‘So you came out to be with him.’
He explained his mission, the sanitized version. They had not seen each other for a long time, different lives, different career paths, as it often is with siblings. He knew Billy was sick and he was just finishing a job, so he had some free time. He drove out, not expecting the horror he found.
‘Tubes coming out of everywhere, open sores. It was a disaster. I almost threw up, the first time I saw him. I had no idea.’
She reached over and placed a hand on his briefly, then withdrew it.
‘He was going to die in there,’ Wycliff continued. ‘The hospital wouldn’t let him come home unless he was in the care of a family member. One of their million bullshit rules. They care more about their rules than they do human beings.’
She recoiled at hearing this. ‘That’s not true. Not always,’ she amended truthfully.
‘In his case it was.’ He smiled at her wanly. ‘He didn’t have a nurse like you looking after him, that’s for sure.’
She blushed. He was feeling more at ease with her now.
‘They didn’t know about me,’ he continued. ‘Billy hadn’t told them. He didn’t want to burden me. We’re each other’s only kin. There’s no one else.’
‘That’s tough,’ she said. ‘So you showed up from out of the blue?’
‘Way out.’
‘Was he surprised to see you? Happy?’
‘He was surprised, for sure. But he was damn glad I was there. It was like he was drowning and suddenly got thrown a life-preserver.’
She clucked sympathetically. ‘I can imagine.’
‘Yeah, it was a tearful reunion,’ he told her, laying it on thick. ‘Very emotional.’
‘He must have been thrilled beyond words.’
Thrilled was not a word Wycliff would have used to describe their first encounter. ‘It was pretty heavy, absolutely.’
He embellished his resumé, telling her that he was a general contractor, mostly remodels these days: people can’t sell their houses, so they’re sprucing them up. He was doing good business, he had to keep on adding extra crew.
‘I was working seven days around the clock,’ he said. ‘I needed a break, so out I came.’ His face clouded. ‘Lucky I did. I don’t know what would have happened to my poor brother if I hadn’t shown up.’
‘He was very fortunate,’ she agreed. ‘To have a brother like you who would take responsibility for him. Not everyone would do that. It’s hard, taking care of someone who’s dying.’
‘He’s my brother.’
She looked behind him.
‘Did I drop something?’ he asked her, turning to see what she was looking at.
‘Your halo. It must have slipped off.’
It was a good thing he hadn’t taken a swallow of coffee, because he would have choked on it. ‘Not hardly.’ If this woman knew the real him she’d be making tracks so fast her dust would raise dust. ‘Maybe devil. Certainly not angel.’
‘Don’t be modest,’ she said. ‘I’m a good judge of character. You’re a good man. I can tell.’
They drank their coffee in silence. He checked the time on his cell phone. ‘Got a late date?’ she teased him.
‘I have to be back at the house by midnight to relieve the hospice worker.’
‘Sorry. I was joking.’ She finished her latte and put the cup down. ‘I’m enjoying being with you. I don’t want it to end.’
‘Does it have to?’
‘Not if you’ll call me.’
That was unexpected. ‘I’d like to,’ he told her.
‘Then I’ll let you go. But only if you promise to call.’
‘I promise.’
‘I don’t know your name,’ she said. ‘First names are enough for now,’ she added quickly.
He understood where she was coming from. Single woman, on her own in the world. If she had misjudged him and he turned out to be a crazy stalker, she didn’t want him to be able to find her too easily.
‘Wycliff.’
‘That’s a new one on me.’
‘Old English. Very posh.’
‘So you’re royalty out slumming?’
He almost laughed out loud. ‘Not hardly. My mother had dreams.’
‘Parents dream for their children.’
‘Since I don’t have any, I wouldn’t know. She bailed when I was an infant. I have no memory of her, not even pictures.’
‘That’s awful. I’m sorry.’
If you knew my old man you wouldn’t think so. ‘Win some, lose some.’
‘So your brother is older than you?’
Wycliff shook his head. ‘Younger, a couple of years. Same father, different mothers. His flew the coop real soon, too. We were raised motherless, the two of us.’
‘Is your father still alive?’ She caught herself up. ‘I guess not, if you are your brother’s sole relative.’
‘No, our father isn’t alive. The prick died a long time ago.’ How or when, he didn’t know and didn’t give a shit. ‘No one cried at his funeral.’
She flinched. ‘That’s awful.’
‘Ancient history.’ He smiled to assure her he didn’t carry a dark cloud about that around with him. He changed the subject. ‘You need to tell me your name, now that you know mine.’
‘Amelia,’ she said. ‘Like the lost pilot. It means industrious. When I was little I thought it was the name of a flower. Something pretty, that smelled good.’ She laughed. ‘It’s more like a piece of machinery.’
Nurses were industrious. She was pretty enough, in her own way, and he was sure she smelled good.
She gave him her phone number, which he laboriously inserted into his ancient cell phone. She did the same on her iPhone. He should get one of those, he thought with envy, as he watched her fingers dance over the keyboard. Moses in the desert had used his model.
They walked outside to their cars. As she reached hers and opened the door she rose up on her toes and they kissed. It was a good kiss.
‘I’ll be holding my breath, waiting for your call,’ she teased him.
He wasn’t the type to play it cool. ‘You won’t be waiting long.’
NINE
Billy was asleep. ‘He had a real good appetite,’ Ricardo, the hospice worker, told Wycliff. Wycliff called him by his proper name now, since he was part of the team, not just another minority to ignore. ‘Chicken and rice, my specialty,’ Ricardo boasted. ‘He cleaned his plate. You wouldn’t know he was sick. There’s some in the fridge, in case you’re hungry.’
Wycliff was heartened to hear this news, although his mind was elsewhere. ‘You’re doing a great job, Ricardo. See you tomorrow.’
‘A different aide tomorrow,’ Ricardo corrected him. ‘Luis. Your brother will be in good hands,’ he assured Wycliff.
Wycliff was grateful. These people gave their all for coolie wages. ‘I know that,’ he told the caretaker.
‘You had a call.’
‘Who?’ Wycliff asked, off guard.
‘The lady didn’t say. Just left a message and a number. She said you would know who.’ He handed Wycliff a sheet of paper with a note scribbled on it.
Wycliff glanced at the note and stuck the paper in his pocket. ‘Thanks.’
He closed the door behind the man and locked it. Then he reached into his pocket, took out the crumpled note, and read it again. Call me when you get this. A 310 area-code number.
It was late, almost midnight. The call could wait until morning.
He checked Billy to make sure everything was okay. His brother’s breathing was deep and regular. He’s sleeping like an innocent newborn, he thought with unexpected feeling. It was the drugs, he knew, but Billy’s expression in repose was so beautifully calm. If he was dreaming, he wasn’t having nightmares.
He poured himself a stiff Maker’s Mark over ice and took it outside to the back porch. The crickets serenaded him. A cigarette would be soothing, but he didn’t have any, he remembered, as he settled into the porch rocker swing
. He had promised Amelia he wouldn’t smoke, a vow he would honor at least until tomorrow. Or maybe longer, depending on how things progressed between them. A woman would have to cast a powerful spell to get him to quit smoking. He didn’t know if he could, he had been smoking since he was in his early teens. He had tried to quit numerous times, and had never been able to.
Call me when you get this. He knew that Charlotte would not be denied. He could ring her up at one, two, three in the morning, she would answer her phone. And if he didn’t call, he would hear about it.
She picked up on the second ring. ‘What took you so long?’
And a pleasant good evening to you, too, he thought resentfully. ‘I was out. I just got back.’
‘Where were you?’
‘Just out.’
‘There’s no such thing as just out. Where were you?’
What was this crap? He wasn’t a teenager on curfew. ‘I went to Santa Monica. I wanted to see the ocean.’
‘How was it?’
‘Wet.’
He could hear her indulgent chuckle on the other end. Was she on her patio, smoking and drinking some exotic liqueur? Or maybe she was in bed, slathered in beauty cream. Either place, she could be smoking, she didn’t have petty rules. He wished he had a cigarette.
‘Is the hospice worker there?’ she asked.
‘No, he’s gone home.’
‘So you can’t come over.’
‘I’m here by myself.’
‘That’s a pity. Because I really want you.’
His loins started coming to attention, even though he didn’t want them to. He needed to give his penis a lobotomy. ‘I want you, too,’ he told her. Not a lie, but not the naked truth, either.
She was smoking, he could hear her inhale. ‘Who were you with?’
‘What?’ The phone in his hand felt like it was vibrating.
‘In Santa Monica,’ she answered, as if talking to a school child, ‘or wherever you were. Who were you with?’
He fortified himself with a hit of booze. ‘No one.’
Another inhale over the wire. He could picture her French-inhaling, sucking the smoke into her lungs and expelling it out her nostrils, like an old movie star on Turner Movie Classics. ‘If you say so.’ Meaning, I know you’re lying.
He didn’t rise to the bait.
‘Can you arrange for someone to relieve you tomorrow, during the day?’
‘I don’t know. It’s one in the morning, I can’t call anyone now.’
‘I’m sure you can work something out. These people are professional do-gooders, that’s their job.’
He started to explain that he didn’t know if there would be someone available on such short notice, but she had already hung up.
TEN
Sadie, the hospice supervisor overseeing Billy’s care, arrived early in the morning to check up on her charge. Billy was awake and alert. Sadie took his vital signs and questioned him about how he felt.
‘Good,’ he told her. ‘Way better than before.’
‘There’s nothing like being in your own surroundings,’ she said knowingly. She smiled at Wycliff, who was observing from a respectable distance. ‘With family.’
‘Amen to that,’ Billy agreed.
She finished her exam, made sure the oxygen supply was working properly for when Billy had to use the respirator (as a precaution, he always had a mask on at night while he slept), and that he had all his meds and was taking them properly.
‘See you in a couple of days,’ she said cheerfully, as she gathered her stuff.
Wycliff walked her out of the room. ‘Can I talk to you for a minute?’ he asked quietly.
He had to work, he explained, as they spoke quietly in the kitchen. Billy was doing better than expected. He was going to live longer than the doctors had anticipated (which he was thrilled about, of course). Billy’s care was being financed from his estate, but Wycliff had to pay his own bills, and his money was dwindling.
‘Can he afford more help?’ Sadie asked. ‘If he can, I can get you as much as you need.’
‘He can afford it,’ Wycliff assured her.
An hour later another aide, a large, pretty-faced Guatemalan woman, was on the job. Her name was Raquel. ‘Like the movie star,’ she told him with a broad wink. She settled in with Billy, and Wycliff took off.
Wycliff punched in the security code to Charlotte’s parking garage, rode the elevator to her floor, and rang her doorbell. Her revolver was in his front-right pants pocket, hanging low like a second cock. He was glad he’d had it the other night, but now he needed to be shed of it. If he was caught with a firearm, there would be hell to pay.
The door swung open. Charlotte was wearing a frilly dressing gown and high-heeled bedroom slippers with peek-a-boo toes. She had done her makeup, but her hair was still wrapped in a towel. ‘Sorry for running late, darling,’ she said, kissing him on the neck and adding a love bite. ‘There’s fresh coffee and croissants on the kitchen counter. I won’t be long.’ She disappeared into her bedroom.
Wycliff had spent all morning gearing up to confront Charlotte about her high-handed attitude over the phone last night, and in the blink of an eye she had disarmed him. Feeling off balance, he poured a cup of coffee, blew on the rim to cool it, and took a sip. Rich and smooth. Delivered from some fancy deli, he assumed, since there was no coffee maker present. Women like Charlotte did not cook. A microwaved cup of tea would tax her limit.
The pistol in his pants felt like a radioactive rock. ‘I brought your gun back,’ he called to her.
‘Put it in the top drawer of the chiffonier by the front door,’ came the muffled reply.
What the hell was a chiffonier? It must be the three-drawer chest against the wall, because there was no other cabinet by the door. The delicate piece looked like it was from China or some foreign country. Probably an expensive antique, Wycliff thought, since his brother would have selected it.
He opened the top drawer. A faint scent of Charlotte’s perfume wafted up from a bundle of scarves that was inside. He took the gun out of his pocket and stuck it in under the scarves. He felt relieved not to be carrying it around anymore.
‘Darling, would you come zip me up?’
He walked into the bedroom. Charlotte was lying on the bed, naked.
‘Let’s not quarrel.’
The croissants and coffee were just the opening course. Charlotte had ordered in an extravagant picnic lunch. Roast turkey and honey-baked ham sandwiches, salads, olives, pickles, an assortment of organic cheeses, along with thick slices of rich chocolate cake, all wrapped up in fancy packages like gifts bestowed upon royalty. A bottle of Riesling, real china and silverware, and crystal wine glasses complimented the spread. The feast was all carefully arranged in a fancy Williams-Sonoma wicker picnic basket.
They drove to the top of Coldwater Canyon and headed west along Mulholland Drive. After about a mile, Charlotte directed Wycliff to an empty building site that overlooked the entire LA basin. The entrance to the property was protected with a heavy, locked chain. Charlotte got out of the car and opened the lock with a key she fished out of her purse.
‘The developer is a friend,’ she explained. After Wycliff drove through, she relocked the chain and got back in the car. ‘We’re all alone,’ she said brightly. ‘No one can disturb us.’
The day was clear and warm, barely a cloud in the sky. They walked to the edge of the bluff and spread a blanket out on the lush, wild grass. Charlotte handed him the bottle of wine and a corkscrew. ‘Be a darling and do the honors, please.’
They ate their lunch sprawled out on the blanket. ‘Down there,’ Charlotte said, pointing a perfectly-manicured finger, ‘is Portuguese Bend. If we had a telescope you could see almost to San Diego. And that way –’ she pointed in the opposite direction – ‘is Point Conception, all the way up in Santa Barbara County. We’ll go to the wine country there some weekend, where they filmed Sideways. It’s lovely there. Very romantic.’ She wiped her finge
rs on a cloth napkin and took a sip of wine. ‘After your brother …’ She didn’t finish her sentence.
That’s my life, Wycliff thought. Billy now, without him after he dies. Everything – Charlotte, the new woman (if anything came of that relationship), the unknown future – was centered around his brother. Until Billy died, everything else was on hold.
Which didn’t mean life doesn’t go on. It was, in a fury. Bringing Billy home from the hospital and taking responsibility for him, meeting Charlotte and getting immediately involved with her, with the excitement and the danger she brought, now maybe with Amelia, too, along with his remarkable physical remake, not to mention making good money boosting cars. Everything in his life had changed almost beyond recognition since he had arrived here on hardly more than a wing and a prayer. And there were going to be lots of other changes; he felt it, he knew it.
He was ready for change, but he had to be careful. Charlotte had opened new and exciting worlds for him, but she was dangerous and unpredictable. The crazy jewelry store caper was hard proof of that. He had to be vigilant with her, on guard.
As if reading his mind, Charlotte asked, ‘What are your plans, Wycliff? Do you have any?’
Her question caught him off-guard. ‘Like what?’ he parried.
‘Like anything,’ she returned. ‘What was it you did back in Arizona? Some kind of construction work, if I recall correctly?’
‘Yeah,’ he mumbled.
‘For yourself? Others?’
‘Both,’ he answered, trying to be as vague as possible. He didn’t want to go into his shabby past. He was shedding himself of it, like a snake that grows a new skin and leaves the old one behind.
She persisted. ‘Are you going to do that here?’
‘I don’t know. I’ll worry about that when the time comes. Right now, I have a full-time job.’
‘Yes, you do,’ she agreed, ‘which you’re doing admirably. But at some point, you have to think of your future. Your brother is going to die soon. That’s terrible to acknowledge, and I know how awful you feel about it, but you have a long life ahead of you. You can’t bury your head in the sand and pretend that somehow everything will take care of itself, because it won’t.’ She took another sip of wine. ‘Take it from someone who’s been there,’ she said, sounding authoritative. ‘You don’t want to leave the important things to chance. You need to plan ahead, Wycliff. You’ll be sorry if you don’t.’
Turn Left at Doheny--A tough-edged crime novel set in Los Angeles Page 8