Звёздный принц и Ангельское яблочко. Михаил Чирков

      “Oh, no. Did you drink Lolitas?”

      “Lolitas and Low Lifes. How’d you know?”

      “There’s some bluish puke on your sweater.”

      “That’s got to be attractive.”

      “Bewitching. Matches your shoes, too. Hey, those are my shoes!”

      I glanced down. “Oh, yeah, sorry. Forgot to ask.”

      “That’s okay. I wore your green glitter tank top last night.”

      Everything is community property when girls live together. At least it is with us.

      I yawned. “I’m tired.”

      “No time for a nap. Roman’s coming in at two,” she reminded me.

      “I remember.”

      “Can I go to the airport with you?”

      “Sure.”

      She put her bowl in the sink with a frown. “This tastes awful. I’m making Mini Raviolis instead. You want some?”

      My stomach lurched. “Sounds divine.”

      I thought about Saturday mornings when I was little as I walked down the hall. My mother making pancakes and my father reading the newspaper on the back patio, drinking coffee. The radio turned to 94.7 playing smooth jazz. My little sister and me watching Jem while waiting for our breakfast. No worries, no cares and no reality.

      I could have carved out my own version of that life. I could be back in Ventura right now, undoubtedly married to my high school sweetheart. We would have one or two children. On weekend nights we would go to high school football games—at our high school stadium—with wink-wink plastic cups full of domestic beer. On weekend days we would brunch with my parents or his, maybe both, and then engage in home improvement or family time at the beach. And we would go to neighborhood barbecues, and we would buy our fruits and vegetables at roadside stands, and we would wish the 101 Drive-In hadn’t been torn down because wow, what a lot of great memories we made there back when we so weren’t watching movies, and we would probably be very happy.

      Hometowns, though. They either suck you in or they spit you out.

      I went into my room and sat down on my bed as daylight streamed through the dusty blinds and birds chirped annoyingly from the neighbor’s avocado tree. I was glad Roman was on his way because just then I wished I could run away to Australia and never come back again. I took a shower. I looked at myself in the mirror. I saw long strands of wet blond hair. A smear of Mango Mandarin lotion on one pale cheek. Blue eyes puzzled by the sight of a familiar stranger.

      I couldn’t feel clean. I couldn’t feel good.

      It’s not always like this. But when it is, I could just scream.

      Sometimes I hate this dirty city. I’m starting to hate this dirty life.

      Chapter 1

      Roman didn’t mind that Ava was waiting at the airport with me. He’s not the kind of man who would think that was irritating. He hugged us both and kissed me and it was so good to see him. I don’t see him very often because he lives on the other side of the country. Sometimes he goes and lives in other countries. Sometimes I forget about the wonderfulness of him because he’s gone from me so often. But when I see him I always remember right away. I’m reminded that a smooth dark midnight sky is okay, but a sky with bright glittering stars is even better.

      Ava talked most of the ride home about what had happened with Tim. How she couldn’t believe he would ditch her when they started off as friends. Roman was good-natured about it and listened as if he was really interested, even though I knew he really wanted to be hearing about my life and not Ava’s. He’s very nice to her, though. He doesn’t say cruel things about her like Jeremy does, like that she’s fucked up and beyond help. He says she’s just a sweet, wayward kid. I think she just gets involved with guys who are friends way too often, and there are risks involved in that situation. The same thing happens every time. A guy friend, most likely suffering from lack of a consistent lay, starts thinking his girl friend is a halfway decent piece and he should probably fuck her. The girl friend assumes that means he has fallen in love with her, so she falls in love with him. Then they’re not friends anymore. I could tell Ava a few things about that, and do, but she never listens, and she never learns. She says I’m a hypocrite.

      She says I’m a hypocrite because I try to give advice and then I act however I want to and don’t even care at all. She says I’m a hypocrite for having a nice boyfriend like Roman and cheating on him when he’s away.

      But that’s not what it’s about. I think Ava just doesn’t understand. She loves eternal. No questions asked. When she’s in love, there could never be anyone else. Even if her man was on the moon.

      It’s not like I don’t love eternal. It’s just that I suppose I am more guarded at first. Ava dives right in without checking to see if the water is shallow. I guess what I mean is that when I met Roman, he was unbelievable in an almost ethereal sense…like Jake Ryan in Sixteen Candles. I thought for sure it would never last because it just seemed too good. So when Jeremy, who seemed much more like the kind of guy I should end up with, walked into my life about three seconds after Roman did…I took a chance.

      And now it’s two years later. And I’m still taking chances.

      Roman kept his hand on my knee while he drove us home. He’s not the kind of man who would ever expect me to drive, even in my own car. We kept smiling over at each other. I felt warm and happy. It was good to have him home. L.A.’s not his home and he says it likely never will be, but I always feel like he’s home when he’s visiting because then he’s home with me.

      Electra was doing her toes in the living room when we got back to the house. She was wearing a turquoise-and-silver kimono with silky butterflies all over it. She got up to give Roman a hug. She highly approves of him. He doesn’t drive her crazy hanging around like most other guys would.

      “Hey, I like that new poster of Marilyn,” Roman said appreciatively. Never mind the layer of dust coating the TV screen, the coffee table crowded with multiple nights’ worth of discarded Del Taco trash. Never mind the array of empty bottles nobody’s bothered to toss, the overflowing ashtrays. Roman only notices the new poster of Marilyn. I love how he looks on the bright side. I think that is a special quality in him.

      “Thanks,” I told him. I didn’t tell him Jeremy gave me that poster for my birthday. He also gave me The Exorcist on DVD, which I suspected he purchased more for his own enjoyment than to celebrate the fact that I was turning twenty-five. He’s twenty-seven already so the thrill was lost on him. The thrill usually is.

      Roman kissed my neck. “Want me to make drinks, Dalton?”

      “I can do it,” I told him as I kissed his neck. I love my man. I think we are the perfect combination, just like peanut butter and jelly.

      “So what’s new with you?” Electra asked Roman as he settled down to relax and I went into the kitchen to fix us some drinks.

      He leaned back against the cushions and looked content. “I’m waiting to hear about my next placement. I won’t know anything definite until next week or so, but I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

      “Really? Tell me about it,” she said. “I find your career so fascinating.” Electra can be overly sarcastic, but she was actually sincere.

      Roman’s career is pretty fascinating. He works for the International Center for Relief and Advancement, which is a D.C.-based nonprofit organization. He and his colleagues are relief specialists who travel to nations with underprivileged economies and try to help them. Most of them have Dr. preceding their name, and a long string of impressive credentials to follow. At Roman’s level they research countries to assess their assistance needs. Then they strategize and write proposals about how to go in and improve the quality of life for the people who are most affected. If a