“Are you kidding? I'm sitting here talking to the biggest movie star in the world, in my sister's kitchen. Every woman in the country would give their right arm to spend Saturday night like this,” she said admiringly. It was heady stuff, even for her. She hadn't been around her parents' world in years, or even her sister's. “Not to mention what Saturday night is like in Bolinas, where I live. There would be ten old hippies sitting at the bar, if that. Everyone else would be home in bed by now, and me too, watching one of your movies.” They both laughed at that. He helped her put their dishes in the dishwasher, turned off the lights on the main floor, and he walked slowly upstairs behind her, as the dogs followed. It still made him nervous to be around the bull mastiff. Sallie was smaller and less imposing, and seemed less ominous to him. Jack could have knocked him down in seconds, although Coco knew he wouldn't do that. He was even gentler than Sallie. But he weighed more than Leslie did.
They said goodnight to each other on the landing, outside their respective bedrooms. Leslie asked what she was doing the next day, and she said she had no plans. She never worked on Sundays, although she would have loved to go home for the day, and was thinking about it.
“I wouldn't mind seeing that funny little beach town where you live,” he said hopefully. “How far is it from here?”
“Less than an hour,” she answered, smiling at him. She would have loved to show it to him.
“I'd like to see that shack of yours, and walk on the beach. There's always something so restorative about the ocean. I had a house in Malibu for a while. I was really sorry after I sold it. Maybe we can take a drive over to Bolinas tomorrow,” he said, stifling a yawn. Now that he was relaxing and felt safe again, he realized that he was exhausted. “I'll make you waffles when we get up,” he promised, and then kissed her on the cheek. “Thanks for listening tonight.” He really liked her. She was such a decent, honest person, and there was nothing she wanted from him. Not fame, not fortune, no press or publicity, she didn't even want dinner. He felt surprisingly comfortable with her, considering he had only met her that morning. One sensed easily that she was someone to be trusted, and she felt the same way about him.
He heard his cell phone ring as he walked into his room. The number that showed on his caller ID was blocked, but he was almost sure it was the psycho bitch from hell, trying to stalk him. He let it go to voice mail, and a minute later he got a text message from her, threatening him again. She had lost it. He deleted it and didn't answer. He closed his door, took off his clothes, and got into bed. He lay there for a long time, thinking about Coco and the things they'd said to each other. He loved her openness and honesty about herself. He had tried to be equally so with her, and thought he had been. He let his mind wander when he turned off the light, but he couldn't sleep.
An hour later, he decided to go down to the kitchen for a glass of milk, and saw that the lights were still on in her bedroom. He knocked softly on her door to ask if she wanted anything, and she called out and said to come in. She was lying between both dogs in a pair of faded flannel pajamas, watching a movie. He glanced at the screen and looked into his own face. It was like seeing himself in a giant mirror, as he stared at it in amazement, and Coco looked embarrassed to have been caught watching his film.
“Sorry,” she said, looking sheepish, and like a little girl again, “it's my favorite movie.” He smiled then. It was quite a compliment from a woman he had come to admire in a single day. She wasn't trying to flatter him. If he hadn't come in, he wouldn't even have known she was watching his movie.
“I liked that one too although I thought I was awful in it,” he admitted casually, grinning at her. “I'm going downstairs. Do you want anything?”
“No, thanks.” It was nice of him to ask. They felt like two kids at a pajama party, in Jane's very sophisticated house. Coco had left her clothes all over the floor of the bedroom. It made it look homier to her. Everything was so neat when Jane was around. Coco thought her mess added humanity to it, although her sister wouldn't have agreed.
“See you in the morning. Enjoy the movie,” Leslie said to her, as he closed the door, and went downstairs for the glass of milk he had wanted and another ice cream. He half hoped that Coco would come down and join him, but she was too engrossed in the movie. He went back upstairs after he finished the milk and ice cream. And this time, when he went back to bed, he fell into a sound sleep within minutes, and didn't stir until morning. He felt as though he had left all his worries behind in L.A., and he had found just what he had wanted when he came here. A safe place, out of harm's way, far from people who wanted to hurt him. And in the safe place, he had found something even more rare. He had found a safe woman. He hadn't felt that way since he had left England and come to Hollywood. And he knew that, tucked away in this house in San Francisco, with this funny girl and the two big dogs, nothing bad could ever touch him here.
Chapter 4
It was another perfect sunny day when they both woke up the next morning. The weather was warm, and the sky was a brilliant blue. Leslie came downstairs before she did, and had already made bacon to go with their waffles. He poured himself a glass of orange juice, and put the kettle on to make tea for both of them. He was pouring the water into two mugs when Coco walked into the kitchen. She had just let both dogs out into the garden. She was going to take them for a long walk after breakfast.
“Smells delicious,” she said, as he handed her a mug of green tea that he had found in the cupboard. He had helped himself to some English Breakfast tea, and drank it without milk or sugar. And a moment later he set a plate of waffles down on the table for her. The maple syrup was already on the table. They both laughed as they remembered the scene of utter chaos when he had walked into the kitchen the day before. “Thank you for making breakfast,” she said politely as he sat down across from her, with his own plate of waffles and bacon.
“I'm not sure I trust you in the kitchen,” he said, teasing her, and then glanced out at the bay through the enormous window. “Are we going to the beach today?” he asked, looking at the sailboats already gathering in race formations. There was constant activity on the bay and an endless flock of boats.
“Would that be all right with you?” she asked cautiously. “I can go by myself if you don't want to. I need to pick up some things, and I should check my mail.”
“Would you mind if I go with you?” He didn't want to overstep his bounds with her, or be a nuisance. She probably had things to do, or might prefer some peace and privacy at her cottage, or even a chance to see friends.
“I'd love it,” she said honestly. And how painful could it be spending a day in Bolinas with Leslie Baxter? “I want to show it to you. It's a crazy little village, but it's terrific.” She had told him about there being no signs, so no one could find them.
An hour later, they got in her van with both dogs, wearing jeans, T-shirts, and flip-flops. She warned him that it could get chilly if the fog rolled in, so they had both brought sweaters. And there was no sign of anything but blue skies as they drove down Divisadero toward Lombard, and joined the flow of traffic heading north to the Golden Gate Bridge. They chatted easily as he told her about growing up in England, and he admitted that sometimes he missed it. But he also confessed that it was different now when he went home. His fame had even changed the way people treated them there. No matter what he did to convince them otherwise, the ordinary people he had known growing up now acted as though he were special or different in some way, no matter how ordinary he still felt.
“Tell me about Chloe,” Coco said, as they drove across the bridge, and up the hill to the rainbow tunnel in Marin.
“She's delicious,” Leslie said, and his face lit up the moment he thought about her. “I wish I saw her more often. She's very smart, and extremely adorable. She takes after her mother.” He said it with a look of deep affection, not only for the child, but also for the woman who had been his girlfriend long before. “I'll show you pictures of her when we get to Bo
linas.” He always kept a batch of them in his wallet. “She wants to be a ballerina or a truck driver when she grows up, apparently she thinks they're interchangeable and equally interesting professions. She says truck drivers get to dump things all over the road, which she thinks is extremely entertaining. She takes every imaginable kind of lesson. French, computer, piano, ballet.” He looked proud and happy whenever he talked about his daughter. He said his relationship with her and her mother was easy and straightforward and always had been. “Her mother had a serious boyfriend for a while recently, and I thought she was going to get married. I was a little worried. He was Italian, and Florence would have been even harder for me to get to than New York. I was relieved when they broke up, although Monica deserves to have someone in her life too. To be honest, I was jealous of him with Chloe. He got to see more of her than I do. I don't think her mother's seeing anyone right now,” he said as they took the Stinson Beach turnoff and drove through Mill Valley.
“Would you ever go back to her, because of Chloe?” Coco asked him with interest, and he shook his head.
“I couldn't, and neither could she. The trail is cold on all that now. It's been too long, and there's too much water under the bridge. It was really over for us before Chloe was born. She was just a wonderful accident that happened. Chloe is the best thing that ever happened to either of us. She makes everything worthwhile.”
“I can't even imagine having children,” Coco said honestly, “at least not now.” And even when Ian had been alive, she had felt too young to think about having kids, even with him. “Maybe when I'm in my thirties,” she said vaguely as they drove along. He admired the way she handled the curves in the road with the ancient van. It made some pretty scary noises, but it chugged along. Leslie mentioned that he loved working on cars. It was a boyhood passion he had never outgrown. He was impressed by the hairpin turns that followed the cliffs along the coastline, which she negotiated with ease. She seemed competent and calm and in control of her life to him, no matter what her mother and sister thought. He felt certain they were wrong. And the closer they got to the beach, the happier Coco was.
“I hope you don't get carsick,” she said, glancing over at him with concern.
“Not yet. I'll let you know.” The weather was gorgeous and the scenery fantastic. Both dogs were sound asleep in the back of the van, and after twenty minutes of sharp turns, the road dropped down to Stinson Beach. Half a dozen shops sat haphazardly next to each other on either side of the road. An art gallery, a bookstore, two restaurants, a grocery store, and a gift shop. “This has to be one of the lost wonders of the world,” Leslie said, looking amused at the quaint town, if you could call it that. It was over in two blocks, and they rounded a turn, passing some narrow roads with falling-down shacks.
“There's a gated community over there.” She gestured vaguely past a lagoon. “And a bird preserve on our right. It's pretty unspoiled here.” And then she smiled broadly. “Wait till you see Bolinas. It's a time warp and even less civilized than all this.” He loved the ruggedness of it, and the simplicity. This was no fancy beach town, and it felt as though it was a million miles from any city. He could see why she lived here. The feeling he had as they drove along the unmarked road was one of ease and peace. It was as though one could leave one's burdens far behind just by coming here. Even the harrowing drive over had relaxed him.
Coco took an unmarked left turn ten minutes later, and they rose onto a small plateau. There were houses that looked more like old farms, huge ancient trees, and a tiny church.
“I'll show you the town first,” she explained, and then laughed as she said it, “although that's somewhat euphemistic. It's even smaller than Stinson Beach. Our beach isn't as good, this is more rural, but that keeps the tourists away too. It's too hard to find and too hard to get here.” As she said it, they drove past a ramshackle restaurant, a grocery store, the head shop, and the ancient dress shop with a tie-dyed dress of some kind in the window. Leslie looked around with a broad grin.
“This is it?” He looked vastly amused. The stores were tiny and from another era, but everything around them was pretty and green. There were big, solid old trees, and they sat on a slight elevation above the sea. It looked like country more than beach.
“This is it,” Coco confirmed. “If you need incense or a bong, that's the place to go.” She pointed, and he chuckled.
“I think I can manage without, just for today.”
She drove past the cluster of stores then, and down the road dotted with old-fashioned mailboxes, picket fences, and the occasional wrought-iron gate. “There are a few really lovely houses here, but they're a well-kept secret and tucked away. Most of the homes are just cottages, or old surfer shacks. In the old days, a lot of the hippies used to live in broken-down school buses near the beach. It's more respectable these days, but not much,” she said with a look of peace on her face. It felt good to be back.
She left the van parked outside her house, let the dogs out, and they followed her and Leslie through the weather-beaten wooden gate. Ian had built it for them. She unlocked the front door and walked inside, as Leslie came in cautiously behind her and looked around. She had a perfect view of the ocean from her living room, although the windows were old and not particularly large, unlike the floor-to-ceiling picture windows in Jane's house in the city. Nothing here had been built for show, it was just a cozy place to live, and Leslie could see that. It looked like a dollhouse to him. There were books stacked up on the floor, old magazines on the table. One of her watercolors was propped up on an easel in the corner, part of the curtains had come unhooked. But despite the friendly disorder that resulted from her living alone, the place was inviting and looked well lived in. She used the fireplace every night.
“It's not much, but I love it,” Coco said happily. There were some framed watercolors on the walls, and pictures of her with Ian on the mantelpiece and on the shelves of the overstuffed bookcase. The kitchen was open and slightly in disarray but clean, and behind the living room was her tiny bedroom with a cozy comforter on the bed, and a faded old quilt she had found at a garage sale.
“It's wonderful,” Leslie said, his eyes lighting up. “It's not a shack, as you said, it's a home.” It had a hundred times the warmth of her sister's elegant digs on Broadway, and he could see easily why Coco preferred it. He glanced at a photograph of her and Ian looking happy and young in wet suits on his boat, and then he walked out onto the deck behind her. She had an extraordinary view of the ocean, the beach, and in the far distance the city. “I think if I lived here, I'd never leave,” he said, and meant it.
“I don't, except to go to work.” She smiled at him. It was a lifetime away from the mansion in Bel-Air where she had grown up, and now this was all she wanted. She didn't need to explain it to him, he understood it, and looked down at her with a gentle smile. He felt as though she had just shown him her secret clubhouse, her hidden garden. Being in the house with her was like looking deep into her soul.
“Thank you for bringing me here,” he said softly. “I feel honored.” As he said it, the dogs came bounding up to them, already dusted with sand, and Jack had a branch with some leaves on it tangled up in his collar. The big dog looked elated to be there, and so did Sallie, as Coco smiled up at Leslie.
“Thank you for understanding what this means to me. My family thought I lost my mind when I moved here. It's hard to explain to people like them.” Leslie found himself wondering if she would have stayed there if Ian were still alive, or someplace like it in Australia, and he suspected that she would. Coco was someone who wanted desperately to let go of her origins, the values she found fault with, and all the trappings of that world. This was the outer manifestation of all she had rejected when she came here. The falsity, the obsession with material goods, the fight to get ahead, the sacrifice of people for careers. “Would you like a cup of tea?” she offered, as he let himself down into one of the two faded deck chairs.
“I'd love it.”
He noticed the old statue of Quan Yin then, which Ian had given her. “The goddess of compassion,” he said softly as she handed him a mug of tea a few minutes later and sat in the deck chair next to his. “She reminds me of you. You're a kind woman, Coco, and a fine one. I saw the photographs of your man. He looks like a good man,” he said respectfully. Ian was a tall, handsome blond, and the couple looked carefree and happy in the photo. For a moment as he walked by the smiling images, Leslie felt envious of them. He suspected that in his entire life he had never had what they had shared.
“He was a good man.” She looked out to sea and then turned to smile at Leslie. “Everything I want in the world is here. The ocean, the beach, a quiet, peaceful life, this deck where I watch the sun come up every morning, and a fire at night. My dog, books, people I care about in houses nearby. I don't need more than this. It works for me. Maybe one day I'll want something different, but not now.”
“Do you think you'll ever go back, to the 'real' world, I mean? Or perhaps I should say the unreal one, where you used to live?”
“I hope not,” she said firmly. “Why would I? None of that ever made sense to me, even when I was a child,” Coco said as she closed her eyes and turned her face toward the sun. Leslie watched her closely. Her hair shone like freshly polished copper, and both dogs had gone to sleep at their feet. It was a life one could get used to, an absence of complication and artifice. But he could imagine that it would get lonely too. It was a life for the most part without people, or strong attachments for her right now. But his was no better. He was hiding from a woman who was trying to kill him. Without question, this made more sense. Leslie loved everything he was seeing here, but he wasn't sure he could live here. Although thirteen years younger than he was, Coco seemed to have found herself long before he did. He was still looking, though closer to knowing what he wanted than he had been in years. At least he knew what he didn't want. Coco had figured that out sooner too.
One Day at a Time Page 6
