The inner office was big enough for a decent-sized desk, a small sofa-a necessity, some storage cupboards and several monitors.
“Hey, we’re coming up in the world,” Guido said. “We got a window this time.”
I went over and checked out the view. We looked across the Midway directly onto the administration offices.
“If I get right up to the glass I can see a little of Mount Wilson,” I said.
“Hey, don’t knock it, it’s a window. When Redd Foxx had a hit series, he had to threaten to go on strike to get a window.”
“Did he get it?”
“Yeah. They came in and cut one in his wall.”
“Then what have I to complain about?” I said.
“We’ll make do,” he said, picking up his ubiquitous backpack. “If you’re not hanging around, I’m going downstairs to commandeer some steel lockers and have a talk with the news director about renting equipment and crews. Let’s get what we need from the affiliate because it’s cheaper than going to the network. And what the hell are you smiling at?”
“We’re back, Guido.”
He grinned. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”
“At the moment, yes.” I did not need to add, but it may only last a moment.
I made some rounds, saying hello to old friends, letting them know that Guido and I would be around again, at least for a little while. When I left the studio, Guido was happily engaged with the technical details necessary for the production of a documentary.
It was still raining when I got back on the freeway. Traffic moved well enough until the 405 interchange, and then nearly halted. I had just squeezed through that log jam when my mobile phone offered the first bar of “The Last Time I Saw Paris,” my ring-tone for Jean-Paul. I put the call on speaker.
“May I take you to dinner tonight?” he asked.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“Hancock Park.”
“I can’t think of anything that would be nicer than seeing you tonight,” I said. “But the freeways are a mess and I’m taking my mom out. I’d ask you to join us, but if you got on the road right now it would take you more than two hours to get to my house. I like you too much to put you through that.”
And besides, I did not say, the day had already been too long already, I did not want to spruce up for an evening out.
He asked, then, about Wednesday night. I said that would be just fine. We talked for a while. He’d spent his afternoon with a perfume trade association and now his nose itched. I told him about signing with the network; I did not mention the pellet hole in my shoulder or how it got there. The conversation took the pain out of that usually excruciating freeway slog and my mind off my discomfort.
After he said good night, I hit Lana’s number.
“We’ll have to move dinner to Thursday,” I told her. “And we’ll have to make an early night of it. I have an early class on Friday.”
“What, did you get a better offer?”
“As a matter of fact, I did.” I told her about Jean-Paul, and we agreed that it was rotten to stand up a friend because a man called. And we agreed that she would have done the same thing to me.
Guido was somewhat less understanding, but we moved on to a discussion about interns and he became much happier. The interns Guido brought aboard were always bright, beautiful female graduate film students. I told him that I was bringing one of my own, a young man, and he was less than enthusiastic about it. But that’s to be understood because Guido is one of the Sicilian Patrinis for whom-at least for the men of the clan-the appreciation of the female form is the greatest source of both joy and unholy mess-ups. As his Uncle Vinnie would say, “Whatcha gonna do ‘bout it?”
We had permission to film the memorial. Because Uncle Max had finagled exclusive permission-we would be the only media crew allowed inside the gym for the service-Guido had been able to negotiate a sweetheart rate with the network for the use of a film crew. We talked for a few minutes about exactly what we hoped to capture. He and his people would be at the college early to set up and I would connect with them when I arrived before noon with Sly.
When I finally made it to Mom’s apartment, she told me she really didn’t need to go grocery shopping, so we went straight over to the Wood Ranch for dinner. We sat in front of a roaring fire in a softly lit dining room and had a lovely, quiet meal.
“Gracie Nussbaum is flying down for a visit,” she told me. Gracie and her late husband, Ben, had been among my parents’ closest friends for nearly fifty years.
“She must miss you,” I said. “When is she coming?”
“Tomorrow afternoon. She’s flying in to Burbank.”
“At what time?”
“Three.”
My stomach sank. Mom wasn’t driving yet. Holloway’s memorial was at noon in Anacapa, and I needed to be there. With all the to-ing and fro-ing involved, getting to Burbank at three would not be easy, especially if it was still raining. And I could not expect Gracie to rent a car and negotiate the unfamiliar freeways during rush hour, in the rain. I had decided to hire a car service when Mom covered my hand with hers.
“Oh, honey. Don’t worry, Margot, sweetheart, I’m not expecting you to pick up Gracie. I know you and Max are busy tomorrow with that funeral. I made arrangements with your neighbor, Early. He finishes at the studio in time to scoop up Gracie on his way home.”
“That’s great,” I said. My relief must have shown.
“I wonder, though, if Gracie might borrow your extra car.”
My extra car was Mike’s four-wheel-drive F250 pickup. I could not see Gracie driving that big truck. But hell, I could drive it.
“Sure,” I said, wondering about my dinner plans with Jean-Paul. “We’ll need to figure out the logistics of getting the car down to you.”
“Ricardo said that he and Linda would go up to your place sometime tomorrow and drive it down, if that’s okay with you.”
“Perfectly. I’ll leave a set of keys on the nail just inside the feed shed.”
“Thank you, dear. Gracie hasn’t been to the Getty Museum yet. We thought we might go on Friday.”
I had two concerns: her knee holding up during a museum stroll, and accommodations for Gracie. I refrained from bringing up the first, but asked, “I never looked, Mom-does your sofa open into a bed?”
“No. Kate and Roger invited us to stay in the second casita, the one they built for Roger’s grandchildren.”
I leaned back in my cushy seat, warm, sated, a little sleepy, and caught myself grinning.
“I love you, Mom.”
“What brought that on?”
“You are so terrific. You’ve been here barely a month and you’ve already acquired a whole community.”
She laughed. “I have certainly moved in on your community.”
“Would this be a good time to ask if you’ve given any more thought to moving down?”
“I have, actually.” She watched a busboy add a chunk of wood to the fire. “I am enjoying my little apartment. It’s so comfortable and so easy to take care of. If anything needs repairs I make a phone call and it gets fixed right away.”
She sighed. “My doctor told me yesterday that I will be able to drive again in a month, so I’ll be able to manage on my own. But ever since the weekend, I have begun to actually dread going back to that big old house, alone.”
“We did have a nice weekend.”
“It was dinner at Kate and Roger’s Sunday afternoon that has made me think very hard.” She looked across the table at me. “Your dad and I always enjoyed the big family gathering so much. We imagined growing old and having children and grandchildren and their friends in and out of the house constantly until we were carried off in boxes.
“But Margot, after everybody left last Thanksgiving weekend, I stayed in bed for the better part of a week recovering. And before Thanksgiving, when was the last time I had everyone in the house?”