TWELVE
Everything about the Hotel Mirador was picture-postcard perfect. The hacienda-style main house was built harmoniously into the rolling rugged desert hills. The landscaping design consisted solely of desert blooms-coral aloe, Natal plum, Chinese lantern-except that the plants were not indigenous, they came from Africa- and the hills never existed in nature. They had been manufactured to fit a computer-generated artist’s concept of western/rugged. Six hundred thousand cubic yards of limestone had been shipped in by companies located in Yuma, Arizona from East Meadow, New York and twelve thousand miles away from Yokohama, Japan.
Millicent Pope-Lassiter had been so ecstatic when Stein called her with the news that the bottles had been found and would be returned that she had upgraded Stein’s accommodation at the Mirador from a room to a suite. He made sure that she understood that Roland had borrowed Morty Greene’s truck without Morty’s knowledge of what its purpose would be. All he wanted from her was the assurance that the charges against Morty would be dropped and for this whole horrifically trivial episode to be stamped CLOSED AND DONE. He was not naive enough to believe Morty had not signed on for a little taste, but Stein was was less interested in criminal justice (that grand oxymoron) than he was in karmic harmony. And if he would make Edna Greene’s life a little less complicated, that would be a day worth living.
In one of the two separate bathrooms in their suite at the Mirador, the cascading shower massage bathed Stein in a hot monsoon of melancholy. He had called home and checked his phone messages as soon as he and Lila arrived. There was nothing from Schwimmer, nothing from Goodpasture, nothing from Winston’s old lady.
He had called Police Chief Jack Bayliss’s office, but they had not called back either. He was exhausted by minutia and wanted to crawl under the covers and wake up thirty years ago.
Lila was blow-drying her hair when Stein came out the shower. He was wearing the boxer shorts he had purchased at the hotel gift shop that were a size too small and decorated with pictorial representations of local attractions. Lila displayed her thoughtfully packed overnight bag that contained a nightgown, slippers, and travel- size portions of nine different items of makeup and toiletries.
“I always keep one packed in the car,” she chirped. “Just in case something like this happens.”
“And does that happen fairly often?”
“Do you want to hear about the solar plexus?” Lila had purchased a pamphlet on the Chakras from the hotel’s New Age bookstore. “The third chakra is your emotional power center that projects love and light into the world. When one is pure and at peace with others all conflicts are stopped, facilitating learning instead of fighting. This is a good part for you. ‘If one stands humbly to solve the conflict, love is expressed. A resolution will eventually find itself thus the chakras of both parties remain balanced.’”
“I’m sure that’s exactly what he was thinking when he tried to do spinal surgery through my gut.”
“Sorry about distracting you out there but I didn’t want to have sex with a hood ornament.”
A bottle of champagne was on ice alongside a cart appointed with elegant silver dining trays. Lila had tied her bath towel the way women in forties movies did, knotting it just above the cleavage point. She had slender shoulders and a long elegant neck. She had reapplied her makeup and her hair was slicked back with a glossy gel that made her look sexy as Winona Ryder. Stein took the scene in with some bemusement.
“What is all this? Did you call room service?”
“You make it sound like a war crime.”
“It’s an indulgence.”
“It’s an amenity, Stein. I’m hungry! If we’re not going to sleep together, then at least I get to eat. I don’t think personal comfort is a crime against nature. I know I live in what a lot of people would call luxury. I’ve been lucky, and I don’t think this makes me heartless. But I do believe I’m entitled to eat well. And I sincerely hope I’m not fucking up the ozone layer, but I’m not going to be the only person in Palm Springs not to use air conditioning.”
She turned the switch back on that Stein had turned off and patted the cushion of the sofa alongside her for him to sit down. “You look so forlorn. Do you hate being stuck here with me?”
“I just wonder if I’m doing anyone any good,” he sighed and plopped himself down
“You just solved a big case.”
“It’s shampoo. Who gives a shit?” He sighed out one last deep pocket of air that even Roland Dupuis’ blow to his guts hadn’t dislodged. “Nicholette Bradley, the girl who died. I could have prevented it.”
“Stein, how?”
He realized that Lila had no idea what had happened last night after he left her at the warehouse. She listened now to the events unfold like she was hearing Alice in Wonderland for the first time. “Is any part of that really true? You know I believe anything you tell me.”
He nodded with rueful weariness that it was all true. “I just don’t know what to do next.” She kneaded his neck and shoulders. “Thanks. That feels good.” His chin dropped toward his chest. “Nothing I do changes anything for the better. Nicholette. Angie. You, for that matter.”
She resisted the urge to follow up on ‘you for that matter,’ and asked what the matter was with Angie.
“She’s always so angry at me. For things I did. For things I didn’t do. For existing.”
Lila got up onto her knees for better leverage. Her fingers probed deep into his back and knotted shoulder muscles. Her chin was close to his ear. “Listen to me. Number one, your daughter is a bright, sensitive, emotionally mature young woman.”
“This is Angie we’re talking about?”
“All of my friends have teenagers that are either in rehab or should be in rehab. They drink, they shoplift, they do drugs, they’re having sex.”
“You’re telling me this to make me feel better?”
“I’m saying you have a good kid. At this age, derision is the purest expression of love. And you are its legitimate target. If she thinks she has no effect on you, then later when adolescence is over and she rejoins the human race, she’ll always doubt her power. She’ll choose the wrong men to test herself. She’ll be hurt and disillusioned and she’ll blame you for everything that went wrong in her life because you didn’t accept her when she was horrid to you.”
“So the lesson is to be grateful that she’s abusing me?”
“Exactly.”
“What would I do without you?”
The bath towel came not quite down to her knees. Her legs were tanned and waxed. The champagne was disabling her inhibitions. “It wouldn’t take a Boy Scout to untie this knot.”
“Lila, you know we shouldn’t.”
“What are we saving up for? We die in the end anyway.”
“I do love you, you know that.”
“Yes,” she said with bored indulgence. “You’re just not in love. As if you had a clue.”
“Do you think I’m afraid to fall in love?”
“Stein, you’re afraid to fall into giving a shit.”
“You know what would happen if we slept together?”
“Yes, I’d be thoroughly addicted and ruined for other men.” With sweet humor she turned him to face the full-length mirror. “Look at yourself! Do you think you’re some exotic rodeo boy who has to warn women they may get hurt? You’re a balding, paunchy, fifty-year-old, divorced single parent. You drive a Camry. You got a birthday card from AARP. You’re from the demographic group called normal. Get over it.”
“Maybe I’m just worried I’ll disappoint you.”
She turned off the light.
“Lila-”
“Don’t think, Stein. It takes you to bad places.” She let the towel drop.
There was a knock at the door.
Lila yelled through the door. “If it’s room service, come back later.”
There was another knock. This time more insistent. Stein disengaged from Lila and went to the door. The man who stood in the threshold was definitely not the room service waiter.
“Well, well,” said Stein.
