“And with that, I say, have fun, get wasted, and don’t wreck my stuff!”

9:00 P.M.

Ricky Esposito—the guy that ran the photography studio at Pepperdine—was in the kitchen eating cheese and crackers. He had seen Kit walk by four times and, each time, couldn’t stop staring at her abs.

He’d had a thing for her for approximately three years now even though he’d never spoken to her and was absolutely positive she had no idea he existed. But when you live in the same town your entire life, you notice people. And everyone always noticed the Rivas.

Sometimes Ricky would go into Riva’s Seafood and order fried clams with no bellies, a large Coke, and french fries. He’d take a seat out by the parking lot on one of the wooden benches. He’d hope to spot Kit Riva.

She was the most appealing person he’d ever seen in his life.

He liked that she never had to try to be beautiful. He liked that her body was so solid, so strong. He imagined she was the sort of girl that didn’t need a guy to kill a spider and he liked that because, to be honest, Ricky was afraid of spiders.

He’d seen her surf at Surfrider Beach every once in a while. He liked to go down to the pier and take a seat on a bench and watch the fishermen. But he could always recognize Kit when she was in the water. She had a bravado that he liked. She was aggressive with the waves, never deferred to other people. Ricky had always imagined marrying a woman like that. His mother was like that.

He just needed to find the guts to talk to her.

Nina had wandered away from Brandon and was talking to a group of young runway models by the front door. They wouldn’t stop asking her questions like who designed her skirt and what eyeliner she was wearing.

“Like, what are you doing for your skin? It’s fucking … radiant,” the tallest, lankiest one said. She was brunette with blue eyes and Nina had gathered, based on how often she kept bringing it up, that she’d walked in McLaren and Westwood’s Fall show last year.

“Oh, thank you,” Nina said, kindly.

“And what are you doing for crow’s-feet?” the sweeter-looking woman asked.

“What am I doing for crow’s-feet?” Nina asked.

“Like, to prevent it.”

“Oh, you know, just zinc when I’m surfing sometimes. And moisturizer,” Nina said.

“La Mer?” the taller one said.

“I don’t know what you’re asking me,” Nina said.

“La Mer,” said the sweeter-looking woman. “Crème de la Mer. The moisturizer?”

“I just use Noxzema,” Nina said.

The taller woman looked at the sweeter woman and they exchanged glances. Nina became overtaken with the sense, one she had often, that she wasn’t a very good model.

She pulled herself away from the group, as if someone had called for her. She continued to move through the party.

Brandon was holding court in the living room, talking to a crowd of photographers and artists that had gathered around the Lichtenstein hanging above the fireplace.

She watched Brandon from a distance, seeing his hands gesticulating wildly, everyone in rapt attention. She decided she needed a glass of wine and so she made her way toward the kitchen.

She waved as she walked past the surfers up from Venice who were sitting on her living room sofa drinking beers. She smiled at the three actors trying to pretend they weren’t doing coke off of her entry table. She said hello to the four women talking to each other about Dynasty outside her guest bathroom.

Before Nina could make it to the wine bar set up in the kitchen, a cocktail waitress came by with a tray of merlot and Nina smiled at her and took one.

“You have a lovely house, if you don’t mind me saying,” the waitress said. She was a redhead with green eyes. Nina liked her smile.

“Thank you,” Nina told her. “My husband picked it out.”

And then the waitress kept walking and Nina stood right in place, people moving all around her.

Actresses, models, musicians. Surfers, skaters, volleyball players. Agents and executives. Development assistants. Writers, directors, producers. Those two asshole comedians with that stupid movie everyone loved. Half the cast of Dallas. Three Lakers. It was barely nine o’clock and Nina already felt like everyone in the world was in her house.

She sipped the merlot in her hand slowly, with her eyes closed, breathing it in as much as tasting it. Can I go hide in my bedroom?

Suddenly, the DJ put on “1999” and it broke something open in Nina’s chest. Just the sound of Prince’s voice, the beat. This song, in this moment … Nina felt like she could leave the world behind—all the people, Brandon—and simply enjoy herself for a second.

She walked out onto her lawn to join the partygoers who had started to dance.

“All right! Nina! Gettin’ down to boogie,” a woman called to her from the mass of bodies moving. Nina looked up and saw Wendy, from the restaurant.

“You made it,” Nina said, smiling. She started bopping her butt from side to side, sliding her shoulders. She wasn’t much of a dancer but when you love the song, it doesn’t matter.

“It’s nice to see you like this,” Wendy said. Wendy was a much better dancer than Nina, a much more sexual dancer. Nina marveled at the freedom it took to hump blindly in midair like that.

“See me like what?” Nina called out, over the music.

“I don’t know, you seem lighter, maybe. Carefree?”

Nina wondered if everyone secretly thought she lived with a stick up her ass. And then she wondered if maybe she did.

“It’s Prince,” Nina said. “He does it for me.”

“Oh, he does it for everybody,” Wendy said.

Nina saw Hud by the firepit and she called to him, tried to wave him over, but he was talking to a woman. Nina looked closer. Who was her brother flirting with?

It was Ashley. Hud was talking to Ashley.

He’s screwing her.

It seemed so obvious. The way they were standing so close to each other, their lack of reticence about their bodies brushing together. It is discernible, when two people feel complete comfort with each other’s skin. It is plain for anyone to see if they are looking.

And that’s exactly what they had: an electric sort of peace between them.

Nina instantly understood that Jay would not take this well. Jay didn’t have the benevolent confidence necessary to absorb this blow with ease. And Nina felt a sense of doom, as she imagined how the night would play out. The conflict, the mess.

This night, Nina could feel in her gut, was not going to end well.

Jay was coming down the stairs when he saw her.

There she was. Lara. His Lara, if people could belong to other people.

She was standing by the door, next to Chad, wearing a plain white T-shirt tucked into a black miniskirt. She looked about eight billion feet tall, her legs the full length of her. All Jay could think about was running his hands from her ankles all the way to her ass, how smooth the journey would be, how long it would take him.

He pulled it together and walked up to Lara, affecting nonchalance. “You guys made it,” he said. “What are you having to drink?”

“Why don’t I head over to the bar?” Chad suggested. “You two can wait here.”