'No thank you.'
'Now, about my spoons…'
It's forty-five more agonizing minutes of the Olivia Hathaway Water Torture (drip… about my spoons… drip… about my spoons… drip…) before he can get rid of her and head out to Vale's mother's house in Monarch Bay,
18
Monarch Bay.
Aptly named.
Absolutely primo real estate location on the south coast.
Monarch Bay sits on the border between the towns of Laguna Niguel and Dana Point and went through Bosniaesque civil strife as to which town it would belong to. To most people's surprise, the residents chose Dana Point over the more tony Laguna Niguel, even though Dana Point in those days was just the harbor and a bunch of fast food joints, surf shops, and cheap motels on a strip of the PCH.
The Dana Point that Jack loved.
The choice pissed a lot of people off, especially the owners of the Ritz-Carlton/Laguna Niguel just down the beach, who never changed the resort's name, even though it's technically in Dana Point and not Laguna Niguel.
This is fine with Jack, who doesn't particularly want to be associated with the beautiful resort people. As far as Jack's concerned, the resort is basically a place for the young surf bums to work as waiters and supplement their meager incomes by screwing the rich wives that they've otherwise serviced at lunch. More than a few of whom live in the exclusive gated community of Monarch Bay.
You roll up to the gates of Monarch Bay in a Ford Taurus, you'd better be there to clean something. You'd better have some ammonia and rags in the backseat.
Otherwise, this is a gate for Mercedes and Jags and Rollses.
Jack does feel a little uncool in the Taurus, but he switched to a company car because somehow it just didn't feel right to go to a house where people have lost a loved one and show up in a '66 Mustang with a Hobie on top.
Feels disrespectful.
Getting the company car was a hassle.
To get a company car, you have to go to Edna.
Edna has those glasses with the little metal-bead chain hanging around her neck.
Jack says, 'Edna, I need a car.'
'Are you asking or telling?'
'Asking.'
'We don't have any with surfboard racks on them.'
Jack smiles. 'It was my last call of the day. Three Arch Bay, so, you know…'
'I do know,' Edna says. 'I saw the crew vacuuming the sand out.'
What Jack doesn't tell Edna is that he left two six-packs with the pool car crew for the inconvenience. Something he always does. The guys in the crew love Jack. They'd do anything for Jack.
'Sorry,' he says.
'Company cars are not for pleasure,' Edna says, pushing the keys at him.
'I promise I won't have any pleasure in it.'
All of a sudden Edna has these images of twisted carnal goings-on in the backseat of one of her cars and her hand pauses on the keys.
' Tell me you boys don't-'
'No, no, no, no,' Jack says, taking the keys. 'Not in the backseat, anyway.'
'Slip 17.'
'Thank you.'
So Jack takes a Taurus to Monarch Bay.
Where the guard gives the car a long look, just to make a point, and then asks, 'Is Mr. Vale expecting you?'
Jack says, 'He's expecting me.'
The guard looks past Jack on the front seat and asks, 'You're what? The dog groomer?'
'That's right. I groom the dog.'
The house is a mock-Tudor mansion. The lawn is as manicured as a dowager's hand and a croquet set has been meticulously measured out on the grass. A rose garden edges the north wall.
Hasn't rained in three months, Jack thinks, and the roses are dripping with moisture, fresh as a blush.
Vale meets him in the driveway.
He's one good-looking man. He's about six-three, Jack guesses, thin, with black hair cut unfashionably long except somehow it looks perfectly stylish on him. He's wearing a beige pullover over faded jeans and Loafers. No socks. Wire-rim John Lennon glasses.
Very cool.
He looks younger than forty-three.
The face is movie-star handsome and mostly it's the eyes. They have a slight upward slant and they're the gray-blue color of a winter sea.
And intense.
Like when Vale looks at you he's trying to make you do something.
Jack has the feeling that most people do.
'Would you be Jack Wade?' Vale asks.
There's the slightest trace of an accent, but Jack can't work out what it is.
'Russian,' Vale explains. 'The actual name is Daziatnik Valeshin, but who wants to sign all those checks that way?'
'Sorry to meet you under these circumstances, Mr. Vale.'
'Nicky,' Vale says. 'Call me Nicky.'
'Nicky,' Jack says. 'Here's Leo.'
'Leonid!' Nicky yells.
The little dog goes nuts, starts twirling around and stuff. Jack opens the door and Leo jumps out and leaps into Nicky's outstretched arms.
'Again,' Jack says, 'I'm sorry about Mrs. Vale.'
'Pamela was young and very beautiful,' Nicky says.
Which is definitely what you want to be, Jack thinks, if you're going to be married to a rich guy and live in a house overlooking the ocean. 'Young and beautiful' is the baseline qualification. You aren't young and beautiful, you don't even get to fill out the application.
Still, it's a weird thing to say at a time like this.
Jack says, 'I know she did a lot of work for Save the Strands. I know you both did.'
Nicky nods. 'We believed in it. Pamela spent a lot of time in the Strands — painting, walking with the children. We'd hate to see it ruined.'
'How are the children doing?' Jack asks.
'I believe the expression is 'As well as can be expected.''
One odd fucking dude, Jack thinks.
He must see it on my face, Jack thinks, because Nicky says, 'Let's cut through the pretense, Jack. Obviously you know that Pamela and I were separated. I loved her, the children loved her, but Pamela couldn't decide which she loved more — her family or the bottle. Still, I had every hope of a reconciliation. We were working toward one. And she was young, and very beautiful, and under these circumstances that is what I seem to bring to mind. A protective reflex of the mind, I suppose.'
'Mr. Vale… Nicky-'
