Cemetery of Angels (8 page)

As she unloaded her own car, without being obvious, Rebecca watched the yellow car. A garage door rose automatically in the house three doors down and the car disappeared within.

Then, again with unseen hands, the garage door closed.

Rebecca turned her attention back to the contents of her car’s trunk. Paint and rollers. Brushes and pans. The turret room was soon to undergo phase two of the Moores’ full attack. Rebecca made two trips into the house with her purchases. She came back outside to make sure she had locked the car. She thought she was alone when someone spoke to her.

“Hi!” The voice was female and came from behind her. Rebecca turned. There was a young woman at the edge of her driveway. Rebecca had never seen her before.

“Hello,” Rebecca answered. The woman stood twenty feet away.

“Just move in? I’m one of your neighbors. I thought I’d stop and be your best new friend.” Rebecca smiled. She walked toward the woman.

Her visitor was thin with short blond hair and fair skin. A pretty face with freckles. She wore blue jean shorts and a pale pink T-shirt. A thin gold chain circled her neck and hung at the top of the shirt. At first Rebecca thought she was perhaps college age because she had a young figure with long tan legs. But then, immediately, Rebecca drew a second impression, one that told her that the visitor was maybe ten years older than that. Early thirties.

“I’m Melissa Ford,” the visitor said. “I’ve been watching you.”

“You have?” Melissa smiled and set Rebecca at ease.

“In a neighborly way,” she continued. “I live two doors down.” She pointed at the house two doors away where the yellow convertible had just disappeared. 2141 Topango.

“I’m Rebecca Moore,” Rebecca said. “I’m happy to meet you.”

“I was out walking. I thought I’d stop and say hello,” Melissa Ford said.

“Thanks. I thought I just saw your, uh…”

“Roommate. That’s June. Big blond bitch. She just drove by, right?”

“Right.”

“And you went to wave, and June didn’t see you.”

“You were watching carefully,” Rebecca said.

“June’s antisocial,” Melissa said “She does rude stuff like that all the time. She didn’t wave to me, either.”

“Then I won’t take offense.”

“There was none intended.” Melissa glanced toward 2141 and then back to Rebecca.

“I’ve seen you going in and out,” Melissa said. “You’ve got two nice looking children and either a husband or a boyfriend or some sort of fulltime stud muffin. I don’t care which.”

“It’s a traditional setup,” Rebecca said. “That’s Bill, and he’s my husband. You?”

“I have a roommate,” Melissa said. “June. Nontraditional, maybe you’d call it. I don’t know.”

“Do you work in the neighborhood?”

“I was on the adjunct faculty at UCLA,” Melissa Ford said. “American Civilization. My concentration was on California in the early twentieth century.”

“Was?”

“Modern life,” she said. “Recession. Budget cuts. I was terminated.”

“Oh. Sorry.” An awkward pause. Rebecca wasn’t sure what to say. “Well, it sounds like a fascinating field. I’m sure you’ll find something else.”

“Yeah. Starbuck’s for the time being. But hey. I don’t sweat the small stuff. Life happens. I like California, so I’ve made a commitment to stay. I came here in the mid-nineties. Drove out all by my lonesome in a Volvo station wagon and a degree in American Civilization from Sarah Lawrence. Decided I liked California, not Sarah Lawrence, so I stayed. I studied and got a gig at UCLA.”

“Sounds fascinating,” Rebecca said. “I’m impressed.” Rebecca locked her car and turned to her friend.

“Want to come in for a minute? I’ve got coffee. Ice tea. Soda. Anything you want.” Melissa seemed surprised. Rebecca could see it in her eyes.

“I’d really like that,” Melissa said. “Thanks.”

Rebecca led the way into the house. The small talk continued. Melissa was the type who told her entire life story within the first five minutes of one’s first meeting her. Rebecca didn’t mind at all. The conversation drifted back to the adjunct faculty position at UCLA by the time they reached the kitchen.

“Teaching beats answering telephones in an office, which is what a lot of Am Civ graduates end up doing,” Melissa said. “Have you met Dr. Lerner yet?”

“No. Who’s that?”

Melissa eased into a stainless steel and plastic chair at the kitchen table. She moved her head to indicate a house four doors down Topango Gardens on the north side of the street.

“Maurice Lerner,” Melissa said as Rebecca unpacked the bag of groceries. “He’s a shrink. Faculty at UCLA. He’s a fully tenured professor in the psych department, if you want to be impressed. Or ‘psycho’ department, maybe I should call it, since it’s UCLA. Anyway, Maurice is a brain. He’s written a dozen scholarly books.” She rolled her eyes, beautiful brown ones. “Puts little old me to shame.”

“I really don’t know anyone in the neighborhood yet,” Rebecca said. “I mean, I’ve met a lot of people. But I don’t really
know
people. Understand what I mean?”

“I hear you. But now you know me.”

“Thanks. I do.”

“And within a few weeks you’ll meet everyone else. I promise you that you’ll like it here. How’s that? My personal verbal guarantee, worth the paper it’s printed on.” Melissa smiled.

“Thank you. That’s encouraging.”

“You’re not from California,” Melissa said. “I can tell. My guess is you’re from the East. You’ve got that reticence that Westerners mistake for hostility.” Rebecca frowned.

“You’re really right on, aren’t you?” She asked. Melissa smiled very prettily.

“No use hiding what we think. Is there?”

“I’m from Maryland originally. My husband’s from Virginia. Most recently we lived in Connecticut.”

“Why did you come here?” Melissa asked.

The incident in Fairfield flashed before Rebecca’s mind. She rejected it.

“My husband’s an architect. He wants to open his own firm. He has a contact here. In Brentwood.”

“Nice area. Money, you know,” Melissa said approvingly. “Can’t live well in this town without oodles of money.”

“The contact’s a friend from graduate school. The friend has too much work for his own firm so he subcontracts.”

“Nice arrangement. An architect is a smart thing to be around here. If we ever have The Big One, someone’s going to have to put up a lot of new buildings.”

“The Big One’?”

“The big earthquake. A whammo 8.8 job. The one everyone thinks is inevitable.”

Rebecca shuddered. Nothing more sobering than thinking of her house leveled to the ground within weeks after the mortgage approval. Melissa laughed. Rebecca finished unpacking a brown bag.

“Sometimes when I refer to ‘The Big One’ to women from the East, they think I’m talking about an orgasm,” she said.

Rebecca laughed.

“I wish I were,” Melissa said, raising her degree of candor to the next level. “As a single woman, you never know who you’re going to pair off with next.”

“Have a boyfriend?” Rebecca asked.

“Would I be concerned about my next orgasm if I did?’ I mean, other than something I can do for myself?” She flexed her index finger.

Rebecca laughed again. There was something about Melissa, a crude frankness and irreverence that was infectious. Rebecca felt good just laughing with her.

“How does ice tea sound?” Rebecca asked.

“I never knew it made a sound.”

“I mean…” Then Melissa started to laugh and Rebecca joined in a second later.

“I’m sorry,” Melissa said. “I couldn’t resist.” Still laughing. “Ice tea would be terrific,” she said.

Rebecca set to making some. Fresh brewed, plus ice, plus some mint, lemon, and sugar. Melissa watched her and admired the finished product when it was served.

Rebecca sat down at the kitchen table, joined her friend, and sipped.

“This is delicious,” Melissa said.

“Thank you.” Rebecca sipped, too. The brew was good.

“Did you say you were from California?” Rebecca asked a few moments later.

Melissa smiled.

“Do I look it?”

She did. The blond hair. The tan legs. The shorts. Or at least she looked as if she had been there for a while. Rebecca didn’t know what to say.

“Think hard,” Melissa said, sitting with perfect posture and leaning back in a chair. She folded her hands behind her head.

Then Rebecca recalled.

“Oh, of course! You just told me. You drove out in…”

“…in a non-air-conditioned seven-year-old orange Volvo with a leaky radiator in August of 2000,” Melissa said, expanding. “No wonder I stayed. Who would drive back after that?” Rebecca smiled. She was starting to like Melissa.

“I don’t care if I do or do not look like I’m from here,” Melissa continued. “I take it as a compliment either way.” She paused. “I’m from Milwaukee. Jeffrey Dahmer’s home town. Hack-and-Sack on Lake Michigan.” Again, Rebecca grinned.

“What does your roommate do?” she asked.

“June? She goes the model-and-actress routine,” Melissa said with a trace of boredom. “She gets her share of work. Mostly porn. She’s got big natural hooters so she does well. She sleeps around a bit to get movie work, blows a lot of Maryjane and gets in fights with people. She’s actually a miserable human being, which is what I like about her.”

“Sounds like you don’t get along.”

“Actually we do. But we each know exactly what’s wrong with the other. Aside from the fact that she’s a horrible human being, she’s actually very nice.”

Rebecca nodded knowingly. It almost sounded like a marriage. “June used to be one of my Am Civ students,” Melissa said. Her eyes traveled the kitchen. “You know,” she said, changing the subject, “this house has a wonderful aura to it. I’ve never been in here before.”

“Think so?”

“I sure do. Don’t you? You bought it?”

“I just… Heck, I’ve just been transplanted. Everything takes some getting used to,” Rebecca answered.

“Sure,” Melissa said with another sisterly smile. “Of course it does.” She finished her tea and a few more minutes passed in friendly conversation.

“Look,” Melissa finally said, “I’m going to run along. If you ever want to talk, I’m usually around.”

“I’d call first.”

“It’s F0RD,” she said. “Same as June’s Mustang. Count me as a friend now.”

“Thanks,” Rebecca said.

“Look, I’ll tell you what. Let’s make it more precise. Tell me what’s a good time for you, and I’ll give you an informal tour of the area. An ‘insider’s tour,’ since I’ve been here for a while.”

“I’d like that,” Rebecca said.

“So would I. How about tomorrow morning? Eleven a.m.,” Melissa suggested.

“Know what? I’ll meet you here where I met you today. How’s that sound?”

“It sounds wonderful, Melissa. And my friends call me ‘Becca.’”

Melissa reached over and offered a handshake. Rebecca reciprocated. Melissa’s right hand was cool. It also bore four rings, previously unnoticed. And her wrist was seriously a-bangle with a set of pastel bracelets.

“Be good, honey,” Melissa Ford said. “Eleven A.M. tomorrow.”

Rebecca stood and walked her friend to the door. As she left, Melissa gave her a tiny wave and a thousand kilowatt smile.

Rebecca watched her go then went back to unloading the paint from its bags. Even the turret room didn’t seem so annoying anymore. Rebecca had a great feeling at having so easily made a new friend.

Dr. Henry Einhorn’s place of business was in an office in a medical building across the street from an apartment complex in Century City. It was in a high-rise white building overlooking the former back lot Twentieth Century Fox. And like every other doctor’s office that Rebecca had ever visited, Dr. Einhorn’s office was on the ground floor. Rebecca visited Einhom that same afternoon.

Rebecca rang the doorbell. She was met by a young man who introduced himself as Delbert Morninglori, the doctor’s assistant.

“You can call me Del,” the young man said. “As in Del Shannon. Ever heard of Del Shannon?”

“Only courtesy of oldies radio stations,” Rebecca said to him.

“Well, that’s good enough.” Del, as he called himself, whistled a few bars of “Runaway” and invited her into the office.

Del was politely mannered, soft-spoken and had a gold earring the size of a quarter. He wore a black T-shirt, a beige buckskin vest, and harem pants. Nonetheless, Del was charming and efficient. He led Rebecca into a large apartment, which didn’t seem much like an office. And with reason.

“Up until just recently this was Dr. Einhorn’s home exclusively,” Del Morninglori continued. “Then the doctor out grew his office across the hall. The neighboring apartment became available, so Dr. Einhorn obtained it, and we broke through the wall.”

Morninglori indicated an area where the junction had been made. They were now in an area that seemed to be half a study, half a waiting room.

“Did he?” Rebecca asked. She took a seat in a comfortable armchair.

“Yes, he did,” Delbert said, taking the question literally. “So now, for better or worse, work and home can be the same.”

“Convenient,” Rebecca said. She began to wonder if Delbert was live-in help.

Delbert grinned. “I know what you’re thinking,” Delbert said. “And shame on you.”

“What am I thinking?” Rebecca asked.

“You’re wondering if I live here, too. I don’t,” he said. “I have my own place around the corner. Right down the street from Beverly Hills High School.”

“Convenient,” said Rebecca.

“And do you know what else is convenient?” Delbert asked.

“What?”

Delbert indicated a red hanging lamp near a pair of sliding doors that led to a porch. The lamp was on a ceiling mount and suspended from three feet of chain.

“At the first hint of an aftershock or a new quake,” Delbert said, “that lamp starts swinging wildly. Gives us all warning. It’s sort of a pendulum, quake monitor, and lighting system all in one.” He paused. “If I were naughty, I’d hang on it.”

“Convenient,” Rebecca said again.

“But I’m not naughty,” Delbert professed.

“Uh huh.”

“Oh, it’s much better than having a cat,” Delbert said. “If you look carefully, you’ll see that the lamp hangs crooked. It wasn’t like that before the big quake of January Ninety-four. Know what that means? That means that the foundation of the building is still a little bent from the quake.”