“I’m sure it’s fine, Roger,” Val said. “I wouldn’t mind having a look at the outdoor pool, though.”
“Sure thing.”
He led them out back. Putting green, stone barbecue, cabana, pool.
“Twenty-five meters,” said Roger. “By-” He consulted a leatherbound notebook. “Fifteen. Heated, of course.”
“It’s not fenced in,” Val said.
“Not necessary, since the whole property is,” Roger replied, quickly adding, “but I’m sure something suitable could be designed, if it’s Sean you’re thinking about.”
The pool was empty. A whiffle-ball bat lay on the bottom. Bobby walked to the shallow end, down the stairs, across the bottom of the pool, picked it up. Roger, looking down at him, laughed and said, “Busman’s holiday?”
“Huh?”
Roger stoped laughing. Bobby got out of the pool, carrying the whiffle-ball bat. He saw the back door of the house open and Wald came out, walking fast across the lawn.
Wald handed him the Herald. “Nice poke yesterday.” The back page was a full shot of Bobby, swinging from the heels; off balance, he could tell just from the still photo. Terrible. The headline read: “Rayburn burns Birds.”
Roger, reading over Bobby’s shoulder, said: “Wow, isn’t that something?”
Wald glanced around. “What’s all this?” he said.
“We’re just looking,” Bobby told him.
“Like it, Chaz?” Val asked.
“How much?” Wald said.
“The owners are asking one point six,” Roger said. “That includes appliances, all the built-ins, the security, the sound, the-”
“That’s not what I asked,” Wald interrupted, “what they’re asking. I asked how much.”
Roger blinked.
“Who are these owners?” Wald said.
“They died in a private plane crash,” Val told him.
“Invitation only?” Wald said.
Val laughed. That surprised Bobby. Wald turned to Roger. “So it’s an estate sale.”
“Something like that.” Roger unfastened one of the buttons on the cuff of his double-breasted jacket, fastened it again.
“Something like that.” Wald looked at Bobby and Val standing by the edge of the empty pool. “Well? You like it?”
“I do,” said Val.
“We’d have to talk,” said Bobby.
“So talk.”
Bobby and Val walked down toward the sea. The lawn sloped sharply, then leveled out all the way to the beach, flat as a ball field. It was gray under a gray sky. A red sail cut through the water far away, like a shark fin. “Why not?” Val said. “We have to live somewhere. Unless you want me to stay in California. Me and Sean.”
“Why would I want that? I just signed a three-year deal here, for Christ’s sake.”
Val didn’t answer. She and Sean? Bobby tried to picture Sean’s face; the only face that appeared belonged to the other Sean, yellow and drawn on the hospital pillow. That was bad.
She was watching him. “You like it?” Bobby said.
“Don’t you?”
Bobby shrugged. “Isn’t it a bit… too much?”
“The money?”
“The place.”
“Too much in what way?”
Bobby couldn’t put it into words.
“It’s in the best of taste, Bobby,” Val said. “So much… tonier than California.”
“Tonier?”
“You know what I mean. Roger says Architectural Digest did a piece on it a few years ago.”
“Who are they?”
Val sighed.
Bobby looked up at the pool. Wald and Roger were both still standing there, talking on cellular phones.
“Why not?” Val said again.
Why not? Bobby had no answer. Besides, there was the whiffle-ball bat: a good sign.
“Okay,” Bobby said. Val leaned across the space between them, kissed him on the cheek. Bobby thought of his Aunt Greta. She’d been a cheerleader too, he recalled.
They walked back up to the pool. Wald and Roger said good-bye into their phones and pocketed them.
“I guess we like it,” said Bobby.
Wald nodded. “Spill it,” he said to Roger.
“Spill it?”
“The number.”
“As I mentioned, they’re asking-”
Wald held up his hand. “We haven’t got time for all the bullshit. Bobby’s got to be at BP in less than an hour. What’ll they take, absolute bottom figure?”
Roger brushed a hand through his beautifully cut hair. “I couldn’t really say with any accuracy. I mean, it’s not my-”
“Knock it off. You’re in the business. What’s your best guess?”
“One three.”
“We’ll go to nine and a quarter. Period. Finito.”
“I don’t really think that’s a realistic-”
“Offer good until midnight tonight. Subject to inspections, etcetera. You and I’ll go draw up the papers, Bobby doesn’t have to hang around for that, then I’ll drop Valerie at the hotel.”
“Chaz?” said Bobby.
“Yes?”
“Can we talk?”
“You’re the boss.”
Bobby walked down toward the sea again, this time with Wald. He couldn’t find the red sail. “Nine and a quarter,” he said. “Can I afford that?”
“Had a look at your contract, Bobby? Hell, yes, you can afford it. What’s more, anything under one one would be a steal for this spread-checked into it before I came over.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I do my job, just like you do yours. If you let me.”
“A steal?”
“On the water, Bobby. That’s what it’s all about for these old-money putzes.”
Bobby looked around. He couldn’t see any other houses. “That’s who lives here-old-money putzes?”
Wald clapped him on the back. “They won’t bother you, Bobby. No one’s going to bother you in a place like this.”
Bobby stared out to sea. Now he spotted the red sail, on the edge of the horizon, a red drop on a gray wall. “Can you see that?”
“See what?”
“The red sail.” Bobby pointed.
Wald squinted. “Don’t see anything.”
“All right,” Bobby said. “Do it.”
“Jawohl.”
Bobby drove himself to the ballpark. It was raining lightly so there was no BP. He sat in the clubhouse, pressed PLAY, read the paper, signed balls; all the while avoiding Primo, who sat on his stool, playing
