“I’m sorry to break it to you but yes.” Andy was laughing under his breath. He’d checked the weather after getting Reggie’s confirmation. When he’d boarded at Heathrow, London was thirty-eight degrees and raining.
“Which one of those generic black bags is yours?”
“None.” Reggie turned back to the carousel. “That one.” His rolling bag was hard-sided and bright yellow. He had it off the conveyor a moment later.
“Right. Is that everything?”
“That’s the lot. It was lovely of you to collect me personally.”
“Well, you said it was your first time here, and this airport is a trial at the best of times. Come on, I’m parked right across the street.”
“Street,” Reggie muttered, looking at the multiple lanes. “God help me.”
They arrived at Andy’s car unscathed, performed some serious contortions getting the crate into the cargo area, squeezed Reggie’s bag in underneath it, and eventually made their way out of the airport. “It’s appallingly vast.”
“Yes it is. London is not exactly a small town either.”
“Yes, but it’s my town. And my bit of it is like a village. God’s effing teeth, look at this traffic. Where is your masterpiece of a husband today?”
“He’s up in the Valley at a meeting with our arranger. After that he has a meeting with our friend who directed last year’s movie. And after that, he has a meeting at the studio lot.”
“That’s quite an agenda,” Reggie said after a moment. “Thought you said you buggers were on vacation.”
Andy snickered. “Well, those appointments could have been arranged for different days, but then he would have had to go to the Valley on more than one day, and he didn’t want to.”
“Can’t say I blame him, if the roads are all like this. Bleeding Christ, what is that?”
“That is the 405 freeway, also known as the tenth circle of Hell.”
“Fuck me!”
Andy laughed. His father had said that exact thing two years before. “For a long time I was the freeway fucking master. Then I started working on the TV show, and before long they assigned me a driver. Boy did I get spoiled.
We both did.”
“Well, but that was for your safety, wasn’t it?”
“It was, and a damned good thing. Since we got back from the movie tour we’ve been driving ourselves again, mostly, and it’s not too bad. I never get on the freeway, though, not unless there’s absolutely no other way to get where I’m going in a reasonable amount of time.”
“I don’t drive at all,” Reggie said. “Never had the need to, and a private car in London is more trouble than it’s worth.”
“So I’ve heard.” Andy drove up through Baldwin Hills and eventually into Beverly Hills, where he made the turn onto Olympic.
Reggie had been looking around with interest all the way, with sounds of disbelief as they passed the oil field. Seeing the Metro construction at La Cienega, he said, “Is that meant to be an underground?”
“Yeah. It’s taking so long. They should have let Walt Disney’s people build monorails everywhere in the sixties. Los Angeles would be almost livable. Okay, that way is Museum Row, and we’re almost home.” Andy drove down the street in front of their house. “The triplex we bought last year, our place, and the latest place.”
“I can see why you wanted to get your mitts on it.”
“If the tenant situation looks stable after a couple of years, we might sell it to those people. Same deal with the triplex. This was all about controlling the outcome, not building a property empire.” He told Reggie about the extended, blended family in the triplex, and about their friends who might be moving into the new old house, as he pulled around into the alley. He parked and said, “Let me tell Adrian we have this cargo situation, he’ll give us a hand.” Getting the crate out of the car was marginally less difficult than getting it in. Adrian didn’t let Andy help carry it to the house. He and Reggie took it inside while Andy followed with Reggie’s bag. “Thanks buddy. Take
a load off for a few minutes, have a drink.” Consuelo was looking interested.
“This is a present for Victor, and this is our new friend Reggie Galant from England. Reggie, this is Consuelo Alvarez, who takes care of us.”
“Lovely to meet you, señora. Oh, thank you, coffee’s perfect.” There were a few minutes of chitchat, then Adrian returned to his station outside.
Reggie glanced at Andy. “Permanent situation?”
“We’re hoping not. But after what happened last year, it’s kind of in the
‘utilities’ category. So let’s unpack this thing, I’m dying to see it.” That was quite a process, involving multiple tools, some gymnastics, and a lot of cursing from both men. Finally the crate was disassembled, the layers of bubble wrap were cut away, and there was only a layer of brown paper to get through. Reggie stood back with a ‘help yourself’ expression. Andy took out his pocket knife and carefully slit the paper, peeling it away from the frame.
“Oh my fucking God. Reggie, goddamn. This is great. He is going to love it.
Consuelo, look.”
“Ay, Mr. Andy, how you get your leg so high?”
Reggie laughed. “Wouldn’t I like to know!”
Andy was gazing at the painting. “You got his face just right. That expression. What you did with the lighting. Fucking sensational.”
“The framers didn’t know who you were. They said, were these models or did you make this one up? Can people even do that?”
“What did you tell them?”
“I told them, well I can’t do that, but these blokes can. And they said, blimey, they’re both men? Thought that was one of them ballet dancers.”
Andy laughed at the mostly put-on Cockney accent. Reggie was smiling. “I said, how long have you been framing my rubbish.”
“This is
