John hacked. «You added sugar to
«Don't be stupid.» She sat down on an IKEA couch—sofa bed then in the couch mode. «Everybody bitched and moaned when Coca-Cola went and changed their formula in the eighties. If you want 19
They sipped in silence for a minute, and then Vanessa said to John, «Ryan says you think he's gay.»
«Well?» Obviously she didn't.
«He's my boyfriend, John.» She took a sip of her drink. «Mine's a Diet Coke, but I mixed sugar in with it. It has a really perverse taste.» John stared her down. «I love Ryan, and he loves me.»
«I love my friend Ivan, but I don't date him.»
«Oh, shut up. Eros. Agape. Sex. Friendship. All of that. I'm not dense.»
«You mean there's some eros in there?»
Vanessa's eyes glinted, but she said nothing. «Well, it's not like Tarzan and Jane, but it's real. He's genuine about
John bit an ice cube. «You're obviously the Nurse Crandall type. You know, Nurse Crandall lets down her hair and Dr. Hunnicutt says, “Nurse Crandall, good God but you're gorgeous. I had no idea.” »
«That would be me.» She looked out the window. «Ryan's car's here. We didn't have this chat, okay?»
Ryan walked in and the trio was off to Long Beach. Ryan leaned in between the driver's seat and the front passenger seat and said to John, «If you want to talk about Susan with Vanessa, go right ahead. She's totally cool.»
«Thank God,» said John, embarrassed.
«Susan Colgate was an idol for me, John,» said Vanessa. «You know, the role she used to play on TV — the smart daughter finding meanings and patterns in this nutty world. It's like my own family.»
John said, «I know what you mean. I have this feeling like she's got my keys. You know, like she knows my combination even though
«That's what Vanessa does for a living,» Ryan said. «At Rand. She finds meanings and patterns. Combinations.»
«What's your specialty?» asked John.
«Like Ryan said, I'm a finder.»
«A
«Just what it sounds like. Ever since I was a kid, if something got lost, people came to me to find it for them. I'm able to
«Bullshit.»
«My
«Give him an example,» said Ryan.
«Fair enough. Let's talk about
John was mute.
«Isn't she great?» said Ryan.
«You want more?» Vanessa said. «Almost ninety-five percent of your phone calls go to either New York or California. Your monthly consumption of phone sex averaged ninety-five hundred dollars across the years dating from 1991 up to your vanishing. If you've made a sex call since, I have yet to know about it. Your single most frequently dialed number is that of celebrity madam Melody Lanier of Beverly Hills, who, I bet you didn't know, has recurring bouts of malaria and who also lost her left baby toe in a Vespa crash in Darwin, Australia, in 1984. Nobody avoids the scrutiny of I, Vanessa Humboldt. There.
«Melody is not my madam. And
«Don't be so thick. It's all out there. You just have to know where to look.»
«She's good, eh?» said Ryan. «She could find you an abortionist in Vatican City.»
«If it makes you feel any better, I'm not creative. I leave that to my boy genius here.» She patted Ryan's knee.
Quickly the car off-ramped, and Vanessa pulled into the front of a sterile blue mirrored-glass cube, a large laboratory building surrounded by a dense putting-green lawn. «We're here,» she announced. «This is the office where a certain weasel named Gary Voors cheated me out of a few grand in freelance research commissions.»
«She got hosed,» said Ryan.
«Fifteen grand. But I did some research on him and this company and it's doubtful I'll ever get my dough. My mistake. I should have checked their financial patterns beforehand. Come on, now — out of the car.»
Standing in the parking lot, Ryan asked Vanessa which window was by the staff lunchroom. She pointed out one nearby. She then went to the trunk of the car and removed a 4-gallon red plastic gas can. John skittishly approached Vanessa, who said, «Put out your hand.» John balked. «Oh, be a
Vanessa said, «These tiny, almost invisible little bowling balls are clover seeds. And now we are going to use them to have fun with spelling.»
She began pouring the seeds out in a large flowing script, onto the putting green grass. John understood that she was writing something. «What are you writing?»
«She's writing out the words “Gary's banging Tina,” » said Ryan.
«Who's Tina?»
«The CEO's wife. They leave a sloppy trail behind them, too. And I wouldn't have dragged Tina into this except that she's the one who made sure that Gary got the credit for
«Clover seeds quickly penetrate the turf,» said Ryan. «And once they seed, their roots are like tentacles — the shoots show up a deep, dark green in about ten days.»
«Just a few days before Gary returns from Bermuda. What a coincidence,» said Vanessa. She finished her large, graceful lassoing of letters.
«The only way to get rid of the words is to remove the turf,» said Ryan. «Smart, eh?»
«Done.» She headed back to the car.
«That's it?»
«Chop-chop. Let's get a move on.»
A minute later they were on the freeway again. Vanessa was still driving. John was getting the jitters. He was having dark thoughts about what could have happened to Susan. Though his movies were violent and their characters often sick, John had never thought of them as being
Ryan said, «Vanessa and I are going to help you find Susan.»
«Leave it to the cops,» said Vanessa, «and she'll be luncheon meat before anybody finds her. Let me put out a dragnet tonight. Come over to my place tomorrow afternoon at five. I'll give you the results and throw in
