Rapture

by Thomas Tessier

"Yeah, and it's kind of funny." Georgianne thought for a moment before continuing. "I saw him a couple of times last year, when he was back in Connecticut. But I guess I didn't really see him, or think much about him then. Now it's like seeing him in a whole new light."

  "And you like what you see?"

  "Well, it was different. That's all I meant. Maybe because I'm not so wrapped up in myself and my own ... problems."

  "So you had a good time."

  "Oh, yes. Jeff wanted to take the rest of the week off so he could show me around Los Angeles. I said no, because I didn't want to take him away from his work. But then he more or less talked me into spending the weekend there. At his place."

  "More or less?" Jan echoed wryly.

  "Well, I said I would. He has a guest bedroom. I mean, I'd like to go, and I'd probably have fun if I did, and it's not that I don't trust Jeff, but ... I feel kind of funny about it."

  "You're not sure it's the right thing to do.'Staying with him at his place."

  "Yeah, I guess that's it."

  "Go on, and have a good time," Jan said. She figured it might be very helpful for Georgianne to spend some time in the company of a single man, and an old friend had to be safer than a newly met stranger. "You're a big girl, you can take care of yourself."

  "Oh, I'm not really worried about that."

  "Well then, good," Jan said. "Go and have a good time. See L.A. while it's still there."

  Georgianne smiled. Jan had a way of seeing and ex pressing things simply and clearly. You couldn't help feeling a little better for it. How different this same conversation would have been if Georgianne were talking with Bobbie Maddox instead. She felt healthier than she had at any time since Bonnie's death, and she attributed that to Jan. Until she had come to Santa Barbara, she had been drifting from one shuttered room to another. Her friends and relatives had always been on hand to comfort her. Jan was the first to show her the sunlight again.

  Later, much later, Georgianne awoke in darkness. For a moment, she didn't know where she was, but she didn't move. She and Jan had been drinking that evening, and alcohol sometimes put you to sleep only to wake you up two or three hours later, well before dawn. It was a lonely, miserable state to be in, betrayed by drink that fails to get you through the night. The best thing to do was to lie still and wait for sleep to come around again. It would.

  Something about Jeff stuck in the back of her mind. She still enjoyed the fact that she had been able to surprise him. He had looked more stunned than she had expected. And they'd had a pleasant time together, relaxed and free of tension. The tour of LiskerBenedictus. The long lunch at the restaurant on the ocean, near Malibu.

  So what was it? The way he looked at her? There had been moments when she thought there was something odd about it, almost as if he were studying her or thinking about something other than what they happened to be discussing. But thinking about it again, she felt it didn't seem that unusual. Jeff did give the impression at times that part of his mind was elsewhere; he'd been a bit like that the night they'd gone to the Maddoxes for drinks.

  No-now she knew what it was. Bonnie. Aside from the first minute or two in his office, Jeff hadn't mentioned Bonnie at all. Perhaps he simply believed he was doing the right thing by not bringing up a very painful subject, but it was strange, all the same. You'd think there would have been some curiosity on his part, at least one delicately phrased question, regardless of how much his aunt and uncle had already told him.

  Instead Jeff had talked about the glamour of his work, about the good living in Southern California, things to do, places to go-all the glittery, glossy surface of his life. In a way, that was the kind of mindless distraction Georgianne needed. But it was ephemeral. An hour later you couldn't remember half of it.

  Oh, well, he probably just thought he was being considerate, she decided. That's all. It didn't matter anyway. No doubt they'd get around to more personal talk over the coming weekend.

  "We get them every year at this time," Jan said, turning down the volume on the car radio. "They vary from bad to really terrible."

  "Seems like the wrong time for it." Georgianne shook her head, smiling with disbelief. "This is autumn in New England. Almost winter. Remember?"

  Friday. Wildfires had started at several scattered lo cations in Los Angeles and Ventura counties. Jan and Georgianne were driving south on the Pacific Coast Highway, which, according to the last report, was not in any immediate danger of being closed.

  "Yeah, but not here," Jan said. "October and November, that's the fire season in this part of the world."

  'Do you get them in Santa Barbara?'

  "Santa Barbara zoning laws won't allow it," Jan cracked. But then she added, "Sometimes they come close, but generally the area around L.A. gets the worst of it. The Santa Ana winds come in off the desert that way, and if nature doesn't take its course, there's usually some nut standing by with a pack of matches to lend a hand."

  "God."

  Jan laughed. "Relax. You're on your way to be wined and dined by a millionaire. The only fire you're likely to see is the candle burning on your table in a romantic little restaurant in Beverly Hills."

  "Oh dear." Then Georgianne laughed too.

  Jeff was in the parking lot when the dusty old MG pulled in, circled around, and stopped nearby. Georgianne and her friend got out and walked toward him. He grinned proudly when he saw them blink. Their eyes widened.

  "How do you like it?"

  Is that yours?" Georgianne asked.

  "What is it?" Jan said.

  "It's a Ferrari 328GTS," Jeff replied. "And, yes, it is mine. Picked it up a couple of hours ago."

  "What happened to-"

  "The Camaro? I just decided it was time for a change," he explained. "What do you think?"

  "It's beautiful, of course," Georgianne exclaimed.

  "Very," Jan said.

  "Oh, Jeff, this is Janice Tillotson, the friend from college I told you about. Jan, this is Jeff Lisker."

  "Hi, how are you?" Jeff said.

  "Nice to meet you." Jan stepped forward and shook Jeff's hand. "I've heard a lot about you."

  When they looked at each other, both Jan and Jeff experienced a sudden slight but distinct chill.

  "Thanks for bringing Georgianne," he said politely. "I've been trying for a long time to get her to come out to California."

  "Can I sit in your car?" Jan asked. "I've never seen a car this beautiful before. I've never even been close to anything like this."

  "Be my guest."

  "Nice shade of black," Jan said as she got into the driver's seat.

  "Graphite," Jeff corrected.

  "I'm glad you didn't get red," Georgianne said. "That would have been too much."

  Jeff nodded, with a smile.

  "It's ... dazzling," Jan said. "Would you mind if I asked you what-"

  "Sixty thousand." Jeff beamed. "The stereo system runs about three thousand by itself."

  The numbers registered, but meant nothing. Jan was looking at the interior of the car, but her mind was elsewhere. She tried to make sense of the strange feeling of unease that had come over her. It stayed with her all the way back to Santa Barbara, where she still didn't know what to make of him.

  He's a different person, Georgianne thought. But maybe he isn't-more likely it's just that I'm seeing him for the first time as he is on his home ground. She was interested, and curious.

  At the moment, she was also scared. They were out for a drive, and Jeff was pushing the Ferrari too fast, she thought. It was like being strapped in the nose of a rocket. But he was obviously enjoying himself, so she said nothing. Oddly, it occurred to her that to feel even a tiny shiver of fear had to be a healthy sign. It was easy, in a way, to sit in Jan's kitchen and talk about how much of you had died, and it wasn't untrue, but it took only a little adrenaline in the bloodstream to remind you that you were still alive and wanted to stay that way.

  Jeff sped down Topanga Canyon Boulevard. Just south of Woodlan
d Hills, he turned onto a side road. The paving soon gave way to dirt and packed gravel. He was forced to drive a little slower, but the Ferrari spewed pebbles and a trail of dust in its wake.

  "Did you ever hear of Mulholland Drive?"

  "No," Georgianne replied.

  "Well, this is it," Jeff said. "It's kind of famous in L.A."

  "Why?" Georgianne looked around as they climbed up into the hills. There were few houses to be seen, and the landscape was unremarkable. "It just looks like a back road."

  "Oh, movie stars have made love up here, or so they say. And a few murders have been committed. That kind of thing. It is just a back road, but it's also a bit of L.A. history."

  When they reached high ground, Jeff pulled over and stopped the car. Georgianne was surprised to find that she was trembling. Her legs were shaky beneath her when they got out to look at the view, which was partially obscured by a thin haze. Jeff stretched his arm and pointed.

  "Over there is Santa Susana, where we just came from," he said. "And then you have the San Fernando Valley, which is referred to simply as the Valley." His arm continued to swing. "That way is Beverly Hills, Hollywood, downtown L.A. And, behind us, Santa Monica, the Pacific, and on up to Malibu, although you can't see them from here."

  There was, in fact, very little to be seen by way of distinguishing features. Georgianne spotted a bird on the road.

  "Jeff, is that a roadrunner?"

  "What? Oh, so it is. Now you know you're here."

  The bird darted out of sight.

  "Look," he said a moment later. He was pointing to the north and west again.

  "What?"

  "See those two grayish patches in the sky? They almost get lost in the haze, but you can just make them out."

  "Oh. Yeah." Georgianne wasn't at all sure that the smudges she had picked out in the distance were the ones Jeff was talking about.

  "That's smoke," he told her, "from the wildfires."

  At once the gray-black blots seemed larger and more disturbing. But people out here accept the fires as a fact of life, Georgianne reminded herself. Like blizzards in New England.

  "It's hard to believe that people go out and start some of those fires."

  "They do, though," Jeff said.

  Two things happened that weekend, so minor they could hardly be called incidents, that stayed with Georgianne and grew in her mind during the days and nights that followed.

  The rough ride on Friday afternoon had covered a lot of ground. In addition to Mulholland Drive, Jeff pushed the Ferrari over Saddle Peak Road from Topanga Canyon to Malibu Canyon. Then he drove north on the coast road past Point Dume, really accelerating for a few miles, until he swung onto a secondary road that took them back to Santa Susana by way of Thousand Oaks and Simi Valley. l'wice they spotted fires in the distance, and the spreading pall of smoke was always visible.

  It was early evening when they arrived at Jeffs condo. Georgianne was still shaky, from bouncing over the back roads, and when she stepped out of the car, the heat seemed to settle on her like a lead cloak. It was dry heat, with virtually no humidity, but that was only a minor blessing.

  Jeff had five rooms-a kitchen and dining area, a living room, two large bedrooms, and a room that he had turned into an office-study, with shelves of books neatly aligned, a personal computer, a sophisticated calculator, a three-drawer filing cabinet, a desk, a work table, and a leather sofa. It was so impeccably tidy and clean-every room was-that Georgianne found it hard to believe a single man lived there.

  "I hope this is okay," he said as he showed her the guest room. He stood Georgianne's suitcase on the floor next to the bureau.

  "It's lovely," she told him. "I mean, the whole place is. It's like something out of a magazine. And you've got more room than a lot of houses have."

  "Yeah, it's very comfortable, and it's less than a mile from the office, so it's very handy too. Cost a small fortune, but I think it's worth it. Oh, I hope the bed's okay. It should be; it's brand new."

  "What?"

  "Yeah. I bought the furniture in this room only the other day," he explained, his smile a mix of sheepishness and pride. "You know, for the longest time I wanted to make this a proper guest room, but I never had any company-overnight, that is-and so, I never got around to it. But your visit took care of that. I went to a furniture store, picked this set out, and had it delivered the same day. What do you think? Okay?"

  "Yes, it's fine. Very nice," Georgianne replied. Especially if you like black lacquer, she thought. She suppressed a smile. Anything would do; she wasn't that fussy. Then she deliberately added, "I'll tell you tomorrow how the bed is."

  "Okay. Well. How about a drink?"

  "In a few minutes? I hope you don't mind, but I'd really like to take a quick shower. The heat really got to me."

  "Oh, sure.' He flicked a dial mounted on the bedroom wall, and a humming noise started somewhere. "Sorry. I forgot to put on the air conditioner. I usually keep the balcony door open when I'm home, so I don't think of it.... Let's see. The bathroom's through there,' he said, pointing to a door next to the closet.

  "Great. I'll be through in a few minutes."

  "I put out some towels, and you'll find a small hair drier too, if you need one."

  "I brought my own, thanks."

  It would be a little weird if it weren't so amusing, Georgianne thought as she sat on the floor of the shower stall and let cold water pour down over her. Jeff was so considerate it was difficult not to laugh. There was something odd about coming into a person's home and finding that he had furnished a room for you with everything from a new bedroom set right down to a hair drier. He was trying hard, too hard really, not just to be the perfect host, but to impress her overwhelmingly. There was no other way to explain it all-the car, the deluxe treatment, and, most of all, the assertive new man-of-the-world style he was trying to project. She knew she would have to proceed cautiously, so that he wouldn't suffer a sharp letdown.

  "Ah, you look much cooler now," Jeff said when Georgianne entered the living room. "Feel refreshed?"

  "Yes, much better, thanks."

  "Good. How about that drink now? We can sit out on the balcony. What would you like?"

  "White wine?'

  "Coming right up."

  He reluctantly turned away from Georgianne, who looked stunning in shorts, bare feet, and a classy T-shirt printed with geometric patterns like an abstract painting. The shower had restored the healthy glow to her skin, and now he noticed that she had let her hair grow. It was much longer than a year ago, a dazzling, fluffy honey-gold mane. Just the sight of her made him feel weak-but very happy.

  While he was busy in the kitchen, Georgianne wandered around the spacious, gray-carpeted living room. It was so sparsely furnished that it seemed Japanese in style. Maybe the black lacquer wasn't a mistake after all. A television set and a stereo rack in one corner, a sofa, easy chair, and coffee table opposite, and not much else. There were no lamps, only track lighting, and in another corner a huge salt-water aquarium housing a variety of anemones, shrimp, urchins, and other spiny creatures, along with some Fauvist fish. She noticed the pen-and-ink drawing she had given Jeff. It was hung by itself, all but lost in the middle of one long wall. It was the only thing on any of the walls, she realized.

  The far end of the living room was all glass, with sliding doors to the balcony. She stepped out and looked around. Ravenswood Estate: the buildings set at angles to ensure maximum privacy, lawns well barbered, with no bare spots, white gravel paths, flowering shrubs, clusters of birch trees, wooded hills rising on all sides. Yes, it was very attractive.

  Jeff's rooms were perhaps too austere and imper sonal, but they were bachelor quarters and wouldn't necessarily acquire the cluttered, lived-in look of a family residence. Georgianne sat down on a deck chair. The heat seemed to have let up a bit, and there was even a hint of a breeze in the air.

  Jeff appeared a minute or two later, carrying a large silver ice bucket. He set it down
on a table, darted inside again, and was back almost immediately with a crystal goblet for Georgianne and his own drink. She didn't try to hide her smile now; she laughed aloud.

  "You're trying to get me paralytic."

  'Not really." He smiled. "You can add a little water if you want, and I've got a fat steak in the fridge whenever you feel you need some ballast."

  Georgianne leaned forward to see exactly what was packed in the ice. There were two green Mosel bottles, a Wehlener Sonnenuhr 1976 and a Graach Him- melreich 1975. The third bottle was a liter of Contrexbville water. Jeff poured some of the Graach into her goblet.

  "Cheers. It's great to see you again."

  And you."

  They touched glasses, sat back, and sipped. The wine was too good to water down, Georgianne thought. She would enjoy it, but slowly. Had Jeff taught himself wines? No, more likely he'd gone into a good store and bought by the price tag. For her benefit, of course.

  "What's that?"

  "What?"

  Your drink."

  "Laphroaig. It's a single malt Scotch."

  "Oh." Then she seemed to be speaking mechanically, without thinking about it. "I was going to bring you a bottle, but I couldn't remember what you like. Is that your favorite?"

  "I drink various things," Jeff told her. "But, yeah, I guess you could say I like this best. Ted introduced me to malt Scotches about a year ago."

  Ted. Sure. Lots of people probably drink malt Scotch, Georgianne thought. It stood to reason. Single malt scotch, they call it. They'd even found some in Bonnie's stomach.

  That was the first thing.

  Jeff took her for a selective tour on Saturday. Wisely, he didn't try to cram too much into a single day. They cruised at a leisurely pace through Hollywood and Beverly Hills, taking in Laurel Canyon, Coldwater Canyon, the Strip, and Rodeo Drive. They ate a light lunch at the Polo Lounge, then drove on to Santa Monica and Venice, where they spent a while watching the crowd. The Ferrari never seemed out of place, and it drew many appreciative looks.

  Georgianne felt out of place, though. L.A. was almost a foreign country. In a way that was healthy, she thought. Like fear, it was a form of negative definition. If she didn't belong here, she must belong somewhere else-but at least somewhere. She would just relax and enjoy the experience of being in a new and different environment.