All That Was Happy (22 page)

“
Surf’s up,” she said.

Chapter
40

The picture was on the front page of the
Times’ Business Section. Just seeing herself caught up in
Huntington’s arms brought her close to hyperventilation. That had
been, she realized, The Moment--the one her entire life had brought
her to--the one which made people swear in no uncertain terms that
there was a God, and that God knew what He was doing.

The caption and the text of the article
mentioned them both by name. The Japanese venture capitalists
had--no doubt as a result of their routine and exhaustive
background checks of all supplicants seeking from them a pipeline
of free-flowing yen--easily made the connection between her name
and Bernie’s--them not being the sort of persons anyone could call
stupid by any stretch. Thus, the sight of Bernie’s wife on the
front page of the Business Section of the L.A. Times, in the arms
of another wealthy man, accompanied by a caption announcing their
engagement, reduced irreparably by their own estimation the
required measure of confidence they’d need in Bernie to loan him
money enough to head up a consortium. They’d then undoubtedly
dumped Bernie out on his flaming red ears. To wit, Bernie wasn’t
going to get the bread he needed to launch his lifetime dream of
being the King of the Tools.

In one fell swoop into Huntington’s arms,
she’d trashed Bernie’s dreams of becoming wealthy beyond measure at
the head of a tool consortium. At the thought of Huntington, she
wanted to simply run out into the night screaming his name in all
directions, letting the world know how one woman felt about
him.

She wouldn’t go to Huntington
straightaway--nor would she call him tonight. If she did, she was
certain, it would result in the two of them dropping whatever they
were doing and coming together in an embrace out of which would
most certainly arise the very sin Huntington was trying to avoid,
and had avoided thus far, for a lifetime, preferring instead to
save himself for the consummation of the sacrament of marriage,
should that be God’s will, or for the priesthood, should he be led,
finally, in that direction.

It was clear to her, ever since she’d
received the initial love letter from him and later, the Robert
August surfboard, that Huntington’s feelings for her were
real--real enough to be a sign from God that his true vocation
would be found in marriage. However, having received the note and
the surfboard too late--after she’d vowed to Bernie to attempt the
necessary repairs on their ruptured union, she’d been forced to
deny her passion for Huntington, to forego the kind of happiness
she’d heretofore never thought possible, in order to serve the twin
masters of marital duty and obligation, with their attendant
driving forces of guilt, lovelessness, compromise and
humiliation--forces masquerading under the guise of a noble
self-sacrifice for ideals which, when tested, evaporated like the
morning dew.

“
Dr. Black’s exchange,” the voice
said.

“
It’s me, Beckie,” she said. “Bernie
was only using me to look good to the Japanese Investors--when I
got the surfboard, I didn’t run to Huntington because I’d already
renewed my vows, but now that it’s all over the papers, and Bernie
has been discredited with the Venture Capitalists, Bernie’s showing
his true colors again--the marriage is over and Huntington is free
to choose me over the priesthood.”

“
Hold please,” the exchange
said.

“
Beckie?” Dr. Black’s voice. A little
annoyed, the bizarre background noise suggesting Black was right in
the middle of a round of watching Regis sweat a male contestant who
believed that a million dollars would square his position in the
universe just a tad truer than it was before.

“
Bernie’s through with me,” Beckie
said. “He was only using me. When he was trying to put his
consortium together, he divorced me so he could pledge all our
assets, but when his main bank dropped him he had to turn to some
high-rolling Japanese investors--apparently, they have a thing
about Principle’s in the deal living honorable lives or something,
and when they saw me in the papers with Huntington, they told
Bernie to go out and do hara-kiri. I’m free. I’m trying not to call
Huntington because I think our relief and passion might lead to
something we both want to wait for.”

“
Wait a minute,” Black said. There was
a significant pause, during which Beckie could hear the wah-wah-wah
of the show’s surreal, anxiety inspiring refrain.

“
I can’t believe it,” Black said. “The
guy just blew the $200 dollar question--everybody knows it’s Little
Boy Blue who blows his horn, not Little Jack Horner! What an idiot!
Is there no hope for this world?”

“
Dr. Black, did you hear anything I
just said?” Beckie said.

“
Yeah,” Black said. “You’ve got a toxic
husband--what’re you going to do about it?”

“
I was hoping you’d tell me,” Beckie
said.

“
Remember that shark?” Black said. “The
one we saw biting the head off that seal at the pier?”

“
How could I forget?” Beckie
said.

“
Do that,” Black said, and hung
up.

Beckie considered this advice while she relit
her cigar. Black had seemed annoyed, obviously more interested in
returning to her game show than working with a patient. To console
herself for the way Black had rudely hung up on her, she removed a
few cubes from the bin in the fridge and crushed them in a steel
pot with a heavy marble rolling pin reserved for the purpose before
half-filling the first jelly glass she could grab with the crushed
ice and couple of ounces of a nice clean single malt scotch. It was
really the only beverage that went with a good cigar.

Back in the living room, she emptied out the
contents of the package Lauren had messengered to her and idly
leafed through the investigative agency’s information on Bernie,
Ira and Leah. The information quickly shocked her--although it did
not specifically make the connections the data presented, much of
the information, by its very existence, was absolutely damaging to
all three parties--she was no financial wizard, but she needed no
accountant to confirm something she had but mildly suspicioned a
day before--as regarded the complete stripping of all assets from
her--Bernie, Ira and Leah were all in it together. And for the
oldest possible reason: pure and simple greed--they’d pooled their
assets to pledge their way into the consortium and thus share in
the spoils together--all without so much as a “howdy-do” to
her.

She reached into the straw purse and took out
her gun. Leah and Ira would be home by now--it would only take a
bullet apiece in their case--neither one of them were in what
anyone would call great physical shape. That would leave three for
Bernie, which she’d deliver personally when he arrived back at his
silver Jag which even now sat waiting for him in the long term
parking at LAX. By the time it all got sorted out, she’d be calling
Huntington from a nice safe little non-extradition treaty country,
the kind of place that still put the little parasols in the
drink.

The statue of Our Lady caught her eye once
again. Our Lady had watched the brutal butchering of her precious
Son without retaliating. Beckie put the gun back in the bag.
Perhaps the enlightened people were right. Violence was bad
karma.

“
Okay,” she said to the Virgin, this
time deciding to kneel before starting in, for the third time on
her as-yet incomplete saying of the rosary.

“
Hail Mary, full of grace,” she
said.

There was a knock at the door.

Chapter
41

In L.A. nobody opens the front door at night.
Beckie peeked first through the curtain which allowed her a view of
the wide front porch and front yard area. Parked in the driveway
directly behind the Roadster was a black Ford Expedition. The man
on the porch, likewise dressed in black, was nobody she knew, but
he looked like Central Castings idea of a hit man. Taking the gun
from her handbag, she approached the front door warily and spoke to
her visitor through the intercom.

“
Yes,” she squawked.

“
Beckie?” he said. He knew her by her
first name--which could be either good or bad.

“
What is it?” she said.

“
I’m a friend of Huntington’s--I’ve got
a message for you.”

Her mind flashed back to the note she’d
received from Huntington. What with the tri-party conspiracy so
recently launched by her husband, and what with the venting of his
considerable rage all the way from Japan, Beckie was not in a mood
to trust.

“
What’s the message?” she
said.

“
He told me to drop by and ask you for
your “final answer”.

She recalled Huntington’s love
letter.
After you receive the present, you
will hear from me a final time, to ask you, as Regis likes to say,
“Is that your final answer?”

Beckie opened the door to find a middle-aged
man in a backwards collar--a priest.

“
I’m Father Larry,” he said. “I drove
all the way out here from Tarzana--may I come in?”

Later, after Father had enjoyed a cup of
fresh-brewed coffee--during which time he’d had a chance to hear
Beckie’s story--the two spent a few minutes throwing a white
plastic ball back and forth, a game which delighted Mr. Boopers to
the point where he ran himself into a ragged, wheezing frenzy.

“
That’s a real feel-good pooch you have
there,” Father said.

“
Mr. Boopers saved my life,” Beckie
said. “I at least owe him a meal and a place to sleep for the
remainder of his life. But I admit I’m starting to like him just a
little.”

“
He’s got a big heart for one so tiny,”
Father said. “I’m surprised the little fellow didn’t bark when I
knocked.”

“
He’s a weird dog,” Beckie said. “He’s
a lousy watchdog, but he’s got a fair measure of courage--the other
night, he barked at a Great White over in Paradise
Cove.”

“
Maybe he was born near the gulf where
there’s a lot of sharks,” Father said.

“
So you’re Huntington’s priest,” she
said, tired of the chit-chat and desiring to move the subject area
a little closer to the affairs of her heart.

“
I’m just a priest who happens to be a
friend,” he said. “Huntington and I go back aways. We became
acquainted during my tenure with Saint Pat’s in New
York.”

“
You know, Father,” Beckie said. “When
I saw you standing on the porch, I didn’t know but what you might
have been a hit man sent here by my husband. I was very
afraid.”

“
I’ll admit I was a little nervous
myself,” he said, “what with you standing there with the gun in
your hand. And the way you had every light in the house on, as
though you were some sort of lunatic--I’d begun to wonder if this
wasn’t one of those moments which, when you add up all the little
details, spells out the last scene at the end of your life. I
thought for sure God was getting to roll the final credits. I
almost expected to hear the music start to play.”

“
You want to know if I still want to
marry Huntington,” Beckie said. “The answer is Yes, but I’ve waited
to tell him out of fear that if we’re alone together, we’ll be
unable to control ourselves--we’ve got a certain chemistry
together. And I may as well say, it concerned me to think I’d be
stealing someone away from their true vocation as a Catholic
priest.”

“
You’re a Catholic?” Father
said.

“
Oh,” she said. “I was afraid you’d ask
me that--I was raised a Catholic, but I married outside the church.
I haven’t been up for Communion for twenty-nine years. That’s
another thing that bothers me--Huntington and I want each
other--but is that enough? We’re completely different people--he’s
an active Catholic and I’m not, and he’s young enough to have
children, and I’m forty-nine--for me, it would be a real stretch to
bear him a child--and I mean a real stretch. Plus, he’s never been
married before, and I come with a lot of baggage. I’m not even free
to be married! You know, Father, this is an unholy tangle--I think,
deep down, that’s why I’m afraid it won’t work. I fear that on some
level, I’ll just be using Huntington to escape my problems with my
present husband. What do you think, Father? Should I reach out to
Huntington, or should I stay away? It would probably be better for
him if I stayed away. Father, before I can give you my final
answer, I need your advice. I need to make sure that, in spite of
my best intentions, I’m not guilty of simply acting out the role of
the scarlet woman who is diverting a holy man from his
destiny.”

“
My advice to you is to give no final
answer,” Father said.

“
But Father, I thought you came here to
get my final answer,” she said.

“
You’re not ready to give it,” he said.
“For you to make a commitment of this magnitude at such a time in
your life would hurt you more than help you. You’ve asked me my
advice, that’s it.”

“
But what will I do? Huntington is
waiting.”

“
Let him wait,” Father said. “You’ll
have to risk it--if you truly love him, you’ll stay away from him
until you’ve searched your heart, reconciled your present marriage
one way or the other, and reunited yourself with the Church once
again.”