Trifecta (11 page)

"Yes," Julia said, searching wildly for something
to say.  This was a disaster.  "I was trying to change lenses under the desk
light here, and dropped the lens.  It's quite small."

She ducked behind the desk again, as though searching. 
She knew Quijada was coming to see if she was telling the truth.  Maybe he'd seen
her pulling on the drawer.  She quickly took a tiny lens out of the camera bag's
side pocket and tossed it under the chair next to the desk.  She hoped it wouldn't
be obvious that it was not the correct lens for the camera she was holding.

Julia could smell Quijada's cologne before she even felt
his presence, on hands and knees, beside her.  She acted like she was feeling around
the floor with both hands.  Of course, Bruno thought this was a doggy game, with
everyone crawling around on the floor and he pranced around, getting in the way. 
Julia was glad he was there, to add to the confusion, but Quijada said something
harsh, in Spanish, and the dog whimpered and slunk off to the doorway of the room
and lay down.

Aaron Quijada found the camera lens under the chair and
handed it to her.  Julia fiddled around with the camera, adjusted the lighting in
the room minutely, and asked him to pose at the desk, all the while knowing that
the way he was acting toward her was an act.  He was suspicious as hell.  And not
hiding the fact.  Maybe he was trying to scare her on purpose. 

Julia left with as much haste and dignity as she could,
after taking the photographs.  Tonight would not be a late night, she thought, as
she hurried back to the cottage to pick up her purse and the Thermos. 

Her nerves were jangled as she finished a little editing
on the last chapter and then left the estate with a feeling of profound relief.

As she drove down Sunset Boulevard she was so nervous that
she kept checking the rear view mirror.  She thought that someone had taken off
from the side of Quijada's house in a big black car right after her.  The head lights
were too high for her small car and they beamed annoyingly in the rear view mirror,
hurting her eyes.  She could still see it behind her when she turned onto Sunset
Boulevard. 

As she finally went into the driveway to the Beverly Hills
Hotel she knew she was not acting very rationally, as the car stayed on Sunset and
went past the hotel.  She was getting paranoid, but Robin had mentioned that Quijada
was a dangerous man, and after this afternoon's experience she believed him.  Quijada's
suspicion had been overt and menacing.

Julia knew that staying at the expensive hotel was not
very prudent, but she loved the old place.  She felt like she was coming home after
a hideous nightmare.  Julia was sure that Quijada knew she had been searching for
something in his study. 

The Beverly Hills Hotel was comfortable and quiet, in the
off season, as it was now, but the salary she was making for the book was almost
totally eaten up by the luxurious hotel. 

Julia changed into her bathing suit and went down to the
hotel pool.  The only way she knew to relax after the scary fiasco with Quijada
was to get some hard exercise.  No one was there and the pool was warm, the water
finally relaxing her after she swam laps for a half hour.  Then, too tired to try
to eat any dinner, she went to bed.  Fear had a funny effect on her.  Instead of
innervating her, it made her very tired.  She was instantly asleep when she put
her head on the pillow.

Much later, a ringing sound awakened her and she looked
at the alarm clock, believing it was time to get up.  Then she realized it was the
telephone.

W
ho could be calling at this ungodly hour, Julia
wondered, groggily alarmed as she rolled over, grabbing the ringing telephone on
the table by the bed.

"Hello?" she mumbled, still dazed by sleep.

"Julia?"

"Um..."

"It's Robin."

"Why are you calling so late?"  Julia complained,
rubbing her eyes.  She was irritated.  It felt like the middle of the night.  She
glanced at the clock and saw it was a little past 2:00 a.m.

"I'm afraid to drive right now.  Wondered if you could
come pick me up."

"What's wrong?" Julia asked curiously.  His words
were cracked up by the static of a cell phone, but he was also slurring in a strange
way.

"Can't drive," Robin said.  He started chuckling. 
"I can hardly see."

"Are you drunk?"  Julia was concerned, but she
was also getting angry.

"Not the usual way.  See, I can't go home.  And I
can't drive.  So I thought I would call the beautiful Julia."

He was definitely drunk out of his mind, Julia decided
indignantly, the way he had elongated the word beautiful, making it into four syllables. 
"Sleep it off, Robin, and call me in the morning.  Do you have any idea what
time it is?"

"You didn't call me tonight."  He had the voice
of a drunken sod, very sad and slightly accusatory, as though by not calling she
had caused great pain.  "You call every night, so I was worried about the pretty
Julia."

Now that she was awake, she suddenly felt like talking
to Robin, even if he was slightly inebriated and had awakened her from a sound sleep. 
"Well, something scary happened this afternoon.  Quijada caught me trying to
open his desk drawer.  But I found the safe and I think I know where the combination
is."

There was no answer.  Julia heard a retching sound over
the telephone, then the unmistakable noises of Robin being violently sick to his
stomach.

"Robin!" Julia yelled into the receiver.

"I'm so sick, Julia," Robin said.  He really
sounded pathetic. 

"Where are you?"

"Under the pier at Santa Monica beach."

"Did you buy some drugs?" Julia asked, suddenly
suspicious that he had gone and done the thing he had promised to refrain from,
at least for a while.

"Yeah.  It was one of the leads you gave me.  But
they made me try the stuff.  Filthy drugs made me sick.  And there was no one to
call.  I can't drive.  I can barely walk."

"I'll be right there," Julia said, alarmed. 
He sounded awful.  "Don't move, Robin.  I'll come pick you up.  You might have
to go to the hospital, get your stomach pumped, if you took bad drugs."

"No!  You have to promise.  No hospital."  His
words were harsh and uncompromising.

Julia knew the correct policy when dealing with drunks. 
She had been to enough college beer bashes to learn the rules.  Agree with everything
they say.  Treat them like children.  Never argue and make them mad, because they
won't remember anything in the morning, anyway.  "Right, Robin.  No hospital. 
I'm coming right now."

"I really appreciate it, Julia.  Oh, Julia, make sure
you're not being followed.  Quijada is having you followed, you know.  Last couple
of days.  I was tailing the guy following you.  It's a long story.  Too sick to
tell you now."

Julia started to ask him about who was following her, as
she heard him retching again, and then the phone went dead.

"Goddamnit!"  Julia was cursing as she frantically
pulled clothes out of a drawer and threw them on the floor, searching for her oldest
and most decrepit jeans.  She finally found them, after nearly emptying the drawer
and pulled them on.  She dug for a tee shirt and wind breaker in the pile and put
them on too.  Running out the door, Julia noticed she was barefoot.  She turned
around and pulled on a pair of running shoes.  This was unbelievable.

Santa Monica Boulevard was nearly devoid of traffic and
it was easy to see if anyone was following her, but Julia was constantly glancing
in her rear-view mirror all the way to the beach, in a state of paranoia.  Quijada
had already been following her?  Even before this afternoon?  Someone must have
noticed her taking suspicious photographs, although she had believed she was being
cautious. 

She kept just under the speed limit.  She would have loved
to race along the deserted street, but she didn't want to be delayed by a traffic
ticket.

When she got to the pier, all the parking lots with access
to Santa Monica beach seemed to be closed, with chains across them, so Julia had
to park on the highway.  Then she jogged through one of the empty parking lots down
to the beach.  Running in the sand was harder, as the sand kept getting in her shoes
and it was so soft it felt as though she was moon walking, like Michael Jackson,
instead of moving forward.  Then, finally, she was under the pier.

She hadn't had time to notice how spooky it was because
she had been moving so fast, but the waves were crashing against the pilings, making
the wooden boardwalk creak in a weird, ghostly way.  Someone was walking on the
pier and the footsteps echoed hollowly.  On top of that, it was foggy down here
by the ocean. Tendrils of smoke-like fog would obscure parts of the underside of
the pier, then it would become focused again, as the thick mist moved in the air
with the breeze. 

She stood, out of breath, by one of the enormous damp wooden 
supports and looked around.  There was only one man under the bridge.  He was coming
toward her slowly, but she knew it wasn't Robin. 

The guy was big, fat and bald.  As the man drew closer
Julia looked around in consternation.  There wasn't anyone except the huge man staggering
toward her.  Maybe Robin was sitting down behind one of the pilings and she couldn't
see him.  This big guy was scaring her, just because he was coming closer.  She
stood there, unable to move, because she was totally breathless.  When the man was
about twenty feet away, he said, "Julia?"

It was Robin's voice.  Julia had turned away to run, but
she stopped and looked closer.  There was a partial moon, reflecting light off of
the waves, so she finally saw his face.  But it wasn't Robin.  It looked like him,
sort of, but his eyes were brown and his teeth rotten.  He didn't have any hair.

Julia felt like she was in a hysterical sort of nightmare
as she turned in horror and ran down the length of the pier toward the ocean, wildly
searching for Robin with her eyes all the way, and wondering if the whole thing
had been a trick.  Someone who looked like Robin, with his very voice, had lured
her here, probably with the intention of killing her in this lonely spot.

When she got to the water, Julia turned around.  The fat
bald guy was still staggering toward her and as she watched he pulled off a snug
cap.  It looked like Robin's thick, black hair had sprung up, complete with the
small white stripes at the temples.  Then the man staggered and almost fell as he
came slowly closer.  He stopped again.  "Watch me, Julia." 

He was taking off his jacket, which he dropped to the sand. 
Then he unbuttoned his shirt and dropped it too.  He started  unwinding what looked
like carpet padding from around his middle.  It took a while because he had been
covered from his hips to the top of his chest in long strips of the padding.

"I don't believe it," Julia said angrily.  "You
scared me to death.  And what happened to your eyes?  And your teeth?  They look
like they rotted."

Robin sat down in the sand.  He was laughing so hard he
couldn't possibly remain on his feet.

"This isn't funny, Robin," Julia warned, moving
closer to him.

Now Robin was lying on his back, gasping and laughing. 
He was naked from the waist up, just like the first time she had seen him, and that
made her even more angry.  His chest looked enormous and dropped suddenly at the
concave stomach.

"You think this is hysterical?  Wake me up and then
scare me to death?  Get up, Robin.  Let's go."

"Away from the beach?  In the moonlight?  Lighten
up a little, Julia.  Look at the waves.  It's beautiful.  I was mesmerized by the
waves for about an hour before I called you.  Oh shit."  He turned over and
started having dry heaves.  His body convulsed, but evidently he had already vomited
all that his body contained.

Julia sat beside him and waited for him to recover.  It
really was beautiful here on the beach, sitting under the pier.  The rhythmic sound
of the waves calmed her with their ceaseless flow, almost hypnotizing her with the
sight of the moonlight in their foam.  And now that she was with Robin it didn't
seem spooky at all.  She knew she was safe.  Even in his condition now, drunk as
a skunk, she was sure he would defend her with his life.  She would have to take
him to the hospital, though.  He was really sick.

The dry vomiting episode seemed to have taken most of Robin's
strength.  He was shivering, all of a sudden, and Julia handed him his shirt.  She
then had to help him put it on because he seemed abruptly weak as a kitten.  She
brushed sand off of his back and chest before she put the shirt around his shoulders. 
The skin felt like smooth, hard wood.  As she pulled his shirt across his chest
and buttoned it, his skin was cold beneath her fingers.  She remembered thinking
previously that he seemed to exude waves of heat.  Now he was shaking like he was
palsied with a dangerous chill.

"You should have left the padding on, Robin.  You're
freezing."

"You could hug me," Robin suggested.  Then he
laughed uproariously, showing his nastily coated teeth.  She wondered if he had
used tar on them.  They were hideously spotted black and brown.  It was totally
repulsive.

"Right," Julia said, getting irritated again. 
"Put on your jacket."

Robin nodded obediently, but just sat there, so Julia had
to get up and put the jacket around him.  It was about three sizes too big, used
to cover all the padding which had made him look fat.  As she pulled on the sleeves,
his arms and shoulders were very hard and heavy.  "Can't you wipe that stuff
off of your teeth?"

"Oh.  No wonder she won't hug me.  Forgot." 
He laughed again and went laboriously through his pockets for a handkerchief.  Julia
liked the laugh because it reassured her that he might be drunk, but he wasn't too
sick.  It was a healthy laugh, deep and booming, showing his dimples.  His handkerchief
was monogrammed, just like the ones she had seen in the hospital and at the restaurant. 
He wiped off his teeth and then popped out the brown contacts.  "Robin again. 
And all yours."  He stood up and gave a little bow in her direction, with his
arms straight out.  He staggered and almost fell.

"Is this the way you behave when you drink?"
Julia asked as she helped him navigate back up the beach.  He was leaning on her
heavily.

"I am evidently a very happy drunk.  From what I hear. 
Very nice and polite.  Whoops," he almost fell.  He didn't seem to be able
to walk in a straight line, but she had the odd feeling that he was still very intelligent
under the influence of whatever he had taken, and was holding himself under strict
control.

Getting him up the sandy hill to the highway took all her
strength.  He was leaning on her, an arm around her neck, breathing harshly.  At
the top they both sank down on a bench, panting, barely able to move.

"Did you give them money?" Julia asked.

"A small down payment."

"I'll pay you back.  I don't want to argue with you
now, but you know I didn't want you to do this.  Those drugs would have killed a
weak person, the way you responded."

"Read all about it," Robin muttered.  "They
described flu like symptoms and dizziness."

"You didn't take heroin?" Julia asked, truly
appalled at the thought.

"Kill my parents, if they knew," Robin said. 
"No hospital."

"No," Julia agreed.  "You certainly don't
need a drug record."

"Ruin my career," Robin muttered, nodding to
himself.

"I'm so sorry I got you into this," she said,
shaking her head with horrible remorse.  "I didn't mean for you to go to these
extremes.  You could have hurt yourself.  Or killed yourself, Robin.  And I just
couldn't stand that."

He nodded to himself.  "I knew she was sweet." 
He seemed to be in a world of his own, the way he was responding to her conversation. 
It scared Julia even more than the physical problems he had moving and talking.

"I mean it, Robin.  I'll go back to Boston, right
now, if you won't promise to behave yourself.  What if you got hooked on drugs?"

"Never," Robin said adamantly.  He looked like
he was going to go to sleep, his head almost resting on his chest, so she hauled
him up and staggered with him to the car. 

She had to lean him against the car and then open the passenger
side.  Getting him inside was a nightmare.  He was very heavy.  It felt like trying
to manipulate a huge and heavy, rubbery doll. 

Julia drove into Westwood and stopped in front of his apartment
building, where they had met a few nights ago.

She shook him awake.  He looked around groggily.  "Where
are we?"

"I took you home, Robin," Julia said gently. 
She had been reflecting on the fact that she had caused this man to overdose on
dangerous drugs to help her.  It actually scared her to death.  She couldn't stand
the responsibility.  He was a beautiful man, she had been gazing at him sleeping
next to her in the car, and he might have died tonight.

"I don't really live here."

"Tell me where you want to go," Julia said gently. 
"I'll take you anywhere you want."

"The Beverly Hills Hotel.  I want to be near you."

Was he worried about her, Julia wondered, still alarmed
about the fact that Quijada was spying on her.  Maybe that was why Robin wanted
to be near her.  But there might be a simpler explanation.  Maybe he lived with
his parents and didn't want them to see him in this condition.  Or maybe he lived
with a girl.  She really didn't know anything about Robin except that he was a very
intelligent mechanic.  She had never believed this place where they had met was
his apartment.  Especially not after she had seen that bedroom.  Even hardly knowing
him, she had been sure he wouldn't have decorated a bedroom in that fashion.  Julia
started the car and headed toward Beverly Hills.