“Just drive. I don’t pay you to ask questions.”
I flick my eyes to her. “You don’t pay me at all.”
“I see why. You’re too nosy.”
I may be wallowing in a cloud of self-pity but I’m not blind. My heart picks up the pace as we get higher into the Hollywood Hills.
“If this is some ploy to get me to…”
“No questions.” She holds up a hand to cut me short. “This isn’t about you.”
Soon, it’s clear where we’re going and she doesn’t need to navigate anymore. We turn onto the road to Roe’s house but when we reach his driveway, it’s lined with cars. This is odd. Roe doesn’t have guests. He doesn’t talk to people.
“Is that a news van?” I’m genuinely curious what this is about.
Mrs. J. glares.
“That was a rhetorical question,” I say defensively.
The driveway is cleared enough to drop her off at the front door, which pleases me.
“What are we doing here?” I shift into park. “And don’t you dare snap at me. We’re here. I can ask questions.”
“Who saysweare doing anything? I’m here to support a friend.” She struggles to unbuckle her seatbelt.
“Fine.” I lean over to help her. “I’ll be back in a bit to come get you.”
“I need help getting up the stairs.”
I just saw her walk down her own steps without a struggle. It’s probably better to just go with it at this point. Plus, I’m curious. Something’s up. Only the smallest fraction of myself wants to see Roe. Like a sliver of a pie chart. I’ll look at him and all the embarrassment and pain will rush back in.
I need to go back under my sheets where I’m safe.
Roe’s property is gated but the entrance to the backyard is open and Mrs. J. heads that way, toward the sounds of a small crowd. Once around the corner, I see something astonishing. There are two large cameras pointing toward a podium. That explains all the attractive people in the audience. Twenty-plus chairs are set up facing it. It’s like a wedding reception in a beautiful resort but there’s no sense of love in the air, only a looming dread.
Roe is nowhere to be seen. Not that I care. Maybe only the tiniest pie-slice of caring.
I settle Mrs. J. into a chair and make an excuse to leave.
“Just stay.” She grabs my hands. “Please, I’m asking you.” It’s the most serious I’ve seen the woman. It ages her and tugs at my heart.
“I’m only going to see about a drink. It looks like a party. Let’s party.”
“I want a highball. See if you can make that happen. Did I ever tell you about the time I got Sinatra to make me a highball?”
“Tell me when I get back.” I pat her hand.
I’ll get her what she wants, but I first I want to find out what the hell’s going on. I won’t be bamboozled.
Do people still say bamboozle?
The yard isn’t very big. I carefully skirt the chairs to avoid falling into the pool. The pool. Ugh. So many happy memories in that stupid pool. But it does give me an idea. I slink behind the outdoor shower, slip off my clothes, and go Under. When I peek my head out there’s nobody looking my way. I’m a little hesitant, wondering if anybody else can see me like Roe, but not a single head turns my way even after I wave my arms frantically. I quickly make my way to the pool and slip into the water.
Soon I feel full, that’s the best way to describe it, or maybe charged. Like a good meal and a nap. Not even Roe could see me. I climb out. The sliding back door is open so I’m able to slip in without causing any suspicion. Upon entering the living room my heart sinks to my feet.
Roe stands, his head lowered slightly to listen to Zebulund. Marty freaking Zebulund. Good to see that he and Roe have patched things up. I step closer. There’re only a few minutes left before Roe will be able to see me. But right now he doesn’t. Not even when I stand right in his eyeline. He’s frowning at what he’s being told.
Zebulund’s wife is here, too. Oh lovely. She’s dressed in a silk two-piece suit, that no mere mortal can pull off. Her face is somber, but her blinks are slow, and she wobbles.
