I exited the courthouse parking lot and took Rexford Drive through the Beverly Hills municipalcomplex. The light at Santa Monica was longenough for me to leave a message on Milo’scell.
Driving home, I wondered about the affair between Meserve and Nora. Partnersin the worst kind of crime or just another May-December romance?
Wouldn’t it be nice if Reynold Peaty got caught doing something nasty,confessed to multiple murder, and we could all move on.
I realized I was driving too fast and slowed down. Switching on a CD, Ilistened to Mindy Smith’s clear, sweet soprano. Waiting for her man to arriveon the next train.
The only thing waiting for me was mail and an unread newspaper. Maybe it wastime to get another dog.
As I turned off Sunset, a brown Audi Quattro parked on the east side ofBeverly Glen pulled behind me and stayed close. I sped up and so did the Audi,as it rode my tail close enough for a rear-view of bird dirt on the four-ringgrille. A tinted windshield prevented further clarity. I swung to the right.Instead of passing, the Audi downshifted, drove alongside to my left for asecond, then sped off in nasal acceleration. I made out a driver, nopassengers. A rear bumper sticker sported red letters on a white background.Too brief for me to read the whole message but I thought I’d seen the word“therapy.”
When I reached the bridle path that leads to my street, I looked for thecar. Nowhere.
Just another friendly day on the roads of L.A. I’d been an obstruction and he’d feltcompelled to tell me.
 
The phone was ringing as I walked into the house.
Robin said, “Sorry I missed your call.”
That threw me for a second. Then I remembered I’d called her this morning,hadn’t left a message.
She understood the pause, said, “Caller I.D. What’s up?”
“I was just saying hi.”
“Want to get together? Just to talk?”
“Sure.”
“How about talk and eat?” she said. “Nothing too intense, name the place.”
Long time since she’d been in the house that she’d designed. I said, “Icould make something here.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d rather go out.”
“When should I pick you up?”
“How about seven—seven thirty? I’ll wait outside.”
Meaning don’t come in? Or did she crave fresh air after hours of sawdust andvarnish?
Did it matter?
 
Rose Avenuesported a few more boutiques and cute cafés tucked among the laundromats andfast food stands. The ocean air that blew through windows was sour but notunpleasant for that. The night sky was a swirl of gray and indigo, textured likepigments mixed haphazardly on a palette. Soon the cute cafés would beoverflowing, pretty people fortified by margaritas and possibilities spillingout to the curb.
Robin lived minutes from that scene. Did she ever participate?
Did that matter?
 
--- oOo ---
 
Her block on Rennie was quiet and inconsistently lit, lined with neatlytended little houses and side-by-side duplexes. I spotted the flower beds she’dplanted out front before I saw her step out of the shadows.
Her hair bounced as she beelined to the car. Nighttime turned auburn rosy.Her curls reminded me, as they always did, of grapes on the vine.
She wore a second-skin top in some dark shade, form-fitted light jeans,boots with nasty looking heels that clump-clumped. As she opened the door thedome light told all: chocolate brown tank top, textured silk, one shade lighterthan her almond eyes. The jeans were cream, the boots mocha. Silvery pink glossripened her lips. Blush on her cheekbones created something feline.
Those curves.
She flashed a wide, ambiguous smile and put on her seat belt. The strap cutdiagonally between her breasts.
“Where to?” she said.
I’d taken her at her word about “nothing intense.” Haute cuisine meantritual and high expectations and we could do with neither.
Allison liked haute. Loved rolling the stem of a wineglass between manicuredfingers as she engaged in earnest discussion of an elegant menu with snootywaiters, her toes trailing up my trousers…
I mentioned a seafood joint in the Marinathat Robin and I had patronized back before the Ice Age. Spacious, dockside,no-sweat parking, nice view of a harbor full of big white boats, most of whichseemed never to go anywhere.
She said, “That place. Sure.”
We got a table outdoors, near the glass wall that keeps the wind out. Thenight had turned cool and butane heaters were switched on. The sports bar upfront was packed but it was still early for the Marina dinner crowd and more than half thetables were empty. A chirpy waitress who looked around twelve took our drinkorder and brought Robin’s wine and my Chivas before we had a chance to getawkward.
Drinking and gazing at the yachts postponed that a while longer.
Robin put her glass down. “You look fit.”
“You look gorgeous.”
She studied the water. Black and sleek and still, under a sky streaked withamethyst. “Must’ve been a great sunset.”
“We had a few of those,” I said. “That summer we lived at the beach.”
The year we’d rebuilt the house. Robin had served as the contractor. Did shemiss the place?
She said, “We had some spectacular ones at Big Sur. That crazy Zen place that wassupposed to be luxurious, then they stuck us with chemical toilets and thatterrible smell?”
“Rustic living.” I wondered if the place had been on the resort list Milo and I had just run down. “What was it called?”
“The Great Mandala Lodge. Closed down last year.” She looked away and I knewwhy. She’d gone back. With him.
She drank wine and said, “Even with the smell and the mosquitoes and thatsplinter in my toe from that stupid pinecone, it was fun. Who knew a pineconecould be lethal.”
“You’re forgetting my splinters,” I said.
Oversized incisors flashed. “I didn’t forget, I chose not to remind you.”Her hand made circular motions in the air. “Rubbing that ointment into yourcute butt. How could we know that other couple would be watching? All thatother stuff they could see from their cabin.”
“Should’ve charged them tuition,” I said. “Crash course in Sex Ed for thehoneymooners.”
“They did seem pretty inept. All that tension at breakfast. Think themarriage lasted?”
I shrugged.
............