“Let’s go out to the end,” Art suggested, guiding her by the arm as he spoke. She brought her hand to her hair, as if to smooth it back, using the gesture to disengage herself from him. They walked side by side in silence.
Fishermen stared intently into the water, their lines stretched taut from the ends of fiberglass poles, buckets of bait and chests of tackle on the ground next to them. Children gazed through the slats of the pier railing, impatient for the excitement of the next catch.
“Used to be you could get a good-size halibut off this pier,” Art said. “Bonita, perch, the occasional barracuda. Now it’s mainly sand sharks and mackerel. Mankind has not been kind to this bay.”
They walked on, the smell of fish mingling with the sea breeze, tinged with an aroma of hot dogs from the concession at the end of the pier. Up ahead there was a commotion as a fisherman’s pole bent double. The reel clicked loudly, feeding out line as something powerful pulled against it. A crowd of onlookers gathered, children darting in to be close to the action. She caught glimpses of the fisherman as he pulled up on the pole, then let it down and reeled. “Somebody give me a hand,” he yelled, and Holly could see that there was a pelican pulling on the line at the end of his pole. It flapped its wings, opening and closing its mouth around the bait it had tried to steal.
The end of the pier was a peaceful scene. An Oriental family fished in silence and stared off into the horizon. She walked over to the north side, looking toward the surfers. The angle was different from here, and sometimes she could only see their heads streaming by over the tops of the waves. She leaned against the railing.
Art moved up behind her.
“That was horrible,” she said. “That poor bird.”
“Yes, not a pleasant sight, was it? But the bird will go free, and his mind is too small to remember the pain.” She felt Art’s hands on her shoulders. They moved in toward her neck and began to knead the muscles there, firmly and expertly, knowing just where to dig in to dissolve tension she hadn’t even been aware of. She relaxed into it and closed her eyes and felt the afternoon sun as it streamed down onto her face and hair, the sound of the seagulls and distant surf lulling her senses.
He stood close behind her now and massaged her temples in a smooth circular motion. The wind came up for a moment, and she took a deep breath, savoring the freshness of it. “As you progress through the SOL process,” Art said, his voice right behind her ear, his face in her hair, “you will no longer create this tension. Instead, you’ll awaken to new strengths and insights that you never imagined before.” He stopped the rubbing and just applied a light pressure with his fingertips.
“I’m creating tension?” She couldn’t see how she could be responsible for a physical condition.
“Oh, yes,” Art replied. “You carry your inner conflicts in the muscles of your neck and shoulders. Unresolved, they accumulate and compound. Eventually they will contribute to health problems.”
“Does that happen to everyone?”
“Some people carry anger in their gut. It can manifest as digestive problems, ulcers, even cancer. A person’s inner condition, the nature of their thinking, will be reflected in the physical dimension.” Art stopped the pressure on her temples and let his hands fall back to her shoulders.
“Are you saying that all medical problems are psychosomatic?” she asked. She turned her head to the left and to the right, stretching her neck muscles.
“No,” Art replied. “Not psychosomatic. The mind–body connection works at a much deeper level than simple neurosis. The good news is that Bobbi’s work can take us to that level, unlock the conflicts, and help us to heal on all levels, intellectually, emotionally, and physically.” His hands moved down her arms and came to rest on her hips. He moved even closer and she could feel a new pressure, the pressure of his erection against her.
“I’ve really come,” said Art, “to treasure our little times together.”
CHAPTER 19
⍫
The Audi was starting to piss Jeff off. It would feel like it was out of gas and just quit, even though he knew the tank was full. He had driven by Gary’s place again, banged on the door and got no response. Gary was really pissing him off. This was Jeff’s third try at a face-to-face, since he couldn’t get the son of a bitch by phone. Nearly two weeks had passed since they met at Pop’s, and something was clearly wrong.
He got out and walked to the front of the car, carrying the wrench that he now kept on the passenger seat. He opened the hood and banged a few times on a little box-like thing with some hoses running from it, then got back in the car. It started up again and he drove back to his parents’ house.
⍫
“Hey, Mom, how’s it going?” His mother was chopping vegetables while the dogs barked in unison.
“Your father is home,” was her reply. It was only four o’clock on a Wednesday afternoon.
“Why so early?”
His mother shrugged without looking up. “You got a call from Kathy. She’s such a nice girl. Why is she calling you?”
“That’s an odd way to put it, Mom. She called because I left a message last night.”
“I see. You know she came to the service. Well, how would you know? I forgot; you weren’t there.” She whittled furiously at a potato.
He started to say something about how he had been out of town that week but thought better of it and just said, “I’ll try giving Kathy a call.”
He went to the guest bedroom. He was still reluctant to call it his room, even though it looked like he was going to have to give up his apartment. Unless he came up with some bucks, fast.
As he walked into the guest room, he looked around for evidence of tampering. He found that if he kept it reasonably neat his mother would generally stay out, but she still managed to find some reason to come in on occasion.
The gun was in his briefcase, which he kept locked under the bed. It made the briefcase pretty heavy, but surely she wouldn’t question that. He had driven back from the Canyon with it last Friday, and was nervous about keeping it here at the house. He sat down on the bed and thumbed Kathy’s number. When she answered, he said, “Hey, Kathy, it’s me, Jeff,” feeling a little bit nervous. He didn’t want to hear any more bullshit about “Where were you when your family needed you?”
“Oh, hi Jeff. Glad to hear from you.” She sounded pretty nice. “I’m so sorry about Marilyn. How are you?”
He told her he was okay, and they chatted about his sister, about the last time either of them had spoken with her, about old times. Kathy had been a friend of Marilyn’s, and of the family, ever since the girls were in their early teens.
“Well, I’d love to see you.” He wasn’t sure where she was coming from. She had once had a crush on him, but he never allowed it to go anywhere.
“Uh, listen,” he said, clearing his throat, “I’m kind of curious about those meetings you used to go to with Marilyn. What are they called?”
“Oh, the SOL meetings?”
“Yeah, that’s it. So what goes on there? Do you still go?”
“Well, yes, I do. We talk about ourselves and how we feel. And there’s a program for personal growth. You might find it really interesting.”
“I might? Like what for?” For some reason he felt offended.
“Well, Jeff, I’ve seen it help people with all kinds of problems . . .” It seemed she had more to say, but she stopped there. Then she said, “There’s a meeting tonight. Would you like to go?”
“You know,” he told her, “I think I’d like that. Where is it?”
“I know the way. Why don’t I just pick you up at seven-thirty?”
He thought about his car and said, “Okay. I don’t have to do anything or talk, do I?”
Kathy laughed and said, “No, silly. Just come check it out. No one will bother you. See ya.” And then she hung up.
He put down the phone. He hadn’t really had a night out since he had come to his parents’ house almost two weeks earlier. He had roamed Hollywood, seen some music, but without drinking he had felt pretty out of it and never spoke to anyone. He didn’t want to go to some bullshit group where they worked on their problems, but he was convinced that somewhere in Marilyn’s recent past was a clue that would clear up the mystery of her death. Either way, it was too strange. Suicide was out of the question, but any alternative sounded equally crazy.
Dinner was relatively calm. His father drank wine, and wine rarely got the old boy as fired up as the hard stuff did. His conversation centered mainly around the Asshole in the White House and the Morons in Congress, while Jeff and his mother remained silent. When he finished eating Jeff announced that he was going out for a while.
“Oh yeah, where?” His father asked, chewing on a piece of roast.
“Kathy and I are going out.” He decided not to antagonize his father by mentioning their destination.
“She’s a nice girl.” His father looked up. “What’s she doing going out with you?”
“Jesus Christ, that’s the second time I’ve heard that tonight, like she’s Rebecca from Sunnybrook Farm and I’m fuckin’ Charles Manson.”
“Don’t you talk like that in front of your mother,” his father snapped.
“Excuse me,” Jeff said, and he got up.
As he picked up his plate from the table, headlights flashed through the dining room window. Kathy’s car pulled into the driveway. He had hoped to meet her outside, but now watched as she came to the front door.
“Hi,” Kathy said as she stepped into the house. “Did I interrupt dinner?” She looked pretty good, he thought, in a wholesome, cheerleader kind of way.
“No, I was finished anyway.” He gave a sideways glance at his father.
“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Fenner.” Kathy walked to the table and bent to give his mother a brief hug. “Smells delicious in here.”
“So,” his mother inquired, “are you going to a movie?”
“Oh, no, Mrs. Fenner, were going to an SOL meeting,” Kathy replied. Jeff looked at her and rolled his eyes.
“Oh, great,” his father sneered. “Isn’t that lovely. Now you can pick up on the fine tradition of finding your poor mistreated inner child.”
“Hey, Dad, lighten up. I’m just going on a hunch. I want to see what Marilyn was into, that’s all. It’s no big deal.” He turned to Kathy and said, “Let’s go.”
⍫
It was approaching sunset outside as Kathy drove her sporty little two-seater into a church parking lot off Franklin at the foot of the Hollywood Hills. They talked about Marilyn again on the way, though it seemed to Jeff that Kathy kept trying to get him to talk about his own life and how it was going, which was not a subject he was keen to get into. Kathy also put her hand on his leg a lot when she spoke, as if to punctuate what she said. He found it annoying, but couldn’t help fantasizing her hand sliding across his pants and landing at his zipper. Now that would put a new spin on the evening, he thought, and wondered if she noticed the bulge in his jeans.
⍫
People filed into the doorway of a small building next to a church. There was a lot of hugging going on, he noticed.
“These people all know each other, right?” he whispered to Kathy as they crossed the parking lot.
“Most of us know each other,” she responded. “Don’t worry, no one’s going to try to hug you.”
When he got to the door, a woman simply said, “Welcome,” and shook his hand. Inside, he saw a circle of chairs, most of which had keys or business cards on them. He followed as Kathy crossed to the far side of the room and placed her own keys and her purse on two available seats.
Jeff said, “Why don’t you say hi to your friends while I sit down and wait for the thing to start, okay?”
“Sure,” Kathy said. “Want some coffee? A cookie, maybe?”
He told her, “Yeah, black. A couple of cookies would be nice, thanks,” and she went off.
He looked around the room. There were a lot more woman than men. Everyone seemed cheerful enough, clustered in little groups and talking animatedly, like this was their idea of a party. People were starting to settle into their seats. He checked his watch and saw that it was only a few minutes before eight.
When almost everyone was seated, a woman cleared her throat and said, “Greetings, and welcome to the regular Wednesday night meeting of Saving Our Lives.” She gave her name and said something about saving her life and suddenly everyone in the room said, “Hi, Janice.” He was startled and wanted to laugh, but looked down at his shoes until the impulse passed. The leader was reading some stuff that didn’t make much sense, so he scanned the people in the circle. There certainly wasn’t anyone that he would normally hang out with, except for the blond girl sitting near the leader.
She was one of the best-looking women he had ever seen. It was funny, the amount of time he had spent in bars looking for someone like this, and here she was at some dopey little meeting. When she glanced in his direction he looked away.
The leader had stopped reading and now talked about herself. Something about how she kept herself fat to build a wall around herself to shield her from intimacy. What the fuck is she talking about? he wondered. He looked back at the blond, who was watching the speaker with a puzzled expression. Kathy leaned over and whispered in his ear.
“Stop staring, Jeff. You were cooler than this in high school.”
He felt a flush on his neck and cheeks, and a flash of resentment toward Kathy. What in the world did Marilyn come to these things for?
The door opened and he looked up. A man entered, looked around the circle of people, and walked toward him. He looked about fifty, dressed smart but casual, lean like a runner. The man sat in the empty seat next to him and whispered, “Sorry.” For coming in late, Jeff assumed. He felt like whispering, “Sorry,” and getting up and leaving, but decided to stick around until the meeting was over.
He wondered what it might be like to sleep with Kathy. Maybe if she had a few drinks it would change things. He wouldn’t have to have any. But the girl across the way kept invading his thoughts, and he would sweep his eyes around the entire circle just to catch a glance at her without being obvious about it.
The leader wrapped it up. He listened to her talk about how she had always looked for something in her significant other that would help her feel whole, but that now she knew that she needed to embrace herself before she could let down her guard and be available for true intimacy. She said she hugged herself in the mirror every morning and that it was really working for her, thank you for letting me share. Then she announced a five minute coffee break.
Kathy began to talk with the woman seated next to her. Jeff watched the blond get up and walk to the table where the coffee was set up. His own cup was empty. It seemed logical enough to go for a refill. He was about to get up when a voice from his left said, “She looks pretty good, doesn’t she?”
Jeff turned toward the voice. It was his new neighbor, the man who had come in late. Not happy about being caught twice now staring at the girl, Jeff merely said, “Yeah, she’s okay.”
The man grinned and offered his hand. There was something okay about the guy, an air of being sharp and with-it, but relaxed at the same time.
“My name’s Ron. You new around here?”
CHAPTER 20
⍫
Ron Pool arrived late at the meeting. It looked like any other group he had seen, medium size—about thirty people sitting in a circle. The room was apparently a nursery for the churchgoers’ children; he noticed crayon drawings on the walls and toys stacked in the corners. There were meetings all over town, all week long, and this was one he had never been to.
There was only one seat available. He crossed over to it and sat down, whispering an
apology as he did so. He looked around the room and noticed a few people he had seen before, among them the attractive blond from Bobbi Bradley’s lecture two weeks earlier.
The leader, a plump girl in her twenties, talked about her relationships, or lack of them. She was clearly addicted to the SOL lingo. New Age newspeak, he called it, and found himself unable to pay attention.
After the lecture in Beverly Hills, he had decided that he had seen enough of the SOL phenomenon. His original curiosity had given way to disappointment when he saw there was nothing new here for him. There was a disturbing slant to it all that made him wary of the message. His visit to St. John’s Hospital, however, had made it clear to him that he would be revisiting SOL. His motive would be different, but the MO would be the same; show up, listen, meet people, check it out.
⍫
He had arrived at St. John’s in the late afternoon, after his visit with Ann Fullerton. Looping through the Santa Monica Canyon from Pacific Palisades into the city of Santa Monica, he drove up Wilshire to Twentieth Street and turned into the hospital parking lot.
He walked into the main reception area and decided to bypass the information desk, moving instead past a gift shop to where the elevators were. On instinct, he entered one of the elevators and selected a floor below the one he was on.
He stepped out into a brightly lit hallway. It was empty but, as he walked, he noticed doors open to various rooms. One of these was a nurses’ station. There were two nurses inside—one was pouring a cup of coffee.
“Hello,” he said. “Could you help me out for a moment?”
The nurse by the coffee machine, a young black woman, put a hand on her hip and gave him a severe look. She said, “Are you absolutely certain you belong down here?” and then broke into a grin.
“I’m looking for someone who knew Nancy Mills,” he told her. The two women looked at each other.
“Everyone knew Nancy. She was one of the best people I ever met,” said the other nurse, a Hispanic woman with a torrent of black hair spilling from under her cap.
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