I
A T FIRST GLANCE, BEVERLY ROW seemed just like a dozen other expensive neighborhoods in the Hollywood hills. Located in the foothills of the Santa Monica Mountains the air was a little cooler, a little less clammy than the rest of the city. White Alder and Bigleaf Maple gave it a lush, shady comfort. Swimming pools sat serenely under sandstone bluffs. The houses, grand and classically-styled, lined one side of the street. On the other, toward the city, the chaparral sloped steeply and the view over downtown and the ocean was breathtaking. In the evening, black, iron lamps cast a warm glow that set off the Pacific sunset perfectly.
To say it was a nice neighborhood was an understatement. It was one of the city’s best kept secrets and all the residents knew it. They walked along the row in the evenings with a quiet confidence, secure in the knowledge that they lived on one of the most beautiful and privileged streets in America.
But all that beauty, all that serenity and calmness, was only on the surface. If you looked deeper you would see a far more complicated picture. All of the quirks and rivalries that make human life so endlessly fascinating were as present in Beverly Row as in any other neighborhood in the world, perhaps even more so.
This is a story about the five women who call Beverly Row home. It is an examination of their deepest and most intimate secrets. Read carefully and you will see that their fantasies, the kinks and desires they work so hard to keep secret, are really just like yours and mine.
*
A RIEL CHECKED HER BARBECUE. The ribs she was making for her new neighbors’ garden party had to be absolutely perfect. She’d made a brown sugar glaze using a recipe she found on the Internet and she prayed it was as good as it claimed. Along with the sugar, the recipe called for vinegar, chile flakes and dry mustard. Ordinarily she would have marinated ribs in ketchup but she had a feeling a little more effort was expected in her new life.
“Are you sure we should go to this thing?”
Ariel wiped her forehead from the heat of the grill and looked up at her daughter. Becky had spent the morning putting on dress after dress, trying to find the perfect look for the fancy new world she’d been brought to. She was sixteen and beautiful and Ariel thought she looked perfect no matter what dress she chose.
“You look beautiful, honey,” she said.
“Are you sure, mom? I mean, I don’t even know what they wear up here.”
“You look perfect, Becky. I wish I could fill a dress like that.”
“Oh, mom. You look amaze .”
Ariel smiled. She knew she looked good. She was only eighteen years older than her daughter and everywhere they went people mistook them for sisters. Ariel secretly dreaded the day that stopped happening.
“Thank you,” she said.
Becky pulled at her hem. “Are you sure this dress looks right?” She was wearing a blue and white sundress and she couldn’t have looked lovelier.
“I’m certain. Whoever these people are they’re going to take one look at you and love you forever.”
Becky sighed. “Are you as nervous as I am?” she said.
“Yes. I don’t even know why. It’s silly.”
“It’s just a barbecue.”
“Right?”
“And they were nice enough to invite us.”
“I know,” Ariel said. “They’re probably really nice people. We’ve just got to get over there and meet everyone and we’ll feel a whole lot better.”
Becky nodded. “I’ll grab the potato salad,” she said. “Those ribs look perfect.”
Ariel prayed they were. Somehow she’d managed to convince herself that her entire future on Beverly Row depended on this little party and the food she brought to it.
*
T HE MEDEIROS’S HOUSE WAS RIGHT next door. Ariel carried the ribs on a china platter that had belonged to her grandmother. Becky carried the potato salad in a matching bowl.
As they walked down the Spanish tile driveway they could hear the festivities in the garden behind the
A T FIRST GLANCE, BEVERLY ROW seemed just like a dozen other expensive neighborhoods in the Hollywood hills. Located in the foothills of the Santa Monica Mountains the air was a little cooler, a little less clammy than the rest of the city. White Alder and Bigleaf Maple gave it a lush, shady comfort. Swimming pools sat serenely under sandstone bluffs. The houses, grand and classically-styled, lined one side of the street. On the other, toward the city, the chaparral sloped steeply and the view over downtown and the ocean was breathtaking. In the evening, black, iron lamps cast a warm glow that set off the Pacific sunset perfectly.
To say it was a nice neighborhood was an understatement. It was one of the city’s best kept secrets and all the residents knew it. They walked along the row in the evenings with a quiet confidence, secure in the knowledge that they lived on one of the most beautiful and privileged streets in America.
But all that beauty, all that serenity and calmness, was only on the surface. If you looked deeper you would see a far more complicated picture. All of the quirks and rivalries that make human life so endlessly fascinating were as present in Beverly Row as in any other neighborhood in the world, perhaps even more so.
This is a story about the five women who call Beverly Row home. It is an examination of their deepest and most intimate secrets. Read carefully and you will see that their fantasies, the kinks and desires they work so hard to keep secret, are really just like yours and mine.
*
A RIEL CHECKED HER BARBECUE. The ribs she was making for her new neighbors’ garden party had to be absolutely perfect. She’d made a brown sugar glaze using a recipe she found on the Internet and she prayed it was as good as it claimed. Along with the sugar, the recipe called for vinegar, chile flakes and dry mustard. Ordinarily she would have marinated ribs in ketchup but she had a feeling a little more effort was expected in her new life.
“Are you sure we should go to this thing?”
Ariel wiped her forehead from the heat of the grill and looked up at her daughter. Becky had spent the morning putting on dress after dress, trying to find the perfect look for the fancy new world she’d been brought to. She was sixteen and beautiful and Ariel thought she looked perfect no matter what dress she chose.
“You look beautiful, honey,” she said.
“Are you sure, mom? I mean, I don’t even know what they wear up here.”
“You look perfect, Becky. I wish I could fill a dress like that.”
“Oh, mom. You look amaze .”
Ariel smiled. She knew she looked good. She was only eighteen years older than her daughter and everywhere they went people mistook them for sisters. Ariel secretly dreaded the day that stopped happening.
“Thank you,” she said.
Becky pulled at her hem. “Are you sure this dress looks right?” She was wearing a blue and white sundress and she couldn’t have looked lovelier.
“I’m certain. Whoever these people are they’re going to take one look at you and love you forever.”
Becky sighed. “Are you as nervous as I am?” she said.
“Yes. I don’t even know why. It’s silly.”
“It’s just a barbecue.”
“Right?”
“And they were nice enough to invite us.”
“I know,” Ariel said. “They’re probably really nice people. We’ve just got to get over there and meet everyone and we’ll feel a whole lot better.”
Becky nodded. “I’ll grab the potato salad,” she said. “Those ribs look perfect.”
Ariel prayed they were. Somehow she’d managed to convince herself that her entire future on Beverly Row depended on this little party and the food she brought to it.
*
T HE MEDEIROS’S HOUSE WAS RIGHT next door. Ariel carried the ribs on a china platter that had belonged to her grandmother. Becky carried the potato salad in a matching bowl.
As they walked down the Spanish tile driveway they could hear the festivities in the garden behind the
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