by Rex Bolt
“And the players are just walking around, nothing on?” Phyllis said.
“They are, but it’s not like that. There’s a lot of pressure writing game stories, and the deadlines can be tight. The women writers have a lot on their mind.”
“Did any relationships ever develop, though, between the women and the players?” Gloria said.
“There were a couple that I remember, yeah. They didn’t last long.”
“Well anyway," Bethany said, "so after that you were a high school teacher?"
Christian nodded. “In Terra Linda. The south side.”
“Jeez, speaking of Terra Linda,” Jeff said, “something I just read about. I take it you knew that baseball pitcher up there that got murdered?”
“That was a tough thing,” John said. “I saw it too.”
“I did read about that,” Bethany said. “But there’s a backstory to it, right Chris? Hadn’t he been arrested at one point?”
“There was an alcohol incident at a party,” Christian said. “And a girl died. Sixteen. I had her in a class.”
“You did," Phyllis said. "How tragic."
“Do you think the girl’s family might have hired someone to do it?” John said.
“Or maybe what goes around does come back around,” Steve said.
“Wait a minute, how can you say that?” Jeff said. “We don’t even know what happened.”
“The kid, Donny Shelhorne, fed her eight consecutive shots of Svedka vodka,” Christian said. “She laid down on the couch and never came to.”
“Oh my God,” Gloria said.
“And there was a plea bargain, correct?” Bethany said. “It sure sounds as though he should have spent some time in prison. Maybe justice was served.”
“Beth, I can’t believe you,” Jeff said. “You have a guy bashed to death in some woods, and you’re saying that’s okay! . . . What do you think, Chris?”
“I can see both sides of it,” he said.
+++
Christian helped in the kitchen with the dishes. Phyllis and Gloria and Steve had left, but John and Jeff were hanging around, and he didn’t feel like trying to outlast them.
At the door, Bethany gave him a peck on the cheek and thanked him for coming.
“It was refreshing to get a different perspective tonight,” she said. “Instead of just shop-talk.”
“What about the other thing?”
“Let me sleep on it.”
“Until when?”
“Tomorrow night,” she said.
16 - Second Invitation
Thursday morning there was a text from Joyce. It said: "Need to see you today. Call me on the school #.”
Christian went for his run, but was preoccupied now with what the heck could this be? He called her at 10:30, left a message with the office, and twenty minutes later she called back.
“Better to be using the school phone,” she said. “Not because of the other issue, so much, but something else I didn’t expect. Can I come down?”
“No,” he said.
“I have a prep 7th period today,” she said, “so I could be there about 3. We can just grab a sandwich and something to drink, I’ll say my peace and be out of your hair before it’s hardly dark.”
“Ooh boy,” Christian said. “Okay, fine.”
It was more like 3:45 when she got there, and he met her outside. No suede skirt this time, but the tight jeans and high boots weren’t exactly teacher’s attire, either.
He suggested the Booker Lounge, and asked what this apparent new, big development was. She said let’s get settled first.
Joyce ordered a gin and tonic and Christian had a Manhattan, which he’d been meaning to try after seeing Barefoot Contessa make one on the cooking show he liked.
They went through the usual small talk, ordered another round, and Booker came over to say hello. When he left, Joyce said, “That’s a handsome man. He has quite a presence.”
“You’d be interested in him then?”
“I could be, yes, under the right circumstances.”
“You mean if you thought he might have smashed a guy over the head or something?”
“C’mon Chris.”
“Well, here’s what you do then . . . You take your over-the-top interest in the male population, which is not un-appreciated, don’t get me wrong, and channel it toward the guy you’ve been supposedly screwing for the past couple months.”
“That’s what I’m getting to,” she said. “He knows about you.”
A moment of panic, and Christian said, “Knows about me, what?”
“About me running down to see you, texting you, calling you. He got into my phone.”
“That it? Nothing about me being connected to your . . . theory . . . on what might have happened to Donny?”
“Chris, I would never! What do you think I am?”
“Okay, good . . . so all we’re dealing with is he’s little jealous. And he’s right to be. So get your ass home and take care of business.”
“It’s not that simple, unfortunately. I think he’s going to do something.”
“To you?”
“No, to you.”
“He’s that type of guy?”
“I didn’t think so, but when I admitted what was going on, I saw a very angry side of him I didn’t know was there.”
“Wait a minute, admitted what was going on?”
“Just that I still have some feelings for you and am attracted to you, even though we parted ways a few years ago.”
“Ah Christ. Of all things, why in the heck would you say that?”
“Because it’s true.”
“First of all, it’s not true, you’re in a mixed up state right now. Either way, all you tell him is the Donny thing has you feeling bad about Meghan again, and you’ve been talking to an old friend who can relate.”
“That’s part of it, yes.”
“That’s all of it. It’s basically the same thing I told Allison the other night.”
“Oh yeah, Allison. She seemed very nice. I want to hear about it.”
“It only went fair. You screwed things up pretty royally there.”
“She didn’t believe you then?”
“Pretty sure she did. But it just didn’t work out great after that.”
When they got back to his building, she said, “I want to, but I won’t force you.”
He put his arm around her and pulled her in. “Don’t be ridiculous, it’s not forcing. There’s just too many complications right now. I think we both know it.”
He helped her into her car. When she’d made the turn onto Lombard, he right away second-guessed himself, but that's the way it went.
Ten minutes later the doorbell rang. One thing you had to give her was credit for persistence, and Christian wasn’t positive he could turn down a second invitation.
He went downstairs and opened the door, and it was a heavy-set man wearing a sport coat and tie. This can't be right. A cop?
“Are you Chris Seely?”
“Yes I am.”
The fist entered his field of vision from the left and a millisecond later connected with his right eye, and Christian fell back into the alcove and down.
The man said, “Don’t touch Joyce again. Stay away from her.”
Christian was trying to figure out if he could still see.
“We good on that?” the guy said.
Christian nodded they were, and staggered up the stairs.
17 - Working Cowboys
He was looking for the ice, couldn’t find any, so he grabbed a frozen steak, laid back on the couch, and pressed it on his eye.
The phone rang and he answered it automatically, fearing it was Joyce’s boyfriend with further instructions.
“Hey,” Bethany said.
“Oh, hi."
“Chris, what’s wrong? You don’t sound good, I’m not kidding. What is it?”
“No, no, it’s not what you think,” he said. “Some guy just hit me in the face.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah, just a random thing, right in the neighborhood. It’s over now, it’s fine.”
“Should you go in?”
“Nah, I got ice, and I’ll find some Tylenol.”
“What kind of random thing?”
“Well not quite 100% random actually.”
“Meaning there’s a story behind it, correct?”
“There always is I guess, if you dig deep enough.”
“Well, then you can tell me about it on the way to LA.”
“Oh . . . Yeah.”
“But judging from your reaction, why don’t we take a rain check.”
“No, are you kidding? In 24 hours I’ll be good as new. And don’t worry, I’ll book two rooms.”
“Chris, I can handle one room. But just make sure it has two beds, okay?”
+++
Friday morning the eye looked real bad. It was essentially closed, red and swollen on top with a half-moon outline underneath which would no doubt turn an assortment of colors.
Christian found his one pair of sunglasses and drove to San Bruno. There was a Goodwill there he was familiar with, a busy place where it was unlikely they'd remember a guy purchasing a baseball bat. He found two that would work, one wood, one aluminum, bought a bottle of alcohol and some latex gloves at Walgreen’s, picked up one of those bat cases with the shoulder strap at Big 5, and threw the whole shebang into the spare tire compartment under the main trunk.
He doubted there'd be a favorable opportunity this weekend, but knowing he wasn’t going empty-handed made him feel slightly better, though his head was pounding like a mother.
When he checked his phone there were three missed calls from the high school office number, Joyce obviously. There were two messages. The first was Steve Maierhaffer cursing him out again, so he advanced to the second, which just said hi, it’s Allison.
Christian wondered if somehow he could hook up Maierhaffer with Joyce, and then the wine guy would kill Maierhaffer.
He printed out some street maps of the Manhattan-Hermosa-Redondo area, packed a bag, and since he had a couple hours, moseyed on over to Weatherby’s.
Before he went in he returned Allison’s message.
“I’m glad you called,” she said.
“Well, what’s up?” he said.
“The two songs that you liked? Better than the other one? I’ve been working on them. I think there’s an improvement.”
“That’s good.”
“I’m playing an open mic tomorrow night at the Fig Tree in Berkeley. Can you come?”
“No, I can’t.”
“Oh, okay.”
“I didn’t mean it that way. You didn’t catch me on my best day, is what it is. Plus I have to go to LA.”
“Well, there’s another one Tuesday night I could try in Marin. Would that be a possible? I can email you the link.”
“Fine.”
“You’ll really come? Awesome.”
“Practice hard all weekend,” he said, and hung up.
Before he’d fully taken his customary stool, Shep said, “Whoa, brother.”
“That bad, even with the sunglasses then,” Christian said. “I’ve got something this weekend, and I was hoping to be at my best.”
“The shades give it a little disguise, but it’s pretty clear you got clocked, man.”
“I deserved it.”
“Hey,” Shep said, coming close, “this have anything to do with . . . ?”
“No, not at all."
“Hmm . . . Any further developments, along those lines?”
“I want there to be, but it hasn’t happened. One guy I resolved it with diplomatically, so I’m taking him off the list.”
“Fuck, you got a list?”
“Yeah.”
“So what’s this weekend?”
“A little scouting trip.”
“Ooh. In that case, keep safe, pardner.”
+++
“You like meat?” Christian said. They were on Highway 5, south of Tracy.
“I’m hoping that’s a normal question, in which case, yes I do,” Bethany said.
They stopped at Harris Ranch, near Coalinga, half way to Los Angeles. It had a more touristy element than Christian remembered, but the food was still pretty good.
“When I was a kid, my parents would bring us here on trips,” he said. “You’d see working cowboys eating meals, wearing their chaps.”
“Are they still alive? Your parents?”
“No, they both died seven years ago. My dad had a stroke, and then my mom was so heartsick she didn’t last the year, even though there was nothing wrong with the woman.”
“You see that frequently, I’m afraid,” Bethany said. “So who do you have, Chris?”
“Uh-oh.”
“No, I’m just curious. Honestly.”
He told her about Floyd and Bonnie.
“So do you have any . . . plans? And so forth?”
“You mean when things get worse?”
“Fine . . . Yes.”
“None whatsoever,” he said. “And since we’re asking the hard questions, could you please clarify your views on sexual relations?”
Bethany half-smiled. “You’re not going to let up, so if you can get me a hot tea to go, maybe when we’re back on the road.”
Christian re-introduced the subject an hour later when they were approaching the Tehachapi Mountains, on the northern fringes of LA County.
“The short version,” she said, “is I have an ex-husband I can’t move forward from. Is that blunt enough for you?”
“Wow, I didn’t think . . . ”
“I know, that’s what everyone says. We got married out of high school.”
“Around here? I mean, the Bay Area somewhere?”
“No, I’m from Fort Wayne, Indiana. Don’t laugh.”
“That where he still is then, or he’s out here?”
“He’s in Anthem, Arizona.”
“Oh.”
“But Chris? Can we not discuss this any more this weekend? I’m actually having fun with you, believe it or not, so please don’t wreck it.
18 - Seaweed Wrap
Christian went for a run on the beach, and when he got back Bethany was up, and sitting on the little terrace with coffee and a newspaper.
“The croissants are to die for,” she said. “You need to go get something before it ends. They call it a continental breakfast, but it’s quite the spread.”
They were staying at The Minka Hotel, two blocks from the Manhattan Beach Pier. There were nice places on Sepulveda, at a third the price, but Christian couldn’t think of any reason to economize these days.
“Well I will then,” he said. “And after that, you want to take a walk, do a little shopping? Or maybe you’d rather lounge around the pool in your swimsuit. I saw the sign, the water’s 82 degrees year-round.”
“A walk sounds nice,” she said.
They went up the boulevard past Highland and looped through the shopping district. On Manhattan Avenue in front of the A-Team Shoe Shop, she took his arm.
“Now that definitely throws me off,” he said.
“I love it here. You’re a very good host.”
“Okay, well here’s the thing,” he said, when they got back to the hotel. “I have a small bit of business to take care of this afternoon. They have a spa right downstairs. Can you go get a treatment? Massage, facial, seaweed wrap, foot thing, whatever there is? Get the works, and just sign for it.”
“That sounds amazing,” she said. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. That’s the whole reason we’re here, to relax and re-charge the batteries.”
+++
Chip Reggio’s Good Fund Financials, LLC, was listed at 113 Norden Lane in Hermosa Beach. It turned out to be a real office, in a small strip mall, with a red and yellow hanging sign out front, maybe a mile from the beach. Driving slowly past it, Christian could actually see the asshole, if that was him, at hi
s desk through the window.
The other tenants in the strip mall were a dentist, a CPA, a taqueria, a cleaners and a framing shop. Across the street was a bed store that took up half the block, a ballet studio, and on the corner a Baskin-Robbins.
Christian drove around until he found one of those big complexes with a Best Buy and a Target, and parked. He called a cab and waited for it in front of Panda Express.
When they had pulled up to Good Fund Financials, he told the driver he’d be ten minutes.
“Can I do for you?” said the man he was pretty sure was Reggio.
“Hi there,” Christian said. “I’m shopping.” He kept his hands in his pockets.
“Chip, a pleasure. Big-boy shopping, or what?”
“Well I’m not sure yet. Just closed my parents’ estate up north. I’m spending a couple days with my buddy in MB, then back to Scottsdale . . . My head’s still spinning from the whole thing.”
“That’s understandable. What’re we talking about?”
“Well, the estate’s around 3 million after the dust settles.”
“And you picked me why, exactly?”
“Mainly because the website says you do hard money firsts, which might be one way to go. What does that pay?”
“I normally charge them twelve and you get nine, I keep three.”
“And are they clean?”
“Oh yeah. For every fifty that come across my desk, I pick one. Good condition, prime neighborhoods, and we only do 40% loan-to-value, max. Just no way to get hurt.”
“If they don’t pay . . . ?”
“If they don’t pay we take the asset, and then it’s Christmas. That hardly ever happens though. They get stuck, they normally go to another hard money guy who loans them 50 or 60%. At that point they usually are fucked, yeah, but that doesn’t affect us because we got our money out plus interest and penalties and other fees we tack on . . . Of course if you want to take a little risk, I have a variation that’ll knock your socks off.”
“Interesting,” Christian said. “Can you meet me tomorrow morning at eight? I’ll bring what I have, and you can shoot the whole thing by me in more detail.”