by Todd Borg
“I didn’t know that William...” Ryan stopped.
“Had brought his mother?” she filled in. “Well, you know my Willy. He still doesn’t drive. I’d like him to get out a little more, but I guess I’m very fortunate that William is still living at home, helping me with all the chores when he isn’t writing his games. You’ve probably heard about his latest launch? Tomb Warriors of Middle Earth.”
“I, uh, knew he was doing the trilogy. But I didn’t know he moved the venue to Middle Earth. That’s bold.”
She nodded, her eyes glimmering. “Twenty-five million copies in the first three months.” She looked at me. “Needless to say, my son is my pride and joy.” Her smile was dreamy.
“Is William here? I haven’t seen him,” Ryan said.
“He’s down in your basement. You know how shy he is. And all of these people. You’ve got that new game console. He’s doing some simulations on it. I guess that’s what you expect of a true gamer. Always escaping the real world for the fantasy world.”
Holly Hughes paused, and Ryan paused, and we three stood there in awkward silence.
Preston Laurence’s girlfriend had left his side, walked near to us and began talking with another group, chatting with great animation, turning heads.
“So, how’s the, um, meet and greet going?” Ryan said like it was a line he’d heard on TV and was embarrassed to repeat. “I see you’ve noticed Champagne,” Ryan made a quarter turn away from Holly and stared at the girl. “She used to be Carol Pumpernickel back when we went to high school together in Reno, but she changed it to Champagne Forest. It’s a stage name. She’s trying to get into film. But from what I’ve heard, the competition is, like, way out there. Worse than trying to get into Stanford.” He looked at her, his face sad as if he were contemplating a prize he could never have.
“She was a couple of years ahead of me. After she graduated, I never had any communication with her. Not like she would ever talk to a geek like me, anyway.”
As Ryan spoke, I could see Holly Hughes’s posture change, a rise of chest, a tensing of hands, a subtle shake of her head, the disbelief of a wise woman watching yet another young man fall under the spell of beauty, a spell that temporarily renders him stupid as a fence post.
Ryan continued, “After my company started doing well, I saw her here and there, parties and political fundraisers, stuff like that. Then she started hanging with Preston Laurence, and of course he’s involved with all the tech hotspots. I’ve seen them together in Palo Alto and up here in Incline. Girls that hot pretty much just go with the jocks, and Preston is the ultimate rich jock. But it turns out she’s real nice. We’ve had some nice talks. And she seems real interested in what I’m doing.”
Holly Hughes couldn’t contain herself any longer. “You don’t see many girls that pretty who are also interested in DNA,” she said. “Must be an irresistible subject for them.”
The sarcasm went past Ryan like a line drive too fast to be seen against the ballpark lights.
“Yeah,” Ryan said. Ryan looked at Holly Hughes and finally realized that her glare was not benign. “Oh, sorry, that was insensitive, wasn’t it, talking about a girl like she’s nothing more than a trophy.”
“Honey, fish don’t come any flashier. You want to rub some money scent on your fishing lure and go trolling, maybe you can pull in some beautiful, bottom-dweller, too.”
Ryan looked at me, his face showing shock. Then he turned back to her, his eyes wide, his cheeks turning crimson. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean...”
“Hey, handsome, I’m just kidding.” As Holly walked away, I thought that she wasn’t just kidding, and I wondered why she would have such a volatile reaction.
Ryan looked like he was about to cry.
“I really screwed up now, didn’t I,” he said, his tone imploring, his look rapidly switching back and forth between my eyes. “I’m hopeless in social situations. The only way I don’t say the wrong thing is if I don’t talk at all. And when I don’t talk, then that turns out to be the wrong thing, too.”
“Best to talk a little when people expect it. But good to think about how something might sound before you say it. But even so, her reaction seems very strong. It’s as if she were Champagne’s age instead of the age of her mother. Unless there is something else about you that bothers her?”
Ryan shook his head. “Not that I know of. We’ve always gotten along well.”
Ryan looked like he was going to implode under the pressure of self-critique. “The only reason I even focused on Champagne’s beauty is that I’m trying to see it. It’s so obvious to everyone else, but I don’t respond to it the way other people do. Same when I’ve seen good-looking guys. I notice physical beauty, but it doesn’t make my neurotransmitters fire. So I’m trying to train myself to think like other people. To be impressed with beauty.”
“Don’t try too hard,” I said. “It mostly just gets people in trouble.”
TWENTY-SIX
Ryan excused himself, and headed down the stairs, probably to find solace in talking to Holly’s son William the gamer, who was so awkward that he wouldn’t even join the party.
I hung out with the well-appointed crowd, sampling the catered buffet, looking out at Preston Laurence’s yacht.
Street appeared at the entrance to the great room, demonstrating once again that they invented the word elegance to have a perfect description for her. She was wearing the black top with the rounded neckline and the snug three-quarter sleeves that showed off her arms. But instead of the black miniskirt, she wore the stretchy black pants with low pumps. Her hair was pulled up into a tight bun, with little wispies curling down near her ears. Below her hair were the small turquoise-in-silver earrings, which made an ensemble with the similarly small necklace and bracelet. She always had a knack for powerful understatement.
I waved and walked over to her.
“Good party?” she asked.
“Now that you’re here. Find a place to park?”
“Barely. I squeezed in next to one of those classic seventies or sixties muscle cars. It looked like it was perfectly restored, everything shiny and polished. Probably worth a fortune. The cars are on a sideways slope, and when I opened my door it swung out fast. I envisioned having to pay for a paint job on the vintage vehicle, but I caught it at the last second.”
“Can I get you some wine?” I said.
“Please.”
I fetched two small glasses and some kind of Thai chicken on long decorative toothpicks, and brought them back to Street.
I saw Preston Laurence break away from the group he was with and move toward the big, open kitchen.
“Will you excuse me? I’ve been waiting to talk to that man in the yellow sports shirt.”
Street nodded and moved toward the open door that led to the deck.
I followed Preston, hoping to have a little chat. I was closing in on him as he ducked into a bathroom. Glennie appeared at just that moment.
“It looked like you were aiming for the great one,” she said in a hushed voice.
“I told you I was hoping to acquire some financial wisdom.”
She shook her head. “I’m not fooled. You have that competitive look. What is it with men, anyway? Just because he’s so successful, you feel the need to lean on him or something?”
“I was only going to introduce myself. Express my gratitude that he is doing such an excellent job of keeping the capitalist system going.”
“Right. You think he’s involved with your case?”
“What case? I’m attending a party, same as you.”
“You’re working, same as me. I’ve learned quite a lot about Ryan’s problems. And I know that he’s retained you to help with those problems.”
Preston came out of the bathroom.
“Here he comes,” she said. “Good luck.” She left.
I didn’t have to make an effort to meet him, as Preston approached me, pausing at an ice and beer-filled tub in the kitchen. He pick
ed up another Heineken, popped the bottle top and, as I’d previously seen, held the bottle from the bottom with the palm of his left hand.
“Evening,” he said. “I’m Preston Laurence. I thought I knew most of Ryan’s friends and business associates, but you are a new face.” Smooth, friendly, charming even.
“Owen McKenna,” I said.
He set down his beer so he could shake my hand with both of his. With a big smile he said, “Friend or customer or vendor or investor?”
“Friend,” I said. “You?”
“All of the above,” he said with the kind of laugh that was a little too warm to be believable. “I’m in lots of arenas, so Ryan and I intersect in many ways. He’s really a promising businessman, and a promising scientist.”
Laurence exuded polish. I’d only said a half-dozen words, and already he was acting like my best friend. I decided to play along for a bit.
“Were you able to get in on the ground floor of Ryan’s company?” I said, already knowing that he was Ryan’s 40% investor.
He gave me a knowing smile. “Pure luck,” he said. “Got a good buddy who’s a prof at Stanford. He periodically points out promising new ventures that his students start. As a help to them, and as their trusted advisor, he points them toward the most reliable resources for new tech businesses. Of course, when it comes to capital, the first resource to visit is me.”
“I imagine that Stanford would frown on their professors getting financially involved with their students.”
“You imagine correctly.”
“Kind of a shame, isn’t it?” I said. “Guy helps his students get rich, and all he gets is the joy of altruism.”
Preston’s smile reminded me of the eels in the Monterey Bay Aquarium.
“I buy him a nice bottle of Scotch now and then, if you get my drift,” he said. “How about you? Do you have a stake in CalBioTechnica?”
I realized it was a test. As a major investor in a closely-held company, he would know exactly who the stockholders were, which numbered only four according to Ryan. Preston Laurence with 40%, and Eli’s dad, Jeanie or her heirs, and Ryan with 20% each.
I shook my head. “I’ve stayed out of bio-tech.”
His eyes briefly toured my clothes, sweater to jeans, paused at my shoes.
“Do you focus on high-tech, or do you believe in a balanced portfolio?” he asked.
I thought about all that I owned, from a large stock of dog food, a bunch of art books, a 500-square-foot log cabin, and my old Jeep. “I’m like Warren Buffett, eclectic in my investments,” I said. “My primary holdings are agricultural, art, real estate, and automotive. Of course, I’ve taken a beating in a couple of those categories.”
He nodded. “As have we all.” He sipped beer. “I can tell that you are one of the thoughtful investors. Where do you see future growth?”
“Well, there are the obvious areas, like pharmaceuticals, but I’m working on a service sector endeavor. There’s some risk in it. But if I’m lucky, I should make out okay.”
Laurence’s eyes seemed to harden. Maybe he suspected that I wasn’t really an investor. He excused himself, and left.
Later, I saw Preston Laurence in Ryan’s foyer, surrounded by another group of people, equally as focused on him as the earlier group. One of them held a beer the same way Preston did, standing up on his palm.
Preston’s monologue was interrupted by a tall skinny guy. He had dirty brown hair that was plastered in a curve across his forehead. The hair had so little body to it that it looked like it was painted on. Despite his stick-like shape, the man moved with confidence, and he acted dangerous. His gaze at the partygoers made me think of the way a wolf looks at a herd of sheep.
The man whispered something in Preston’s ear.
Preston waved his hand at the assembled group, said something, then turned and walked away with the thin man.
I’d met guys like the thin man in the past. What they lacked in muscle they made up in attitude. I had no doubt that under the loose clothes was at least one gun - probably two - an ankle knife, and other items that could be used as weapons. But the deadliest weapon of all would be his willingness to act in ways that no normal thug would act.
I went the other direction and found Street talking to Ryan. The contrast between the self-assured woman and the ill-at-ease young man could not have been greater. Street stood up straight, and her mannerisms projected competence and confidence. Although I’d always thought she was wonderful, it wasn’t her angular face or her too-thin body that made her beautiful. It was her posture, her presence, and her attitude.
As if in opposition to Street, Ryan looked like a mess in spite of his handsome face. He slouched against a wall, his shoulders slumped, his back rounded.
Ryan’s worried frown, flinching eyes, and obsessive hand-washing projected nothing so much as fear.
Street saw me, separated herself from Ryan, and told me she had to go. We walked out to my Jeep so that she could say goodbye to Spot.
“You think Ryan will get through this?” she asked as she rubbed Spot’s head.
“He’s a nervous wreck,” I said. “But if I can catch this psychopath, I think there’s a chance that Ryan will come out of this with some coping skills.”
I kissed her forehead. I didn’t want her to go, but I understood that just because I’d moved into a client’s house didn’t mean that she should or could or would.
“You talked to several people tonight,” I said. “Any thoughts on who I should follow up with?”
“I’d look up the beauty queen.”
“Champagne?”
Street nodded. “I heard her say something disturbing.”
“What?”
“I was near her and some other women out on the deck. They were all talking about the Mustang Heat. One of them mentioned Preston Laurence’s Mustangs, then told Champagne that Preston was an amazing catch. And Champagne said that he scared her. She also said that Preston had made some frightening remarks about Ryan.”
“She didn’t elaborate?” I said.
“No. But the fear in her voice was significant.”
“I’ll look her up,” I said.
As Street rubbed Spot, he had his head out the window as far as possible, sniffing us all over, deducing what we’d eaten, what the people we’d talked to had eaten, along with all of the other culinary treats that had been present but were not eaten.
I walked Street to her VW bug.
“How about a nightcap out on your deck?” I said.
“What about his largeness?”
“Spot is happy here with Lily and Ryan. I could help them clean up a bit and then come over in an hour or so.”
Street smiled, and I felt the familiar warmth.
“I’ll be waiting,” she said.
I watched as she drove away.
Back at the Jeep, I let Spot out. As he wandered around, I moseyed over to a group of people who’d come down the driveway. One of them had his back to me. But I recognized the red knit cap, and the voice of Travis Rundell, even as his words were directed away from me. It sounded like he was saying something about how a thrush can really hurt a frog. As before, he had his camera around his neck. He was wearing warmer clothes than the other partygoers. Losing his hair in chemo probably made him cold all the time.
He turned and saw me.
“Hey, Owen, good to see you again.”
We shook. The group he was talking to moved toward some other people.
“Friend of Ryan’s?” I asked.
“I don’t know any Ryan,” he said. “I was just out for my evening walk and saw these people pointing into the woods. I wondered if they had seen Heat.”
“You live around here?”
He nodded. “I’m the caretaker for the Maxwells.”
I shook my head. “Don’t know them.”
“About a mile down.”
“So are you a bird expert, too?” I asked.
“Birds?” he said.
“You mentioned a thrush.”
“Oh, well, I never go anywhere without my camera. So I’ve learned a few things. But as little as I know about birds, it’s still more than what I know of horses. But horses are so beautiful, and I got so taken with Heat, that I wanted to see him and get pictures. The website grew from that. Have you seen him, yet?”
“Yeah. The evening of that day we last saw you in the woods across the highway. Not far from there. He saw us and then ran. But it was exciting.”
Travis beamed. “That’s great. Well, I best be going. It’s getting dark.”
“See you around,” I said.
I called Spot, and he trotted out of the nearby trees. We were heading toward Herman’s cabin, when I saw movement up on Ryan’s side deck.
The woman in the blue dress was out there. She had her hands on her hips, knees locked, feet apart. She was bent slightly forward at the waist, an indignant stance. She was talking to someone who was just around the corner, out of sight. From my distance, I couldn’t hear her voice over the din of the party. But the angry head motions, the hand suddenly raised, index finger stabbing toward the unseen person made her meaning clear. Then she turned and walked away, fluid of movement despite the emotion and the sky-scraper heels.
A half-minute later, the woman came out the front door. She apparently didn’t see Preston off to the side, as she moved into a large mass of people who mingled on the front patio. She threaded her way through them, as unsuccessful at blending into a crowd as a Lamborghini is at blending into a traffic jam of Fords.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Most of an hour later, the band had quit, and the party wound down to a few small groups. I’d been waiting to catch the woman named Champagne as she left, but I hadn’t seen her. I looked in each room. I found Praeger with Lily and William and Spot, playing a video game in the basement. But the rest of the house was mostly empty. I went back outside and saw her walking down the road with Preston, heading for one of the cars. If I approached her, Preston would be alerted to my interest, so I let them go. I could talk to her later.