I said, “By Jove, I believe he is.”
Teru laughed and said, “Haley would just love this.”
“But there’s still one thing that could queer the deal.” I looked at Simon. “You’ll have to stop calling me ‘Mr. Cutter’ or ‘sir.’ People would get suspicious.”
“That is regrettable,” said Simon with the barest hint of a smile. “One did enjoy it while it lasted.”
29
It turned out there weren’t a lot of people lined up to rent a thirty-million-dollar mansion… unless it once belonged to Haley Lane. Apparently that did make a difference. Haley’s old friend Higgins had a steady stream of lookers coming through over the next week.
Higgins was a funny-looking little guy, all knees and elbows, with pure black hair that stood up in the back like Alfalfa’s in The Little Rascals, and a way of cocking his head and staring hard at you no matter what you said, as if he found your every word amazing. Simon met all of Higgins’s prospects at the mansion’s main entrance, of course, but Teru and I also wanted a say in who rented the place, so we worked out a signal.
When Higgins thought the lookers might be serious, he would go outside to his Jaguar convertible and put the top down. Then Teru and I would wander over, and Simon would introduce us as “Mr. Fujimoto, the estate horticulturalist, and Mr. Cutter, who would be your on-site chauffeur, should that service be desired.”
We were all pretty pleased with one young couple. They had three cute children, two girls and a boy, and a Swedish nanny, a plump woman of about fifty with a sparkle in her eye. The husband ran a hedge fund, and the wife sat on the boards of several admirable philanthropic organizations. The American Cancer Society. The Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. That kind of thing. It seemed like a good fit until Simon overheard the woman say something to the man about how good the “Oriental yard boy’s” English was.
Higgins brought another prospect over the next morning. I thought he looked familiar from a distance, so although Higgins hadn’t lowered the convertible’s top, I went over for a closer look.
Simon started to introduce us, when the man said, “Why, sure. I know you. It’s Malcolm isn’t it? Malcolm Carver?”
Up close I recognized him as Sidney Gold, one of the most successful executive producers working out of Warner Brothers. He was built like a five-and-a-half-foot-tall spark plug, round all the way up and down. His curly salt-and-pepper hair was about two inches long, and he wore horn-rimmed glasses, a plain-white dress shirt with the tail out, a pair of blue jeans starched with a knife-edged crease, and leather loafers without socks. He had a funny way of talking like Popeye through one side of his mouth. I wondered if he had suffered a small stroke.
I said, “It’s Cutter, actually. Malcolm Cutter. How are you Mr. Gold?”
He snapped his fingers as if he was a little put out with himself. “That’s right. Malcolm Cutter, sure, sorry about that. Call me Sid, okay? And to tell you the truth, I could be better. Looks like the wife wants a divorce.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Well, maybe I work too much like Fanny says. Say, what are you doing here?”
“I live in the guesthouse over there. I drive for people who live here.”
“No kidding? Is that sort of a value-added service, or an extra charge?”
“It depends on how often you want me. Up to a certain point, it’s what I do to pay my rent. After that we can work something out.”
“Sounds handy. Hey, what do you think of this place? I was thinking about moving in for a while, at least until the divorce is final. The wife doesn’t want me hanging around, and I need to find a house the kids will want to visit.”
“It’s a nice place to live. How are your kids, Mr. Gold?”
“Seriously, Malcolm, call me Sid. And you know how it is. They’re teenagers, so they try to play it cool. But this thing is tough on everyone.”
“Would they be living here with you, Sid?”
“Back and forth, I think. I hope. Fanny’s gonna stay on at our place in Pasadena, probably. It would actually make more sense for me to stay up there and for her to move, since the studio’s right in Burbank. But I guess it’s traditional for the guy to leave, and anyway, it’s pretty clear that logic isn’t gonna play a big part in this process.”
“I really am sorry.”
He sighed and looked around. “Yeah, well. Twenty-two years, can you believe it? I never thought she’d cheat on me. But hey, she said she was lonely, and like I say, maybe I did work too much. It takes two.”
“You sure have a positive attitude about it.”
“Don’t kid yourself. Sometimes I’d like to kill the guy she’s… you know. But Fanny? I never could stay mad at her for long. Mother of my children for crying out loud. Not to mention all those years together. We’ll get through this somehow.”
As Sid Gold rode away in the passenger seat of Higgins’s Jaguar, Teru, Simon, and I stood beside the fountain and watched them go.
“A real mensch, that one,” said Teru. “Be a pleasure to put flowers on his table.”
Looking at Simon, I raised my eyebrows. He said, “I should think it would be most satisfying to assist Mr. Gold in my small way.”
Sid Gold moved in two days later. He came in a black Maserati Quattroporte, followed by a small U-Haul panel truck driven by a young white guy with a bushy Afro. The two of them moved his few belongings into the mansion: lots of clothes, a well-worn leather club chair and ottoman, a pinball machine, a desktop-type computer, and about two-dozen cardboard boxes. I thought it was interesting that Sid moved his own stuff.
That night he called me at the guesthouse. “Hey, Malcolm? It’s Sid.”
“You get moved in okay?”
“Oh, sure. Max helped out. He’s my oldest.”
“I saw him. Good-looking kid.”
“Takes after his mother, fortunately for him. Listen, if this is an imposition just say so, but you mentioned you drive for people who live here, and I have to leave town in the morning. I hate to let those airport valets touch the Maserati. Think you could drop me at John Wayne?”
“Sure, Sid. When do you need me?”
“That’s great. I was thinking about five thirty, if that’s not too early. The flight leaves at seven. Would that be okay?”
The next morning I had the stretch Mercedes idling beside the fountain at five twenty-five. Sid came out right on the half hour. He had a coffee cup in one hand and the handle of a roll-aboard bag in the other. He pulled the roll-aboard down the front steps, banging it down one step after the other and spilling some of his coffee along the way. Then he tried to roll the thing across the gravel drive. The little wheels couldn’t turn on the stones, so he ended up dragging it like a plow. I met Sid halfway to the car, picked up the bag, and led him to the open door to the passenger compartment. Once he was inside, I stowed his bag in the trunk and off we went.
“Not a morning person, Malcolm,” he said. “Not at my best right now. Thank goodness that Simon guy knows about good coffee.”
I agreed Simon was a wizard with french roast, and we drove in silence for a few minutes. Then Sid said, “I owe you an apology.”
“Really? What for?”
“I was so focused on my troubles the other day, I didn’t even think about your situation. How are you, anyway? I heard you spent a long time in the hospital?”
“I’m better now,” I said. “Thanks for asking.”
Another minute went by, and then he said, “I’ll bet you miss working for Haley.”
“I do.”
“That Haley. I’m gonna miss seeing her around. She was really something.”