Caroline pointed. ’fat’s my van.”
“That van.” Tealeaf managed to make it sound vaguely loathsome, like something you’d spray under the refrigerator for. “Okay, all right. We’ll drive it down to my friend’s house. He has plenty of garage space. Nobody’ll find it there.”
“I don’t think you understand.” Ross Ed gently disengaged his arm. “The people who are after me are real sman, and real persistent.”
She stared up at him. “I’ve been twenty-six years in the Business, bubalah. I’m telling you that there’s nothing I can’t handle. You know the O.J. trial?” She leaned over and whispered even though there was no one around for a hundred yards to overhear. “I represent half the legal counsel. Both sides. Half of ’em. Book rights, movies, you name it.” She patted him on the arm. “You just leave everything to me. We’re gonna go back to L.A. and I’ll set up some meetings.”
“But we wanted to go to San Diego,” Caroline protested.
“What are you, zoo freaks? Sea World converts? Hey, no problem. I’ll let you use one of my cars, you can go anywhere you want. But we can’t hang around here. When an opportunity presents itself you’ve got to pounce on it with both feet, pin it down, and hang on.”
Caroline pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Sounds like you’re getting ready to kill something.”
Tealeaf shrugged. “Business metaphor. Listen, we’ll fly back in my plane and—”
“Your plane?” For the first time Ross Ed was more impressed than wary. Where he came from, only oilmen and big ranchers had their own planes.
“Sure. What d’you think, I drove myself here in a Geo or something? The desert’s hot, that’s why it’s a desert. Once we get home you can stay at my place, there’s plenty of room.” She reminisced briefly. “I don’t think Tomo’s still staying there. No, I kicked him out last month. You guys can have his room. Or one of the others if you prefer, I don’t care. You want to see San Diego, we’ll see that you get to San Diego. You want to see the ocean, you can do that from my house. I’m in Malibu.”
Caroline expressed fresh interest. “I’ve heard a lot about Malibu. Is there anything left of it?”
“Fire, flood, mud slide, earthquake, riot: it doesn’t matter. It’s like a perennial: comes back every year. Malibu’s not a place anyway, it’s a state of mind.”
“You can’t sleep in a state of mind,” Ross Ed insisted.
“In Malibu you can. Anyway, don’t worry, my house is still standing, it’s right on the beach. Nice and private, big eucalyptus trees, you’ll be real comfortable there. You want to drive your van and meet me there?” She waited for an answer.
Ross Ed looked at Caroline. “What d’you think?”
She took a deep breath. “If anything’s going to throw them off your trail, gauging the van and flying the next six hundred miles in a private plane ought to do it.”
“I expect you’re right.” He was still reluctant. “I don’t know about this, ma’am … Tealeaf. You’re moving awful fast for
“That’s how you stay alive i8 this business. Look, you’ve got a unique gimmick, talent, stage presence well, size, anyway. The rest can be taught, or covered. You don’t like the way I do business, you don’t like the way things are going, you just walk. I’ll fly you back here and you can pick up your van and go on your merry way. What do you say?” Again she extended her right hand, this time first to Ross Ed.
He hesitated. “Do I have to sign anything?”
“Not yet, but you will. Don’t worry; you want lawyers. I’ll get you lawyers. Remember, I represent the best.”
Turning to his right, he gazed at the distant Bradshaw Mountains. “I’m about ready for the Pacific, and Caroline’s right about the plane.”
“Of course I am! I’m right about everything. Most of the time, anyway. As for the police, don’t worry about them. Hollywood’s full of people the cops have been after for years. Thieves, embezzlers, adulterers, arsonists, drug dealers, professional liars and cheats, and some of them don’t even work in the business.” On the ever-wary Caroline she bestowed a warm, maternal smile that was at least half-genuine.
“I promise that you’ll get to San Diego. I’ll get you passes to any place you want.” Hard and sharp, her eyes flicked back to Ross Ed. “Well?”
Somewhere a raven cawed, having been momentarily out-jawed. Ross Ed took Tealeaf’s hand.
“I’m sick of driving, and I miss my car anyway.”
The trip to Los Angeles in Tealeaf’s twin-engine Beechcraft was no bumpier than the average commercial flight. Setting down in Santa Monica, they picked up her garaged Mercedes and made the drive up the coast to Malibu.
Her house boasted three levels, two decks, the promised enormous eucalyptus forming a pale green barrier between the house and the access road, and on the second level overlooking the sand, a hammock of white cotton rope big enough to hold four people. The sun was already beginning to set somewhere in the vicinity of Japan. Ross Ed half expected to wake up and find he’d been cast in a commercial for the local chamber of commerce.
The whirlwind who was hosting them roared through the house, checking fax and answering machines, before leaving for her Santa Monica office. She managed to do all this while simultaneously holding down at least three conversations on her cellular phone, which must have been surgically attached to the side of her head. In her wake they found spotlessly clean rooms, fresh flowers, and a fully stocked commercial-grade refrigerator large enough to hold an entire steer carcass. The freezer alone contained four different brands of premium ice cream, all in pint containers.
Despite this largesse, Ross Ed still wasn’t sure he liked Tealeaf, but he had to admire her. She talked, moved, and reacted three times faster than anyone he’d ever met. It was impossible to imagine what might happen if she touched Jed and the alien’s suit chose to react to the contact.
Given the run of the manse, he and Caroline investigated the place like children. Warm California sunlight poured in through the photosensitized windows, gilding everything inside from furniture to flowers.
“What the hell’s a spring roll?” As they explored he munched on an assortment of snack foods scavenged from the gigantic fridge.
“Beats me. Is it any good?”
“Too small to tell. Want to take a walk on the beach?”
“Sure. As soon as I figure out how to operate these doors.”
Attained at last, the Pacific was not entirely as Ross Ed had envisioned it. The beach sloped sharply down into the bay and the waves were small and choppy. Instead of turquoise blue, the water was a dark pea-soup green, its mysteries hidden, It was cold and full of stringy vegetation. Kelp, Caroline called it. Probably some of it in the ice cream they’d seen in the freezer. As they hiked barefoot along the gritty sand she preceded to explain how that could be.
He was more than a little disappointed. Gulf-coast sand was pure white and soft, the water warm and if not turquoise blue, at least semi-transparent. Out beneath the oil rigs fish swarmed in abundance and you could see well down into the water. Where were all the caroling surfers and giggling girls in high-tech bikinis? Perhaps it was the wrong time of year. Or day. Or beach.
They did encounter other afternoon strollers; a young couple holding hands, a schoolteacher and his wife on break, a couple of boogie boarders looking for breaking surf, Robert Redford, and a painter searching for inspiration in the farrago of pitching sea and moody overcast. Reaching a narrow breakwater, they turned and began to retrace their steps.
“Well, you made it.” Caroline bent to pick up a fragment of driftwood. Put a woman on a beach, he knew from experience, and she’d return home with pockets full of stuff she’d never look at twice anywhere else. “So what do you think of the Pacific Ocean?
“So far I’m not impressed.” He gazed out over the green waters. “It sounds nice. Waves in the Gulf are prrtty small. But the water there is warmer, clearer, and cleaner. As for swimming, give me a Texas lake anytime. Maybe it’ll be nicer down near San Diego.”
“We’ll see. Tealeaf promised.” A check of her watch showed that it was later than they realized. “She said she’d be back in time for a late lunch.”
