Wayward Son

by Tom Pollack

  Dr. Walker’s purposeful stride soon led them to Luc Renard, who stood at the ceremonial dais, surrounded by technicians. After a brief pause, he broke free and extended his hand.

  “Dr. Walker! Welcome to Villa Colosseum.”

  “It is a privilege to be here on such a momentous occasion, Mr. Renard. May I present one of our brightest stars at the Getty, Ms. Amanda James?”

  Luc Renard turned to Amanda. He stared at her eye to eye in her high heels, which lofted her several inches above Walker. For several seconds Luc admired her stunning good looks, then flashed a precise, gleaming smile and extended his hand.

  “What a pleasure, Doctor James! I am so glad you were able to join us.”

  Amanda returned the smile. Inwardly, she was gratified at Renard’s obvious mention of her credential in front of her superior. Luc’s grip was warm and confident.

  “I have often seen your beautiful house, Mr. Renard. But never the inside. I surf about half a mile down the coast near Little Dume Beach.”

  “Indeed? I hear it’s a popular break.”

  “Well, maybe a little too popular. That’s why I go there very early in the morning.”

  Cocktail chitchat, thought Amanda somewhat impatiently. Although she did wonder what it would be like to be the lady of this house and married to a man as powerful as Luc Renard. His appearance was a bit unsettling, though. Why was he wearing dark sunglasses indoors? “Never trust a man who doesn’t show you his eyes,” her mother had often said. Did Luc want her here as just another Getty sycophant like Walker?

  “Dr. Walker,” Luc turned and looked down at the department head. “I wonder if you would excuse us? I have some matters I would like to discuss with Dr. James in private.”

  Archibald Walker’s jaw dropped. He was being dismissed, there was no doubt, but to protest would have been futile. Was Renard going to put the moves on Amanda? What could these “matters” be? She had never met Renard, as far as Walker knew. However, he now remembered that Amanda had given a Getty Villa tour to some of the tycoon’s top Japanese executives a year ago. They must have been impressed enough to tell Renard about her.

  A practiced smile, blending complicity with flattery, creased Walker’s lips.

  “Of course. I will hope to see you after the unveiling.” Dr. Walker disappeared into the crowd, but not before replacing his empty martini glass with a fresh one from a steward’s gleaming silver tray.

  Luc turned his full attention to his beautiful guest. “Amanda, permit me to address you by your first name. I have heard so much about you. It is especially serendipitous you are here tonight for the unveiling. Are you familiar with the works of Giovanni Genoa?”

  “No, Mr. Renard, I can’t say that I am.”

  “Please, call me Luc. I first met Giovanni several years ago at an art show in Rome. I found his work so compelling that I asked him if he would consent to create a series of large-scale murals for Villa Colosseum. Happily, he accepted. Mr. Genoa is comparatively unknown in the art world, but tonight you will see what a brilliant discovery I have made.”

  “The scale of the paintings is exceptional. I can’t wait to see them,” she said.

  “That, of course, will be the evening’s pièce de résistance. But there is another reason that your presence here tonight is so gratifying. I have just returned from a brief trip to Tokyo.”

  “How did you like Japan?”

  “I’ve been there many times. Renard Enterprises has publishing and entertainment interests all over the world. I must say, though, that Japan is one of the more agreeable destinations on my travel docket.”

  With a gesture, Luc ushered Amanda away from the podium and toward the end of the great hall that led to the balcony.

  “Let’s have a look at the sunset. Here at Point Dume it rivals sundown on the Bay of Naples.”

  With a start, Amanda thought of Juan Carlos and the nuovi scavi.

  Out on the balcony, one of the orchestras was in the middle of a Cole Porter medley. Luc gestured to the conductor to reduce the volume a bit. Polberto approached to take drink orders. They both requested Chardonnay.

  “Try the Kistler Sonoma 2006,” suggested Luc. “It’s rather fine. Gains velocity on the finish, as they say.”

  “Excellent choice,” she agreed as Polberto hurried away.

  Luc continued. “I should tell you why I went to Japan, Amanda. A week ago, one of the company’s most talented—and I may say most valuable—employees suffered a stroke. For fifteen years, Foster Benedict has hosted one of our most popular TV shows, Exposed. It’s a celebrity thing. Has had a lot of support in Asia and Europe. Also from the estancias crowd in countries like Argentina. Viewership is growing steadily.”

  “I am not familiar with it,” admitted Amanda.

  “It doesn’t matter. The premise is simple—like a televised People magazine. Japanese people want to hear about, and look at, American celebrities. It’s an escape from their daily routine.”

  “So now what will you do to replace Mr. Benedict?”

  “That’s where I think you can help. Last year, my Tokyo publishing executives were at the Getty Villa on a reward trip to L.A. They told me that you spoke Japanese fluently when you gave them a private tour. Apparently, there were no Japanese-speaking docents available that day, and you were graciously volunteered by Dr. Walker to show the group around.”

  Amanda recalled the brusque phone call from Walker ordering her to drop everything and head over to the Villa’s main entrance.

  Luc continued, “I must also admit to having snuck into a lecture you gave last fall. It was the same night as a Getty Trust board meeting, when I presented them with a $25 million matching-donor check. I briefly listened to you speak about the library at the Villa dei Papiri. The lecture was in the Getty Center auditorium, you remember? You had every man’s attention in that room, as well as the jealousy of most of the women!”

  Luc chuckled flirtatiously, while Amanda wondered how to acknowledge his praise.

  “Since then, I have inquired about your background. Dr. Walker has shared your credentials with me and told me a great deal about your foreign language skills. You lived in Japan?”

  “Yes, I graduated from high school in Tokyo. We lived there for two years.”

  “How’s your Japanese these days?”

  “Better than average for an American, I suppose,” Amanda smiled.

  “You are too modest. I’m sure you could thrill our Japanese viewers.”

  “Are you suggesting…?”

  “Yes, I want you to go to Japan. Your looks, your poise—and above all, your intelligence—make you ideally suited to replace Benedict as host of the show. Of course, Walker has no idea of what I have in mind. You would have to leave the Getty. But think of the opportunities opening up for you with your own TV show!”

  While Luc spoke, Amanda’s thoughts flashed back to her teenage years. She had to admit that she’d admired the celebrity lifestyle, and even fantasized about living it one day. As Luc’s soothing words flowed on, she daydreamed about his offer until Polberto returned with the wine.

  “The formula is easy to master. I predict you’ll catch on within a week. Walker says you’re a quick study for every assignment you’ve ever had at the Getty.”

  “Aren’t there other qualified candidates for this position?”

  “Yes, frankly, there are. But I don’t want them. I want you. It’s our chance to reinvigorate the show, give it a beautiful host who speaks our audience’s language, and expand that audience even more. It’s all about ratings.”

  “I’m flattered that you think I have the potential, Mr. Renard…er, Luc. I can’t believe this, though. I’m supposed to be going to Italy tonight,” she stuttered.

  “Ah, yes, Walker mentioned that. Something archaeological?” Luc inquired whimsically as he sipped his Chardonnay and continued to admire her from behind his designer sunglasses.

  A muffled warning rang in Amanda’s mind, and she decided to dow
nplay the matter. “Yes. It’s no big deal, but I’ve got an old friend over there who thinks I can help him with a small project.”

  The sun now kissed the horizon in a blaze of color. Luc smiled broadly and removed the sunglasses to reveal his hazel eyes that sparkled in the evening glow. Amanda thought him quite handsome now that she could see his face, although she still could not quite place his accent.

  “Amanda, I have amassed a personal fortune making tough decisions. Respectfully, I am pointing out that this is your chance to achieve financial security. I can’t offer you the job straight out, but I can say that our senior people in Tokyo, many of whom you have already met, will interview you with the deck stacked in your favor. How much would you make five years from now if you stuck with the Getty? Eighty or a hundred grand? This position has a signing bonus of $150,000, plus a starting salary of $350,000 for year one and up to half a million in year two, depending on the ratings. The opportunities for growth are limitless. We need you.”

  Luc moved slightly closer to her. “And I know you can do it.”

  Amanda had no idea how to reply. She sipped her wine and made a show of looking out at the sunset. “This is very unexpected, Luc. I am flattered, as I said, but you will have to give me some time to think about it.”

  “My dear, time is one thing we have very little of. Can we meet here on the balcony in an hour, after the unveiling ceremony? Let’s say seven forty-five. We’ll discuss it more then.”

  Although taken aback, Amanda didn’t want to refuse. “Perfect,” she said.

  “And by the way,” Luc added before departing, “I believe I’ve seen you surfing the break.” He motioned to a telescope mounted on the balcony railing. “I know you’ll miss that in Tokyo, but during your eight paid vacation weeks I’ll make sure you have opportunities to get to some of the greatest breaks in the world.” Luc pointed to the surf below. “Think Fiji, Indonesia, Phuket!”

  He winked conspiratorially, and then he was gone, with a silent Polberto in tow.

  Amanda lingered on the balcony. How bizarre life could be! For the second time in a single day, she had been urgently entreated to leave home for foreign ports. What could be made of Luc Renard’s offer? She had no obvious media qualifications for the job. Up to now, Amanda had lived in a highly credentialed world. The BA led smoothly to her doctoral program. The PhD was the driver’s license of academia. Was it possible that Renard was steering her to Tokyo based primarily on her looks and foreign language ability? And how much did he really know about her, anyway? Perhaps Luc just needed an attractive blonde who spoke fluent Japanese—rare, yes, but not impossible with his resources, Amanda considered.

  She strolled over to the telescope he had pointed out. There was still enough light to see the break plainly, and she could make out the figures of several sundown surfers catching their last waves of the day. Curious about the scope’s power, Amanda stared through the eyepiece.

  The vista was a blur. The lens was cracked. She looked up again at the surfers and determined there was no way a person could make out anyone’s face from this distance. “How did he know it was me down there?” she asked herself.

  It was ten minutes to seven. She could kill some time by celebrity watching in the great hall, which was filling up with hundreds of guests, or she could take a peek at the rest of the grounds. She decided to check out the inlaid pool, which was visible from the balcony, with its candles and delicate flowers floating in small, colorful containers.

  Amanda descended a curved flight of marble stairs. She smiled at an elderly couple holding hands as they climbed in the opposite direction. She thought how lucky those two were to have each other and grow older together. Would her life ever take that path?

  For such a large mansion, the pool was surprisingly intimate—roughly the size of a standard lap pool, she guessed. The party was so well attended that many of the guests had spilled out of the villa and sought more open space in the pool area. Waiters circulated with trays of drinks and hors d’oeuvres. Laughter and lively conversation filled the air.

  Oddly enough, it was often at parties that Amanda felt most remote and disconnected. Since graduation from college, she had been no stranger to loneliness, and it was starting to take its toll.

  CHAPTER 4

  Villa Colosseum

  AT FIVE MINUTES TO seven, the orchestras fell silent. After a short pause, three differently pitched gongs reverberated throughout the great hall, signaling that the unveiling ceremony was imminent. Amanda found herself standing next to Dr. Giorgio De Luca, former director of the Cotsen Institute of Archaeology at UCLA. Amanda had known him from her grad school days. This year, she’d read he had been given the Trowel Award, the Institute’s highest honor. He greeted her warmly, and accepted her co[back]ngratulations.

  But they had no time for shoptalk, as a final series of even more resonant gong notes rang out. Striding to the center of the dais, Luc Renard grasped the microphone.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, it is my great pleasure to welcome you to Villa Colosseum. As I look around the room, I am overwhelmed by the number of distinguished guests who have united here this evening to grace me with your presence and to support the Getty. Please forgive me if time precludes the individual recognition of so many luminaries. But I cannot overlook two gentlemen whose leadership has been invaluable in the effort to ensure that the Getty remains one of our most vital cultural institutions.”

  Luc gestured to the row of chairs installed behind the podium.

  “Please join me in saluting Dr. Richard Hamilton, the president and chief executive officer of the J. Paul Getty Trust.”

  A scattered wave of applause swept the room.

  “And we also welcome Dr. Michael Winslow, the esteemed director of the J. Paul Getty Museum.”

  Another scattered wave.

  “This evening’s benefit marks a very special milestone in my life. Several years ago in Rome, I had the privilege of meeting a remarkable painter, Giovanni Genoa. Such an artist, I am convinced, comes along only once in a century, perhaps in an epoch. I knew at once that his towering talent was the lens through which I needed to project my vision of humanity, in all its power and glory. Please join me in saluting Signor Giovanni Genoa.”

  Slowly and smoothly, Giovanni Genoa rose from his seat as the great hall resounded with applause.

  “It is now my privilege,” Luc continued, “to introduce a man who needs no introduction. He has graciously consented to carry out the unveiling of the Villa Colosseum murals painted by Signor Giovanni Genoa this evening. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Honorable Arnold Schwarzenegger, former governor of the Golden State of California!”

  As The Governator took the microphone, the applause grew more robust. Whatever unpredictable political winds blew in California, it was impossible not to admire this Austrian native’s tenacity and poise.

  “Good evening, friends! I am honored to be invited to this assemblage. As the National Endowment likes to say in Washington DC, ‘A great nation deserves great art.’ Well, so do a great state and a great city! The Getty, which we are supporting tonight, is truly a jewel in the crown of Los Angeles. And our host, Luc Renard, has worked tirelessly to keep it so. Mr. Renard’s vigor in industry is matched only by his dynamism as one of our region’s most effective patrons of the arts. It is therefore with the greatest pleasure that I will now throw the switch that will reveal the murals in this great hall to public view for the very first time.”

  He held up a silver oblong box, perhaps three times the size of a TV remote. The gongs sounded once more. Then, all around the room, the satin drapes plunged to the polished granite floor. After a second or two of silence, the intake of breath was palpable.

  “Funtaahstic!” echoed off the walls in the great hall, Schwarzenegger’s pet phrase filling the void as the crowd braced itself. Then, a torrent of applause. This was, after all, what they had all come for. The TV cameras and paparazzi photographers quickly captured the moment of
awe for the evening news, blogs, and tabloids.

  The ancient world was Giovanni Genoa’s theme. But his murals did not exactly evoke Edgar Allan Poe’s homage to “the glory that was Greece / And the grandeur that was Rome.” Instead, the painter’s focus was on man’s bestial nature.

  Next to Amanda, Dr. De Luca let out an audible gasp as he gazed at perfectly rendered soldiers and slaves splattered in gore. He clasped the cross around his neck and whispered a prayer in Italian that Amanda recognized.

  “An object lesson, or a pandering to our baser instincts?” Amanda wondered as she spent the next half hour circling the great hall. There, thrusting upward from the floor to the vaulted ceiling, image after image testified to cruelty and bloodlust. “This stuff makes waterboarding seem like child’s play,” she thought.

  As she moved from scene to scene, however, she had to acknowledge the technical facility of Giovanni Genoa. Color, form, composition, scale, perspective, decorum: there was not a point she could fault. However unknown the diminutive painter may have been to this point, he nevertheless possessed the skills of a master. Three murals, in particular, caught her attention.

  The first was a sensuous tableau that juxtaposed cruelty and languor. On the left, the artist depicted a pair of ancient Egyptians carrying off a dead slave, as another captive, presumably soon to die, writhed under the lash of an overseer. Behind, in a seemingly endless procession, loomed gigantic temple pillars recalling those at Karnak near Luxor in Egypt. Foregrounded on the right, reclining on a spacious couch in an ornate pavilion, a young noblewoman stretched luxuriantly. An exquisite bloom dangled from her right hand. Her arm extended over the cushions that supported her as she surveyed the scene. A scantily clad handmaid, her bare back to the viewer, wielded a fan. In front of the pair, crouched on the pavilion’s carpet, was a leopard—an incidental touch of menace?