by Lutz, Lisa
I stared at the couple in utter disbelief.
“What the hell is going on, Bernie?”
“I’m entertaining a friend,” Bernie said, not even trying to cover up.
“Didn’t you see the tie on the door?”
“Yes,” I replied, averting my gaze from…everything.
“What did you think it meant?”
“I thought it meant you were a slob.”
“In the future, roomie, the tie on the door means—”
“We have no future,” I replied, grabbing a suitcase out of the closet and heading into the bedroom. “I’m not coming back until you’re gone.”
I packed another suitcase and a backpack of clothes and told Bernie to call me when he was planning to vacate. He managed to even look sad as I slammed the door on my way out. In San Francisco a rent-controlled apartment is a goldmine and I had just lost my treasure. I accepted defeat in the moment but planned a series of far more drastic measures to win back my home.
SUSPICIOUS BEHAVIOR REPORTS #4 AND #5
“Olivia Spellman”
As I was driving up the block to the Clay Street house, with the clock on my dashboard reading 11:15 P.M., I saw my mother pulling her car out of the driveway. I knew she wasn’t on the job and could come up with no reasonable explanation for her late-night venture, so I decided to tail her.
I stayed at least one car back the entire drive. Mom, in her nondescript Honda, was traveling at a leisurely just-above-the-speed-limit pace. She was clearly not tailing anyone, nor was she aware of being tailed. She took Gough to Market Street and Dolores Street over the hill into Noe Valley. She parked in an illegal corner spot and got out of her car. I double-parked, thinking Mom wasn’t planning a lengthy visit, and followed her down the block, scaling shrubbery the entire way.
From about twenty feet back, I saw my mother kneel down in front of a motorbike, unscrew the air caps on the tires, stick a pin inside, and let out all the air. She looked around nervously as she was accomplishing this simple act of vandalism and then quickly got up and walked briskly, but confidently, back to her car. I remained in the bushes watching her as she drove away.
“Henry Stone”
When you witness your mother vandalizing a motorbike for no apparent reason, there aren’t a whole lot of people you can discuss it with. I jotted down the address where the motorbike was parked and then returned to my car. It was too late to phone Petra, so I went to Milo’s, even though the last time I went to Milo’s his ear wasn’t as sympathetic as it used to be.
When I entered Henry was sitting at the bar, nursing a whiskey neat, and staring down at the counter. I nodded at Milo, who pulled a Guinness for me. I had begun ordering those lately because they take a really long time to serve and it annoys Milo. I also like the rich, soupy flavor, but that’s secondary. I sat down next to the unexpected patron and asked the obvious question.
“What are you doing in my bar, Henry?”
“It’s a free country,” he replied, sounding almost drunk.
Henry Stone’s expressionless face was impossible to read. All communication with him happened through words and he chose them very carefully. But there had to be a reason he was in my bar at close to midnight, maybe intoxicated.
“Are you drunk?” I asked, hoping he’d say yes, hoping that I had finally caught him with his guard down.
Then he did the oddest thing. He reached over to me and put his hands in my jacket pockets, then slid them down over my hips and thighs.
I smacked his hand away. “You’re buying my drink now.”
“Sorry. I wanted to make sure you weren’t recording me,” he said by way of explanation.
“I only do that when Rae’s around,” I replied.
Henry then returned his focus to the bottom of his drink. Milo slid the Guinness in front of me. I pointed at Henry.
“He’s buying.”
Henry reached into his wallet and bought me my drink. Usually Henry’s eye contact had a way of unnerving you, making you feel like he knows exactly what you’re thinking and is disappointed that you’re thinking it. But Henry wasn’t looking anyone in the eye. I had never seen him appear so…weak.
“I’m going to ask you if there’s something on your mind, Henry, because clearly there’s something on your mind. Please don’t deny it. It will just insult me. So, if you want to tell me what it is, I promise I’ll be quiet and listen.”
Henry finished his drink and pointed at his glass for Milo to pour him another.
As Milo was refilling Henry’s whiskey, Milo turned to me and said, “Still upset about not making the Olympics?”
“You’ve changed,” I snapped back at Milo.
Milo chuckled to himself and turned to Henry. “You doing okay there, son?”
“I’m fine,” Henry replied politely.
“How many has he had?” I asked Milo, and then finally Henry made eye contact. His loaded glance at my bartender was a clear warning to respect his privacy. Milo nodded back to him in understanding and turned to me.
“Mind your own business. That’s between me, my customer, and the cab driver.”
I flashed my ring for Milo and said, “Can you leave me alone to talk to my fiancée in private?”
Milo rolled his eyes and walked away.
“There are over three hundred bars in San Francisco, give or take. There has to be a reason why you came into my bar,” I said.
Henry finished his drink and continued to ignore me.
“Let me drive you home,” I said.
“No, I’ll take a cab.”
“Why? I’ll drive you. Come on, let’s go.”
Henry took my left hand in his and pulled off my mother’s ring. He then stuck it in my pocket and got to his feet.
“You shouldn’t wear it all the time. Makes them think you’re taken. Then you attract the wrong kind of guy,” Henry said.
“I attract the wrong kind all on my own,” I said. “But I find if I wear the rock1 I get much better customer service. Give me your keys, Henry.”
Henry looked like he was thinking about it. I didn’t want an argument. I just wanted the keys, so I reached into his pocket and took them.
“Let’s go,” I said, exiting the bar and waving to Milo.
Henry took his time following me to the car, like he was making a point, although the point was lost on me.
Henry buckled up his seat belt and said, “You people have taken over my life.” There was a flash of genuine hostility in the delivery that rendered me speechless.
In all my car rides with cops in squad cars, none were as tense as this one. The silence was that eerie cricket kind, as if breaking it would disrupt nature. I had ten minutes to consider what we had done to this man, and it was true. Somehow we did take over his life. But I suppose we had been mistakenly convinced that he didn’t really mind.
As I pulled up in front of Henry’s apartment, he prepared to shoot out of the car. I locked the door from the control panel and held on to his arm.
“Is my family the source of your troubles?” I asked point-blank.
“No,” he replied. “But I need some space to think.”
“About what?”
“That’s not giving me space.”
“Got it,” I said, and unlocked the door.
DISAPPEARANCE #1: THE NOT-SO-GRAND CANYON
Four days later, still not wanting to bunk with Bernie, I returned to my parents’ home to retire for the night. I found my mother and father packing for their disappearance. The next morning they were departing at 8 A.M. sharp on their road trip to the Grand Canyon. Mom was packing with an attention to detail usually reserved for brain surgery. The last time my parents had taken a disappearance was fifteen years earlier, and the only traveling they had done since was to weekend PI conferences—on subjects as far-ranging as “A PI’s Best Friend: The Latest in Gadgetry” and “The Post-Pellicano PI”—where one never leaves the
hotel.
In the morning, Mom, Dad, Rae, and I had breakfast together. My parents’ edginess regarding an activity most people look forward to was cause for concern. As my dad and Rae loaded the car with their suitcases, Mom hugged me good-bye.
“I’m glad we don’t have to experiment with leaving Rae alone just yet,” she whispered to me, and smiled just as Rae walked by carrying a piece of luggage.
“I’m almost sixteen,” Rae said. “I can stay home alone without a responsible adult keeping tabs on me.”
“Dear, Isabel’s not that responsible,” was my mother’s reply.
“Whatever,” Rae said, and continued on to the car.
I ignored their previous exchange and focused my attention on the more serious matter at hand: “Disappearances are supposed to be fun, Mom. Why do you look so nervous?”
“Your father and I haven’t had this much quality time since our honeymoon.”
“So?” I replied.
“What if we can’t stand each other?”
HOME ALONE
CHAPTER-1
Saturday, January 21
My parents departed without incident. As Rae and I cleared up the breakfast dishes, I asked her what her plans were for the day.
“I’m going to see if I can talk Henry into giving me another driving lesson,” she replied, and that is when I gave my sister the Space Talk.
I kept it simple because Rae prefers bullet points to essays, especially when the lesson is in the form of a lecture.
If you don’t give someone enough space, they become sick of you.
If they become sick of you, you might lose them forever.
Therefore, sometimes you can keep a relationship going longer if you completely ignore someone for a while.
I played the expert on this subject even though everyone in my family knows I’m not an expert. Rae asked for a specific timeline for how long she should leave Henry Stone alone. I suggested six months. We negotiated down to one. We’d cross that bridge when we came to it. In the meantime I gave Rae driving lessons to distract her from her absent best friend. My parents had made it clear a while back that they didn’t want me instructing Rae on the rules of the road, but they were gone and I had to sidetrack her somehow.
An hour later, as Rae practiced backing the car into the driveway, Subject exited his apartment carrying two bags of topsoil. After he placed them on the truck bed, he approached our car.
“Not bad,” he said to Rae, impressed with her reverse driving skills.
As Rae exited the vehicle, she said, “My best friend taught me.”
“The one that was in the hospital?”
“Yes,” Rae replied. Behind her back I was trying to signal Subject to get off the subject, but he simply eyed me quizzically and continued on.
“How is he?” Subject asked.
“He’s fine, I guess. I’m trying to give him his space.”
I sliced my finger across my throat and mouthed to our neighbor to change the subject. Subject did, quickly.
“So I ran into your parents this morning. They said they’re going on a road trip, although they called it something strange.”
“A disappearance,” Rae said.
“That was it.”
“I have to pee. Good-bye,” Rae said, apparently giving our neighbor some space.
I stood in the front yard awkwardly, hoping that perhaps he’d ask me out again, but as you will soon discover I’m extremely impatient.
“So, uh, thanks for breakfast the other day.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Maybe you’d like to cook me another kind of meal just so I can see where your true talent lies.”
“Maybe I would.”
“When do you think you would like to do that?”
“Maybe at 6 P.M. tonight. You can bring your sister.”
“Maybe not.”
As I made Rae a sandwich for dinner (not because she can’t make her own sandwich, but because I thought if I made it she’d be more likely to eat that than a bowl of Froot Loops for dinner) she quizzed me about my upcoming date.
“Do you like this guy?”
“I don’t know him, but I think he’s cute.”
“I think he’s too young for you,” Rae said.
“He’s about my age.”
“But Mom says you should go out with someone more mature so that you grow up.”
“I’m grown up enough,” I replied.
“That’s not what Mom says.”
SUSPICIOUS BEHAVIOR REPORT #6
“Subject”
When I arrived at Subject’s residence, he put on his coat and said we had to go for a ride to pick up a few extra ingredients for dinner. Instead of driving to the store, Subject took me to a community garden in the Mission District. There was a padlock securing the fence, which Subject had the key for. We entered the garden and Subject found a four-by-six-foot patch of soil that was growing an assortment of winter vegetables. Subject grabbed some carrots, kale, and squash and placed them in a paper bag.
On the way back to Clay Street, Subject explained that the plot in the garden was his friend’s. Subject was taking care of it while he was out of town and was therefore entitled to its crop.
While I found the garden side of Subject interesting, I had a few more practical questions up my sleeve. I tackled these interrogations while Subject was cooking. I’ve discovered that people are often more forthright when they are double-tasking.
“Where are you from?” I asked.
“St. Louis,” he replied.
“Were you born there?”1
Pause. “Yes.”
“Why’d you move here?”
“Change of pace. So do you like your job?” Subject asked, trying to steer the topic away from him.
“Eh,” I replied, trying to avoid any follow-up questions.
“Still don’t want to talk about work?” Subject asked.
“Nope,” I replied.
“I’m going to serve dinner now.”
“Excellent idea.”
Subject could certainly cook and drink, two things in a man I am quite fond of. We touched on many subjects over the ninety-minute meal, but none of them provided any real personal information, which, for the time being, was fine with me. But Subject was still fishing, even after we finished our meal.
“Got any hobbies?” he asked.
“Not that I’m aware of,” I replied.
“How about special skills?”
As it turns out, I am something of an expert on the classic sitcom Get Smart, which aired between 1965 and 1970, plus a few unremarkable TV movies some years later. I decided to mention my encyclopedic knowledge of the show’s 138 episodes. Subject claimed to have never seen an episode of Get Smart. I, of course, asked him if he had been raised by wolves. Subject then explained that he simply didn’t watch much television growing up. I gave Subject the appropriate amount of sympathy and then excused myself to grab my DVD collection from my parents’ house (a bootlegged2 set “borrowed” from Ex-boyfriend #9). Over the next two hours I forced Subject to watch what I firmly believe are the top three episodes of this classic TV series.
“The Not-So-Great Escape”
CONTROL3 agents start vanishing from the airport. Max4 and the chief go to the airport to investigate and the chief disappears as well. Eventually Max discovers that all the CONTROL agents are being held at a KAOS5 prisoner-of-war camp, somewhere in New Jersey. Max returns to the airport to get himself kidnapped and is also sent to the prison camp. After several failed attempts at escaping, the CONTROL prisoners decide to dig their way out. Max loses his sense of direction underground and ends up digging back into the prisoners’ barracks. Fortuitously he cuts a power line in the process, which sends the fire and police departments to the camp. KAOS agents flee for fear of being caught, freeing the CONTROL agents. I am of the opinion that any Get Smart episode that features Ludwig Von Siegfr
ied (charmingly over-acted by Bernie Kopell6) is a classic.
“Ship of Spies”
Max and Agent 997 board a ship carrying only four other passengers (five if you count the unstable Agent 44;8 six if you count Agent 44 and the murdered passenger they discover). They’re looking for the plans for the Nuclear Amphibian Battleship. Their only clue is that the “plans are not plans” and they’re searching for someone who makes a clip-clop noise when he/she walks. Unfortunately all their fellow passengers make clip-clop noises.
“The Little Black Book”
Max’s old army buddy, Sid (played by the borderline-psychotic Don Rickles), comes for a visit. Sid borrows what he thinks is Max’s little black book but is in fact a list of KAOS agents, left to Max by an agent trying to defect.9 Sid inadvertently returns the book to KAOS. When Max tries to explain to Sid that he’s a spy, Sid thinks he’s crazy and sabotages Max’s attempts to get the book back. Finally Max convinces Sid that he’s a secret government agent and they work together to find the book, only to get arrested for playing patty-cake. I’m completely serious. Max and Sid just shot three guys, but get arrested for “the old patty-cake trick,”10 (which originated, I believe, during the Bob Hope/Bing Crosby Road pictures). This two-part episode of Get Smart defies logic more than usual for this show, but the Adams/Rickles chemistry is priceless.
After two hours of Get Smart and 1.5 bottles of wine, Subject still had not offered to give me a tour of his apartment. I decided to give myself a tour.
“Where’s your bathroom?” I asked while Subject was doing the dishes.11
“At the end of the hall on the right.”
It’s easy to forget the descriptive words in directions. Plus, I’d had at least 3/4 of a bottle of wine, so I opened all four doors that I came upon.
Door #1
The bedroom: Spare and uncluttered. Not the clean lines and empty corners of a neat freak, but the unclutteredness that comes with simply not having that many belongings.
Door #2
Hall closet: Contained coats and shoes. Nothing suspicious to speak of, unless you find the wearing of Hush Puppies suspicious.