Trifecta

by Pam Richter

  "Julie, Julie, Julie," Alexander said when he heard her voice. She could picture him, tall, slender and perfect. The problem had not been his. He was intelligent, serious, rich and handsome. And in love with her. Everyone expected them to marry. But somehow, being all those wonderful things, he was also boring and predictable. She could envision their life together, which would be perfect, predictable and boring, and she could not fall in love with this really wonderful man.

  The moment she heard Alexander's voice she felt relief and also had a strange flash. She saw the mechanic, Robin, in her mind. He was everything that Alexander wasn't, and nothing she wanted, yet she knew with absolute certainty that Robin would never bore her. Robin might be a dangerous degenerate, but he was a fascinating man.

  "Hey, are you there?" She heard him tapping on the phone. "Enjoying the California sun and getting a tan?"

  "Oh, no," Julia wailed. "It's horrible. Brian was mugged. He's in the hospital. I wanted to take him to Boston Memorial, where he would get the best care, but it's too risky to move him now."

  "God, Julia. I'm sorry. Where is he?"

  Julia explained how she had found him in the county hospital and had him moved to Cedars.

  "Honey, if he's at Cedars he's getting the best care you can find in the country."

  "Really?"

  "He wouldn't do any better at Boston Memorial. But I'll come out there and make sure. Give me his doctor's name. I'll call him as soon as we hang up."

  Julia tried to talk Alexander out of making the trip to California. Of course, he wouldn't listen and insisted on flying to Los Angeles on the first available flight.

  Julia sighed and hung up. She couldn't persuade him not to come and she wanted to spend all her time with Brian. Alexander undoubtedly thought it was his duty, that his swift arrival might persuade her to marry him. He had asked her several times. Julia had said no, in the nicest possible ways, trying hard to spare his feelings. Which had probably been the problem. She had been too nice, and he hadn't believed her.

  She dialed Alexander's number again said into the phone, "Don't come. And don't tell Charlotte. She doesn't know yet."

  Julia slammed down the receiver and peered around guiltily. People didn't yell in hospital corridors. She was a little overwrought. Alexander would think she was hysterical. And he would come. There was no doubt about that.

  CHAPTER 3

  The ballroom at the Ma Maison Hotel on Beverly Boulevard was elegantly decorated with dazzling chandeliers, soft music, fine linen, silver, paintings. Extraordinarily fine French food was being served. A glittering array of the city's most prominent citizens in full formal regalia were in attendance.

  It was an obligatory dinner at which Robin had to appear; another hundred-dollar-a-plate charity banquet in tribute to his father, Alan Chavier, attorney, judge, governor and senator, in that order. The proceeds of the dinner were to go to various local charities. The grand affair was the place to be seen for the wealthy philanthropists of the city.

  Some of Robin's former co-workers were in attendance from the District Attorney's office. There were many speeches and introductory toasts. Finally, Senator Alan Chavier rose to a ripple of applause and gave a short speech, thanking everyone for the honor of their presence, and thanking the City of Los Angeles for a humanitarian award presented to him for volunteer pro bono legal work for those who could not afford attorney fees.

  Robin really was proud of his father and loved him very much. His heart swelled with pride as his still handsome and debonair, grey haired father accepted his award with style, grace and humor. But his mind was preoccupied with the beautiful woman, Julia Monay, who had been trying to hide her tears in the street when her car broke down.

  He had been strangely compelled to follow her into the hospital and cajole the woman at the Information Desk into giving him her full name. A few calls to friends at the L.A. Times Newspaper, and to fellow lawyers, of the type who chase ambulances, gave him the complete story about her brother, Brian. How he had been found in East Los Angeles, the toughest part of town, having seizures on the side of the road in the wee hours of the morning, five days ago. Brian had been hanging to life by a thread and his prognosis was not optimistic. There was no doubt in Robin's mind that Julia had reason to cry. Insult to her car, on top of dire injury to her brother.

  Robin also learned that Julia's brother had been working on the estate of Aaron Quijada, so when he had a chance to meet the bull-like figure in immaculate tux, he introduced himself and shook hands with the famous movie mogul. There were rumors circulating that Quijada was being groomed for a shot at the position of governor in California.

  Since Robin had spent some time himself in the governor's mansion in Sacramento, when his father had been in residence, he was doubly curious about the famous producer. They chatted about current movies and about Robin's father. After a few minutes of conversation, Robin felt that Aaron Quijada, with his slight, charming Mexican accent, was not an easy man to get to know. Aaron had a dark masculine charisma and brilliant dark eyes. He seemed genial and intelligent, but Robin left him with an odd feeling that he did not want to see him in the governor's mansion.

  After the formal dinner, Robin found himself in the dark, clubby hotel lounge with two bachelor friends from the D.A.'s office. He was delighted with their company. He hadn't seen them as much as he would have liked recently, since he had started his own law practice. He had worked with them in the D.A's office closely for several years. They all loosened their ties and found a table in a corner away from the bar, settling down for the serious imbibing of alcoholic refreshments.

  They discussed the more prominent murder trials the prosecution office was involved in for some time as the drinks gradually relaxed them.

  "What's wrong with you tonight?" Jay asked after a while, looking at Robin, who was gazing remotely into the ornate mirror over the bar.

  "What do you mean?" Robin asked, turning to look at the slight blond man. Jay was undoubtedly the brightest rising star in the D.A.'s office, urbane and impeccable in his tux.

  "We hardworking prosecuting attorneys don't have any social life, to speak of," Jay explained. "No wives, girlfriends. Nada. We are pathetic. And here sits the man who's social life is randy with wine, women, song. And an abundance of that rarest of all commodities, sex. And he doesn't even bring along a castoff for us to letch after and slaver over during a long and tedious dinner."

  "The only reason I go to these things is to watch your technique with the fair sex, Robin" Tony chimed in. He was Robin's best friend. They had gone through law school together, at Pepperdine, and had both joined the District Attorney's office several years ago. "You have sorely let down your compatriots."

  "What a couple of sad-asses," Robin said, smiling at Jay and Tony.

  "So, what happened to Caroline, Judy, Ann, and the redoubtable Sarah?"

  "Cut the crap. I have to tell you about a present I bought for my father today."

  "Cut the crap? That bevy of beauties you squire about is not crap," Tony said, with the tone of a censure.

  "I didn't mean that, and you know it. You'll never believe it, though. The gift for my father. It's beyond description," Robin told them.

  "Your father has everything, Robin," Tony said. He had known the extremely wealthy Chavier family for years. "I can't imagine how you could find a present for him."

  Robin laughed. "I found the biggest...the ugliest truck. It's a mongrel, made up of several different vehicles. It stands almost three feet off the ground on tractor wheels. The thing is scarred in places you can't even find on most trucks. The most hideous, bright yellow thing you have ever seen."

  Jay started laughing, thinking about Senator Chavier's love of fine, classic antique cars. His collection was world renowned and he attended antique car clubs across the country and in Europe.

  "I am going to make that truck shine, to highlight all the enormous dents, in all it's hideous beauty, for Dad's 60th birthday."

>   "If you would marry off one of your menagerie and produce an heir, that would be the present your father would appreciate most," Tony commented.

  Robin held up a hand, "Don't say another word. I get enough from my mother. And all those women you mentioned, they're really just after the family fortune, and could care less about me." Robin was referring to the wealth accumulated over decades in his family, starting with the mining of oil wells in Texas by a great grandfather, which had expanded into plastics in the 30's, radio and television stations across the nation, and then into computer hardware and software.

  "Poor little rich guy," Tony commented.

  "That's exactly right," Robin said, shaking his head. "All the women you mentioned know I come from a filthy-rich family. Then there's the added bonus, becoming the daughter-in-law of a senator, if I marry one of them. But today, believe it or not, I met a girl who believes I'm a mechanic. And I think she's the one."

  "The One," Jay repeated, in capital letters.

  "Yeah," Robin said smiling dreamily. He gazed off in the distance as if contemplating paradise, really hamming it up for his friends.

  "How'd she get the idea you're a mechanic?" Tony asked.

  Robin described how he had first seen the beautiful woman in the impound yard, where he had been examining the truck. Then he told them about helping her in her hour of desperate need.

  "So she likes you?" Jay asked.

  "No. I don't think so," Robin said thoughtfully. "But you should see her."

  "Two unbelievable finds in one day. First, a monster truck. And second, a woman who's perfect, and loathes him," Tony commented sarcastically.

  Robin gave his friends a description of Julia's beautiful thick, shiny golden-red hair, making sure they understood it just reached her delicate shoulders and then gracefully curled under. He went on to describe her full lips, in detail. Next came a monologue on the tiny pink nose. He had to explain that she was crying and that was the reason the tip of her nose was pink as a rabbit's.

  "Crying because a dirty mechanic was coming on to her," Tony broke in.

  Robin reproachfully held up a hand for silence and described the large brown eyes in detail. He couldn't omit the fact that they had rather red corneas, but he reminded his friends that the woman had been in tears. He went on about her black eyebrows, which arched above the exquisite eyes; the thick, black eyelashes and the subtle way the two, brows and lashes, accented the light red blond hair.

  "Cut the bullshit. Get to the body," Jay finally insisted with frustration.

  When Robin ultimately got to the feminine physique he described coke bottles; he described hourglasses; he described brick houses and willow trees. His friends got the picture.

  "He doesn't have a chance," Jay and Tony said, almost in unison.

  They nodded sagely at each other in drunken agreement.

  "Why doesn't she like you?" Tony asked. "Most women become virtual slaves, slathering for attention in about ten seconds."

  Robin described how he had dressed after he got the tip about the horrible truck that had been sitting in the impound lot for several months. Even the weekly auctions that the towing company held, where one could find cars at terrific bargains, had failed to turn up a serious buyer.

  Robin, who appreciated a good deal, had shed the suit he wore in court like a second skin and donned old torn jeans and a lumberjack plaid shirt, which he cast off during the negotiations. When he had examined the truck he found that the engine was mechanically sound. He would never admit that the thing could probably break the sound barrier, once you got all that bulk in motion. The towing company had practically given him the vehicle. He planned to hand over the sales agreement, showing the paltry price of $375.00, triumphantly, along with the truck to his father.

  The problem, Robin explained to his friends, was that he hadn't expected to find the woman of his dreams under those circumstances. But, Robin added, he intended to go on with the mechanic charade.

  "The man is mad," Jay said, shaking his head in mock horror.

  "No, wait," Robin insisted. "It's not crazy. If she decides she likes me, then I can spring my family and career on her. It would be an added bonus. And I don't have to worry about her going after a man with old family money and famous relatives."

  "He's bonkers," Tony said very seriously.

  "Insane," Jay agreed, nodding.

  "No," Robin said stubbornly. "I certainly am not."

  "You're forgetting a prime fact about the so called gentler sex," Tony said. "This woman has blinded you."

  Jay explained very slowly and patiently, "The fact that women are not as romantic as men."

  Robin shook his head skeptically.

  "Women are practical down to their tiny little toes. She will not go for a mechanic," Jay said.

  "The woman you have described is from the East," Tony added. "That's even worse. They're not only not romantic, they are tight assed, stringy, virginal, prissy little gold-diggers."

  "And they are not stupid," Jay warned his friend, shaking a finger.

  "It's like the old story of the Beverly Hills Bitch dating the pool boy. The woman you described will not make that sort of social blunder, and suffer the consequences of people gossiping and making fun of her behind her back for dating down. This woman is educated, and not about to throw her stuck-up, snobbish little behind at a mechanic, no matter how cute he is."

  "Oh, maybe for a fling," Jay conceded.

  Tony shook his head mournfully. "Not even for a fling. You are doomed before you even begin, my friend."

  "Want to bet?" Robin asked, stubbornly.

  "YES!" It was two shouts in unison.

  CHAPTER 4

  Aaron Quijada might have been sitting on a throne surveying his kingdom, he was so ramrod stiff, still and quiet in the

  enormous black leather chair. The leather was taut and made a creaking noise if he moved even slightly. It had not let out so much as a tiny crackle in the last few minutes.

  Quijada was looking impassively at a small man standing obsequiously before him. The silence built uncomfortably. Quijada had not said a word for what seemed to be an eon for the man on the receiving end of the scathing scrutiny. This was a practiced technique. Quijada had not become a famous movie producer without first establishing his own personal self-mastery. The control he practiced was so perfect he did not blink for minutes on end. The unblinking stare was famous on movie sets. Quijada could stun an entire studio of busy technicians and actors by just gazing around him in intimidating silence, his persona was so powerful.

  This clandestine meeting was not one intended to be overhead. Indeed, the small, dapper man with Aaron Quijara was not a person who would ever come openly to Quijada's production office. The two were in the palatial sunken living room off of the entrance to Quijada's mansion. The home was typically Spanish in style, with a high heavy beamed ceiling. The entrance was open aired with a small cement fountain which gurgled as a background to the unspoken conversation. Even the massive grandfather clock ticking in the corner of the living room seemed excessively loud.

  Sitting beside the leather chair, still as a statue also, was Quijada's immense personal watchdog. Quijada said it was his pet, but everyone knew better. The great Rottweiler weighed in at about 150 muscle-bound pounds and had little yellow eyes in his wide, blunt-nosed black face. His upper lip was curled, showing perfect white fangs, and he dribbled saliva in long strings. The ferocious stare was the dog's usual expression, but it was as intimidating as that of Aaron Quijada's, especially to Juan Carlos, who had messed up an assignment and was expecting a humiliating, sadistic punishment.

  Quijada finally broke the silence, speaking in rapid fire Spanish. "I thought you had the matter of Brian Monay taken care of. Now I find he is in a hospital, and his sister is with him night and day."

  "He is in a coma, Senor." The man now speaking, Juan Carlos, was wearing an impeccable business suit which appeared like a costume on his small frame, although it fit
perfectly. What did not fit was the dandified appearance. Juan was slight man, with pockmarked dark skin, and his black hair had been visibly oiled and combed back to imitate the style of his master. Although he resembled a ferret, with the sharp nose and receding chin, Juan Carlos was revered by Hispanic street gangs as a man of great courage and fighting ability. Now he stood like an errant schoolboy in front of the massive bull-like Quijada, hardly gazing for even a second into the large dark watery eyes staring into in own. He avoided looking at the dog altogether. When someone looked into the eyes of this particular dog it was taken as a challenge. The Rottweiler delighted in showing a lethal type of devotion to his master.

  "People speak while in comas. Even when they're unconscious," Quijada said slowly, as though conversing with a slightly retarded person. "They have nightmares and they say things. And this sister is always with him." The voice was getting louder and more angry. Quijada must have noticed this himself, as he modulated his tone to a sinister whisper. "I do not want Brian Monay to be talking any more. Not to anyone. Am I making myself clear?"

  "Si, Senor," the small man practically saluted. "But it will not be easy. Mr. Monay is in the intensive care ward, with people monitoring his condition twenty-four hours a day. He is connected up to machines. They will notice the slightest change and come running."

  "Then you will have to be quick," Quijada said, dismissively. With a slight raise of the arm he ordered the dog to lie down. "And I want it done immediately. He could be muttering secrets right now. But make it look natural. Just a little accident with the oxygen, or too much medication."

  Juan Carlos restrained himself from rolling his eyes in horror. What his boss demanded was merely the impossible. Sneaking into a hospital and doing wet work. But Juan Carlos knew it boiled down to the life of Brian Monay, or his own. He chose his own and nodded compliance.