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“Yes,” I say, and I point. “Different address.”
“Still trying to stick it to the man, I see,” he says. “Why not? Certainly, I can oblige – happy to do my part.”
Todd looks over to his co-worker. “Dude,” he says. “I am taking a meal. I’ll be back in una hora.”
“I’ll give you another hundred for speedy delivery,” I say. “And dinner at the Calypso.”
“Sold!” he exclaims, looking at me with hearts in his eyes.
Todd likes me, I know, especially after my being naked around him. I am just not in that space with him. I think he would serve those papers on Red Hawk Realty for free. I study him. His face looks awfully rosy – which is part of why I don’t find him attractive like I do, say, Jack. I’ll bet Jack doesn’t indulge in pot.
“You know, that can wait until tomorrow,” I say. “Or at least till your chill wears off.”
“My chill never wears off, beautiful,” says Todd.
Finally, he noticed my shirt. “Woah,” he says slowly. “Looks good.”
He lifts his eyes to mine. “But how could it not?” he asks sensually.
“Thanks, Todd,” I say. “For doing this.”
He and I leave the surf shop at the same time. I forgot I had run in, leaving the tools in the car with the top down. I eyeballedthem. Nothing has been taken, though I can’t imagine anyone would. No one has ever raided my cart when I ride my bike.
“I gotta go take care of the flower boxes and landscape at the Dove Point Café.”
Todd’s gaze fixes on the Porsche. The garden tools give me away.
“Is this your ride?” he asks, completely confused.
“Yeah, temporarily,” I say.
“Not that I don’t mind the C note,” he says, now strolling around the entire body of the car, “but wouldn’t this take you to Santa Monica?”
“I can’t do it,” I say. “I am a party to the action. But I promise I’ll take you for a ride in it tomorrow night. Dinner and a ride.”
Todd lifts his head, excitement straightening him up briefly.
“Can I drive her?” he asks.
“I’ll see,” I say. “I’ll tell you all about it. It’s not mine.”
“I figured that much,” he says as he holds up the manila envelope addressed to Jack’s company. “I’ll be quick.”
Todd leaves, and all I can think about is Jack. My complaint is against the company, not him, but still, I feel just a tiny touch of guilt that I am actually doing this.
I drive a block over to the café. Denise Landis, the manager of the Point Zuma Café, is also perplexed by the spectacle of me in a car; she greets me at the curb as I pull up.
“You’re parked illegally,” she says, “unless you will only be a minute. What is this?”
“I’ll tell you all about it,” I say. “But first, I am starving.”
“Park around back. You’ll have to put the top up on that thing,” she says.
I blink.
“I don’t know how,” I say.
“One moment,” Denise says.
