

“Julian, you’ve always had trouble talking through things.” Riley was using her calm, psychoanalytical voice. “You’re a little broody, you keep your emotions bottled up. That’s not good. You keep acting like nothing’s bothering you …”

“Nothing is bothering me.”

“And then, instead of working things out, you tell Gwen you met somebody.”

“But I did,” Julian said, “meet somebody.”

“Shut up,” Ashton said. “Stop making everything worse with your talking.”

“I already told you, Gwen’s agreed to make changes,” Riley said. “While she doesn’t condone your passive-aggressiveness, she’s willing to do what needs to be done to re-commit to you.”

“Let me get this straight,” Julian said. “My breaking up with Gwen to her face is passive-aggressive, but her sending a proxy to discuss our relationship, that’s facing the matter head on?”

The unflappable Riley continued; she had a list to get through on her way to the cherry tomatoes. “Gwen says she’s willing to go to a boxing match with you in Vegas if that’s what you want.”

“That’s not what I want.”

“She will also,” Riley went on, “stop hassling you to get a real job.”

“That might be good advice not just for Gwen,” Ashton said.

Riley flipped up her exquisitely manicured hand to stop Ashton from speaking. “Excuse me,” she said. “I can’t deal with you right now. I’m trying to salvage their relationship.” She took an exasperated breath. “Gwen also said,” Riley continued, resuming her professional, no-nonsense manner, “that she’d be willing to do that other thing you want to do with her that she’s been saying no to.”

“That might be good advice not just for Gwen,” said Ashton.

“Ashton Bennett, this is not the time for your jokes! Jules, my opinion?” Riley airbrushed over her body. “It would help you spiritually if you had a mud bath. In the ocean flats at low tide, followed by apitherapy. Both will do wonders for your anxiety problem.”

Julian tried not to exchange so much as a blink with Ashton. “Apitherapy, Riles? Is that where I’m attacked by bees or where I’m stabbed by needles?”

“Not attacked,” she said defensively. “You are judiciously stung by bees to rid yourself of impurities, spiritual as well as physical.”

“I don’t need to be stung by bees,” Julian said. “I spend my days looking for hacks to prevent other people from being stung by bees. And also—I don’t have an anxiety problem …”

Julian’s cell phone rang. It was 9:07 a.m.

“Hello?” Josephine’s voice breathed into his phone. She could seduce the monks in all the missions in California with that liquored-up voice.

“Yes?” Julian kept it cool. He lifted his one-minute finger to Riley and Ashton—frozen in scolding poses by the counter—and turned his back on them.

“Who is this?” Josephine said.

“Who is this ?” Julian said. “You’re calling me.”

“Well, I know I’m calling you ,” she said, “but someone called your number from my cell phone at 4:49 p.m. yesterday and I know it couldn’t have been me because I was on stage. Yet there it is. Your number in my phone.”

What was Julian supposed to say?

“Good morning, Josephine,” he said quietly.

“Hi, Julian.” She giggled. “You could’ve just asked for my number. I would’ve given it to you. Listen, what are you doing right now?”

“Like today?” he said. “Or this minute?”

“Sooner. I have a situation. Can you come by? Hey, why are you talking so low?” She lowered her voice, too. “Who’s listening?”

Ashton appeared next to his shoulder. “What the hell? We’re not done.”

“Be right there.” Julian hung up and turned to his friend. The two men were alone in the store. “Where’s Riley?”

“She left,” Ashton said. “She couldn’t wait around for you to be done with your call. She said we weren’t finished with our conversation.”

“Oh,” said Julian, “of course not.” He jingled his keys. “Can you hold the fort for a bit? I gotta run out. Be back in a jiff.”

“How long is a jiff in Julian-speak, two days? It’s your day to open the store, remember? I’m supposed to be in bed. Slumbering. And why did you tell Gwen about the coin toss? What the hell, man. And who was that on the phone?”

“Tell you later. Move.” Julian tried to get around Ashton.

“Where are you going?”

“To see a man about a horse.”

Ashton didn’t budge. “Who was that on the phone?”

“Nobody. Move.”

“Make me.” Ashton bumped Julian.

Julian pushed him back, not hard. “Do you want me to make you?”

Ashton’s light blue eyes blinked merrily. He kept trying to grab the phone out of Julian’s hands. “You blew me off for lunch yesterday,” he said. “Was that when you met this somebody , who’s now calling you at all hours of the morning? Are you ever coming back, or do I have to call Bryce?”

Bryce was one of their college friends who thought he was Ashton’s other best friend. “Don’t threaten me with fucking Bryce,” Julian said. “I’ll be back.”

“By the intense horny look on your face, I don’t think you will, no.”

“Drama queen,” Julian said. “We have a wardrobe appointment at Warner.”

“Yes. At eleven.”

“Probably won’t be back by then,” Julian said. “Can you push it to this afternoon? Ashton—can you please—” They continued to bump and deflect, a well-rehearsed pantomime of friendly combat.

“Jules, please don’t tell me you met some chick yesterday and after one afternoon with her broke up with your long-time girlfriend and are now racing off like you’ve been summoned for a breakfast booty call.”

“So stop cockblocking me if you’re such a genius.”

“Wait!” Ashton said. “I have one very important question—”

Impatiently Julian waited.

“What does she look like?” Grinning, Ashton finally let Julian pass. “You know she’s only using you for your body.”

“I should be so lucky.” Julian didn’t glance Ashton’s way, not wanting his friend to see even a reflection of the wet impression the girl had left on the dry sponge that was his heart.

AT NORMANDIE, JULIAN TOOK THE STAIRS TWO AT A TIME, though he still managed to glance at the maximum-security house across the street. It didn’t look right, even in daylight.

“Good morning, Julian,” Josephine said, opening the door. She’d just stepped out of the shower and was flimsily dressed in a tank and sleeping shorts. “Isn’t that what they say in Hollywood, no matter what time of day it is—good morning?”

“Yes,” he said, “but it’s actually morning.” They hid their smiles.

Zakiyyah’s apartment was small and clean—an open plan kitchen/living room with three half-open interior doors, one bathroom, two bedrooms. A small Formica round table, an old light beige sofa, a couple of bookshelves. A TV. A treadmill. A guitar in the corner. Magnets on the fridge, a stack of bills and magazines on the counter. The apartment of a working girl who was never home. It was sunny and quiet, except for the constant hum of the freeway.