Guardian Angel

by Andrew Neiderman

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Scott saw the taxi pull in and Megan get out and rush into the house.

  What sort of a man was she with? Why hadn’t he driven her home?

  Exactly where had she gone with this guy?

  He lowered his head slowly as if he were lowering a flag of defeat. His father was right again. He should have hired a private detective. He didn’t have the time to follow her all around, but never before this had he believed it was something he had to do.

  I guess I have been oblivious when it comes to home life, he thought.

  He started the engine. Surely, this had something to do with that Tricia Morgan. He knew she was a bad influence on Meg. Tricia was an alley cat. Hell, there were many times when she flirted with him-and right in front of Meg, too, although Meg wouldn’t believe it. She actually told him he was just like other men, always flattering himself. Hell, she was the one who had her head in the sand, not him. Tricia was out there on the make all the time, and she had surely pressured Megan and introduced her to that lifestyle. There’s nothing a woman like that wants more than a companion. It reinforces her belief in herself. She’s like a pot smoker who can’t stand anyone in the room who doesn’t smoke pot, too. He was sure she was whispering in Meg’s ear all the time.

  So now what? Meg petitions for divorce and gets me out of the house so she can run around with this guy or maybe other guys, he thought as he drove away.

  What a fool I’ve been. What a naïve fool to believe her issue was not having me around enough. It was all an excuse to justify her own illicit behavior.

  The more he thought about it, the more riled he became. He was a man of action, wasn’t he? This was time for some action.

  He decided he would move out of the hotel immediately. He hated the thought of spending one more night there, especially now, after seeing this. He felt more like a fool than ever. He was too compliant, too considerate. What did it get him?

  He speed-dialed through his Bluetooth built-in phone. His father answered the phone as if he had been hovering over it, expecting his call.

  “I’m coming home tonight,” Scott told him. “To stay. I’m out of the hotel.”

  “The earthquake damaged it.”

  “No. It’s not that.”

  “Anything happen to the house in the earthquake?” his father asked.

  That’s Dad, he thought. First concern is always property. What about Megan and Jennifer?

  “No, it’s fine. A few things fell off shelves, but nothing serious was broken. What about up there?”

  “Lots of junk banged around, but again, nothing serious. We had a little more serious damage on one of our commercial sites, however.”

  “Dad, did you hear what I said? I said I’m moving out of the hotel and coming to stay with you.”

  “Yeah, I heard it. I don’t know why you put yourself in a hotel in the first place,” he continued. “You’re letting her push you around. You’ve got to—”

  “Do you have a private detective we can hire?” he quickly asked to cut off one of his father’s long lectures.

  “Ah, so you are coming to your senses. Good. Something else happen?”

  “I’ll talk to you when I see you. I’ll be there in less than an hour.”

  “Sounds good,” his father said.

  He hung up.

  Sounds good? What sounds good? Can’t he just once think about my feelings, how all this impacts on me?

  He didn’t know whom to be angry at more, Megan or his father. He sped up and nearly rearended a BMW that was similar to Tricia Morgan’s car. Maybe that was what he was thinking when he waited until the last minute to hit the brakes, he thought.

  I’d like to ram her back end right into her mouth.

  Just as he checked out of the hotel, his cell phone rang. He saw it was Megan.

  “What?” he asked, not hiding his irritation and rage. For a moment, she didn’t respond. “What is it, Megan?”

  “I heard you had stopped by to check on Jennifer and the house. Thanks.”

  “You don’t have to thank me for doing what I should be doing, Megan. That’s pretty damn condescending.”

  “I would have thought under the present circumstances, you’d be less antagonistic, Scott.”

  “Really.”

  He was going to ask where she was and start interrogating her, but he felt it was not only below him, it was showing her how much she’d hurt him and how weak it made him feel. He wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction.

  “It’s just good you got here,” she said. “She’s fine now. It was her first sizeable one.”

  “No kidding. I think I might have known that.”

  “Glad you’re full of sympathy,” she said, and hung up.

  He stood there in the hotel lobby for a moment and then closed his cell, put it away and went out to get his car. Twenty minutes later, he was driving up to his father’s house. For the first time in a long time, it looked like a safe haven, a place in which he would regain his strength and confidence. It was large, yes, and muscular and full of options. It was not a place of retreat. It was what it had always been, family headquarters. From here he could, as his father could, reach out and make things happen.

  Jules, his father’s house manager, was at the door before he got to it.

  “Let me take your suitcase and get your things put away for you, Mr. Lester,” he said. “Your father is in his office and wants you to go right there.”

  “Thanks, Jules.”

  At times when he was much younger, Scott had thought his house was as deep and as vast as the Grand Canyon. It had very high ceilings, walls peppered with expensive and beautiful art, velvetcurtained windows, expensive imported floor tiles, chandeliers from France and furnishings from Spain. The cost of any one room would be as much as or more than that of half the homes in America. The joke was that Citizen Kane had once lived here and the only way he could upgrade was to buy the Hearst Castle. In how many homes did your footsteps and your voice echo?

  His father was at his desk. A cigar rested in the ashtray, its smoke spiraling up and dissipating. Despite the size of the home office with its oversized desk and large cushioned sofas and leather chairs, its floor-to-ceiling shelves of books and grand picture windows, his father never looked small in it to Scott. Even now, long past his youth, when everything had looked larger and grander, this office appeared just the right size for a man like his father. Senators and congressmen came here for advice and for contributions to their campaigns. Movie producers, very successful developers, owners of hotel chains and successful restaurant chains had all sat in these chairs and visited to solidify deals or get good business advice.

  “Relax,” his father said, nodding at the sofa on the right. “What a night. The scaffolding at the Venice Beach project collapsed, but fortunately no one was hurt. It’s just a matter of getting things set up again. I’ve already told the scaffolding company they’re liable for any damage caused. They should be putting up that stuff to resist an eight on the Richter scale at least. We just had a 7.2, with the epicenter out in Landers.”

  Scott nodded.

  “So, what’s the story with you? Before you begin, I’ve already gotten you an appointment with Ed Marcus. He does a lot of work for Gerry Orseck. Gerry handled Marvin Basset’s divorce. You remember Marvin. We outbid him on the Westwood strip mall and it nearly drove him mad. He never sees me without crying about it. I wrote down Ed’s address for you,” he said, holding out a slip of paper. Scott rose to take it. “Go there first thing tomorrow morning. He’s expecting you. Well? What happened to stir up your Lester juices?”

  His father always referred to “Lester juices” as if they had inherited some rare hormone stronger than testosterone. How many times had he sat in this office and heard him narrate legendary stories about his father and his grandfather? Seemed to him that he was never in here without hearing some reference to a wise political or business move only a Lester would have made.
r />   “When the quake hit, I immediately called the house.”

  “Naturally, and…?”

  “I couldn’t get through. Megan’s babysitter was on the phone talking to keep herself calm, I guess.”

  “Babysitter?”

  “Megan went out with some guy.”

  “No kidding. Son of a bitch,” his father said, shaking his head. “I hate to be right.”

  “Sure you do, Dad.”

  “Whatever, Scott. Get on your problem and get to the office tomorrow. We have to prepare for the meeting with the Consignatory Group. It’s time to seriously consider investing in some good European markets. In fact, I was going to suggest you fly over to London next week, but with your personal problems growing…“

  “We’ll see,” Scott said.

  “Yes, we’ll see,” his father said, and puffed on his cigar.

  Scott started out and paused.

  “Didn’t you ever have any problems with Mom, with your being so busy and—”

  “Never. She was independent, knew how to amuse herself and take care of our home without me being there all the time. You didn’t turn out so bad, did you?”

  “I don’t know, Dad. Didn’t I?”

  “Don’t start feeling sorry for yourself, Scott. That’s what can bring you down,” his father warned. “That was my grandfather’s advice to my father and his advice to me. Remember it,” he said, and went back to his papers.

  Scott hesitated and then went up to his room. He looked at the slip of paper with the detective’s name and address on it.

  Why didn’t I see any of this coming? It was a question that could easily haunt him for the rest of his life if he let it. Dad was right. It was bad to feel sorry for yourself, but who’d ever believe, he thought, that I would be hiring a private detective to spy on my wife?

  Least of all, me.

  The poor woman who happened to be behind the rental-car counter was literally too frightened to move. Steve Wallace had come in with such intensity and force, he’d looked like he would leap over the counter and be at her throat. She gazed past him and saw the tow truck and the SUV. He slammed the keys down on the counter and handed her the tow-truck bill.

  “Who the hell is the manager here?”

  “We got three managers, depending on the time of day and the day,” she replied. “What’s wrong, sir?”

  “What’s wrong? You gave me a vehicle with a defective alternator. Why wasn’t it checked out before it was rented?”

  His eyes were blazing, the veins in his neck embossed with the strain. He hovered like a buzzard waiting to pounce on a dying corpse. She had to swallow before responding.

  “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t have to call the manager. We’ll take this off your bill,” she said, indicating the tow-truck bill. “Would you like a replacement?”

  “Damn right, and I want a significant upgrade, too.”

  She nodded and started on her computer.

  Twenty minutes later and quite calmed down, he drove out in a yellow Corvette. She’ll get a kick out of this, he thought. He certainly had a lot of making up to do. This whole thing hadn’t started out badly. Hell, he wasn’t upset at the earthquake. If the damn SUV had performed, he would have brought her home and helped her reassure her daughter. He would have been funny and sweet. She would have seen him in action as a father. It was a huge missed opportunity, but there wasn’t much he could do about it now.

  He flicked on his phone and called her. It rang three times before she picked up.

  “Hey, sorry,” he said. “Don’t mean to intrude, but how are things there?”

  “Oh,” she said, clearly indicating that she didn’t know who he was at first. “We’re okay. I’m sorry I didn’t thank you properly for the nice dinner.”

  “Forget that. I should be thanking you for coming out with me. Your daughter okay?”

  “She’s fine now, exhausted from fear, and asleep.”

  “Yeah, don’t blame her. Can’t say I wasn’t a little frightened back there,” he said, laughing.

  “You didn’t show it,” she said.

  “Well, my experience has always been, it’s best to hide your fear so someone who needs you doesn’t get more frightened. I’m glad I was there for that much.”

  “That’s very sweet. How’s your car?”

  “Forget that. I got rid of it.”

  “Rid of it? I don’t understand.”

  “It was a rental.”

  “Oh. Your regular car out of commission or something?”

  “No. I only have a pickup truck.”

  “I don’t understand. Are you saying you rented a car just to take me out?”

  “I wouldn’t take you out in the pickup. It’s not exactly spick-and-span and my mother’s car is a jalopy. That’s all right. I got a surprise for you next time I see you. They quickly gave me a significant upgrade.”

  “Well, how long will you keep a rental car?” This whole thing was getting quite strange, she thought.

  “For a while. No big deal. I’m working on a real deal for a new car. Every time I see you, it seems I have to make up for something, but how about I try again tomorrow night?”

  “Oh, well, give me a little time to recover,” she said. “Jennifer will be very nervous about my going out so soon after as well.”

  Her reasoning wasn’t completely honest, but it was easier than no, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to say no anyway. She really did enjoy being with him.

  “Can I call you tomorrow then? After I come home from work, that is?”

  “Sure. Call,” she said. “And again, don’t blame yourself. It was really a nice experience until Mother Nature decided to be heard.”

  He laughed and pulled to the curb. She wouldn’t know it, of course, but he was just outside her house, just across the street. He looked up at the lit windows upstairs in front and imagined she was there in that room, maybe in her bathrobe or pajamas. She probably wears pajamas, he thought. She was that kind of girl. Julia liked to sleep naked, he recalled. There was nothing dainty about her.

  “Okay,” he said. “Tell you what. I’ll have a little talk with Mother Nature tonight and make sure she behaves next time we do go out.”

  She laughed. “Thanks again for calling.”

  “Hey,” he said before she could hang up.

  “Yes?”

  “You don’t deserve a minute of unhappiness, Megan. No matter how powerful your husband and his father are, they shouldn’t give you a moment of grief.”

  “Thanks, Steve. Good night,” she said, and hung up. He held the phone as if he needed to be sure she really had hung up. Even the dial tone made him feel closer to her. Finally, he put his phone in his pocket, but he didn’t drive away. He sat there staring up at the house, at the lit windows, until the lights went out.

  Then he whispered, “Good night, my love,” and started his engine.

  His mother happened to be just going into the house when he pulled into the driveway. She paused, curious about who it was. When he shut the engine and stepped out, she turned on him sharply.

  “Why didn’t you call me to see how I was?”

  “Busy. I knew you would be okay. We’ve been through worse and this shack has stood up fine.”

  “Shack?” She peered at the Corvette. “Where did you get that car?”

  “Rented it,” he said.

  “Rented? Why?”

  “I need a car, Mom, when I go out with a woman. Can’t use my truck and can’t use that piece of crap you still drive. I should let it die a well-deserved death and stop repairing it.”

  She followed him into the house.

  “You rented that car to impress this new woman, this woman with a child?”

  He didn’t answer. He went to his room, but she continued after him.

  “Are you absolutely losing your mind? Aren’t there any nice single women out there without children? Must you go and take on someone else’s responsibility? This woman must be some snob if you nee
d a car like that to take her out, and how are you going to keep such a woman happy with the money you make?”

  He turned and looked at her in his doorway. She was leaning against the jamb with her arms folded. How many times she had taken that attitude and stance while firing a slew of questions to make him feel bad? he thought.

  “First, she is far from a snob, and second, she is disgusted with the so-called rich Beverly Hills life. She wants to have her feet on the ground and be with someone real.”

  “Is that right?” She shook her head and laughed a dry, short laugh, the one that always irritated him because it was full of arrogance, like she knew it all. “You’ll come crawling back with your tail between your legs, I’m sure.”

  He walked toward her, his eyelids nearly closed. She knew he was raging inside, but she held her ground and he calmed.

  “I was planning on bringing her here to meet you so you would see for yourself how wrong you are, but I’m not sure I will, if you have this attitude, Ma. Not everyone has to be the same way.”

  She raised her eyebrows.

  “Well,” she said, relaxing and starting away. “I hope for your sake you’re right.”

  “I’m right,” he insisted. She shrugged.

  He backed up and closed the door.

  “I’m right,” he muttered. “I won’t let it go wrong. Not this time.”

  There were moments in the morning when Scott thought he wouldn’t go through with it. He was feeling more embarrassed about it than anything and he wasn’t sure he wanted some stranger to know so many intimate details of his personal life. But how could you employ a private detective without that happening? It was like telling your doctor your sex life. Sometimes, there was no choice.

  As usual, his father was up and out of the house before Scott went down to breakfast. It had always been this way. Maybe once or twice a week if he was lucky, he and his mother would see his father at breakfast. It inevitably made him think about how often he had not been there for breakfast with Megan and Jennifer and how few times he was the one to take Jennifer to the private elementary school she attended.