Paullina Simons - The Tiger Catcher

At Scarpetta on Sunday nights, you sit outside in the verdant courtyard overlooking Canon Gardens lit up like Christmastime. You drink Fortuna cocktails—pear Absolut, St. Germain, and peach puree—and make wishes to the stars, you wish for this, you wish for that. You order steak tartare, and ravioli, and foie gras. Have you told each other everything? There doesn’t seem to be much left to say, yet you talk and joke and argue, you never stop. You spend until three in the morning at the Laugh Factory on Sunset being singled out by some stand-up talent. “Look at you two, you got yourselves some white people love,” the comic mocks you in his high-pitched falsetto. “Oh, baby, am I hurting your arm ?” “What you talkin’ ‘bout, honeycakes, you are my arm!”

You sleep and eat and live and love and lie entwined. Your souls are without borders because your bodies are without borders.

Or is it the other way around?

Oh, Jules, she whispers. There is nothing better than you.

In the book that is my life, you say, in the chapter when I first met you are the words and so begins my life anew .

I want my own book, she says, not just a measly chapter.

From Zuma to Agoura it’s easy to fall in love in Southern California.

You know what’s not easy to do?

Find the ideal spot to ask her to marry you.

Sure, she’s happy to be adored by you—for now—but does she understand that this thing between you isn’t something that begins and ends.

Behold, I show you a mystery. We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed.

JULIAN KEPT SUGGESTING THE FOUR OF THEM GO OUT. HE STILL had not met Zakiyyah. And Josephine met Ashton only once, if you didn’t count that other time (and who wanted to count it) at two in the morning when Ashton banged on his door like the KGB, and when Julian opened it—with Josephine half-naked behind him—he said, “Oh, so you are alive,” and stormed back down the stairs.

Josephine said why should we all go out.

So our two sidekicks can meet.

Why?

So they can approve of our union.

Why do you care if they approve? What if they don’t?

Why would they not approve?

People are strange, she said. Ashton doesn’t like me.

He’s just mad at me right now. Ashton will love you.

It’s not Ashton I’m worried about.

Z? But I’m a nice guy, Julian said. I shave, I don’t overpraise, I’m polite, I reply to invites. I can make a joke, take a joke. Why would Zakiyyah not like me?

I told you, Jules, people are strange.

One problem was their work schedules. Weekends Zakiyyah was off, but weekends were slammed at the Treasure Box, and Josephine was about to premiere in Paradise , narrating the adventures of Dante and Beatrice six nights a week and a matinee on Wednesday.

At the end of June, Julian finally managed to arrange a Sunday brunch for the four of them. He couldn’t get a reservation at the Montage in Beverly Hills, but they met nearby on an outdoor patio in cloistered Canon Gardens, at the cheap sandwich place across from the five-star luxury hotel.

Zakiyyah and Josephine arrived together. Josephine wore a loose lime-green beach cover-up and a bikini. She and Julian were off to Point Dume afterward. Under the red beret, her long hair was down. She wore minimal makeup and remnants of an arousing sunburn. She was a hipster goddess. She took his breath away. After she kissed him, she introduced him to Zakiyyah.

Josephine was right. Zakiyyah was attractive. But was she trying to turn herself down a notch? She had covered her well-developed body in a stiff blouse and a slightly frumpy too-long skirt. Her mass of corkscrew loopy black curls was poorly held back by a headband, leaving most of the emphasis on her glistening dark face, an unblemished face that needed no embellishment. And what a face it was, so symmetrically in balance, it looked fake. In her whole person, she was a sculpture of the idealized female form, carved out by an ardent lover of women: eyes big, brows arched, forehead high, cheekbones wide, lips full, body full, hair coiled and passionate. Upon introduction, Zakiyyah smiled the fake toothy smile of a beauty contest winner.

The smile faded rather quickly, though. Julian couldn’t tell if it was his imagination, but he sensed a hint of … tension? Disapproval? Almost as if the smile had been forcibly turned on and then switched off a moment too soon. After it was gone, there was no denying the plain truth: an unsmiling face was a less beautiful face, even Zakiyyah’s. Julian could put that life hack in tomorrow’s newsletter.

They ordered soft drinks and waited for Ashton by tackling the weighty topic of sunny weather, tackling it with such enthusiasm, you’d think heat and sun were unique to Southern California. Josephine told a silly joke (“what happens when an egg makes a yoke? It cracks up”), Julian gazed at her besotted—and caught Zakiyyah’s eye. You poor pathetic fool , the woman’s expression read.

“Never mind her, Jules,” Josephine said. “Z’s all soured on love.”

“Is that what I am?”

“Well, who wouldn’t be—with horrible Trevor as a boyfriend.” Josephine pinched Z’s arm.

“Yes, shame Julian can’t clone himself.”

“If you think my Jules is nice,” Josephine said, “wait till you meet his friend Ashton.”

“Josephine!” That was Julian.

“Yeah, Josephine .” That was Zakiyyah, unsmiling and unexclaiming.

“I’m kidding. I jest. Jeez, the both of you.”

The more Julian observed Zakiyyah, the more he was convinced that she never wanted anything less than a career in film or theatre. She seemed to be the opposite of Josephine. Despite her obvious physical assets, Zakiyyah wasn’t excitable, or whimsical, or seductive, she wasn’t quick with a joke, and not in speech or dress or demeanor did she show herself to be someone who wanted any attention, much less someone who lived for lights and applause, like his girl. It was odd. Didn’t Josephine tell him that the theatre had been their mutual dream?

Ashton finally arrived insultingly late and unforgivably underdressed. He wore ripped jeans and an unwashed navy T-shirt. He hadn’t shaved. And worst of all: he was sullen.

The man was usually impeccably outfitted and a charmer, especially when meeting new people, especially when meeting women. And he didn’t even apologize! He was cool toward Josephine, which wasn’t a surprise, but even cooler toward Zakiyyah. She looked up, he looked down, she half waved, he half nodded. The only empty chair was next to her, so he had no choice but to take it, but his body language said he wanted out. He held the fanned-out menu between him and Z. After they ordered, Ashton turned to Julian, and when he saw Julian silently judging his attire, he pointed out they were having ham sandwiches. “What could you possibly wear that’s too casual for a ham sandwich?” Ashton said. “A ham sandwich is something you have in bed with a chick while watching Entourage reruns.” That was the least offensive thing he would say all afternoon.

Having been at the table less than five minutes, Ashton, instead of charming the girls, decided on a different approach. He became as obnoxious as possible. Without meeting anyone’s gaze, staring either into his water glass or at the side of Zakiyyah’s neck, he brusquely asked Z what she did for a living and cut her off halfway through her answer. Minutes later he returned to her with a “Sorry, you were saying?” Never mind, said Zakiyyah. When Josephine prodded Ashton to tell her about his extreme adventures in the American West, he dismissed her by saying he had always hated the outdoors, which was not only the opposite of true but a conversation killer.