All Things Considered

by A B Plum

  Bastards. Ryn’s stomach clenched. Acid burned her lungs. God, if a car had hit him … Remnants and fragments of thoughts collided in her head scaring her because she couldn’t make sense of what happened to Lavender, Stone, and now Beau. Was she next?

  By the time Beau and Elijah returned with Greek kabobs, rice, grilled veggies, tzatziki sauce, and baklava, Ryn had set the table and drunk a glass of wine. The wine took the edge off her imagination. Beau dominated the conversation with anecdotes about Stone’s obsession with popcorn and OJ’s Bronco chase and their crazy years as teenagers. Many of those stories Ryn didn’t know so she learned a lot about Stone’s drive to succeed. But she decided to ask Elijah’s opinion after dinner about her growing fears.

  A few minutes before ten, the kitchen sparkled and leftovers sat in the fridge. Beau yawned and asked if Maj could sleep with him. A quick snapshot of Maj and Beau lying on the side of the interstate prompted an immediate yes. While Beau brushed his teeth, Ryn turned down his bed and found a night light for his bathroom. She gave him a few minutes to get settled and then said good night.

  Maj lay by his head on top of the covers, her tail curled around her, purring. “I’m sure glad you’re not still mad at me,” he whispered.

  “I’m glad you’re not mad at me, either. I’m sorry I yelled at you. Sleep well.” She left the door cracked. Like her, Beau had some sleep issues.

  Back in the living room, Elijah asked, “You sure this is a good idea?”

  “He either stays with me—or with you.” Ryn motioned for Elijah to sit. “Wherever he stays, he expects to have Maj by his side.”

  “Not real workable in my Jeep.”

  “Don’t you have a hotel room?” On the sofa, Ryn tucked her legs under her.

  “No reason for one when I plan to stay up all night looking for a green Corolla and a black Cadillac limo.” He swallowed the remains of his coffee cup in one gulp. “As soon as I leave here, I’m dropping by Mr. Kent’s.”

  “Sounds a little … unorthodox.”

  “Catching people off guard is half the fun.” He stood and stretched. “Sure you’re gonna be okay after I leave?”

  “Fine.” They’d talk about how scared she should be when he didn’t have so much on his plate. “I’ll fill out Comfrey’s questionnaire, take a bath, and maybe even sleep a couple of hours.”

  “And you absolutely won’t let anyone—including Jack Kent—in the apartment, right?”

  She held up her right hand like a Boy Scout. “I gave Beau the same message so we’ve got that covered, too.”

  He left on that note, and Ryn had the sense the apartment had contracted. His height and muscular body filled up all the empty space. No wonder she felt so safe around him. Yet, she hadn’t asked him if he carried a gun. She didn’t want to know.

  The subject of guns had caused more arguments between her and Stone than she liked to remember. Both his concert bodyguards—giants like Elijah—had carried guns. Stone’s worst fear—as irrational and illogical as all fears—was that, like John Lennon, he’d be shot by a deranged fan. No amount of cajoling or persuasion by Ryn ever changed Stone’s mind.

  In public, he wanted someone with him at all times who carried a gun. In their bedroom, he kept a loaded .357 in the drawer of his bedside table. Ryn refused to learn to use it—had, in fact, never touched it.

  The police had found the gun, and Jericho stated, “Only Mister Wall’s prints are on it.” Accusing. As if Ryn had wiped her prints off the gun that didn’t even kill Stone.

  Standing, Ryn shook off the gloom. Comfrey’s questionnaire would take some careful thought. With any luck, the form would be so boring that she’d go to sleep while she filled it out.

  She had one foot in the steamy shower when the landline phone rang. She grabbed the bathroom extension and hoped Beau didn’t wake up.

  Before she could speak, Danny boomed, “Ryn. Sorry I missed you and Elijah this afternoon. Today’s my tenth wedding anniversary so I turned the phone off and took Melinda to Malibu.”

  Ryn turned off the shower. Would Danny have taken Monday afternoon off if Stone were alive?

  “What’s up? I don’t mind telling you Elijah’s message has me curious.”

  Ryn asked Danny to hold, laid down the phone, pulled on the long terry robe, and looped the belt into a soft knot. Stone would hang up. Unsure why she felt so ticked, she said, “The message about the two guys ready to step into Stone’s shoes?”

  “That’s the one. Elijah said they don’t want a dime to settle that other matter.”

  “Uhhhh-huh. Since I just arrived on the last stagecoach through town, I see no reason to doubt those young gentlemen.”

  “Cynicism?”

  “I say we should get rid of Amber and Beau and hire Bozo and El Creepo to take The Stoned Gang to new heights. I can see the headlines now.” Ryn threw her hand out in a wide arch in front of her. “We’ll make musical history. In years to come, Bozo and El Creepo will tell the story of how they were discovered after having the shit beaten out of them by yours tru—”

  “Your enthusiasm’s refreshing, Ryn. As always. You know I value your opinions as much as Stone did.”

  “Of course, I feel just like Stone about your musical opinions, Danny.” Ryn faced her tight-lipped reflection in the wall of mirrors. “On the other hand, I might defer making any rash judgments until you tell me more about Señor Carlos Luis Vega.”

  The silence on the line stretched out so long that Ryn figured Danny had fainted or broken their connection.

  “Elijah and you seem to have … struck up … quite a-a-uh friendship.”

  Ryn waited a beat. “I think Elijah simply understands who will ultimately pay his bill.”

  Another long pause during which Ryn could hear a low hum on the line. Danny’s voice dropped. “I don’t like talking about this over the phone. How about if I fly into San Fran in the morning, take you to lunch, and decide where to go next?”

  At least he didn’t say, ‘Let’s take a meeting.’ Ryn winked at her reflection. “Can’t do lunch. I have an appointment with Comfrey and then I’m checking into the sleep clinic. First things, first. Isn’t that what you Hollywood movers and shakers always say?”

  Danny cleared his throat. “What I’m hearing, Ryn, is that you’re not making this easy for me.”

  “Making this easy for you should be my goal. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “C’mon, Ryn. We’ve known each other for five, six years. Why—all of a sudden—you bustin’ my balls?”

  “I wouldn’t say we’ve known each other. I might have before I found out you hired Elijah fourteen months ago.” She took a quick breath and kept right on talking, giving Danny no chance to interrupt. “Now, I think I’d have to say I’ve never really known you.”

  Danny sighed, a long sibilant sound that slid over the phone wires like a snake in the grass. “You’ve got me between a rock and concrete wall, here. No matter what I say, you turn it around—make me sound like an opportunistic SOB. Maybe we should postpone this conversation until after Comfrey makes his diagnosis.”

  “Not even a good night’s sleep will change my mind about you making no deals with Bozo and El Creepo. I plan to deal with those jokers myself.”

  Danny sputtered a few times, but Ryn didn’t give him an inch. When they said good night, they both sounded as if the other was obstinate, stubborn, and downright ornery.

  In the shower, Ryn adjusted the water tempo to long, pulsing throbs and let the steamy water work on the tension in her neck. Was Danny right? Was she being antagonistic because she needed sleep? He’d probably say lack of sleep and raging hormones.

  God knew, without the Provera, she might have morphed into an ax murderer by now.

  She turned off the water and scrubbed her arms and legs with a loofah until her scarlet skin burned. After a few minutes, she started on her hips. Her jogging must be paying off. Her butt was as skinny as Amber’s. Toweling off, she couldn’t figure out how to
get a morning run in before her appointment with Comfrey. Unless Elijah showed up early, she couldn’t leave Beau alone for fifteen seconds.

  I should’ve told Danny to come and then informed him he was spending the night with Beau.

  With no idea how to handle Beau and the sleep clinic, she laughed at the idea of calling Danny and pitching her proposal. Or cancelling the sleep clinic made more sense. She brushed her teeth and tidied the bathroom.

  Admitting she’d do about anything to get out of going to that damn clinic, she opened the door into her bedroom and screamed.

  Just like in the Three Bears’ house, someone was sleeping in her bed.

  Chapter 26

  A wave of sheer primal terror pulsated through Ryn before reason grabbed a toehold, and she mashed a fist against her mouth. Beau. It’s Beau. Breathe.

  Breathe. Hard to do with her heart all but thumping itself to death preparing her body for flight. Except she couldn’t flee two steps on her stilt-legs. Giving in to their weakness, she collapsed against the doorjamb so she wouldn’t drop to the floor in a dead faint. Beau’s loud, continuous snore vibrated over her pounding heart.

  Calm. Down. She closed her eyes, inhaled, exhaled. Heart attacks hit women her age with wacko hormones. After another inhale/exhale, she opened her eyes and pushed upright. Beau’s brain cells might be lower than the speed limit on the interstate, but he loved her with childlike devotion, trusting her to do the right thing for him. It wasn’t his fault Danny’s phone call woke him. Probably scared him as much as finding him in her bed shocked her.

  She breathed a little slower, backed out of the bedroom, and stopped at the linen closet. She pulled out a couple of blankets and pillows. It took a while to get comfortable, but she picked up Comfrey’s essay test. No more procrastinating.

  Please answer each of the following questions thoroughly, providing as much historical information as you can. Although you may have already answered some of these questions in our oral interview, please answer them again.

  1.How much caffeine do you drink daily?

  2.How much alcohol do you consume daily?

  3.How long does it take you to fall asleep at night?

  4.How many hours of sleep do you normally get each night?

  5.Do you experience brief episodes of muscle weakness when emotionally aroused?

  6.Do you nap during the day?

  •If so, how often and for how long?

  •If so, do you dream during your naps?

  •If so, do you have a recurring dream?

  •Please describe this dream.

  7. Do you wake frequently during the night?

  •If yes, how long do you usually stay awake?

  •What do you do while you’re awake?

  8.When did you first start having trouble going to sleep when you wanted?

  •Did you experience a traumatic event around this time?

  •If so, please describe.

  9. Have you recently experienced a traumatic event?

  •If yes, please describe this event and the impact you perceive it had on your sleep.

  10. Is there a history of sleep problems in your family?

  •If yes, please describe.

  11. Please describe (briefly) a typical day from waking up to going to sleep.

  She yawned. Were the questions in order of difficulty? Nine through eleven could keep her awake for several consecutive nights if she got serious about them. But six sent the shivers chasing each other up and down her spine. She’d read about “lucid dreaming”—which seemed to be the idea lurking under the part about recurring dreams. From the little she’d read about the subject, she knew the dreamer could change the dream’s outcome. Kicking off the covers, she tossed the questionnaire on the coffee table.

  Comfrey wanted to know if the patient had a recurring dream. She could truthfully answer “No.” Truthfully, because she now had two recurring dreams: Black Beauty and Stone.

  In the kitchen, she stuck her head into the fridge and laughed. Less than five hours earlier, she was reading Beau the riot act for leaving the apartment. She’d refused to accept his excuse that she hadn’t told him to stay inside. In Beau’s case, his poor brain needed every detail spelled out.

  Okay, I can’t take the stress from the refrigerator light’s unrelenting glare. I confess. Doesn’t matter if I’ve had one or one hundred recurring dreams. I know the intent of question number six.

  She pulled out the carton of milk. From the instant she’d read question six and told herself she wasn’t going to think about the puppies or the red hibiscus on Stone’s chest, that she’d think of nothing else. Slivers and chips of the nightmares had crept inside her head, inching and worming their way deep into her brain—making it impossible to wipe out what she wanted most to forget.

  She replaced the carton of milk and slammed the refrigerator door. Her brain wasn’t about to get sidetracked by a glass of milk. Teeth gritted, she resisted the impulse to kick the grill which filtered warm air on her bare feet. It was going to be a long night.

  As if in agreement, the landline screamed. Who the hell? In her lunge for the phone, Ryn whacked her hip bone against the counter edge. The receiver crashed out of the hook and bounced off the tiles, dangling back and forth like a snake.

  “Fuck!” The receiver cha-chaaed out of her reach. Her fingers grabbed air but then connected with the phone. “Hello.”

  Deep breathing echoed in her ear. She growled, “Stop calling, you creep.”

  “Kathryn?” Jack Kent sounded as if he’d like to hang up without continuing the conversation. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “At ten past midnight? Why would you wake me?”

  “I just got home. Saw your lights in the living room and thought—”

  “Or not.” How did he know which room had lights on? He’d never been to the penthouse, had he?

  The open medicine cabinet flashed in her mind’s eye.

  Jack missed a beat, but kept speaking. “I-I thought you might like a cup of coffee.”

  “Good punt. Better than asking me to come down and see your etchings.”

  “You-uh-you sound a little … hostile.”

  “Someone earlier tonight said I sounded antagonistic. As a PR guy, how do you advise clients to beat that kind of remark.”

  “Don’t do anything to deserve it in the first place.”

  “Hey. You must be very good at what you do—fast as lightning on your feet.”

  “Right now, Kathryn, I feel dull—sort of like I’m singing a different song from the rest of the choir.”

  “Wrong analogy. I don’t even whistle in the shower. But I think I understand what you mean—that there’s something going on, and you’re not sure how things got out of hand so quickly when all you wanted was to have a cup of coffee with me a little past midnight.”

  “Huh-uh. It’s been a long day, and I’m more tired than I thought when I called.” He yawned to reinforce his statement. “You must be whacked.”

  His solicitous tone reminded Ryn of warm butterscotch sauce, and she changed tactics. “Not really. I haven’t had to trudge through the trenches of corporate America. In fact, that’s why the lights are on. I’m wide awake and thinking of hot chocolate. But I’ve got plenty of coffee.”

  No humming or buzzes on the line broke the silence. Ryn shifted the receiver to her left ear and smiled. If he was Garrett McCoy, he’d jump at the chance to get a scoop for his sleazoid. If he was Jack Kent, he’d jump at the chance to go to bed and forget he lived in the same building with a radical feminist now obviously in the throes of a major mood swing.

  “I’d better take a raincheck. I have an early morning meeting—”

  “I plan to go jogging at six.”

  “My meeting starts at six.”

  “I never imagined PR folks had it so hard. Six is pretty early for a meeting to start, isn’t it?”

  “The meeting doesn’t actually start at six.” Jack must have realized his mis
take and rushed to add. “I have to go into the office to set up. Make sure everything’s ready.”

  “You left the office around midnight and everything still not ready?” Ryn rounded her eyes and mouth, getting into the role now of business dummy.

  “Everything’s pretty much ready. I need to make coffee.” Jack’s voice carried a note of desperation. “Set out the bagels—that sort of thing.”

  Had she told Jack about Aardvark Ace Computers? What’d her little company net last year? Nine, ten mil?

  Ryn couldn’t resist turning the screw. “I’m surprised you don’t have a secretary who does that.”

  “Oh, we do, we do.” Ryn imagined the wheels in Jack/Garrett’s head churning in the rut he’d dug. “I didn’t want to ask Elise to come in so early. She’s married and has a couple of little kids. Lives in the East Bay. Rides in a carpool. She and her husband have only one car.”

  Ryn swallowed a laugh. Elise sounded like a figment of someone’s vivid imagination. “With all those challenges to get to work, you must offer her lots of perks.”

  He missed a beat. Must’ve caught him off guard. They’d gone from her open hostility to her quick concern about his secretary. Jack/Garrett must be wondering where this kooky conversation was going next.

  “Do you give her perks like meeting lots of glamorous people—celebrities? Rock stars …” Ryn dropped her voice to a husky whisper.

  “No, no, no, no. No. No. This is Silicon Valley—not Hollywood. There is no George Clooney in Sunnyvale.”

  “What, then? Money?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Money—is that what keeps the wonderful Elise in your employ?” Ryn figured if she confused Jack/Garrett enough he might let something drop.

  A long stretch of silence convinced her he’d fallen asleep.

  “No, not money.” His joviality sounded strained. “It’s my sunny personality. And—unless I get some sleep, I won’t be worth a damn in the meeting.”