He stopped. That sound in her voice. “Not since yesterday?”
“The fires. Right in LA.”
A quick Google search, and he was rewarded with images of the Hollywood sign burning.
“Two of them started yesterday, and there’s a new one today.”
“Where are they?” He was already pulling up a map of the city.
“One of them, the Canyonback, is west of the 405, but two of them are closer to Catherine. The Wisdom Tree Fire is really close to her.”
The cursor churned as the page struggled to load, but Tony could already picture the chunk of Los Angeles she was talking about. The city’s landmark mountain range where the wildland-urban interface stretched from Glendale to the Pacific Ocean.
“Have you talked to her?” he asked.
“No. She hasn’t answered her phone. Or my texts.”
“What’s her address?”
“I have it here somewhere. She’s on the border of Los Feliz and Silver Lake.”
“Hold on.”
He found the address in his phone and plugged it into the map.
“She looks pretty far south of the fires right now. She’s definitely nowhere near the Hollywood sign.” He clicked back over to the tab where the white letters were in flames. The picture was everywhere. “I’ll keep trying her.”
“Tell her to call me if you talk to her.”
“Will do. Love you, Holl.”
“Love you, Dad.”
He called Catherine, but it went to voice mail. He left a message and texted her as well. Hey Khaleesi, everything good there? He wanted to add Pack a bag just in case of these fires but stopped himself. He knew it annoyed her when he was overbearing or when he worried. He clicked to video of the fire. The 405 was shut down because both sides of the Sepulveda Pass were ablaze. Seven hundred acres had burned in the heart of Los Angeles and an additional two thousand in the Verdugo Mountains. A lot of rich people’s homes were on fire in the Hollywood Hills, but there were no fatalities and firefighters had the Canyonback 80 percent contained. He picked up his phone and added: The fires have your dad a little freaked out. Just gimme a call when you can.
Every channel was covering it. One legendary film director had lost both his homes. A rapper was having his wardrobe shipped out on trucks as the flames wrapped around Bel-Air. The Getty Museum was moving its collection to the basement. The smoke rose like a mushroom cloud. By eight thirty Catherine still hadn’t called or texted, and it occurred to him to call Ash Hasan.
“Tony. How are you? Seth and I were just about to sit down to dinner.”
“Sorry to bother you, man. I’m wondering if you’ve got any inside track on the Los Angeles fires?”
“I’m certainly keeping abreast of the news. What do you mean?”
Tony chewed his tongue. What was he asking exactly? He’d known Hasan for a few years now, and at first the guy had rubbed him all kinds of the wrong way, just a grab bag of peculiarities and quacking hands. Not that it was PC to be weirded out by these full-spectrum cases, but Tony couldn’t help it. Over time, though, he came to appreciate that his distaste might be part and parcel of a thing other people called “jealousy.” An undeniably brilliant man like Hasan got under his skin because of Tony’s own ego. After Tony told him off during their secret conference back in ’29, Hasan had nevertheless continued to seek his advice on drafting LaFray-Kastor. Begrudgingly, Tony began to admire the man. As the bill neared the vote in the House, Tony found himself at lunch with Hasan, awkwardly apologizing for his prickly nature.
“That’s amusing,” said Hasan sans any amusement. “I never noticed. You appreciate empiricism. One of the five people left in the world, I believe. That was a joke,” he said too quickly, his timing woefully inhuman.
“Congresswoman Aamanzaihou has been dealing with emergency packages for the wildfires all summer,” Hasan now offered. After the mutation of PRIRA, Hasan was tapped to lead the US Global Change Research Program, and because Joy LaFray got run off in disgrace, he now powwowed exclusively with the last card-carrying member of the decimated climate hawks. “I’ve drafted an executive summary on the situation. I could send it to you?”
Tony chuffed a laugh. “Ash, last time I read one of your summaries there was seven pages on you and your boyfriend shopping at Target.”
“I find adding autobiographical detail aids in the writing process.”
“Yeah, okay, send it to me when you get the chance.”
Eventually, Tony fell into a restless sleep while the news recycled images of smoke gathering into a violent thunderhead over the city.
He woke at 6 a.m. when his cat, Tyrion, jumped into his lap. The cat stared at him with expectant, eerie intelligence. Wake up, old man. You’re running out of time. Tony realized his phone was thrumming on the coffee table. Holly.
“You heard from Catherine?” he asked.
“No.”
They were both silent.
“Dad, the fires are worse. There’s a new one in Griffith Park. That’s just to the north of her.”
Tony rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand. “Well, why isn’t she answering?”
“I don’t know. She’s home. Or at least her phone is. We’ve got find-a-friend turned on with each other.”
“Is there anyone else you can call there? Any of her friends?”
“I don’t know. She was seeing this guy, but nothing serious…” She trailed off.
“Okay, let me call my colleague in D.C. He might know something…” It was his turn to let his helpless sentence wither.
“Call me back.”
“Okay.”
Ash didn’t answer, so Tony left a message. The news was grim. The Wisdom Tree Fire had raced east and south, threatening homes around the Hollywood Reservoir. Fire crews had been unable to contain it overnight. With nothing to do but wait for Ash to call, Tony showered and changed. When he returned, CNN was still replaying the footage of Hollywood ablaze. From ten thousand feet, a plane captured the massive plume of smoke. It looked like an enormous horned beast. He had a missed called, but it was neither from Hasan nor Holly. It was Dean. He dialed his son-in-law back.
“Hey, Tony, man.”
“Dean. Everything okay?”
There was the sound of traffic white-noising in the background.
“So, you can’t let Holly know I called you, okay? I’ve been sworn to secrecy too many times to count, but look, you’re like a dad to me. I love you and respect you, man. I feel obligated.”
“Okay…” Almost every time they spoke, Dean repeated that Tony was like a father to him, and he loved and respected him. Utterly cloying. He liked Dean just fine, but at some point, give it a rest.
“Holly’s been worried about Catherine for a while now.”
“Worried how?”
“She’s been out to LA twice in the last year to take Catherine to meetings.”
“Meetings?” Tony choked. “Dean, what the fuck are you talking about?”
“Cat’s just… She’s a partier, man. She works at that bar, drinks every night. She’s into harder stuff too. She goes on benders where she blacks out… Did you know she was arrested?”
“What?” Tony barked the word so loud that Tyrion darted behind the couch.
“For possession. But that’s not a big deal, man. That was years ago. We’re just worried because she’s not answering and—I don’t know. Holly didn’t want to tell you, but I think— Fuck! Watch where you’re going!” Dean muttered something he couldn’t make out. “Sorry, Tone, I’m on my bike. Anyway, I just thought you should know. And don’t be mad at Holly. She’s just trying to look out for her sister but not betray her trust.”
“Thanks for calling, Dean.”
Tony stewed on this information while he watched Los Angeles burn. He tried calling his colleague Niko, thinking maybe Niko could drive up from La Jolla to find Catherine, but his wife answered and told Tony that was an absurd idea. People were driving away from Los Angeles. He tried the LA Fire Department next but got an automated message. Every emergency service in the city was engaged at this point. Then the news started coming very quickly.