Object of Desire Read Online Free PDF Page B

whine of a coyote.
    Against the sky, the mountains ringing the valley were a slightly darker shade of purple. I stood there, trying to make out the line that separated mountain from sky. From eighty-five hundred feet above, the bright white eye of the tram winked at me. I took a deep breath, pulling the dry, clean desert air into my lungs. Then I let myself into the house, uncertain of what I might find.
    â€œFrank?” I whispered.
    The living room was dark. I flicked on a lamp, sending light spilling throughout the room, illuminating the sleek black-and-white tiled floor and the low-slung midcentury-modern furniture. On the wall hung two of my prints: a giclée of the Chocolate Mountains and a close-up of a sunflower, which Frank called his green daisy. They were images that suited our house, a classic Alexander built in 1955, a butterfly-roofed exemplar of rational design and modernist style, with its exposed beams and gabled spun-glass walls. Back in the day, these houses were built on the cheap, snapped up by postwar California’s tail-finned, consumer-happy middle class, eager to snare their own piece of a desert playground popularized by the Rat Pack and other Hollywood elite. Now original Alexander homes fetched millions. From every oblong window, the house offered stunning views of the mountains, and fifty years of stringent municipal policy had ensured that nothing was ever built too high to obscure that scenery. Very few moments in my life were more treasured than my early mornings out by the pool, sitting with my coffee and watching the reflection of a very pink dawn against the blue gray of the mountains.
    I set my keys down on the table and stepped through the living room into the dining area. The hallway was dark. No light emanated from the doorway of the bedroom. Might they both have fallen asleep?
    I turned and headed through the kitchen. Only then did I notice the light coming from the second bedroom, which we used as an office. I peered around the door.
    â€œFrank?”
    He was sitting at the desk, a pile of papers in front of him, his brow creased, his glasses at the end of his nose. He looked up at me.
    â€œDanny. I didn’t hear you come in. How was happy hour?”
    â€œThe usual.” I gave him a confused look. “What are you doing in here?”
    â€œPolishing up my syllabi for the start of classes.” He sighed, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes. “I’ll stop if Randall wants to pull out the bed….”
    â€œRandall isn’t here. I assume he’s tricking.”
    Frank looked up at me and smiled. “Well, good for him.”
    â€œYeah. If it gets his mind off Ike.”
    Frank nodded.
    â€œBut where’s Ollie?” I still couldn’t fathom why Frank was in here, poring over papers, when I’d expected to find him engaged in a very different sort of activity.
    â€œHe’s in the casita.” Frank had replaced his glasses and was once more looking down at his desk.
    â€œThe casita? What’s he doing out there? And why are you in here?”
    He didn’t look up at me. “I really needed to get these syllabi done. I don’t want them hanging over me all weekend. And rather than having Ollie in the living room, watching television, where he’d distract me, I suggested he go out and watch whatever he wanted to in the casita and get comfortable there, and then, when you got home…”
    I nodded, following his line of thought. “So you want me to go bring him in, then?”
    Frank hesitated. He took his glasses off again and looked up at me.
    â€œDanny, why don’t you just go out to him? I’m exhausted. I’m going to finish this one syllabus and then head in to bed.”
    I made a face and folded my arms across my chest. “You don’t want to…do anything with him, like we planned?”
    Frank smiled. “He came down for your birthday, Danny. And look, I’m so