by Julia Dumont
“Hi,” said Max. I was in here a while ago and I left my briefcase. There was a computer and a wallet in it.”
“That was kind of stupid, wasn’t it?” said the kid, measuring out espresso to make a cappuccino, “I mean, did you see the sign?”
The kid pointed to a sign on the wall, splattered with pastry, frosting, and bits of porcelain: “Do not leave items unattended. We are not responsible for them. So do not leave them. Ever. Got it? Good. -The Management”
“Okay,” said Max, “but I’m not saying you’re responsible, I’m just wondering if you could check in the lost and found or if anybody saw anybody suspicious.”
“Listen, man,” said Permanent Sneer Dude, “I know for a fact that there’s nothing in the lost and found and aside from the crazy-ass lady who busted up the place before I came on shift, you are by far the most suspicious person here.”
“Okay, great,” said Max, “but could you possibly just check? It’s important.”
“Okay, man, I know there’s nothing in there, but just a minute. I gotta finish this first.”
He proceeded to steam milk for the cappuccino. It seemed like it took forever and then he just put the drink on the counter and got down on his knees and started rummaging through a bunch of stuff on a shelf.
Max looked at the cappuccino. “Don’t you need to call someone for their coffee here? I mean somebody’s waiting for that, right?”
Permanent Sneer Dude peered up over the edge of the counter. “That’s for me, man.”
Max resisted the impulse to strangle him.
Then the kid stood stood up, holding the briefcase. “This isn’t it is it?”
“No, that is it,” said Max, “See? Good you checked, right.”
“Hey, I just found your lousy briefcase, man. I’d say a thank you is in order.”
Max had had it.
“Didn’t you see the sign?” he asked.
Permanent Sneer Dude looked around the room, then at Max. “Pff…what sign?”
“This sign,” said Max, calmly giving him the finger.
“Hey, man, that is so not cool.”
Max turned to leave, saying, “You’re just lucky the crazy lady took her tennis racket with her.”
He thought he would drive around the neighborhood looking for Molly, but when he got to the spot where he’d parked his car, it was gone. He ran up and down the block…did he forget where he parked it? No. Not only couldn’t he look around for Molly, he had no way to get down to Long Beach.
“Jesus Christ, what next?!” he cried.
“What happened?” said a female voice in the dark.
Max looked over only to see the orange glow of a cigarette. “Molly?”
“Nope, Summer.”
“Summer?”
“Yeah, Summer Starlight Friedman.”
“Oh, Summer! The girl who just could not stop insulting Molly Hannigan…calling her old and saying she looked like Laurel or Hardy or vintage cheese or something … were you trying to make her snap?”
“I know,” she said, starting to cry. “Sometimes when I’m nervous, I just blab. And I cannot stop blabbing. I’m an idiot.” She was starting to sob.
“No, no, no,” said Max. “It wasn’t your fault. Molly has a lot of problems. She just went through a divorce; her daughter’s not speaking to her. Her daughter left the country to get away from her. She’s a mess. It’s partly my fault too. I was…well, never mind. Anyway, it’s not your fault.”
“Well, yeah,” she said. “But there’s something else. After she ran out and you chased after her and the cops came and then they left…it was really crazy, there was broken glass and food everywhere. Some people were crying, they were pretty freaked out. But then, she came back.”
“Who?” asked Max. “Molly?”
“Yeah, it was weird. I mean, obviously it was weird, but she walked up to the counter. I didn’t even realize that the cops were gone until I saw her and realized she must have waited until they left.”
“Well, what happened?”
“Yeah, so, she came up to the counter carrying a briefcase. She said it was yours and that she came back because she’d noticed it there on the table and didn’t want it to get stolen. So, you know, she brought it to me.”
“Wow, that was sort of nice of her, I guess. I mean, she’s a good person…just a bit, you know, confused.”
“Yeah,” said Summer, “but then when I took the briefcase, she did something kinda weird. I mean, it was all weird, but this was…well, she held up some keys and shook them and laughed. And then she ran out.”
Max was putting it together. “Wait, you mean…” He did a quick check of his case: yup, keyless.
“At the time,” Summer said, starting to cry again, “I thought she was just shaking her own keys as just another weird, crazy thing to do. I had no idea she’d gotten them out of your case until I saw you realizing that your car was gone. I am sooo sorry. I’m an idiot.”
“No, no,” he said. “Stop saying that. You’re not an idiot. How could you know those were my keys? But I do have a favor to ask.”
“Anything. You name it.”
“Well, it is a big favor.”
“Oh, well, wait, what is it. Maybe I spoke too soon about the anything thing.”
“Give me a ride to Long Beach?”
“Long Beach?”
“I know. It’s a long way, but…”
“Long Beach? I live in Long Beach. But, wait, what about your car? Don’t you need to call the cops or something.”
“Nah,” said Max. “It’s a rental.”
“Okay,” said Summer Starlight Friedman, “our chariot awaits.”
The chariot was a 1964 Ford Falcon station wagon, covered with graffiti.
“Wow,” said Max, “somebody tagged you good.”
“What, that? I did that. I’m an artist. Duh.” She opened the passenger side and gathered up a pile of sketchbooks, art supplies, small canvasses, and heaved them over onto a much larger mountain of the same stuff in the backseat. Then she removed a parking ticket from under the windshield wiper, crumpled it, and threw it back there too.
They got in.
“I love your archival storage system,” he said, smiling. He was beginning to like her.
“Shut up, crazy lady stalk-ee. Okay, listen,” she continued. “I don’t know about you_____well, actually I kinda do know about you_____but I’ve had a long day. I need a drink. There’s a bottle in the glove compartment. And, no, I am not going to drink and drive. I’m going to drink a little bit and then drive. Then you can drink while I drive.”
“That is the best idea I’ve heard all day,” he said, finding the bottle of bourbon and twisting the cap.
She took a rather large gulp, more like she was drinking water than whisky. She stared at the bottle for a moment and then took an even bigger chug. She sighed deeply and started the car.
“Hold on, Summer, are you okay to drive?”
“I have been drinking coffee for eight hours straight. What do you think?”
“I think I’m driving.”
“What? No way.”
“Yes way. Get over here.”
They switched places…he, under…she, over.
“Okay, let’s agitate the gravel, baby,” he said.
“Wow, cool, daddy-o,” she said, taking another swig. “You speak my language.”
Max pulled out onto San Vicente, left on Wilshire, on the way to the 405.
“Hey,” he said, “back before the craziness started, you said you didn’t smoke. And then, back there on the sidewalk…”
“Yeah, well, I had quit. But your girlfriend back there…”
“She is not my girlfriend.”
“Okay, let me rephrase: your batshit crazy cuckoo bird ex-girlfriend knocked me off the smoking and drinking wagon.”
“Really? So when did you quit?” He hit the freeway ramp and accelerated into the flow of traffic, if you can call what a forty-year-old Falcon doe
s accelerating.
“Last night I quit drinking. Today, before I went on shift I quit smoking. Hey, now I got a question for you. What the hell is your name?”
Max couldn’t believe how adorable and charming Summer was turning out to be. She was actually quite beautiful in a messy art-girl way. He was also amazed that he had absolutely no interest in making any kind of move on her. He felt protective of her. It felt like she could be his daughter. This was a brand new feeling for him. He had never wanted to have kids. He had never even really felt paternal toward anyone. As they rode along and talked, he enjoyed the feeling.
“My name is Max,” he said. “Max Ramsey.”
Summer burst out laughing, hitting the dashboard with the palm of her hand. “What, is everyone named Max?”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“My boyfriend is Max. Oh, and by the way, we need to pick him up, but it’s right on the way.”
“Summer, we’re kind of in a hurry here.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t really care,” she said. “You can walk if you want to.”
“Okay, where am I going?”
“Venice. He’s a tattoo artist at the beach.”
“Good God, no,” said Max and as he said it he felt oddly fatherly again.
“Oh,” she said, “so you don’t approve, Daddy-o? Well at least he’s not a crazy stalker like some people’s significant others I know.”
“She is not my significant other.”
“Okay, whatever. So how do you happen to know Steven Sternberg’s wife, anyway?”
“Ex-wife. Long story.”
She scrunched down in the seat with the bottle. “Hey, we’ve got time.”
Chapter 29
SATURDAY 12:32 PM
By the time she emerged from her cabin, many guests were arriving. She looked out over the rail to see two of the cigarette boats heading toward her and one heading back.
She wondered if Paloma had arrived yet. Her phone plinked. An email from Ava.
Cynthia-
Thank you so much for coming to the opening. It was a rousing success. I wanted to pass the name on to you that I mentioned. He’s an old friend of Jonathon’s. And me too. A very entertaining fellow and single again. His name is Max Ramsey. And he will be joining us.
See you soon,
ADR
Somehow Cynthia was not surprised. Amused and horrified, but not surprised. Max seemed to know just about everyone in the world. It was problematic to say the least, that there was so much history between him and Lolita and her and, as it turns out, Ava, even if they were just friends. The concept of this whole weekend was getting more muddled by the minute.
“Cynthia, it’s so good to see you.” Cynthia looked up to see Ava Dodd Radcliffe in the flesh, as if she simply materialized from the email. “Have you found your bedroom? Is everything satisfactory?”
“Everything is wonderful,” said Cynthia. “I have a rough itinerary here, but I really think you mostly want these two days to be as spontaneous as possible.”
“Oh, I agree. In fact, other than meals and general gatherings, I think it would be much better to stay away from formal activities, don’t you think?”
“Definitely.” Cynthia was beginning to wonder why she needed to be there. Nonetheless, she was kind of happy to be there--especially relatively free of responsibilities.
“So, you got the email about my friend Max?”
“Yes,” said Cynthia. And then she said something that she immediately regretted. “I look forward to meeting him.” She didn’t really know exactly why she lied, pretending that she didn’t know him, but she did. The whole thing was getting a bit out of control. Ava knew Jack and Max. What did it matter that she knew Max? What was the point of lying? To just not have to explain it all, she supposed.
“Yes, well,” said Ava, “I’ve told him about you and he is looking forward to meeting you as well. As for me,” she continued, heading for the ladder, “I’d better go greet some guests.”
Cynthia was relieved that she wasn’t caught in a lie, but also nervous that the lie that Max had conveniently corroborated would be exposed later. Just thinking about Jack Stone and Max being on the same boat together was beyond horrifying.
Cynthia took out her phone to remind herself of the list of the eleven “complicateds” who had confirmed:
Ivana Corbin, mathematician and singer
Mary Lou Fetzer, jewelry designer
Gloria Bunk, local talk show host
Tia Barlow, special counsel to the mayor of San Diego
Rosa Marianza, vegan chef and cookbook author
Charlotte Nordine, ex-dancer and choreographer
Philip Corso, graffiti artist-turned fashion mogul
Timothy Brion, musician
Mikal Zedonia, surfer, cellist with the Santa Barbara Symphony
Roger Edson, entrepreneur
Zed MacMurtry, gentleman cowboy
Seamus O’Brien, aspiring writer, charmer, ex-cab driver
Plus Ava, Jack Stone, and Max, makes fifteen participants.
Plus Paloma and herself…supposedly working, but Cynthia was starting to have the sneaking suspicion that there wouldn’t really be a lot of work to do. She knew every single person on the boat, except for some of the crew. What was she going to do, sit in her bedroom or wander around, pretending to be invisible? At this point, the weekend was a certainly messy, potentially disastrous melting pot of personalities. She knew she had neither the authority nor the capability of controlling what happened. In some ways it was a grand experiment. It was up to each participant to make of it what they may.
And may god have mercy on their souls, she thought to herself, and then laughed out loud.
“What’s so funny?” asked Paloma, who Cynthia had not seen arriving by boat, and was suddenly standing before her.
“Oh, life, I guess,” said Cynthia, smiling. “I just hope everyone makes it back alive.”
“It is kind of exciting,” said Paloma, watching a young dark-skinned stud coming aboard. He was wearing only long, surfer-style, paisley patterned swim trunks … no shirt and no shoes. He was seriously built and carrying a small duffle bag, so apparently there wasn’t a whole lot he was planning on changing into. He had an electric smile that immediately charmed all humans, female and male, within a hundred-yard radius. It was like a charm pirate had just commandeered the ship and was set to plunder and pillage any and all of the available booty aboard.
“That’s Mikal,” said Cynthia.
“Zedonia,” said Paloma.
“Yeah,” sighed Cynthia, “breathtaking. When I met him, he was, you know, clothed.”
Paloma smiled. “I suggest we stack a deck of cards and challenge him to one hand of strip poker.”
Cynthia laughed out loud.
“What’s so funny?” asked a woman from behind her.
“That seems to be the question on everybody’s lips,” said Cynthia, turning around to see Lolita in her blue and white yacht-club-stripper attire. “Jesus,” she said. “You are certainly dressed for success.”
Paloma giggled, but Lolita did not.
“I think it’s very tasteful,” she said.
“And tasty,” said Cynthia. “But seriously, you look beautiful.”
“Oh, thanks,” replied Lolita.
Pretty soon the yacht was filling up. There was an amazing spread of food in the dining room and conversation was lively. For Cynthia, especially, it was like old home week, because she had met every single person and knew intimate details about them all. So far, no Max and no Jack.
She looked across the room and saw Paloma talking with Seamus. They made an adorable couple and now she was feeling a little sorry for him, since Paloma had said she wasn’t really interested.
There was a crowd around Ava, who was looking as lovely as ever. She was the only one who didn’t look a bit out of place. Her clothing seemed to be provided by the boat’s designer: sleek, classy, and sexy.
/> Timothy Brion, the musician, approached Cynthia.
“Hi. Nice to see you again.”
“Hi, Tim, I’m so glad you could come.”
“Oh, wouldn’t miss it. I know I must be a bit of a hard case, in terms of matchmaking. Musicians tend to be avoided like the plague by civilians.”
“Yeah, well, no, don’t think that way, you know, there are lots of…” she started to answer, trying to look on the bright side for him. But then she simply gave up. “Oh, who am I trying to kid. You’re right. A girl would need to be half crazy to look for a long-term, lasting relationship with someone who is on the road two hundred and fifty days a year.”
Timothy was a little taken aback. After all, Cynthia had been incredibly optimistic and supportive when they’d met. She had all kinds of ideas for dates for him, but then she’d sort of dropped it. And now she was so disarmingly honest. At first he felt a little angry, but then an appreciation of her straight-forwardness set in.
“I can’t say I expected that, but I do find it refreshingly blunt.”
“Oh, Tim, I’m sorry. I’m just going through my own thing with a musician right now and it’s probably coloring my view a bit.”
“On tour?”
“Big time. Long time. Seems like forever actually.”
“Yeah,” said Timothy. “Can I get you another glass of wine?”
“Do they have anything stronger?”
“Cynthia Amas, now you are talking.”
He headed for the bar.
Cynthia surveyed the scene. People were taking their meals and spreading out, heading down the deck, paired off into small groups. She wondered where Jack was. And Max. Not that surprising really, they were both late types. She was a bit anxious because the entire event seemed so fraught with potential misunderstanding and jealousy. She wasn’t completely sure about Ava’s stability to begin with.
Just as she stepped in their direction, Timothy returned with two very large margaritas.
“Oh my God, that looks good,” she said.
They toasted musicians and musician lovers everywhere. Timothy was really a very charming guy. He had the kind of face that reminded you of him when he was a kid, even though you didn’t know him as a kid.