Away for the Weekend (6 page)

Delila continues to pull her forward. “
You
have a bad feeling? So what else is new? The stars come out at night?”

Professor Gryck and the girls are in earnest conversation – nodding and gesticulating and no doubt reinventing postmodern literary theory – but, as if they’re not just brilliant but psychic as well, all four heads turn to look at Beth and Delila while they are still several yards away. Professor Gryck waves graciously, but the girls look Beth up and down with smiles as thin as piano wire and noses pointed towards the ceiling – as if they can tell that her mother is a cleaner; that Beth has never read Proust; that she has deodorizers in her shoes.

If she were alone, Beth would probably apologize and excuse herself to go the ladies’ room, to deep breathe and try to think of a few really clever things to say before she returned to the table. (Either that or simply sob and throw up.) But she is not alone, of course. She is with Delila Greaves. Delila doesn’t care how thin the smiles are or how high the noses. Henry VIII couldn’t intimidate Delila. As her grandfather Johnson would say, those girls are going to be just as dead as Delila when the time comes, so what’s to be so arrogant about? She gives them a big you-can-have-the-leftovers grin. She repeats everybody’s name in her let’s-make-sure-they-hear-me-in-Bel-Air voice – Esmeralda … Aricely … Jayne – asks them where they’re from and what they write, and shakes their hands as if she’s glad to meet them. Somehow, when they’re ready to take their seats, Beth is sitting between Delila and Professor Gryck.

Beth doesn’t want to sit next to Professor Gryck, who makes her feel even more nervous than people in authority usually do. She’d rather take her chances with Jayne, the playwright, Aricely the poet, or Esmeralda the non-fiction writer. She’s going to have to go to the restroom. And very quickly. She pushes back her chair, and knocks her fork to the floor.

“I’m sorry,” Beth mumbles to no one in particular, and bends down to retrieve it at the same moment as Professor Gryck. “I’m so sorry.” There doesn’t seem to be any blood on the professor, but she touches her own forehead just to make sure. “I really am sorry. I—”

“So you’re Beth Beeby,” says Professor Gryck. “I was hoping I’d bump into you – though not, perhaps, literally.” Even her smile looks serious. “I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your story.”

The phone in Beth’s pocket starts to vibrate as the bad feeling starts to go away. “You did?”

“Immensely. I couldn’t help thinking of Don Delillo. Would he happen to be an influence?”

And that’s how the evening begins. They talk about writers they admire, novels they love, poems that have inspired them, their favourite books when they were children. Beth’s love of writing being greater than her fear of failure or falling short, she manages to hold her own against Aricely, Esmeralda and Jayne, all of whom seem to have swallowed whole libraries and committed them to memory. The only person who mentions names that Beth has never heard of is Delila, but that’s all right because none of the others have heard of the names she mentions either.

“Diane di Prima?” says Aricely. “John Trudell? Are you sure they’re poets?”

“Sure as I am that you’re sitting there telling me that they aren’t,” says Delila.

It happens that Professor Gryck, too, suffers from allergies and agrees that if there is even the slightest chance that Beth’s meal has been contaminated with nuts it should be sent back. When Beth has a sneezing fit (probably because of something the napkins were washed in), Professor Gryck asks the waiter to bring her paper napkins from the bar. When Beth feels a twinge over her right eye, Professor Gryck fishes a box of painkillers from her bag.

After the meal, Professor Gryck gives a welcoming speech and introduces the men who have come on behalf of the sponsors – a company that makes sports clothes, a soda company and a company that has made cheap hamburgers more globally accessible than water. “There was a time,” says Professor Gryck, “when international corporations wanted to teach the world to sing, but now they’re far more interested in getting it to read and write.” Everyone claps.

By the time the evening ends, Beth has enjoyed herself so much that it isn’t until they’re walking to the elevators that she remembers Lillian Beeby, sitting at home thinking of things that might be going wrong.

“I’d better call my mother.” Beth slows down to get out her phone. “Tell her what a good time I had.”

“What did I say?” says Delila. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

But this, unfortunately, isn’t quite true.

It’s late. In many parts of the world, this is the hour when people who are out go home, and people who are at home go to bed. But not in Los Angeles, of course. Here, the night is bright not with a million stars but a million lights, most of them in colours never seen on a rainbow, the streets busy and the roads busier. Which means that there are plenty of heads to turn as the candy-apple-red sports car weaves almost miraculously through traffic at a speed that should (but doesn’t) have several patrol cars behind it, sirens screaming. Not only is it a vintage model rarely seen even in Hollywood, but although it isn’t raining its wipers sweep back and forth (because no one knows how to turn them off) and something that once grew in someone’s front yard is caught in the grill.

As eye-catching as the car are its occupants. A young man dressed rather like a CIA agent in pre-revolution Havana in a white linen suit, Panama hat and dark glasses despite the hour, sits rigidly in the passenger seat, his legs stretched out in the “braking” position; his hands gripping the dashboard like bryozoans glued to the side of a rock. Driving (for lack of a better word) is a young woman wearing farmer’s overalls and a feather boa that keeps slapping her companion in the face. He is handsome in what an artist might describe as a classical way; her ethereal beauty is oddly heightened by her bright blue hair and the silver stud shaped like a star in her nose. Both of them are talking at once, but they aren’t having a conversation. The young man is praying rather fervently and the young woman is singing a song of welcome to California – loudly but off-key. The car makes a sudden, heart-halting turn onto Sunset Boulevard.

“Hallelujah!” cries Remedios. “We’re almost there! Was that an awesome ride, or what?”

“Awesome isn’t really the way I’d describe it,” says Otto. Frightening. Terrifying. Perilous. Undoubtedly largely illegal. “It was even worse than the plane.”

And considerably longer.

Remedios isn’t listening to Otto. She has already learned how to turn his voice into background noise – like the sounds of traffic and aircraft overhead and the constant twenty-first-century electronic hum. Not listening to Otto makes everything so much easier. She looks around with a happy smile. “I know it’s been a few years and everything, but I can’t believe how much this place has changed since the last time I was here.” The last time Remedios was here was over two hundred years ago. There were no lights or cars or sprawling communities or freeways then, of course. The floodplain was still covered with woods; the woods were filled with bears and deer; and the chapel was about to be built on the plaza. The fact that so much has changed in the intervening years is one of the reasons it’s taken them so long to get from the airport to the hotel. That and nearly being hit by a bus, the incident at the gas station, and then that woman getting so hysterical over a few uprooted weeds. “I can’t wait to see the sights,” she says.

Otto can. Even this brief an acquaintance with the city has made him think that several other places where he was very unhappy may not have been so bad after all. Otto, who has yet to let go of the dashboard, says, “I want to go home.”

“And where would that be?” Remedios squints through the windscreen, looking for the hotel. It should be coming up on the right. Or possibly the left.

“Jeremiah, Remedios. Where do you think?”

“But we just got here. We haven’t even checked in yet.”

“And we’re not going to,” says Otto. “I don’t know how I let you convince me that this was a reasonable idea. I should have stopped you right from the start. I insist that we leave. Immediately.”

“But why?”

“Why?” His voice is almost the same pitch as the screech of brakes behind them as Remedios makes a last-second turn into the driveway of The Hotel Xanadu on what seems to be only part of one wheel. “You’re asking me
why
?”

“Yes, I am. We are allowed to go away for the weekend. Especially on business.” They slip into the line of cars waiting to be parked. “This is one of the most exciting places in the world, Otto.” Unlike Jeremiah where the most exciting thing to happen in the last year was when the mailbox outside the post office was struck by lightning. She gives him a playful nudge. It’s like poking a brick wall. “We’re going to have fun!”

“No, we’re not. We’re going to get into trouble, that’s what we’re going to do. Gargantuan trouble.” Trouble, undoubtedly, of Biblical proportions. “This is going to be a disaster, Remedios, and you know it. We’re not supposed to meddle like this. The rules are very clear about that.”

Remedios makes her mouth very small.
Rules are for fools
. “There are precedents.”

“Yes, but most of those precedents were set by you.” Otto makes his mouth very hard. “And in any case, my understanding is that those were matters of global importance. These girls’ problems aren’t in the same league at all.” Though it’s likely that they will be after Remedios is through with them.

“There are no small problems, only small angels,” parrots Remedios.

“Remedios, that’s not the point. The point is that it’s not up to us to decide who wins or loses these contests. That’s not part of our brief.”

Remedios groans. She doesn’t have time for this. By now, both girls have long finished eating, and soon they’ll be going back to their rooms. This is her chance – possibly the only one she’ll get – to do what she’s really come to do. “It’ll be fine. I told you. The chances are they’ll both win without my help.”

“Then there’s no reason for us to be here, is there?”

She groans again. “Yes, Otto, there is. In ca—”

“No, Remedios, not in case they don’t win.” He shakes his head. “That’s interfering. That’s precisely what I’m supposed to be here to prevent.”

“If you spent any time in the girls’ toilets, Otto, and heard poor Beth sobbing and vomiting you’d be more sympathetic.”

“Remedios, please.” What a thought! “And in any case, I’m certain you’ve never heard Gabriela crying or being sick.”

“Of course not. It’s different for Gabriela. Gabriela’s problem is that everything’s too easy for her. She needs to really have to push—” Remedios breaks off as she accidentally honks the horn and squirts water on the windscreen.

Several people look over. Otto flinches. It’s a miracle he has any nerves left.

“Then what you should be doing is guiding them to a better mental state, not fixing the competitions,” he says.

Suffering seraphim, how is she supposed to accomplish anything with Mr No-you-can’t around? No wonder she’s had to resort to deceit. Her voice takes on a tone of regret. “I knew I should never have told you.”

“Oh, no, telling me your plan is the only thing you’ve done right so far.” He lifts his sunglasses so she can see the look of stern disapproval he’s giving her. “You had to tell me. And I have to stop you. This isn’t as bad as what you pulled in Haiti, Constantinople, Tenochtitlan, medieval Cologne and all those other places, Remedios, but I still can’t allow it.” Before she knows what’s happening, he reaches over and snatches the keys from the ignition and holds them outside his door. “I’m not discussing this any more. I’ve made up my mind. We’re going back to Jeremiah.”

Not if she can help it. The time has come for even more deceit. She has no choice. “I am just trying to help the girls, Otto. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do?”

“Not like this.”

She gives a sigh of defeat. “Isn’t there anything I can say to persuade you?”

“No. No, there is not.” Unused to victory, he feels almost sorry for her. “I blame myself. I shouldn’t have let it get this far.”

She shakes her head. Sadly. “No, you were right. It’s all my fault. It’s just that I really feel for them. Especially poor Beth.”

“I know. Beth does have a hard time.” He has to resist the urge to pat her knee. “But we have to go by the book.”

“Okay. From now on, we go by the book.” She sighs again. “So what do you want to do?”

“I want to go back to Jeremiah and forget the whole thing. Put it behind us.”

“You know, you look really tired.” Remedios’ voice is gentle, her smile full of concern. “It was probably that flight. And that was my fault, too.”

He’s not used to her being nice to him, it makes him feel generous towards her. “I’ll be fine. I just need a little time to recuperate.”

“Hey, I have an idea.” Remedios sounds as if she’s surprised herself. “It’s already late. Why don’t we stay here for the night?” She gives him another concerned smile. “Then we can make an early start in the morning.”

He lifts the glasses again to peer at her. “This isn’t one of your tricks, is it?”

“Otto! I wouldn’t trick you.”

“Yes, you would. I have been warned, you know.”

“OK, OK. So maybe in the past I’ve been a little flexible with the truth now and then. But I’m not messing with your head now. It’s been a stressful trip. And it is very tiring dealing with a body. And we do have a very nice suite booked.”

He is tired. And it has definitely been a stressful trip. “All right, but you’re not going off on your own. I want to know where you are every second. Every fraction of a second.”

“It’ll be like we’re handcuffed together.” Remedios lifts herself out of the car as the valet approaches. She points to Otto. “He has the keys.”

If the desk clerk thinks there is anything unusual about the couple booked into the El Dorado Suite, she doesn’t show it. She is courteous and friendly. She hopes they enjoy their stay. She hopes everything is to their satisfaction. She asks three times if they’re sure they don’t need help with their bags. She hands back Remedios’ platinum credit card with a smile. “If there’s anything I or anyone else on the staff can do for you, Ms Mendoza, please don’t hesitate to ask.”