Fast City Slow Hearts

13 | lines & circles

"What a babe!"

In record time, Corinne agreed to meet me at the end of my father's winding block. She had accepted it as a personal challenge when I told her that I was trying to evade my security attaché.

I had strategically omitted the fact that I was grounded, technically speaking.

"Did you go on a shopping spree without me? I know it didn't come from some store in Sweet Home Alabama."

Corinne tipped her 90s shades lower on her nose, watching me as I sank into the passenger seat.

I laughed at her easy wit as we drove off, eyeing the side mirror. I scanned the rearview for any signs of Jackson.

"Matthew's assistant insisted I keep this... stuff," I fingered the crocheted white material, happy that I'd found something I didn't feel like a complete fraud in. The fitted matching set looked delicately hand-woven and fit like a glove, amplifying my figure. The thick line of exposed skin across my abdomen made me feel hoochie in a sophisticated way.

"You look damn good, Stevenson. Damn good."

Corinne and I danced in our seats with the windows rolled down as we belted the lyrics to all the feel-good music she blasted.

She was quickly becoming one of my favorite fixtures in La-La Land.

"Have you been on this side of town yet?"

On a swivel, my head turned to survey the posh-grungy-looking neighborhood. It was all palm trees and fragmented glimpses of the infamous Hollywood sign.

"I don't think so."

"This is the Hills. The Hollywood Hills," like she'd been doing it forever, she slowed the car before pressing the gas so that the car charged up the steep driveway.

In seconds, we stood underneath a canopy of trees. The foliage surprised me as we hiked to the home's inconspicuous entrance.

I was only slightly regretting the platform wedge slides I wore. I was still growing accustomed to the wardrobe adjustments.

Like she owned the place, Corinne pressed the heavy door open to reveal, yet another immaculate home.

This one boasted bright colors and bold fabrics, looking equal parts chic and desert-like.

I wouldn't tell her but I was glad when my cousin took my hand as she lead me through a small throng of people. I watched her expertly greet smiling faces with cheek kisses. She waggled her fingers at some, hugging others around the neck.

My supermodel cousin stopped to introduce me a couple of times but was still set on her destination.

She was a social butterfly if there ever was one.

I was beginning to see the draw of an accordion door. The view of the hills beyond the remarkable landscape overwhelmed me.

The home sprawled across the face of a hill and extended upwards.

The pool was surrounded by eclectic outdoor furniture, and a separate edifice - probably an ADU - was nestled against the hill beyond the communal spaces.

Corinne's outstretched arm led me to one of the alcoves where more foreign figures gathered.

"Woman of the hour," a man bellowed, rising from his position on a couch.

"Oh, please. If I'm woman of the hour, you're man of the century. Hug me, you genius."

A well-dressed man of smaller stature embraced her. His carefully coiffed hair and glowing skin had me curious about his beauty regimen.