12 Bliss Street (14 page)

He looked terrible, tired and rumpled, and his face had a dirty, waxy cast to it. Her ex-husband: what didn’t she know, or could guess, about him? Nicola gave him a coffee and the pastry bag.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“I’m trying to be nice.”

She took in the state of his hair—dirty and flat on one side—and wondered where he’d been sleeping before this. But instead of asking she looked around the living room. “So where’s my baby?” she asked. “Where’s my sweetpea?”

From under the couch came a couple of thumps. Dave, who was still standing, looked around in confusion.

“Lesty,” Nicola called, “come here. Lesty. Come on over here and give me some sugar.”

Lester eased herself out from under the couch on her belly and then walked stiffly toward Nicola. She was old, small, fat, and shaped like a bullhorn. Nicola picked her up and sat down on an overstuffed ottoman.

“Lester Pearl,” she said, scratching between her eyes. “What do you think? Do you like that?”

Scooter yawned. “I really thought that dog would be dead by now.”

“She just keeps eating,” Audrey said. She was wearing a black T-shirt and men’s pajama bottoms and she was sitting with her feet pulled up on the couch. Outside, small birds no bigger than Ping-Pong balls hopped up and down the tree branches. A second later it began to rain.

Nicola turned to Dave. “So, what have you got?” she asked.

Dave pulled out his laptop and set it up on the coffee table, then looked around for a phone line. “You’re gonna love this,” he said.

Audrey finished up her coffee, then stood. “I’ve got to get going. But listen, Nicola, will you tell Scooter he can’t stay here? He won’t listen to me.”

“You can’t stay here, Scooter,” Nicola said.

Scooter was watching Dave. “I’m thinking of going back to Scott,” he said.

“What?”

“My name. I’m thinking of going back to my given name, Scott.”

Audrey said, “You see what I’m up against.”

“Because I just don’t see a man over thirty in the name Scooter.”

Nicola said, “That’s funny, I don’t either.”

Scooter frowned. “Ha ha.”

“Do you remember that video you made for him?” Audrey asked Nicola. “Step-by-step instructions on how to change a toilet paper roll?”

“That was a joke,” Scooter said.

“I mean he’s just barely domesticated,” Audrey said.

Nicola finished her coffee and threw the cup into the wastepaper basket in the fireplace.

“Well, he can’t stay with me,” she told Audrey.

“Here it is. Watch. You’re gonna love this,” Dave said. He shifted the monitor slightly toward Scooter. “I found a couple of good sites, but this is the best; you can actually follow the races in real time with a live feed. Here it comes. Look. Well, it’s empty now because the next race isn’t until eight.”

Nicola stopped scratching Lester’s head and looked at the screen.

“What is this?” she asked.

“You can follow any dog race in the country. You can even search for a specific dog,” Dave went on. He typed a name into the search engine window.

“And there’s Primogeniture!” he said.

Scooter bent over to see. “Cool!” he said.

Nicola was momentarily confused. Robert owns a racetrack, too? Then she realized this had nothing to do with Robert. “You’re researching dog races?” she asked.

“Yeah, well, I thought about your problem and I decided what you really need is more money,” Dave said. “And I think we could make lots of money with this.”

Scooter took the mouse. “It looks like you can place your bets online,” he said.

“Dude,” Dave said. “No need to travel the country.”

Reason number eighty-nine to be glad you’re a woman, Nicola thought. No one will address you as “Dude.”

“And here, look at this,” Dave went on. “A Web site all about dog care. Here’s a cool recipe for killing parasites; it’s like ground-up grapefruit seeds and something.”

“Okay, but Dave, this isn’t what I wanted,” Nicola said.

“You can use it for acne, too. I was thinking we could e-mail Primo’s owner. You know, help him keep up with the latest.”

“What I asked you,” Nicola tried again, “was to dig up some dirt on my landlord.”

Scooter was scrolling down the page. “Did you find Primo’s owner?” he asked.

“I’m still looking for the e-mail address,” Dave told him.

“
Listen,
” Nicola said. Lester jumped off her lap. Dave and Scooter were looking at the computer together and she noticed they were both jiggling something—a thumb, a foot. Also, Scooter was nodding a little as he scrolled. Their heads were almost touching. Nicola thought, what’s the use.

Still watching the screen, Dave pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “Here’s my bill for my time so far,” he said without looking at her, and he stretched out his hand more or less in her direction. “I also added lunch.”

Nicola didn’t take it. “I don’t think so,” she told him. She looked at her watch. It was time to get to work.

Dave turned. “What do you mean, ‘I don’t think so?’”

“I mean, Dave, that in business you pay for something you’ve agreed upon in advance. We did not agree you would research citrus cures for racing dogs. We agreed you would look for my landlord. So I don’t think I’ll be paying you.”

“But I told you, on that thing you’re screwed.”

“How do you know?”

Dave said, “Because he’s a landlord.”

Nicola shook her head. “I’ve really got to go.”

“Wait,” Dave said fiercely. “I need the money.”

Nicola said nothing.

“But I
really
need the money,” he said. His neck was turning blotchy and red.

The doorbell rang and Lester went back under the couch.

“Lesty,” Nicola called.

“And that will be Davette,” Scooter said, going for the door. A moment later he came back with Davette, who was carrying a plastic white airlines bag. Her hair was dyed a bright magenta.

Dave watched her walk in. “She won’t pay up,” he announced in a loud sulky voice.

Davette took off her coat. “What?”

“She won’t pay up for the work we’ve done.”

“Did you check the IP address?” Davette asked. She sat down on the rug cross-legged and took a new colorful laptop out of the airlines bag and put it on the coffee table.

“Not exactly. But it’s the principle.”

“What did you show her?”

“It’s also the needing the cash.”

“Just show me what you found,” Davette said patiently.

“Okay,” Dave said sulkily. “Here. Look.” He turned his computer slightly toward her.

Davette turned it more. “What’s this? I told you to check the IP address.”

“I like the dog racing angle.”

“Oh, my God, Dave, YSL.”

Nicola looked at her. “What?”

“You’re so lame,” Scooter explained.

“I asked him to check the IP address,” Davette told Nicola.

“What IP address?”

“Here. It’s easier just to show you.”

Davette booted up her laptop and connected it to the phone line. Nicola sat down on the rug beside her and stared at the monitor. After a moment Davette said, “We’re in. Okay, here. Wait a sec. Okay, look.”

As Nicola watched a wide, black-and-white photograph was forming itself on the screen. It was fuzzy at first, drawing itself in as they watched, but there were definitely naked breasts there and long stockinged legs and no clothes in between.

“I found this in the library yesterday,” Davette said. “During lunch.”

“You can get this on a school’s computer?” Nicola asked her.

“Oh, those Puritan blocking programs do nothing.”

One naked woman, then two, appeared on the screen. Below them were a couple of female head shots and a form to fill out credit card information.

Scooter stood behind Nicola. “If you are looking for the girl who can satisfy all your senses…,” he read aloud.

“This is his site,” Davette said. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor with her legs bent in some intricate yoga position. “Your landlord’s, I mean. I found the IP address and the site is running off of his computer.”

“Are you sure?”

“That’s what Dave was supposed to double-check. But I’m pretty sure I got it right.”

Audrey’s husband, Declan, walked in wearing a dark wetsuit and a towel around his neck. “Hey,” he said to Nicola. “What’s up?”

“Porn site,” she told him, gesturing to the computer.

“Cool,” he said, looking at the takeout coffee. “Can I have one?”

“Be my guest.”

He took a coffee and went down to the garage, probably, Nicola thought, to wax his surf board or do whatever you did to them when it was too rainy to surf. Meanwhile Scooter edged in next to Davette and began scrolling down the screen. “Pretty standard stuff,” he said.

“You familiar with porn sites?” Nicola asked.

“Familiar,” Scooter repeated. “Familiar. I don’t know about familiar. But I’ve done some research.”

Dave crossed his arms. He was still wearing his coat. “This is useless,” he said. “There’s nothing illegal here. So he makes a little money showing dirty pictures around, so what. There’s nothing about him moving in somewhere or whatever, or his sister or whatever. I’m telling you, go with the dogs.”

Nicola turned to Davette. “I’ll write you a check.”

“Cash only,” Dave said.

“I think this payment is for Davette,” Nicola told him.

“Hey, we’re partners, remember?”

His voice had turned snotty, but it wasn’t worth struggling over. Dave didn’t like her, that was clear. And she wasn’t too sure how she felt about him either. Nicola turned away. She could hear Audrey’s shower going, and she remembered that at first she wasn’t too fond of Audrey either, but look at them now. Still, bonding with Dave seemed pretty unlikely.

Scooter squatted in front of the coffee table to get a better view. He turned the computer more toward him and scrolled up and down, looking at images.

“So what do you think; you think maybe
you’re
up here somewhere?” he asked Nicola.

She was caught off guard. “What?”

Dave snorted a laugh.

“Could this be you?” Scooter asked, pointing to a woman wearing a strawberry-colored bustier.

“Of course not!” Nicola said.

Scooter scrolled further down the screen.

“Well. Not to your knowledge,” he said.

Nicola looked at him. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that not to your
knowledge
are you on this site.”

She thought about that.

“That is a very creepy thought,” she told him.

“Do your bedroom windows have shades?”

“Shades and, thank God, good strong locks.”

“Any hidden cameras?” Scooter asked. He looked like he was enjoying this. “Like in the closet or something? Above the bed? Or I know, on the showerhead. A landlord could do that.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Nicola said.

“A little tiny camera on the showerhead. Away from the spray. Or maybe disguised as a little spray hole, a little black spray hole. I can just picture it.”

“I bet you can,” Nicola said.

*   *   *

But the idea
disturbed her. When was the last time Robert was in her house? Discounting the visit last night with his so-called sister. Nicola was sure, relatively sure, that there could be no obscurely placed cameras in any of her rooms. On-the-spot surveillance; good God. She had once seen a Web site that monitored patients in a periodontist’s office as they were being worked on. She couldn’t understand it. Who wanted to watch that stuff? Nicola liked sitcoms because the actresses dressed so much better than anyone she knew and the kitchens were all very attractive.

After the Daves left she let Scooter walk her to her muni stop, and as they climbed up to the paved jogging path above the beach Nicola remembered there was that one day when Robert came in to do some work on the kitchen sink. A Saturday. Had she stayed in the house the whole time? Beside her feet the ice plants were turning from red to brown and the sand dunes were a slightly lighter shade of brown leading down to the foamy water. It was cold out, and although it had stopped raining it seemed ready to start up again at any time. Nicola looked out to the ocean. Low, nickel-colored waves reared up one by one, then collapsed. The thought of going home was beginning to feel creepy.

“Three nights,” she said. “That is absolutely the limit.”

Scooter said, “You won’t be sorry.”

“That means by Saturday you have to be gone.”

“I can look around the place for you. Maybe take down a few things, check for cameras. You don’t want to be alone right now.”

“Do you even know how a screwdriver works?”

“I know what one looks like.” Scooter smiled.

They were walking north, toward Marin, and the hills were covered with a layer of low dense fog moving inland. Nicola loved these hills; they seemed so soft and brown, and although they were fairly far away you could see every bend leading up to the top. Or were those shadows from clouds? In any case, there was nothing like them back in Cleveland. She thought about the trees there, and the wide suburban streets and the green front lawns and the spaces between houses. Her mother expected her to marry a Cleveland boy who was well-spoken and involved in local politics, who went to Amherst or Princeton, then came back home to settle. But instead Nicola moved to San Franciso and married a man who had dreams but no money or skills. At first Nicola was pleased with the strangeness of California, but later, after leaving Scooter, she was frustrated by her own inability to make happen whatever it was she came out here for. Because she did want something. She was definite about that.

She stepped over a stray rope of kelp on the path. “Have you kept in touch with Bill Lopez?” she asked Scooter. “Is he still working at Mission Legal Aid?”

“I think so. Why?”

“I have a bunch of questions I want you to ask him. There was some recent legislation in the rent control laws; he should know what’s going on.”

“What questions?”

“I’ll give you a printout.” She looked at him pointedly. “As well as the itemized bill from Lou.”

“Lou?”

“The shark’s nephew, remember?”