All That Was Happy (12 page)

“
Beckie I swear to you,” he said. “I
have no one else--and I can prove it. Tomorrow night, I want you to
come with me to a charity dinner downtown--it’s a place where a lot
of people know me--you can ask them all if I’m single or
not.”

“
How convenient,” she said. “That’s
tomorrow--but meanwhile, you’ve succeeded in attracting me to your
lair tonight. How do I know anything about you is for real? How do
I know you’re not just the hired help for the real owner of this
place?”

Huntington did an odd thing--he got down on
his knees. “I’m begging you to believe me,” he said. “Don’t desert
me tonight. Please.”

She’d never had a man down on his knees
before her. Certainly not Bernie--when he’d proposed, it had simply
been tossed out to her as part of a general discussion on where he
was going with his life in the tool business. She remembered it
clearly. She’d tagged along with Bernie while he scouted for a
decent commercial rental in Van Nuys, and it was during an
inspection of one particular run-down building on Sherman Way and
Valjean near the Van Nuys airport, that Bernie had casually said
something to her about needing “a good life’s partner” or some
such, and he thought it was probably best that they put the
paperwork together on a marriage before he launched his business
and got too busy for a honeymoon. Now here she was, twenty-nine
years later on a moonlit night at the beach with a younger man down
on his knees, begging her to believe he was who he said he was--it
was more than Bernie had offered. The ugly fact was closing
in--she’d just spent over half her life in a marriage devoid of
romance.

“
You don’t have to sleep in the
Suburban tonight,” Beckie said. “Being rich myself, I understand
how important personal space is to us wealthy. The amount of
personal space we need is inversely proportional to the size of our
bank accounts.”

“
Thanks for being so kind,” Huntington
said, rising up easily on his springy, surf-tuned legs. “If you’re
still unsure about me, you can lock me in the loft and keep my cell
phone under your pillow.”

“
You can sleep in your own bed and I’ll
sleep in the loft,” Beckie said. “Like I said--I wouldn’t want to
be responsible for the death-by-squeezing-into-too-small-a-space of
a multi-millionaire.”

Chapter
21

“
You tricked me,” Beckie said. “You’re
a lot smarter than you look. You turned my doubts about your
identity into another date for tomorrow night--a charity event you
said?”

“
The United Way,” he said. “Every year
they host a few dinners for anybody who lays a little bread on
them. Tomorrow night, we’re feasting at the top of the Washington
Mutual Building in Banker’s Gulch.”

They were on barstools in the efficiently
designed, tiny kitchen off the living room, the absence of windows
on the kitchen side of the house lending an air of privacy to the
nook. Beckie, nursing a brandy and warm milk, having previously
admired the small home that was big on style, the entry opening
onto the surprisingly classy living room, its tall casement windows
overlooking the strand and the ocean beyond, effectively connecting
the beach with the living room and making the room seem larger than
it really was. The steeply pitched roof with decorative beam
ends--upon which--hanging by a yellow nylon rope--was a long black
surfboard--gave the place an established appearance, considering
the front of the house was only fourteen feet wide. Mr. Boopers,
pleased with the place, luxuriated himself on a pillow beside the
fireplace, which provided him a cozy warmth from its gas flame
hissing over a trio of reasonably realistic ceramic logs, content
to finish up some last minute grooming before retiring.

“
I’ve never trusted these charities,”
Beckie said. “People give them their money and they wind up wining
and dining the rich. Wasn’t it just a few years ago that United
Way’s top guy spent all the money buying up condos in Florida or
something?”

“
They’ve cleaned house since then,”
Huntington said, “and these dinners do appear to be the product of
ill-spent funds, but the truth is, they don’t spend a penny of the
charity pot to host them--the fancy dinner is actually just a big
pot luck affair. Everybody in the donor club donates something for
free--for example, my consortium is supplying the wine.”

“
Your consortium?”

“
Chillers isn’t a closely held
corporation,” Huntington said. “It’s really a part of a much larger
co-op--we participate with other related businesses to purchase
things in bulk, and at a discount. Actually, what I’m doing now
isn’t so much different than what I did on Wall Street--when I was
on The Street, I specialized in institutional trading, which is
another way of spelling monopoly.”

“
In other words,” Beckie said, “you
monopolized Wall Street, and when you got tired of that, you
monopolized the food and drink trade on the Third Street Promenade.
That’s why I can’t get a corn dog unless I’m willing to walk all
the way to the pier.”

“
Co-ops are a sort of necessary evil
nowadays--a financial circling of the wagons,” Huntington said.
“Our increased strength keeps us safe from the raiders. By the way,
if corn dogs are your thing, I’ll lay in a supply.”

“
You sound like Bernie,” Beckie said.
“He’s spent the last six months working on a merger, trying to
connect himself to related enterprises, which is another way of
saying monopoly--when I advised him against it, he threw me out of
the office--come to think of it, that was probably the beginning of
the end. We worked together at the business every day until six
months ago, when he started entertaining the idea of taking Argon
Tools and having it become a part of something larger. I was happy
with running the business ourselves, but he used to say Argon Tools
was just a wheel in the machine--now he says he’s almost closed the
deal that will make Argon tools one of the richest spokes on a very
large wheel.”

“
Beckie,” Huntington said. “From what
I’ve heard, this thing you’re dealing with, what with Bernie
serving you your papers out of the blue, and the marshaling of your
assets and all--well, something doesn’t smell right to me--I think
there’s some angles here that need to be investigated.”

“
Oh my,” Beckie said. “I don’t believe
it!”

“
Believe what?”

“
That board hanging by the rope in your
living room--I think I recognize it! It looks like the
Ten-foot-six-inch Jacobs’ surfboard Robert August used when they
filmed Endless Summer!”

“
It is,” Huntington said. “How did you
know?”

“
I was on the beach when Bruce Brown
was filming the part in Endless Summer where Mickey Dora is hanging
five in Malibu. Robert August showed up with that surfboard during
the filming.”

“
That’s my favorite part of the movie,”
Huntington said. “The part where they’re filming Mickey Dora
hanging ten, where he stands there for what seems like forever, and
Bruce Brown, in the narrative, says that Dora looked so relaxed on
the nose of his board that he could probably eat a ham sandwich
while he’s waiting for the ride to end. It’s like a little story
that explains what life is all about--if everyone could be as
patient as Mickey Dora, we’d all have the perfect ride, and we’d
all get exactly what we wanted. Life is a ride on an endless
wave.”

“
I don’t quite get the connection,”
Beckie said. “Between Mickey Dora and the ham sandwich.”

“
Don’t you get it?” Huntington said.
“Mickey Dora’s ham sandwich represents a man who knows how to wait
for what he really wants--in the end, he gets to eat his ham
sandwich while hanging ten at Malibu--it’s another way of saying
he’s got it all--if you can wait as patiently as Mickey Dora,
you’ll soon have it all. It’s another way of saying, All Things
Come To He Who Waits.”

“
Robert August let me surf on that
board,” Beckie said.

“
Awww, that’s incredible,” Huntington
said.

“
How did the board get into your living
room?” she said.

“
My older brother was really into the
surfing life,” Huntington said. “After my dad died, believe it or
not, my mom dated Robert August’s father for awhile--while they
were dating, my mom discovered the board in Mr. August’s garage and
she picked it up for my brother.”

“
Your brother just gave his legendary
Robert August surfboard to you?”

“
My brother died in Vietnam,”
Huntington said.

“
Oh, Huntington,” she said. “I’m
sorry.”

“
It was a long time ago,” he said. “I
keep the board on display in his honor.”

“
It’s fate,” she said. “To think, I met
you only yesterday, and today we’re connected by the same
surfboard.”

“
It’s amazing what a turn life can
take,” he said.

“
This brandy’s made me sleepy,” she
said. “Can we talk about it in the morning?”

“
C’mon,” he said. “I’ll show you your
room. We’ll leave the fire on for the dog.”

They took the winding staircase past the
second level featuring the sumptuously appointed master suite to
the third-story loft, a tiny space fitted into a whimsical gable, a
unique round window providing the ultimate view of sand, sea and
moonlit sky. Aside from a built in bookshelf over a desk filled
with a computer and a lot of camera equipment, the only other item
in the room was an expensive-looking telescope and two comfortable
chairs by the window.

“
There’s no bed in here,” Beckie
said.

“
But there is a half bath through that
tiny door beside the desk,” he said. “I think the former owner
rented this space out as an artist’s retreat. I hope you can stand
a futon. I keep it rolled up in the closet for emergencies like
this, when a beautiful woman agrees to let me into her
life.”

“
A futon? You’ve got to be kidding!
Somehow I expected something more luxurious from a rich man,”
Beckie said. “Or are you expecting me to refuse the futon and agree
to sleep in your bed?”

“
I told you I could sleep in the
Suburban--that way, you could enjoy my bedroom suite--it has every
luxury you can think of--it’s got a high-def, flat-screen TV, a
redwood sauna and even a jacuzzi tub on the balcony with built in
stereo and flashing lights.”

Am I crazy? Beckie thought. What am I doing
staying over at this guy’s house? How did I get here? Where did all
my boundaries go? She remembered suddenly how it felt to be barred
from her own home only an hour before. That’s why she was staying
with Huntington--or was it? Could it possibly have anything to do
with the fact that he was rich and handsome?

“
Okay Huntington,” Beckie said. “I
don’t want to take over your bedroom. Roll out the futon. I’m going
to rough it for a night.”

He rustled the futon from the closet and
rolled it out, supplying her likewise with bedding from the closet
shelf.

“
You’ll find everything you need in the
bath,” he said. “Even a new toothbrush. I’ll see you in the
morning.”

“
Huntington, wait,” Beckie said. “Sit
with me a moment.”

They sat together by the window, enjoying the
ever-changing light and shadows on the strand outside, the
three-quarter moon roseately ringed.

“
Are you doing anything with your life
besides just enjoying being rich?” she said.

“
Besides running a business?” he
said.

“
Yeah, besides that.” she said. “I
mean, really doing anything with your life?”

“
When you asked me that,” he said, “I
wasn’t sure I wanted to answer it.”

“
When you’re ready to answer me,”
Beckie said, “take a deep breath and tell me.”

“
You like to peel away the layers in
people don’t you?” he said.

“
Impress me,” she said. “You say you’re
interested in me--well, now’s your chance to impress me--answer my
question.”

“
Am I doing anything with my life?”
Huntington said. “Let me ask you--have you ever really wanted
something? Something that you could never find--have you ever spent
years wishing you were somebody else but you didn’t know who? Have
you ever got down on your knees and admitted to God that you’d sell
your soul for something, if only you could find what it is you
wanted to sell it for?”

“
Yes,” Beckie said.

“
Okay,” he said. “What I’ve been doing
in my life is looking for somebody. That’s what I’m really doing
with my life--I decided recently it might be that I was looking for
a woman. But since you asked, I think you should know that I’ve
made a big discovery--I think I’ve finally found her--ready or not,
here it comes--it’s you.”

His words burst in on her like an incoming
wave. She tried to speak, but found herself speechless.

“
Aw, C’mon Beckie--you don’t have to
look so horrified!”

Beckie made a motion, as if to scoop her hair
back.

“
I keep forgetting I have no hair,” she
said. “Look, Huntington, I’ll admit it pleased me just now to hear
you say that. I suppose you’ve figured out by now that there’s
something missing in my life, and you sound like you’re hoping
you’re the answer to that. But you just asked me if there was
something I wanted in life enough to sell my soul for. The answer
is yes. Not that there is anything now, but there used to be
something I wanted bad enough. There was something I wanted so bad
I was willing to sell my soul for it--and I did.”