The tall woman with the pale hair said something to the overweight man, and he looked our way, too. The older woman was looking around, but you could tell she didn't see us.
Jodi said, 'If you find these people, I have no wish to meet them, and I don't want them to know who I am. I don't want anyone to know that you're doing this, and I want you to promise me that anything you find out about me or my biological relatives will remain absolutely confidential between us. Do you promise that?'
Sid said, 'They find out they're related to Jodi Taylor, they might take advantage.' He rubbed his thumb across his fingertips. Money.
Jodi Taylor was still with me, her eyes locked on mine as if this was the most important thing in the world. 'Do you swear that whatever you find will stay between us?'
'The card says 'confidential,' Ms. Taylor. If I work for you, I'm working for you.'
Jodi looked at Sid. Sid spread his hands. 'Whatever you want to do, kid.'
She looked back at me, and nodded. 'Hire him.'
I said, 'I can't do it from here. I'll have to go to Louisiana, and, possibly, other places, and, if I do, the expenses could be considerable.'
Sid said, 'So what's new?'
'My fee is three thousand dollars, plus the expenses.'
Sid Markowitz took out a check and a pen and wrote without comment.
'I'll want to speak with the attorney. I may have to discuss what I find with her. Is that okay?'
Jodi Taylor said, 'Of course. I'll call her this afternoon and tell her to expect you. You can keep her card.' She glanced at the door, anxious to leave. You hire the detective, you let him worry about it.
Sid made a writing motion in the air and the waiter brought the check.
The woman with the pale hair looked our way again, then spoke to her husband. The two of them stood and came over, the man holding his camera.
I said, 'We've got company.'
Jodi Taylor and Sid Markowitz turned just as they arrived. The man was grinning as if he had just made thirty-second-degree Mason. The woman said, 'Excuse us, but are you Jodi Taylor?'
In the space of a breath Jodi Taylor put away the things that troubled her and smiled the smile that thirty million Americans saw every week. It was worth seeing. Jodi Taylor was thirty-six years old, and beautiful in the way that only women with a measure of maturity can be beautiful. Not like in a fashion magazine. Not like a model. There was a quality of realness about her that let you feel that you might meet her at a supermarket or in church or at the PTA. She had soft hazel eyes and dark skin and one front tooth slightly overlapped the other. When she gave you the smile her heart smiled, too, and you felt it was genuine. Maybe it was that quality that was making her a star. 'I'm Jodi Taylor,' she said.
The overweight man said, 'Miss Taylor, could I get a picture of you and Denise?'
Jodi looked at the woman. 'Are you Denise?'
Denise said, 'It's so wonderful to meet you. We love your show.'
Jodi smiled wider, and if you had never before met or seen her, in that moment you would fall in love. She offered her hand, and said, 'Lean close and let's get our picture.'
The overweight man beamed like a six-year-old on Christmas morning. Denise leaned close and Jodi took off her sunglasses and the maltre d' and two of the waiters hovered, nervous. Sid waved them away.
The overweight man snapped the picture, then said how much everybody back home loved
I said, 'That was very nice of you. I've been with several people who would not have been as kind.'
Sid said, 'Money in the bank. You see how they love her?'
Jodi Taylor looked at Sid Markowitz without expression, and then she looked at me. Her eyes seemed tired and obscured by something that intruded. 'Yes, well. If there's anything else you need, please call Sid.' She gathered her things and stood to leave. Business was finished.
I stayed seated. 'What are you afraid of, Ms. Taylor?'
Jodi Taylor walked away from the table and out the door without answering.
Sid Markowitz said, 'Forget it. You know how it is with actresses.'
Outside, I watched Jodi and Sid drive away in Markowitz's twelve-cylinder Jaguar while a parking attendant who looked like Fabio ran to get my car. Neither of them had said good-bye.
From the parking lot, you could look down on the beach and see young men and women in wetsuits carrying short, pointy boogie boards into the surf. They would run laughing into the surf, where they would bellyflop onto their boards and paddle out past the breakwater where other surfers sat with their legs hanging down, bobbing in the water, waiting for a wave. A little swell would come, and they would paddle furiously to catch its crest. They would stand and ride the little wave into the shallows where they would turn around and paddle out to wait some more. They did it again and again, and the waves were always small, but maybe each time they paddled out they were thinking that the next wave would be the big wave, the one that would make all the effort have meaning. Most people are like that, and, like most people, the surfers probably hadn't yet realized that the process was the payoff, not the waves. When they were paddling, they looked very much like sea lions and, every couple of years or so, a passing great white shark would get confused and a board would come back but not the surfer.
Fabio brought my car and I drove back along the Pacific Coast Highway toward Los Angeles.
I had thought that Jodi Taylor might be pleased when I agreed to take the job, but she wasn't. Yet she still wanted to hire me, still wanted me to uncover the elements of her past. Since my own history was known to me, it held no fear. I thought about how I might feel if the corridor of my birth held only closed doors. Maybe, like Jodi Taylor, I would be afraid.
By the time I turned away from the water toward my office, a dark anvil of clouds had formed on the horizon and the ocean had grown to be the color of raw steel.
A storm was raging, and I thought that it might find its way to shore.
CHAPTER 2
I t was just after two when I pulled my car into the parking garage on Santa Monica Boulevard and climbed the four flights to my office there in the heart of West Hollywood. The office was empty, exactly as I had left it two hours and forty minutes ago. I had wanted to burst through the door and tell my employees that I was working for a major national television star, only I had no employees. I have a partner named Joe Pike, but he's rarely around. Even when he is, conversation is not his forte.
I took out Lucille Chenier's business card and dialed her office. A bright southern voice said, 'Ms. Chenier's office. This is Darlene.'
I told her who I was and asked if Ms. Chenier was available.
Darlene said, 'Oh, Mr. Cole. Mr. Markowitz phoned us about you.'
'There goes the element of surprise.'
She said, 'Ms. Chenier's in court this afternoon. May I help?'
I told her that I would be flying in tomorrow, and asked if we might set a time for me to meet with Ms. Chenier.
'Absolutely. Would three o'clock do?'
'Sounds good.'
'If you like, I can book you into the Riverfront Howard Johnson. It's very nice.' She sounded happy to do it.
'That would be great. Thank you.'
She said, 'Would you like someone to meet you at the airport? We'd be happy to send a car.'
'Thanks, but I think I can manage.'
'Well, you have a fine flight and we'll look forward to seeing you tomorrow.' I could feel her smiling across
