Fun and Games

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Che sempre l’omo in cui pensier rampolla sovra pensier, da sé dilunga il segno perché la foga l’un de l’altro insolla.

—Dante Purgatorio, canto 5, lines 16–18

You’re the type of guy that gets suspicious I’m the type of guy that says, “The puddin is delicious.”

—LL Cool J, “I’m That Kind of Guy”

THE PIERCING screech of tires on asphalt.

The screams—

His.

Your own.

And then—

1

It’s all fun and games until someone loses an eye.

—Popular saying

Los Angeles—Now

SHE DISCOVERED Decker Canyon Road by accident, not long after she moved to L.A. A random turn off the PCH near Malibu shot her up the side of the mountain, followed by twelve miles of stomach-flipping twists and hairpin turns all the way to Westlake Village. And she loved it, hands gripping the wheel of the sports car she’d bought with her first real movie check—because that’s what you were supposed to do, right? Blow some of that money on an overpriced, overmuscled convertible coupe that popped a spoiler when you topped 75. She never cared she was going thirty miles faster than any sane driver would attempt on this road. She loved the ocean air smashing into her face, the feel of the tires beneath as they struggled to cling to the asphalt, the hum of the machine surrounding her body, the knowledge that one twitch to the left or right at the wrong moment meant her brand-new car, along with her brand-new life, would end up at the bottom of a ravine, and maybe years later people would ask: Whatever happened to that cute actress who was in those funny romantic comedies a few years ago? Back then, she loved to drive Decker Canyon Road because it blasted all of the clutter out of her mind. Life was reduced to a simple exhilarating yes or no, zero or one, live or die.

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