A Death in California

by Barthel, Joan;

  Then she saw him.

  He was tall and very handsome, with dark wavy hair and a deep tan. He was wearing dark slacks, a dark turtleneck sweater with a white shirt over it, and a leather jacket. He was facing Bill, gesturing toward the mountain with a large carved pipe, the other hand thrust into his pocket, the very image of male ease and casual elegance.

  Hope looked at him for at least a minute before she spoke. My God, she thought, this guy’s a real number. He looks like Robert Wagner. If I were single I could get involved with him and it would be trouble for years and years. He’s a ladykiller.

  “Come on in,” she called, and both men turned to the window. “Come on in the house.”

  As she passed the bathroom mirror on the way out, Hope glanced at herself once more and smiled. That settles it, she thought. No makeup. For this guy, better to be El Frumpo.

  Bill and the visitor were sitting in the living room when Hope came in. Both men stood up. “Hopie, this is Taylor Wright,” Bill said.

  The man smiled. “Hello,” he said.

  “Hi, Taylor,” Hope said. “Where did you get that terrific tan?”

  “I’ve been skiing,” Taylor said.

  Hope sat on the sofa. Bill poured wine for each of them and sat in a chair by the picture window. Taylor took the rocking chair nearest the fireplace.

  “Where are you from, Taylor?” Hope asked.

  “I’m from the Midwest,” he said. “Let’s say Middle America.”

  “So am I,” Bill said.

  Taylor smiled. “I know.”

  Hope felt nervous. She got up from the sofa and puttered around the room a little, passing cheese and crackers, sitting down for a while, then getting up again. But Taylor seemed very much at home.

  “In fact, I was married in Middle America,” he went on. “I have two daughters, and I have a granddaughter.”

  “You don’t look old enough to be a grandfather,” Hope said.

  “I’m fifty-one,” Taylor said.

  Hope and Bill were amazed. “That’s incredible,” Hope said. “You look about thirty-five. Are you sure you’re fifty-one?” Everybody laughed.

  “I’m sure,” he said.

  “Well, why not?” Hope said. “Bill’s forty, and he’s the youngest-looking forty I’ve ever seen. But if you’re fifty-one, you’ve got him beat.”

  “Well, you don’t look thirty-one, Hopie,” Bill said. “I’d say we all have at least a ten-year margin.”

  Hope laughed. “We must be the oldest group of young-looking people in town.”

  “One of my daughters just had a baby,” Taylor said. “They all live in the Midwest. Now I’m divorced, and I also have another child, a little boy, who’s three years old. He lives just outside Paris with his mother.”

  “I have a three-year-old boy, too,” Hope said. “Tell me about yours. What’s his name?”

  “Christian,” Taylor said. “Christian, or Chris.”

  “What’s your wife’s name?” Hope asked.

  “Well, we’re not married,” Taylor said.

  “Well, I’m not saying marriage is always the answer,” Hope said, “and maybe I shouldn’t have gotten married, but when there are children involved, you know, it’s nice to get married, because of the children.” She talked a little about Tom Masters, then she got up and poured more wine. “It’s nice for children when they know you’re married, or that you’re going to get married. My little boy, K.C., always comes into the bedroom and climbs into bed with Bill and me.”

  “Yes, that’s nice,” Taylor agreed. “When I’m there, Chris sleeps with us, too.”

  “Are you there a lot?” Hope asked.

  “Every winter. I live there in the winter, which is why I always keep my pipe tobacco in a tin, because of the dampness. And I travel a lot. As I told Bill, I haven’t been in the United States for the past three years. I just came back, and I’m not up on what’s going on.”

  Hope lighted another cigarette. “You haven’t missed much,” she said coolly. She was acting less nervous now, enjoying the conversation.

  “I haven’t seen any movies, for instance, for three years,” Taylor said. “What’s worth seeing?”

  “Hardly anything,” Hope declared. “Bill and I hardly ever go to a movie because they’re so filthy and violent. Once I had to go to one of those miserable movies with my husband because he had two clients appearing in it, and I haven’t forgotten it.”

  “What movie was that?” Taylor asked, looking interested.

  “Beyond the Valley of the Dolls,” Hope said. “The sex part was just kind of stupid, and I could have stood that, but what was really awful was the scene of the woman lying in bed, and a man sticks a gun in her mouth and fired. It just made me sick.”

  Taylor smiled slightly. “Well, something for everybody,” he said.

  They talked for two hours, drinking wine. Taylor was a wonderful conversationalist; he reminded Hope very much of Lionel. He was a good listener, too, as Hope talked on. She talked about fluoridation of the water, which she didn’t like, and free school lunches, which she liked as long as the children eating free didn’t have to stand in a separate line. “If they stand in a separate line, everyone else knows they’re not paying for their lunch and it sets them apart. It embarrasses them,” Hope pointed out. She talked about her children, her life, all kinds of things, in such an easy, amiable fashion with Taylor that later she couldn’t remember what all she’d said.

  The wine bottle was nearly empty when Taylor looked at his watch, a handsome Seiko. “We’d better take some pictures of you and this distinguished bachelor,” he said, “before it gets too dark.”

  “How did you happen to pick Bill as a distinguished bachelor?” Hope asked.

  “Well, he drives a sports car, and he has a pilot’s license, and”—Taylor paused, keeping his eyes on Hope—“he dates attractive women.”

  “Well, I’d rather not be in the pictures,” Hope said, a little nervously. “Just take pictures of Bill.”

  Bill shook his head. “Oh, no. You have to be in the pictures, too. That’s the whole point.”

  Hope gave in. It’s Bill’s big day, Hope thought, and as long as Taylor’s here, I may as well go along with it. “Okay,” she said. “Do you want me to change?”

  Taylor looked at her again with that long, steady gaze. “No, your clothes are fine. But I’d like you to put on some makeup.”

  “Okay,” Hope said. “Bill, call Jim Webb again and see if he can get a horse ready for us.”

  In the bathroom she put on makeup carefully: Max Factor Technicolor pale pancake, blusher, a smudge of eyeshadow, mascara, and cinnamon-colored lip gloss. She took the curlers out of her hair and brushed it, letting it cascade in bright waves down her back. Taylor was still sitting in the rocking chair when she came back into the living room; Bill stood in the kitchen doorway. “I can’t get Jim Webb,” Bill said.

  “Well, let’s go walk around a little,” Hope said. “We’ll get him later.”

  “Just a minute,” Taylor said, getting up from his chair and coming close to Hope. He looked steadily at her, deeply into her eyes. “You look beautiful,” he said. “But I’d like more eyeshadow.”

  By this time Hope had decided to take the whole thing as a photographic assignment and enjoy it, even though she wasn’t being paid. Back in the bathroom, she put on more gray eyeshadow until her eyes looked very dusky and very wide. She pulled on shiny boots, which she wasn’t supposed to wear because of her back but they looked terrific with her tight pants.

  Bill had poured the rest of the wine into a yellow plastic glass, and the three of them went out the back door. Bill looked casual and nice in his jeans and boots and a white shirt with the word LOVE in black letters. Taylor was wearing his leather jacket; all afternoon, sitting in the warm living room, he’d kept his jacket on.

  The early winter dusk was beginning to close in as they walked up the road, past the orange grove and the foreman’s cottage. Beyond the ga
te that led up past the lake, they left the road and headed for the river. Bill was walking ahead, and when Hope began sliding a little on the damp grass, Taylor reached out and grasped her hand.

  They walked and slid down the muddy hill to the river. “It’s too dark down here for pictures, but it’s beautiful,” Taylor said. They sat on the slippery boulders at the edge of the river and sipped the rest of the wine, sharing the glass. Bill had climbed a little beyond them, to an old water-wheel by the river’s edge. “You didn’t tell me your birthday,” Hope said to Taylor, “but I know exactly what you are. You’re a Leo. You’re Leo, the lion.” Taylor smiled and didn’t answer, but Hope felt sure she was right. From her study of astrology, she had found that people conformed amazingly well to their signs. Bill was Virgo: neat, organized, a perfectionist in his work. With her October 21 birthday, she was Libra, but almost Scorpio. “Scorpio moon people tend to be psychic,” Hope said. “Almost witchy. They’re great at parties: flirty, charming, weak, and wonderful.”

  She didn’t think she was actually flirting with Taylor, but she was joking with him, kidding around, letting him know she knew he had a million girls on his string. When they left the river and Hope slipped on the way back up the hill, it was Taylor who caught her around the waist, helped her up, and held her hand as they crossed the meadow, back to the road.

  When they got to the main house, Hope telephoned. “Someone’s here taking pictures for a newspaper story,” she told Jim Webb. “We need a nice gentle horse, maybe Bonnie, so would you get her and clean her up and brush up her mane so she looks presentable and saddle her up.” Jim Webb said he would, but in a few minutes he knocked at the door. Hope introduced him to Bill and to Taylor; all the men shook hands. “I can’t find the key to the tack room,” Jim Webb told Hope. “So I can’t get a saddle.”

  Bill looked uncertainly at Hope, but Taylor waved his hand in an easy, graceful gesture. “Can you get a rope and make a halter so we can lead the horse?” he asked.

  “Sure,” Jim Webb said. “I’ve got a rope around here.”

  “Then just go ahead and get the horse and put a rope around it,” Taylor directed. Listening, Hope was more convinced than ever that Taylor was a Leo: arrogant and capable. In fact, a Leo was usually the most capable of the bunch.

  When they went outside again, Bill stayed in the background, leaning against the fence that bordered the road, while Taylor talked with Jim Webb about ropes and various kinds of halters and whether they would need a second horse. Hope talked a little, but there were other people around in the yard—she assumed they were Jim Webb’s family and friends—and she didn’t want to sound bossy to Jim in front of them. She didn’t know any of his family except his young wife, Teresa, and the two children, and she didn’t see any of them in the group, so she spoke only to Jim and to Taylor. “Bonnie is a real gentle horse,” Hope said. “The kids all ride Bonnie, she’s so gentle, so maybe Bill can just sit on Bonnie bareback.”

  Taylor took the horse, leading her by the rope, down the road past the main house. Bill fell into step with him, Hope following. When she saw a car coming up the road, around the curve, she waved and yelled, thinking it was one of Jim Webb’s buddies, driving too fast. “Hey, stop, cut it out! Take it easy or you’ll hit the horse.” The car stopped suddenly and Hope recognized Jim Webb’s wife, Terry. “Oh, my God,” Hope muttered to herself. “I yelled at Terry, of all people.” The car window was rolled up, but Hope could tell from the expression on Terry’s face that she’d heard Hope yell in that nasty tone. Hope thought she saw children in the back seat, but she felt bad about screaming at Terry, so she turned away, toward the orange grove, and scooped up some oranges lying under the trees. When she passed the main house, she tossed the oranges onto the lawn. “We can have fresh screwdrivers later,” she called to the men, catching up with them. “Let me take the horse,” she said. “She likes women. Go ahead, go on down to the beach, and take some pictures without the horse. I’ll bring her along.”

  Bill and Taylor turned off the road at the place where she and Bill had stood Friday night in the darkness, listening to the river. When they went down the hill, Hope lost sight of them. She tried to follow, with Bonnie, but when the horse got about six feet down the sloping path, she yanked her head down and began munching grass. She wouldn’t budge, and Hope got really mad. “Goddamn you, Bonnie!” The horse still balked. I can’t believe that I can’t even control this ridiculous horse, Hope thought, angrily. My ten-year-old daughter can make this horse do whatever she wants her to do, and I can’t. She was angry at herself and at everyone else, and she kept yelling as she tugged at the horse. “Come on, that’s what you’re here for!” She yelled so loudly that Jim Webb and the people around his house heard her.

  Eventually Bill heard, too, and came back up the muddy path to take the horse. Down on the beach, Hope and Taylor shared the wine in the yellow glass as Bill led the horse down. Hope was joking with Taylor again in a teasing, flirting way, just as she did with other men she knew who were so good-looking and charming and, in her judgment, spoiled. The river valley was in shadow, and both Bill and Taylor agreed that there wasn’t nearly enough light for good pictures, but Taylor kept clicking away with his Yashica camera, taking pictures of Bill and the horse, Bill and Hope, Bill and Hope and the horse. The way Taylor was looking at her with the camera made Hope feel uncomfortable, and she was glad when he said, “That’s enough. I’ll get some more tomorrow.”

  Taylor led Bonnie back up the hill. Bill put his arm around Hope. “Hey, I think you’re laying it on a little thick with this guy,” he said. “I think he’s getting the wrong idea.”

  “Okay,” Hope said. “Is this better?” She put her arms around Bill and kissed him hard.

  He smiled. “Much, much better.”

  They walked up the hill and up the road to the house with their arms around each other. “Just take the horse over to Jim’s and give it to anyone who’ll take it,” Hope called to Taylor, who was disappearing around the bend, past the orange grove.

  In the bedroom, Hope took off her boots and changed into navy blue cords. She went out on the front porch where Bill was sitting on the rail and put her arms around him. “I guess we’re stuck with this guy for a while,” Bill said.

  “It’s okay,” Hope murmured. She was feeling lightheaded and hazy from the wine and maybe from her pain pill. She took Robaxin for her back, sometimes Valium, or Empirin with codeine and, occasionally, a sleeping pill.

  Taylor came around to the front porch. “We were just talking about you,” Bill said, as Hope still nestled against his neck. “We’d like you to stay for dinner.”

  “And you might as well stay overnight,” Hope said. “We have plenty of room.”

  “I can’t stay overnight,” Taylor said. “A friend of mine is flying in from a ski resort tonight and I’m meeting her in Bakersfield.”

  “Well, you can at least stay a while,” Hope said, and Taylor smiled.

  “Yes, I can stay a while.”

  They made screwdrivers with the vodka Bill had brought from the city and the big oranges Hope had picked up in the grove. Bill had a gin and tonic afterward, which Hope shared. When Bill said he would make a fire, Hope reminded him that they needed a few things from the market. “We can take my car,” Taylor offered, so the three of them got into the front seat of the Lincoln, Taylor driving, Hope in the middle. “I have meat, but I need milk and butter,” she told Bill. “And charcoal,” he added.

  At the small grocery next to the gas station in Springville, Hope played with two young children wandering around the aisles. One child, near the cashier, not more than three years old, was crying, so Hope picked up the toddler and wiped his runny nose with a tissue from her pocket. Bill was gathering groceries, and Taylor was watching Hope.

  At the liquor store, a little farther down the short main street, Bill and Taylor bought more vodka, gin, and beer, then they piled the bags into the back seat and drove the mile back to the ranch.
The gate was still open and, when they had driven through, Bill asked Hope whether he should lock it. “No, Jim will lock it later,” she said.

  Bill made more drinks and went around the back of the house, facing the mountain, to start the charcoal grill. Taylor went with him while Hope set out chicken liver spread and crackers, but in a few minutes he came back inside. “Bill told me you worry about his drinking,” Taylor told Hope.

  “Well, I’ve known people who are alcoholics, so I guess I’m touchy about it,” she said.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Taylor said. “I drink a fifth a day.”

  Hope and Taylor went into the living room, where they sat drinking and chatting. When Bill came in, Taylor took out a notebook and asked Bill where he was born and the names of his parents. It was the first time since he arrived that Taylor had used a notebook. Bill went out again, and came back to announce that the steaks were ready. Hope jumped up. “Oh, shoot, why didn’t you tell me sooner? The wild rice isn’t done and I haven’t made the salad.” Bill wrapped the meat in foil and put it in a warm oven while Hope dashed around the kitchen. “Let me help,” Taylor insisted, so Hope told him where the plates and silver were, and he set the table.

  By the time they sat down to eat, with Hope at the head of the dining table and the men on either side of her, it was nearly nine o’clock. Hope felt too tired to eat, and a little sick. She picked at her salad and rice, then she took her steak and placed it on Bill’s plate. “I can’t eat any more,” she said. “I’m going to lie down for just a minute.”