"So I appeal to you?"
"Of course."
"Why do say it with such surety? I would not expect a person like yourself, absorbed in the world of creativity and beauty, to find appeal in a brutish, roguish guy like me."
"I don't see a brute or a rogue," Gustavo replies.
"Thank you, my friend."
"Can we just forget that I exposed so much insecurity just now? I had a weak moment. Please give it no more thought."
"Sexuality is complicated with me," Zachary says. "Attraction only goes so far. There are things I need from sex that are remarkably personal. I don't speak about it, hardly ever, because I don't need people's judgements, opinions, protestations, or approvals. That is probably very confusing, but it is all I want to say about it."
"You are under no obligation or expectation to share it," Gustavo says. "We are getting to know one another, under times of great distress, and we have already established some solid trust. I value that. Nothing more is expected."
Both men are distracted by an approaching motorboat with "Patrol" painted on the side. Its occupants are two uniformed men, one of whom is photographing them in the paddleboat.
"Officers, is there a problem?" Zachary asks the men.
"Is your boat broken?" the motorboat driver asks. "You are drifting backwards."
"No, we are just resting before paddling back home."
"Fine."
"Are you officers with Big Bear Lake Coast Guard?" Zachary asks.
"No, we patrol as part of a volunteer auxiliary group for the coast guard," the driver answers, as he begins maneuvering the boat away. "Stay safe, gentlemen."
Gustavo and Zachary watch the boat zoom out of the cove. The men in the motorboat round the bend without looking back at the paddleboat.
"What the hell?" Gustavo comments. "A volunteer patrol?"
"It is probably legitimate, but that's two photographers in one morning," Zachary says. "Let's cross the lake back to the cabin and decide what we want to do."
Gustavo and Zachary paddle with synchronized efforts and traverse the lake with only an interruption from a sailboat that was having trouble catching the direction of the wind. When just two hundred feet from the cabin's shore, the two men in the patrol motorboat reappear.
"Be ready to jump and swim," Zachary says as the motorboat pulls up beside them.
Gustavo moves to the edge of his seat, eager to spring overboard and take his chances in the cold water rather than being captured on the paddleboat.
"Excuse me," the driver of the motorboat says to Zachary, "are you that fighter guy?"
"I work in a church," Zachary answers, laughing as if the uniformed man's notion is ridiculous. "I guess you could say I fight for souls."
"I swear I have seen you on television. One of the sports channels."
"No, my church is humble and modest. No television cameras."
"We get celebrities up here from time to time," the uniformed man continues. "We try to let them be. Live and let live. But my boss is a fighting fan. After seeing your picture he directed us to check with you and see if you would sign autographs at the station."
"He is going to be quite disappointed to learn the truth," Zachary replies.
"They let you wear a goatee in a church?"
"Certainly. Facial hair is not prohibited."
"Have a good day, gentleman."
Gustavo and Zachary wait until the motorboat is at least a quarter mile away before they vigorously paddle back to the cabin, run inside, and grab their luggage.
32
Crescent
Gustavo cannot help but repeatedly look back as he and Zachary descend the serpentine roads in the San Bernardino Mountains in the backseat of a shared ride car. The driver delivers them to Anaheim, near the entrance to Disneyland. They walk several blocks to a commercial district, and when confident that no one is following them, they take another shared ride south to Newport Beach. They again switch vehicles for the final lap of the trip, exiting in front of a large condominium complex on North Coast Highway. Once the driver pulls away, they stroll away from the complex, heading south on McKnight Drive.
Three blocks later Zachary leads Gustavo to a small Spanish house with white stucco walls, a red-tiled roof, a brick-paved walkway, and red awnings hovering over the front windows. They retrieve the key from its designated hiding spot and enter the cottage-like home. Terra cotta tile floors, arched room dividers, dark wooden ceiling beams, decorative wrought iron, and and exuberant hand-painted kitchen tiles continue adhere to the Spanish style indoors too. Gustavo stands at the living room window and admires the catty-corner view of a meadow-like park and Pacific Ocean views.
"This is one of my favorite places," Zachary says.
"You have stayed in this house before?" Gustavo asks.
"No, I am talking about Crescent Bay in Laguna Beach. Wait until you see it up close."
"It is spectacular already. Why did you choose this?"
"I want to share it with you," Zachary answers. "I saw the rental opening online during the drive and booked it. Most of the homes around this part of Laguna Beach are mansions, but this little old place is charming and it is rare to find a place this close to the beach."
"Which bedroom do I take?" Gustavo asks.
"You choose first."
"I would insist on you taking the master bedroom, but both bedrooms look the same size and share one bathroom."
Gustavo conceals his duffel bag in one of the rooms and stands at the doorway to the bedroom where Zachary is unpacking a few pairs of his clothes and personal items.
"What's on your mind, my friend?" Zachary asks.
"We could not talk in the cars in front of the drivers and I have been anxious to ask you about what happened on the lake," Gustavo answers. "Were we caught for sure?"
"Not for certain. But just uploading that picture they took of us to a social media site, or wherever, is plenty of reason to bolt like we did."
"I agree. Do people recognize you often?"
"Not every day. It happens like that though, when least expected."
"I love that we are here," Gustavo says. "But we are now a good number of hours from Laughlin. Are you worried we won't be able to respond in time when Aleksey's captors finally contact you?"
"No, for two reasons," Zachary answers. "First, I think they jettisoned Aleksey out of Laughlin fairly quickly. He could be anywhere at this point. Second, we had to get a good distance away from Big Bear Lake. I am assuming our picture got posted somewhere."
"The only problem with you choosing Laguna Beach is that some of my paintings are in galleries here. I am not famous. But—"
"Not yet," Zachary interjects, smiling and winking.
"But I am recognizable to some of the artists and art gallery owners—and there are many here."
"I'm not worried. We'll keep you out of the galleries and fancy restaurants and off the streets."
Disguised in a cap sitting low over his brow, Zachary tells Gustavo he is setting out on foot for groceries. With the specialty store just over a mile away, he urges Gustavo not to worry about him in the event he is gone for an hour or more.
Gustavo retreats to his room, lays on the bed, and searches online again through his phone. There is precious little to be found using the search terms "clairvoyant cobra" or "clairvoyant serpent" or "Greenacres cobra." The mentions he does find are all in the context of Hollywood folklore. One old article claims the bejeweled wand is strictly imaginary, part of a morality tale about living in the moment, and had nothing whatsoever to do with Harold Lloyd and Mildred Davis. Another columnist similarly characterizes it as a propaganda story created at the time to counter the growing public interest in the occult or mysticism. A third piece is a translation of a university professor's lecture on spirituality and its premise is that even if one were able to experiment with clairvoyance, through an instrument like "the fabled Hollywood hooded serpent staff," one would be best advised to "never peek into th
e future and risk defeat from loathing moments to come, and feeling powerless to chart one's own—not predestined—course."
"Gobbledygook," Gustavo mutters to himself. "Would I use it if it could help us find Aleksey and reach safety? Damn right, I would."
Full of skepticism, Gustavo decides to unsheathe the wand. He makes a mental note of how to rewrap it in the plastic sheets as he peels away the layers and finds he is again stunned by the opulence of the gems and metals. He lays it on a cushion atop the chest of drawers opposite the bed. He studies its shapes and lines. He imagines the hands who have held it. He stares into the cobra's violet eyes.
There are no flashes of light or darkness. No screams, terrors, or dream-like states. No music. No epiphanies.
The only realization Gustavo trips upon is that this instrument, whether the legendary clairvoyant serpent or not, was not created to menace or torment. Despite the flexed hood and flattened head, Gustavo observes that it possesses a comforting nobility. He wonders if its designer's intention was to create a gift representing insight and protection.
Gustavo returns to his web browser and finds numerous images of Greenacres in the Benedict Canyon neighborhood of Beverly Hills. He recognizes the arched colonnades at the mansion's entrance, but cannot pinpoint which movies, television shows, or music videos were filmed there.
With heavy eyelids, Gustavo loses the battle to stay awake. He drops his phone on his chest and slumbers. His visualizations wander and whirl the relatively short distance between the Beverly Hills mansion and the Griffith Park Observatory mountain trails. No imagery is conjured to hint at the malevolent history.
Gustavo's dreams also include Aleksey. He sees his face and hears his voice. But he gathers no clues or secret messages.
33
Galleries
Ambling along the petite shops and boutiques just off of the Laguna Beach boardwalk, Zachary finds a second art gallery selling pieces from multiple artists. He does not even have to look at the painted name in the bottom right-hand corner to know the mountain stream painting in front of him is by Gustavo's hand. Set in Hawaii, with monstera leaves and yellow hibiscus flowers on the banks, the pristine and crisp water flows toward the viewer, inviting her or him inside, then swerves away at the final moment to journey downhill.
Lost in the painting, Zachary does not notice the gallery saleswoman standing beside him.
"You can hear the currents, both trickling and gushing," she says, "and smell the flowers and hear the birds."
"It is magical," Zachary replies, giving her a quick glance before returning his eyes to the canvas.
"There is enormous love for the Hawaiian Islands in this work, but, believe it or not, the artist is actually of Brazilian descent."
"Who is the artist?"
"Gustavo Vila Nova," she answers. "An insightful young man, an up-and-coming artist, and I think his works are some of the best we have. This is the largest piece. Do you have a wall in mind for it?"
"I don't know yet," Zachary replies.
"Would we need to ship it out of southern California?"
"No, I am within driving distance," Zachary says, grinning at her clever question.
"We never rush our customers," she responds. "Please continue enjoying it and if you decide it is right for you, or if you have any questions, I will be ready to assist you."
"Very well, thank you."
"I have two other possible buyers for this glorious work, so if you develop strong feelings, be sure to act without delay. It can be yours, but all it takes is one phone call from another purchaser and it will be off the market."
Zachary spends a few more minutes in the gallery studying Gustavo's art before exiting and heading to the specialty food store. He buys as much as he can carry and returns to the Spanish home. Gustavo wakes when Zachary knocks and opens his bedroom door.
"Come in," Gustavo yawns, stretching his arms.
Zachary moves close to the dresser and inspects the cobra wand from every angle in the natural light pouring through the bedroom windows.
"Is there anything more in the news about the body found in Griffith Park?" Zachary asks.
"Not yet," Gustavo answers. "It is maddening to sift through all of the nonsense online to find what you want. I would ask you if there has been word yet about Aleksey, but I already know the answer because that would be the first thing you mentioned."
"Any moment now. I feel something is about to happen."
"I do too. The calm before the storm. The quiet before an earthquake or volcano eruption. An eeriness."
"Will you cook again tonight?" Zachary asks. "You have much more talent in the kitchen than I do. I am looking forward to a hearty meal."
"Are you hungry now?" Gustavo asks, sitting up on the bed.
"Not quite yet. I want to take you to the beach first."
In caps, jackets, and sandals, the men arrive at Crescent Bay Point Park, which is only steps from the Spanish house. A sunset wedding has just concluded with the sun sinking below the sea line. At the edge of the bluffs, they peer down one hundred feet at the waves crashing into the jagged rocks, sending mist into the cool air blowing up into their faces. Nestled to their south is the fan-shaped beach and the captivating teal water of Crescent Bay.
"I want to paint this," Gustavo tells Zachary. "I will return here someday."
Zachary leads Gustavo down a residential road that bends and descends to give them beach access. Both men go barefoot as they reach the reach the shoreline and feel the wet sand swallow their toes. They leisurely trek the nearly 1,000-foot length of the beach until they reach the bluffs of Twin Points at the southern tip of the crescent.
"Would you sell this painting to me?" Zachary asks.
"I am not taking your money," Gustavo answers, "but I will happily give it to you."
"Then count on me to sponsor your return to this beach."
"We have yet another deal," Gustavo chuckles.
Hearing the word "sponsor," Gustavo's thoughts go to Lavonne Tejada, the artist who made his escape from Los Angeles with the legendary wand possible. He ponders a suitable gift for her or reimbursement for her as soon as he can afford it.
Gustavo's attention is jolted back to the present as he views Zachary's dark features in twilight. The wolf-like eyes, intense brow, and slightly crooked nose make Zachary's countenance remarkably interesting and unexpectedly alluring. Gustavo wants to hug him, wrap his arms around his back, and become filled with his confidence and self-assurance. Instead, Gustavo bumps shoulders with him, smiles, and walks closely at his side.
"You are having a moment, aren't you?" Zachary asks.
"I am," Gustavo affirms.
"The same thing happened to me my first time here. Actually, it is happening again tonight."
"I am extraordinarily grateful you are sharing this with me. There is nowhere else I would rather be right now."
"Hmm," Zachary mutters.
"What?" Gustavo asks.
"You are going to break many hearts through the years, my friend. You have a gentle and romantic soul, and it is very pleasant to share things with you because your appreciation runs deep."
"But I don't want to break anyone's heart. I dream of choosing to be loved—being enchanted with that blessing—and bestowing my heart and goodwill too."
"You make it sound easy," Zachary replies.
"I think it has to be, don't you?" Gustavo asks. "A relationship cannot be a competition or a prison. The partners must be able to help each other find freedom to grow, express themselves, pursue interests, and build a life together."
"You think you are ready for the right man to come along? Don't you need years to sow your oats and experiment?"
"Yes and no. Yes, I am ready to embrace the wonder of loving someone. No, I don't want to postpone creating something special just to have flings with men to feel powerful."
They stroll in silence until their steps are synchronized and their shoulders continually brush together. Za
chary suddenly stops and turns toward Gustavo.
"If I ever could fall in love with someone, I would want him to be just like you, Gustavo. I mean that."
"You can never be in love?" Gustavo asks.
"No. Not for many years, anyway."
"Why?"
"I wish I felt like telling you the truth. But, through your eyes, I would see myself as a monster. I like the way you are looking at me right now. If I told you too much, there would be disdain for me in your eyes."
"I am not going to pressure you for an explanation," Gustavo replies. "Something you may want to consider though is that this is something incongruous about you."
"What do you mean?" Zachary asks.
"Something out of harmony."
"Why?"
"You seem to deny the spiritual side of yourself for the security of what you think is required for your career. It's the age old battle between materialism and spiritualism. But with you, there seems to be no battle whatsoever, despite your very thoughtful nature. Maybe I am wrong."
"Maybe you are wrong. Just because we stroll together on the beach does not mean we know what it feels like to walk in each other's shoes."
Gustavo nods and begins walking again, looking downward, then up toward the bluffs, filling his lungs with cool air.
"Aren't you starving?" Zachary asks. "Let's go back and fill our bellies with good food."
After completing a hearty dinner under a Spanish-style iron chandelier, shaped like a crown with candle-like lights along its circumference, the men rest and digest their meal on the living room couch. Instead of turning on the television or the overhead lights, they serenely relax. The only lighting emitting is from the adjacent dining room chandelier and the darkness gives Gustavo a bit more courage.
"There is something else I want in exchange for your painting of Crescent Bay," Gustavo says.
The sly and playful look on Gustavo's face signals to Zachary that his request will be a light-hearted one, possibly a joke or quip. Zachary slides beside him and puts his arm around Gustavo's shoulder. Both men have grown comfortable with body contact.
Guarding His Desires (Passionate Security Book 2) Page 12