“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.”
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?”
“Hardly tragic. Ruth already gave me my lumps over that one. I was still in shock over their choice.”
“Well, if it’s any consulation, they’ll have to give him a B-twelve shot so he can pronounce ‘Greta Garbo’ without stumbling.” Broadhead sat back. “You’re a connoisseur of faces. What would the physiognomists make of this one?”
The faded screen was fixed on a head-and-trunk shot of a severe Slavic face in a high-peaked military cap and a tight uniform with medals and epaulets. The caption was written in a language Valentino couldn’t identify.
“Conrad Veidt?”
“Vladimir Bulganin, the Strong Man of Kosovo; the dispatches never use the name without the unofficial title, like ‘Batman, the Caped Crusader.’ He’s the current favorite to head up the Ministry of Police in Bosnia. We called him Vlad the Impaler in the exercise yard. Among other things.”
“You knew him in prison?”
“He was the warden. I hesitate to say ‘commandant’; those Serbo-Croats can hold a grudge till the cows come home, and World War Two was yesterday. I’m thinking of dedicating my book to him.”
“Was he kind to you?”
“He made Stalin look like Tickle Me Elmo. One could see he was destined for great things even then.”
“Then why—”
“Hitler was Time’s Man of the Year in nineteen thirty-nine. Humanitarians rarely set the course of great events in motion, although I hesitate to refer to my humble incarceration as a great event. The book would not be possible without Bulganin. I wonder if he’d be open to writing an introduction?”
“I’m beginning to think this book is a bad idea. Are you sure you want to dredge up those old memories?”
“My dear young friend, a memory that requires dredging up is hardly worthy of the name. This particular memory remains as fresh as a malarial relapse.” He punched a key: The bony, sun-blanched face of the Strong Man of Kosovo shuddered and vanished from the screen, to be replaced by Fatty Arbuckle’s uncreased innocent on the wallpaper.
Valentino felt the need to change the subject. “I had drinks with Fanta today.”
“Drinks? Oh, yes, the big birthday. Don’t let me forget to send her a virtual card. Whatever possessed you two to go clubbing?”
“Two drinks isn’t clubbing. She invited me. She needed a friend. Why didn’t you tell me you were the one who decided you should stop seeing each other?”
“Chivalry is a tubercular old wheeze, but it pleases my sense of self to give it a shot of oxygen now and again. In her set, rejection is regarded as evidence of damaged goods, whereas in mine it’s a periodic inevitability. How is she?”
“She misses you.”
“She’ll recover. Twenty-one is a resilient age; as it must be, for what’s expected of it. What a nuisance she was, insisting upon seeing something in me that wasn’t there to begin with.”
“There’s more to it than that.”
“Think back to when you were that young—last week, wasn’t it? Did your dreams and aspirations include trimming the hair sprouting from an old man’s ears? The prospect is just as distasteful for the recipient. Can the wonderful world of incontinence be far behind?”
“That’s just vanity. What you’re describing is a committed relationship.”
“Commitment indeed. It must have been a confirmed bachelor who coined the term. Last week I caught myself lingering in the Health and Beauty aisle in Safeway. The instructions on the Just For Men box were enlightening. I remembered how I struggled to mix the contents of those two little tubes of epoxy evenly enough to create a bond that would hold together the parts of a wooden model airplane. I’m older than plastic, you know.
“That led me to reflect upon just how many decades had passed since it mattered to me whether those parts stayed together, and how neatly Fanta’s entire life span fit right into the middle with room for another on each side. I never cared for math, or for that matter any discipline that won’t bend to reason. I sat down with her the next day and announced my decision.”
“You’re a fool, Kyle.”
“A distinction we share. You let the fair Harriet fly away.”
“That was her decision, and I’m going to put in the time and effort necessary to reverse it. I’d be as brass-bound an idiot as you if I’d sent her off.”
“But you did. She gave you an ultimatum and you ignored it. I at least didn’t shift the burden to her.”
“I’ve never been in love before. Two women have loved you, against all odds. One died and you sent the other packing. Just today Fanta and I were talking about how wise you are. You’re right. We’ve got a lot to lea
rn.”
Broadhead looked up from the pipe he was charging. Then he nodded, and went on nodding for a moment as if he’d forgotten to stop. He looked like a bobble-head doll. Pathetic, thought Valentino; and with the thought felt the physical ache of another illusion torn from him.
“I’m no longer your mentor, it appears. Thank God. I’ve been all these years terrified of falling on my prat in your estimation. Anticipation is far more painful than the reality.” He struck a match. It shook a little, but he got the tobacco burning and blew a plume of smoke at the fire marshal’s warning tacked to the wall. “What of your friend Matthew Rankin? Perhaps he can be groomed to take my place.”
“It’s been a bad week for role models,” Valentino said. “I may have helped stick him with a murder.”
24
THE WORKERS HAD left for the day, but their traces remained in the buckets of spackle, litter of Gatorade bottles, waffle-patterned footprints in the sawdust on the floor. Rorschach patterns of damp plaster stained the walls and there was withal a musk of perspiration and sour breath to advertise the fact that The Oracle was no sanctuary from the world and would not be for many months to come. Valentino stood in the unfinished grotto of the grand foyer, keys dangling from the ring on his finger, and considered that he’d moved out of the residential hotel with three more days paid for; the square brass key was still on his ring. The room wasn’t much bigger than a cell, but it offered electric light, a mattress less eccentric than his sofa in the projection booth, and basic cable for escape. He was turning toward the exit when his telephone rang.
“Padilla,” said the lieutenant. “My chief of detectives has invited Rankin and his lawyer to a conference in his office tomorrow at nine A.M. I thought you might want to sit in.”
“What’s the occasion?”
Loren D. Estleman - Valentino 02 - Alone Page 18