I could see him fading away, turning inward, his brain following the threads of the problem already. “Okay. Good. I’m glad my idea helped,” I said. “Go work on it. We’ll be in touch later.”
****
“Justin, wake up.”
Low hum of jet engines. Smell of recycled air. I looked out the window and saw nothing but clouds.
“What? Don’t you remember the doctors said I need rest?”
“Whatever. You’ve been sleeping for two days. I want to read this to you.” She held her phone out. There was a cup of coffee on her tray table. “Ready?”
“Yeah,” I replied. “Let me have some of that coffee. Is it about the variations?”
“Indeed. Here it is: Elgar’s enigma solved at last? Over one hundred years ago, Sir Edward Elgar posed a riddle to his fans, a riddle that has continued to baffle even the most erudite of academics down the years. Scholars believe the enigma takes the form of a secret counterpoint to Elgar’s theme from which all the variations are derived. Some also believe, Elgar having been a keen cryptographer, that the composer wove an encrypted message or clue into the music itself. Finally, a solution, reached via a highly original method, has been proposed and given to a panel of experts to judge. The solution was submitted two days ago by Julian Wolhardt of Culver City, California. Mr. Wolhardt, a film composer, has been working on the enigma for many years but only recently made a breakthrough that led to his startling solution. The expert panel released a statement this morning saying that his proposed solution has serious merit. They plan to meet within the month to discuss the proposal in person and issue their judgment. Has the enigma finally been solved? Only time can tell. In a bizarre twist, the panel that will decide the fate of Mr. Wolhardt’s solution was assembled by none other than Morgan Jutting, the reclusive billionaire and enigma enthusiast who was murdered only days ago. Mr. Jutting had offered a reward of one million pounds for a solution to the riddle. The panel, made up of highly respected scholars, has the power to recommend that the reward be bestowed. However, given the death of Morgan Jutting and the resulting turmoil, it is unknown whether or not the reward will still be on offer.”
I took a sip of Ashna’s coffee, thinking. “So he sent it in?”
“Yeah. I told you he did. You need to get over this concussion, dude.”
“I know. I’m feeling better. I hope Belka’s okay. Where do they keep them? Not down in the cargo bay with all the suitcases I hope.”
“He’ll be fine. They have a special heated and pressurized area for animals. I checked. You gave him the cat Prozac didn’t you? I never figured you for a cat guy Justin.”
“Me neither. I like him though. At least I got something out of this job, if Victoria Butler doesn’t pay that is.”
“She’ll pay. I can feel it.”
Chapter 23
Coda
September 30: Los Angeles & Culver City
I went to Los Angeles again at the end of September for an opening at the new gallery. Valerie was showing three of my pieces. It was a good night. I saw a lot of old friends—mostly refugees from the Bay Area who had fled South for the cheaper cost of living. The wine was good. The D.J. was good. Emilio had found his feet as a gallery manager. The place was doing well. Julian Wolhardt even made a brief appearance. He waited patiently while I talked to a stringer from Artforum, making up some BS about seeing beyond the distraction of conspicuous reality and the tension of opposites posed in a duality. Finally, the reviewer wandered off to speak with another artist and I turned to Wolhardt, offering a hand. He took it and pulled me into a quick hug.
"Your work looks great. I love the patina. You didn’t believe a word of what you were saying to that girl did you?"
"Not really. But you have to play the game if you want the fame, as they say. There’s an expectation of a certain level of utterly meaningless nonsense. It’s not good enough to just produce the product, you also have to explain it in the most abstruse terms possible."
“Yes, we have that in the movie music business too. It’s more for the directors and producers though. Listen, how long are you here for? Would you mind coming by? I have something to give you and it would be good to catch up.”
“Sure. I’m here for a couple more days. Maybe tomorrow afternoon?”
“Perfect. Is three o’clock okay?”
“I’ll see you then.”
****
I pulled up to Wolhardt’s bungalow a few minutes before three the next day. His street looked just the same. Things didn’t seem to change much in southern California. Even when new things were built, old things torn down, the character didn’t change. Los Angeles was like a vast amoeba that just sucked every new thing in and coated it with shiny Los Angeles amoeba fluid until it looked indistinguishable from the old thing it had replaced.
I crossed the dry lawn and pressed the button for Wolhardt’s doorbell. The chimes sounded inside and floorboards creaked. He opened the door smiling, a little stooped. He had grown a moustache. I guess I noticed it the night before but it hadn’t struck me like it did now. He’d had a moustache in the old photo on his mantel too. It was white, like his hair.
“Come in,” he said, standing aside. “Thanks for coming by.”
“Of course.”
“Maybe it’s late in the afternoon but I have some coffee on if you’d like a cup.”
“Sounds great. Thanks.”
“Okay, show yourself into the living room and I’ll be there in a
