The Heat of Angels

by Lisa Girolami

  “You deserve it.” Sarah took her hand and led her to the kitchen. “Drop your keys on the counter. We’re taking my car.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Tonight is your relaxation night, and you’ll find out when we get there.” Sarah led her out to the garage and hit the automatic door opener. “Now get in the car and our night will begin.”

  Chris seemed happy to just be with her as they drove toward downtown Los Angeles. They talked about each other’s day and the upcoming Father’s Day visits that they’d agreed to but then made a vow not to talk anymore about the impending drudgery.

  Sarah pulled up to a row of buildings in Koreatown and turned into an alley to park. The almost chaotic variety and abundance of signs, mostly in the vertical Hangul form of the language, made Sarah feel welcomed and immersed in a culture of friendly people, spicy food, traditional music, and a colorful mix of conventional and contemporary fashions.

  “Koreatown?” Chris asked as they walked out of the alley and onto the street.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m super curious now.”

  “Good.”

  Sarah led her into the Olympic Spa, and Chris’s eyes widened.

  “Oh, my God. We’re getting pampered?”

  “Yes, we are.”

  As they checked in at the front desk in the lobby, Sarah was pleased at the way Chris was looking around like Santa might round the corner any minute.

  “The only massage I’ve ever gotten,” Chris said, “was at the mall.”

  “This is a ladies-only bathhouse. I’ve heard it’s as authentic as it gets.”

  Two women called matrons came out to greet them, and Chris and Sarah followed them to a room and were instructed to disrobe.

  Over the next hour, they were taken to steam rooms and whirlpools, where the soaking of tired muscles commenced. After that, they were treated to scrubs from the matrons in a central trough, and Chris kept peeking over at Sarah, grinning as if she’d just opened the presents Santa had given her in the lobby.

  The only conversation between them since arriving came when they were wrapped in cocoon-like quilts and given massages on a heated floor of the nap room.

  “I never knew this place was here.” Chris’s words came out in between gusts of air that the matron was pushing out of her lungs.

  “Now you do.”

  Next came an Akasuri scrub, and Sarah knew the experience of being abraded with Brillo pads would surprise Chris, but she seemed to love the exfoliation.

  They were finally taken to a place called the Herbal Hot Pool, which looked like a vat of hot tea.

  Sarah watched Chris’s eyes widen as she lowered herself in.

  “Scalding hot, scalding hot,” Chis said quickly as Sarah joined her. Whether the heat put her nerve receptors into shock or the previous treatments had helped desensitize her, it was actually an invigorating soak.

  When they eventually got dressed and back out to the car, Chris laid her head back on the seat rest. “I believe I’ve been polished to a spit shine.”

  “Your pores will thank you later.”

  “They already are, and so are my muscles.” She lifted her head, her eyes looking so sleepy and adorable. “Thank you so much for tonight.”

  Sarah started the car. “We’re not done yet.”

  “We’re not?”

  “No. Just lay your head back again and relax.”

  *

  Chris awoke when the judder of the car’s brakes slowed them down. She’d been aware that they’d been driving a while and tried to make conversation at times, but her body had the structure of a rubber chicken, and Sarah was encouraging her to sleep by rubbing her leg.

  She sat up and wiped the drowsiness from her eyes. They were about as far west on Sunset Boulevard as they could be. The curving road was slowing its descent toward the cerulean-blue Pacific Ocean, and Chris couldn’t believe she’d been snoozing that long. “We’re in Pacific Palisades.”

  “Yes, we are,” Sarah said as she pulled into a driveway of a rather large complex.

  SELF-REALIZATION FELLOWSHIP, LAKE SHRINE. WELCOME TO THESE MEDITATION GARDENS. When Chris read the sign aloud it sounded almost comical. “When anyone mentions Sunset Boulevard, I think about celebrities and mansions, not inner peace and meditation.”

  “L.A. is all about finding interesting things where they’re least suspected,” Sarah said as she parked. “Can you walk?”

  Chris laughed. “I’m not sure, but if you have a blanket, you can just pull me behind you.”

  What Chris saw first was a beautiful temple, probably six stories high and sitting on a hill. The construction and details looked both Eastern and Western, but its domed octagonal shape, crowned with a stunning golden lotus, reminded her more of India than anywhere else.

  Sarah took her hand as they entered the temple, and they stopped just inside the doors. The open span of the domed ceiling was painted white, and the temple was lined with pews facing a simple altar. Minimal but magnificent decorative pieces of stained glass and woodcarvings were interspersed around the stark whiteness of the plaster walls, conveying a royal but humble ambiance.

  “The court outside honors the five principal religions of the world. And a memorial over there holds a portion of Mahatma Gandhi’s ashes.”

  “This place is beautiful,” Chris said as the solitude enveloped her mushy-muscled body.

  “George Harrison’s memorial service was held here.”

  “That makes perfect sense,” Chris said, picturing the bearded Beatle happily strumming a ukulele as he floated above those gathering in his honor.

  “Come here,” Sarah said, leading her out. “The best is in back.”

  Chris was dumbfounded that this gorgeous lake and thick vegetation sat right off Sunset Boulevard. She had to have driven down this road a thousand times, and she’d been mere feet away.

  The lake and surrounding gardens had to comprise at least ten acres. Trees and flowers seemed to hug the water, and the foliage was so unique, it was as if they’d all had their passports stamped with happy faces upon arriving in the United States from their own special corners of the world. Swans floated on the water, cleaning their plumage, as koi, ducks, and multitudes of turtles communed with waterfalls, statues, and fern grottos.

  A Mississippi paddleboat and a Danish windmill were the only two unexpected structures sitting on the edge of the lake, but even they seemed appropriate and serene in this context.

  Chris and Sarah stood at the edge of the lake, not saying anything for a while until Chris squeezed Sarah’s hand. “I can’t believe how peaceful it is here. I forget there’s even traffic on the other side of those walls.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “I really do.”

  “Let me take you to my favorite place here.”

  They walked around the edge of the lake and then veered off on a brick path to an alcove tucked away among some trees. A marble bench awaited them as they sat on the seat, cool in the shade.

  “I come here sometimes to unwind,” Sarah said. “Natalie brought me here for the first time. She’d never admit it to you, but she’s a huge Elvis fan, and he used to come here a lot.”

  Chris laughed. “It seems like a long way from Viva Las Vegas.”

  “So true.” Sarah joined her with a giggle. “I guess he needed a place to get away, like everyone else.”

  “Thank you for taking care of me today. This is one of the best places I could ever imagine.” Chris put her arm around Sarah. “And I’m with the best woman I could ever imagine.”

  Sarah kissed her, and Chris could feel a thousand angels warming her heart with the serenity of the moment. She also felt pure joy.

  Chapter Eleven

  Chris and Sarah pulled up to a modest ranch-style house in El Toro. It had a severely trimmed lawn with tight, square hedges and was painted in perfunctory gray with white trim.

  “This is Casa Bergstrom,” Chris said as she drove past and foun
d a spot a few houses down.

  “There’s room in the driveway.”

  “Not for a car that might leak oil.”

  Sarah already felt her nerves tense in anticipation.

  Chris let herself in, and as they walked toward the back, Sarah saw a front room as tightly manicured as the front lawn. Practical furniture, arranged neatly, created a square space sitting perfectly arranged around a gray area rug whose borders looked as if the furniture would pay dearly if they dared to cross over.

  As they passed through, Sarah noticed that the bookcase was filled with books organized in order of size. And color.

  As they entered the kitchen, Chris whispered, “Assume the position.”

  Three people looked her way, and Chris introduced Sarah.

  “Mother, Father, Jeb, this is Sarah Pullman.”

  Chris’s father shook her hand, and her mother, who was stirring something in a bowl, said hello. Chris’s brother nodded.

  “May I get you something to drink?” Chris’s father said to Sarah.

  “Wine would be nice.”

  Chris’s mother stopped stirring and looked at her father.

  “We have water or soda,” her father said as he walked toward the refrigerator.

  “Water is fine.” Though it would make the night a lot longer.

  Throughout the next half hour, Sarah listened to the small talk among the Bergstroms and occasionally answered questions. She was very familiar with the trivial diatribe and knew she’d be in the middle of the same later.

  Sarah told them she worked at the wildlife refuge but didn’t say that she wasn’t paid. They seemed to be interested in the organization, so maybe that was good.

  Dinner of chicken with mashed potatoes and peas went fairly well, if one considered the ability of the entire family to spread the topics of weather, sports, and Jeb’s job at the army base throughout the entire affair without a smile or even a nod.

  “How’s Abel?” Chris’s father asked as her mother cleared the dishes.

  “He’s great. I haven’t gotten many bites, but I also haven’t had to tackle any bad guys in a while.”

  “Are you keeping in shape?”

  Sarah wanted to say that Chris was in fine shape the nights they’d spent together but bit her tongue.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “When are you planning to test for the sergeant’s position?”

  “I don’t know if I will. I’d have to give up the K9 unit, and I’d rather not have to deal with more station time and paperwork.”

  “You need to plan for retirement, Chris. That’s mission critical. Climbing the ranks puts more PERS in your pocket.”

  Chris leaned toward Sarah and said, “That’s the public employees’ retirement system. It’s our pension and health benefits program.” She turned back to her father. “I may take the test in the future, but for right now, I like what I’m doing.”

  “The future has a way of sneaking up behind you and biting you in the ass.”

  That’s what Abel’s for, Sarah thought.

  She didn’t like that Chris looked down at her plate, but she did come back fairly quickly.

  “Remember when I told you about the call I went on where a man had run into a lake?” Chris said to her father. “We couldn’t see him at all, and Abel led us to the place he’d jumped in. And remember when I found him underwater, not breathing, and resuscitated the guy?”

  “I do,” he said.

  “The mayor’s office is giving me a lifesaving award for that.”

  “You’ve been on the force ten years. It’s about time. Good.”

  It hurt Sarah to see Chris’s disappointment. She too had felt the sting of the classic slap and tickle from her parents. She reached under the table and found Chris’s hand, squeezing it. She got a squeeze back, but it was weak with what had to be disenchantment.

  They got out of the house without further disparagement, and Sarah put her arm around Chris as they walked to the car. “Your mother didn’t say much of anything throughout dinner.”

  “That’s her way of surviving the marriage.”

  “It’s sad to have to survive anything,” Sarah said, and the truth of her statement made her throat tighten in empathy.

  They got in the car and Chris started the engine. Sarah put her hand on Chris’s. “Are you okay? We don’t have to go to my parents’ now. It won’t be any more fun, and I think you’ve had enough laughs for today.”

  Chris kissed her gently. “Listen, I’m glad to have served my tour of duty at Casa Bergstrom, so anything after that is like child’s play.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” Sarah said, and made a funny face when Chris looked at her.

  *

  Chris pulled into the rather tony neighborhood of Bel Air. The street wound up a hill that seemed to have been commanded—by all the moneyed residents—to rise only gradually for their own private, overindulged convenience.

  Sarah directed her into a circular driveway that served as a dramatic introduction to a house so grand and antebellum in style that Chris expected Colonel Sanders to be standing on the steps, awaiting their arrival.

  Large columns held up the three-story, neoclassical plantation house, and a magnificent double entry would impress even the most jaded Hollywood celebrities.

  “Did you ever live here?” Chris asked as they walked up the main steps.

  “Only for a few years. We moved here from the Hollywood Hills when I was fourteen, and I vacated the premises when I was eighteen. I hated this place. We had to give the movers a map of the place so they wouldn’t get lost. It’s too big and too garish for me.”

  Piano music and loud voices greeted them as soon as Sarah opened the door. Visible through a living room full of people drinking and talking, a man in a black shirt and pants played the piano with arm movements so exaggerated the overtly flamboyant song sounded horribly ostentatious.

  Judging by the look on Sarah’s face, this whole scene seemed to be a surprise.

  “What the fuck?” Sarah said as they stepped through the foyer.

  Clearly a cocktail party was under way, and it reminded Chris of something out of a sixties movie. Most people just turned and smiled as they walked through the living room, and one or two whispered to each other, obviously sharing some tidbit about Sarah.

  More people clustered in a den whose centerpieces were a mahogany desk, overstuffed easy chairs, and a fireplace that looked to be made from lava rock. Sarah targeted a man and woman standing by a rather large urn.

  “What’s going on?”

  The man turned to her. “Sarah. I’m glad you could make it.”

  “Who are all these people?”

  “Colleagues and investors.”

  “It’s Father’s Day. Doesn’t that mean we have a quiet dinner instead of a networking event?

  “Sarah, honey.” The woman next to him spoke, and Chris assumed it was Sarah’s mother. “It’s both. Your father has a joint-venture meeting tomorrow, and this is important.”

  Sarah just shrugged and then introduced Chris to her parents. “This is Chris.” She turned to Chris. “This is Charles and Sharon.”

  “Where’s Grandma?” Sarah said.

  Charles used his drink to gesture behind Sarah. “In the library.”

  Without saying anything else, Sarah took Chris’s hand and led her away.

  “You call your parents by their first names?”

  “They haven’t been my parents for a long time.”

  The library was a testament to the art of woodcrafting. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases stood like sentries, holding so many books, the collection would make a librarian swoon.

  A thin, delicate woman sat in a large upholstered chair. Her features were pinched, but her beauty had endured the years. She looked up from a book. “Sarah!”

  Greeting her with a long hug, Sarah whispered something and then introduced them.

  “Grandma, this is Chris. And Chris, this is Momo, the best grandma in the world.
”

  They sat in a couch that cornered the chair. The atmosphere in the room was very calm, so different from where they’d just been, and Chris could easily see the genuine love between Sarah and her grandmother. The tense ambiance of impatience and hostility they’d just waded through was absent.

  “It’s very nice to meet you,” Chris hesitated, hoping she’d remembered her name correctly, “Momo.”

  “It’s Norwegian,” Momo said. “Short for Mormor, the name for a mother’s mom.” She reached out and Sarah took her hand. “So, how have you been, my darling?”

  “Things have been good.”

  “I heard about the fire at the refuge on television. Is everything okay?”

  “It is, Momo. Chris even helped evacuate the animals.”

  She turned to Chris. “You’re a good girl.”

  An odd sensation lulled her, exposing a vulnerable spot of basic human need in a way that warm hands reach toward you and pull you in from the cold. She suddenly couldn’t remember if her parents had ever said something as simple and affirming.

  “…that you do?”

  Chris blinked. “I’m sorry, Momo, what were you saying?”

  “What is it that you do?”

  “I’m a police officer here in Los Angeles.”

  “A civil servant protecting all of us. That’s noble and courageous.”

  That vulnerable feeling came over her again, and she cleared her throat. “Thank you.”

  The door of the library opened and Mrs. Pullman came in, along with the sound of the piano music.

  “Sarah, come out and mingle, please.”

  “I’m visiting with Momo.”

  “She’ll be here after the party. It’s your father’s day today.”

  “I would venture to guess that it’s father’s day every day.”

  Her father stepped in, drink still in his hand. “Sarah, you’re being rude to our guests. I’d like them to see you interacting.”

  “I’ll be there in a while.”

  “It’s just like you, never carrying through.” He almost sloshed the alcohol out of his glass. “You spend five seconds out there and then run and hide.”

  “I’m not going to get into this, Charles.”