Alone (24 page)

His review came in the long pause that followed rather than in the polite words of the producer through his earphones: “Nice work. You should’ve heard Tom Hanks the first day he tackled
The Da Vinci Code.”

Outside the booth, the young man shook Valentino’s hand with a torque that turned him toward the exit.

Not even an invitation to lunch, which in L.A. came as automatically as “Gesundheit” following a sneeze. Two minutes later he found himself in the sun-hammered parking lot, with no one expecting him anywhere at any time. So he grabbed lunch at a stand whose hot-dog shape had put it on the National Register of Historic Places and took his heartburn to the office.

**

He finished editing the footage of a Los Angeles that only still existed on film, sealed it in a can, and like any yeoman interrupted during the last stage of a project cursed when his intercom buzzed as he was hand-lettering the strip of masking tape that served as the label.

“What is it, Ruth?”

The short blip of silence on the other end of the apparatus dripped with glacial ice. But her voice sounded no less annoyed than usual. “A young lady to see you. Her name’s Faygo.”

Years of experience with the least receptive receptionist in Southern California had blessed him with the gift of instant interpretation. “I think you mean Fanta.”

Silence again, during which she conferred with her source.

“Fanta, then. Are you in?”

“She’s standing right there, isn’t she?”

“I’ll send her in.”

He came out from behind the desk to extend his hand. The willowy brunette ignored it and wound her long arms around him. She smelled of fresh wheat; not a scent in a bottle, but her own natural fragrance. Today she wore a simple boatnecked top that exposed the perfection of her collarbone, a granny skirt, platform sandals, and one of those mod caps with a mushroom crown and a stiff visor that had somehow wound its way from 1964 to the first decade of the new millennium. When they broke, she said, “Free for drinks?”

“Are you legal?”

She touched a neat unpolished nail to a perfect set of teeth. “How long’s the statute of limitations in this state?”

“You’re the lawyer.”

“Not yet. But I think we’re in the clear.”

She chose a popular undergraduate hangout a block off campus, staffed by Goths with black nails whose natural musk lingered behind their physical presence; but the booths had high backs that suggested private rooms, and Valentino considered that cocktails with more alcohol than mix destroyed the more harmful bacteria. Mausolea—the tiny name tag on her braless bosom brooked no argument—asked Fanta for ID. She glanced at her driver’s license and handed it back. “Happy birthday.”

When she left, Valentino said, “More of the same. Shouldn’t you be celebrating your coming-of-age with Kyle?”

“That’s why I asked you for drinks. But that can wait.” She patted his hand. “How’s the Oracle coming along? I have a proprietary interest in that place, you know.”

“I certainly do know. Without your help it would still be a crime scene, and a seminal part of the history of the cinema would be moldering away in an evidence room of the West Hollywood police precinct. It’s hit its share of snags, but I’ve begun to hope it will be open before you’re on Medicare.”

“That isn’t saying much. The way things are going, the Baby Boomers will lick it down to bare metal before I get my first cataract; but that’s not my area of law. Kyle told me about your nemesis in Building Inspection.”

Valentino hesitated. “Are you speaking as a friend or as an officer of the court?”

She withdrew her hand. The gesture mortified him.

“I’m sorry. It’s been a rotten few weeks.”

“So I gathered.” But she sounded sympathetic.

He told her what he’d done. Her eyes widened beyond the possibilities of his own generation. Finally she flashed her teeth in a short laugh that was not entirely approving.

“Rotten,” she said. “Good choice of words.”

“I’m not proud of what I did. If I’d known what it would cost me in terms of self-respect, I’d have gone another direction.” He laughed then, in a way that was entirely disapproving. “There was another direction. Plenty of others have gone broke and started over again. There’s no shortcut to self-respect.”

“Poor Val.” She patted his hand again. “You’re too good for this world.”

“So now I’m a joke.” This time he withdrew his.

Their drinks came. She was silent until they were alone again. “The legal system’s full of holes,” she said. “Maggots like Spink wriggle their way in. If you wait for the system to do anything about them, they’ll sprout wings and lay eggs, and before you know it you’ve got more maggots than holes. I’d’ve shot the son of a bitch.”

“Are you sure you want to be a lawyer?”

She leaned in close and lowered her voice. “If you tell anyone, I’ll deny it, but I’m a mole in the system. I’m going to undermine it until it falls under its own weight. Forget Spink,” she said, sitting back. “By this time next year, he’ll be a high-paid lobbyist in Washington. Meanwhile you’ll be turning customers away at the box office.”

“You may know the law inside out, but you don’t have the slightest idea of how things work in the world of commerce. Next year at this time I’ll still be fighting with contractors, and when the Oracle finally opens, I’ll be in competition with home rentals, Internet downloads, and iPods from here to Catalina. I don’t even want to be an entrepreneur. All I ever wanted was a place to sleep and a screening room I didn’t have to stand in line to reserve for my own use.”

“Feel better?” She lifted her glass to her mouth.

“You know, I do.” He lifted his. “What shall we drink to?”

“Me and Kyle.” Her voice was grave. “If there’s any future in it. He dumped me, you know.”

**

CHAPTER

23

MAUSOLEA DRIFTED OVER, paused, then drifted on without asking them if they needed anything. She seemed uncommonly sensitive to the atmosphere at her station.

Valentino said, “As I understood it, you dumped Kyle; or at least turned down his proposal of marriage because he had no ambition.”

“That’s what Harriet said. If he wanted people to think that’s what happened, I didn’t see any reason to set them straight. I guess it’s some kind of generational thing. He played the loser so I wouldn’t have to. I don’t care what he does with his time, as long as he’s happy. He did plenty before I was out of diapers.”

“Maybe he isn’t happy. Maybe your coming into his life made him take a hard look at himself and he didn’t approve of what he saw. It wouldn’t be the first time a man cleaned up his act to make himself look better in a woman’s eyes.”

“But he kicked me
out
of his life!” Heads turned at nearby tables. She sat back stirring her swizzle stick until the red spots faded from her cheeks. “I’m sorry. You don’t need this on top of what’s been happening lately. I was going to keep my mouth shut, I was. But I miss Kyle. He makes me look at things, I mean really look at them. All my friends tell me how much wiser I am than they are. It’s all Kyle.”

“I know what you mean. Most of what I know about the world he told me, and I went out and found out he was right. He makes a strong case for reincarnation. One lifetime doesn’t seem enough for the amount of information he’s processed. Of course, he’s also a world-class gasbag.”

“Nobel quality.” She laughed. “He doesn’t believe half the things he says. He’s a boy, shocking people just to see what he can get away with. I give him plenty of slack, but I think I’ve shocked him myself by calling him on a couple of points. He isn’t used to that. You’re partly to blame, you know,” she said. “He says something outrageous and you think, ‘That’s just Old Man Broadhead being himself,’ and you don’t say anything. It encourages him to fall for his own line of crap.”

“You
are
wise. You didn’t get all of it from him.”

“That’s just dorm philosophy: Drink some Jack-and-Coke, do a little weed, and let the hot air out of everyone who gets too full of himself. You know I’m right.”

“No argument. I’m probably as responsible for Old Man Broadhead being himself as anyone. But if I took a potshot at him every time he jumped the fence, I wouldn’t have time to do anything else.”

“That’s my job. Or it was.”

The ice had melted in their glasses. He got Mausolea’s attention and ordered another round. They were silent until she brought the drinks and glided away.

“I’d like to help,” he said then. “He needs you more than you need him, and seeing you together has blown up any prejudices I had about the age difference. But I wouldn’t know where to begin. I can’t even manage my own love life.”

“Harriet told me that, too. We women can be cryptic, but this is one time when she means what she says. Give her a little space, and when you’re back together, don’t do anything you feel you need to keep secret from her.”

“That sounds too simple.”

“Complicated things usually are. That’s Kyle talking, without the gas. If you weren’t ashamed of something, you wouldn’t hesitate to talk about it with the one person whose opinion you trusted.”

“That’s not Kyle talking. It’s you.” He reached across the table and gave her wrist a quick squeeze. “You said he makes you see things; that’s what you just did for me. When two people you care about tell you the same thing, that’s wisdom.”

She smiled, and tossed her hair, throwing off blue haloes under the fluorescent lights. “You
can
help. When you’re with Kyle, don’t act like I’m dead and keep me out of the conversation. Talk about me.”

“Even if he tells me to shut up?”

“Especially if he tells you to shut up. That’s how you’ll know it’s working.”

“Will you do the same for me with Harriet?”

“Nope. Different situation. The point is not to mention you at all. Let her bring up the subject.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

“Then you’ve lost her.” She lifted her glass. “But isn’t recovering lost things your specialty?”

**

“Yes, Ruth.”

“Line One. Brian Ross.”

“I don’t know a Brian Ross.”

“Says he’s a producer with MGM. Maybe you’ve been discovered.”

He couldn’t remember if the young man had given his name in the rush to seat him in the recording booth. “Okay.”

“Mr. Valentino, I called to say we won’t be needing you for the commentary after all.”

“That’s a polite way of putting it, but I’m not surprised.”

“Oh, there was nothing wrong with your demo. Everyone who heard it was quite impressed with your natural quality. However, the front office has decided to go a different way.”

“What way is that?”

“Actually, it was a bit of luck. A man we thought was unavailable expressed his interest in the project. You might know the name. Craig Hunter?”

He knew the name. “I know him personally, as a matter of fact. We were involved in a couple of business deals years ago.” He was reminded that Hunter had never paid back those loans.

“Then you know he was a popular action star before he announced his semiretirement. Apparently he’s had his fill of golf and fishing. We were delighted to get him. The audience for this particular market has always reacted more positively to recognizable talent. Your many, uh, successes are well known in academic circles, but—”

Valentino was too soft-hearted to let him flounder. “Yes. Mother Teresa and Princess Di died the same week, but we all know who got the most coverage.”

“I’m glad you understand.” Ross was audibly relieved. It was always the pump jockey who took the brunt of high gasoline prices. “I want you to know we won’t forget you. We’ll keep your demo on file for future reference.”

“Thank you for the opportunity. Please give Craig my regards.”

Ruth came back on the intercom thirty seconds later. “Mother Teresa?”

“I thought you stopped eavesdropping on my conversations because they were boring.”

“They’re picking up.”

**

“Man, you must’ve sucked.”

Kyle Broadhead, hunkered in front of his pre-Columbian computer, had seemed too preoccupied with what was on the screen to have heard what Valentino had said; but he’d made his own share of bum investments in Craig Hunter for old times’ sake.

“Big time,” said Valentino. “He got a better chance at a comeback than Lazarus and still managed to drink himself out of a sweetheart contract with CBS. The last I heard he was just getting by recording books for the blind with the Library of Congress. They had to schedule all his sessions before noon, because he started drinking on the stroke of twelve and they had to pour him into a cab.”

“How Not to Dress
is a big deal to you and me, but it’s not exactly the kind of thing that would bring Tom Cruise to cut short his honeymoon. How’s your ego holding up?”

“Bloody, but unbowed. I told Smith Oldfield I had no experience. But—”

“Craig Hunter.”

“Yes.”

“Did you seriously compare yourself to Mother Teresa, or were you just trying to put a light touch on a tragic situation for your Uncle Kyle?”