"A writer, just another shitty Hollywood writer, a hack job waiting to happen."
"Oh yeah, that sounds like fun."
The man squeezes the IV bag, squirting what's left through the tubing and into his arm. "All gone," he says, like a little kid, and then pulls the needle out.
"Isn't a nurse supposed to do that?"
There is a knock on the door.
"Is he in here?" It's Cynthia.
"Good, your wife is back; you can go home now."
"Not his wife," she says, coming in.
"Girlfriend, sorry."
"Not his girlfriend."
"Secretary."
She shakes her head. "Friend," she says. "I'm his friend."
"Whatever."
"And your name is?" she says, extending her hand.
"Nic," he says.
And Richard realizes that they haven't officially met. "Richard," he says.
"Cynthia," she says. "I was out and I heard this incredible story on the radio; was that you?"
He nods. "I don't know what came over me."
"You didn't rob a bank or shoot someone in the post office or anything like that, did you?"
"Quite to the contrary," Cynthia says, proudly.
"I don't know what I was thinking," he says, and starts to tell the story: meeting the contractor at the house, the peculiarity of how one person could think it's a small job while the other thinks he should tear it down, and how he got on the highway in a bad mood, and how the car started talking to him and he knew he had to do something.
"They were interviewing people, witnesses — they said there were two men fighting, rolling down the hill like animals, they thought it was a road-rage attack. And then they announced your name: Richard Novak is the apparent hero. That's what they called you, the apparent hero."
"Are you injured?" Nic feels him head to toe, pats him up and down. "Any cuts or bites?"
"What kind of bites, snake by the highway?"
"No, human. Human bites are very dangerous. Dirtiest mouth there is."
"Who knows what he was going to do to her," Cynthia says.
"Who was this guy?"
"A TV repairman."
"Do you think that was the first time he'd done it?"
"It's never the first time."
OUTSIDE, there is a sound, like a cat crying. They ignore it, and when it continues, unrelenting, the three of them go outside.
Anhil is banging on the door of the white cube, holding a box of donuts. He turns towards them. "I am sorry to crush in on you, but I was so worried. I saw the car on television, I would know her anywhere," Anhil says.
They walk around the car — pretty banged up, more damage than Richard would have thought. They are on the edge of the Pacific Coast Highway, circling the Mercedes, circling the vomit next to the car, and across the way someone seems to be snapping pictures.
"Let's go inside," Nic says.
"My house," Richard says. "I need new clothes."
Cynthia unlocks the door.
"It's a vanilla fantasy," Anhil says.
"I've never been in here," Nic says. "All these years right next door and never inside, I was picturing some sort of sex den."
"Well, there was some equipment in one of the rooms, but the Realtor had them take it out," Richard says. "Something that hung from the ceiling,"
"You didn't tell me about that," Cynthia says.
"I didn't want to scare you."
Richard excuses himself and goes into the bedroom to change. He takes a hot shower.
"Better?" Cynthia asks when he comes back.
"Cleaner," he says.
"My wife is making her chicken stew tonight — I can call her and she will bring her stew," Anhil says.
"How long will it take?" Nic asks.
"Maybe forty minutes, maybe two hours. I would like you to meet her, even though this is sudden," he tells Richard. "She makes very good chicken stew; I could eat a gallon of it."
"Call her," Nic says, "I'm starving."
Nic opens a bottle of wine, Cynthia finds some snacks in the fridge; they are sitting around, waiting. The phone rings.
"Is this Richard Novak?"
"Yes," he says. And the man hangs up.
The sun is starting to go down. "Do you have wood?" Nic asks. "I'll build a fire; it's my specialty, fires. My oven broke two years ago and I haven't looked back."
"You cook in the fireplace?" Cynthia asks.
"No, actually in a Weber kettle."
"I bought wood today," Richard says. "It's in packages just outside the front door."
"You bought wood? You're not supposed to buy wood — you find it on the beach."
Anhil's brother and wife arrive with an industrial-size pot of chicken stew, a big bag of ingredients to be added, and various containers of sauce.
When Nic offers Anhil's wife some wine, she politely declines, takes out a bottle of apricot juice, and pours some for Anhil and herself.
"What is your name?" Nic asks.
"Lipi," she says.
"That is 'Manuscript of the Gods,' " Anhil tells them.
Cynthia finds a dozen white votives in one of the drawers and they sit looking out on the ocean, with only the candlelight guiding them into the night.
Richard closes his eyes and sees bits and pieces of the afternoon all over again, his car brushing against the guy's car, the steely sound of it scraping like something in a machine shop.
"Everybody OK with coconut?" Lipi asks before she adds coconut milk to her stew.
"It's one of the secret ingredients," Anhil says, "but how can it stay a secret when you ask everyone if it's OK?"
A breeze blows through the house, fanning the flames of Nic's fire, brushing across the back of Richard's neck; he shivers, buttons the top of his collar. They sit at the long dining-room table.
"There is something funny about this table," Cynthia says. "It looks like stone but weighs nothing."
"It's a prop," Nic says. "You can buy things like this all the time, discarded props. It looks like something but it's nothing."
Cynthia holds a candle under the table. "I think it's Styrofoam," she says.
"Be careful," Richard says. "It's probably flammable."
Lipi serves the stew. "There are condoms on the table," she says.
Anhil and his brother laugh. "She means things that go with the stew — tomatoes, dill sauce, in the little bowls."
"Yes, that's what I said — condoms."
And they laugh again. "I'm sorry," Anhil says, still laughing, "but you are very funny."
"Condiments," Cynthia says.
"What's the difference," Lipi says, annoyed, "condoms, condom mints."
"Where did you meet?" Nic asks Anhil and Lipi.
"We lived in the same town. I fell in love with Lipi when I was eight years old. I told nobody, I didn't want anyone to say no. Her family was better than mine, and then they had a fall and I got Lipi."
"My sister's husband left her; this is very bad," Lipi said. "In America people leave each other everywhere and no one cares, but in our country it is a very big deal. They decided that the problem is my sister; some friends of her husband come and kill her. I was there — hiding in the closet, afraid they might kill me too. I know who they are."
"It was my job to protect Lipi; we left in the middle of the night."
"I cannot go back."
"The stew is delicious," Cynthia says. "A perfect combination — olives, chickpeas."
"Thank you," Lipi says.
When the wine bottle is empty, Nic runs back to his house and comes back with more.
The telephone rings.
"Is this Richard Novak?"
"Yes, it is."
"It's Priscilla from the Today show in New York with a few questions. Have you spoken to the young woman since the incident?"
"No."
"What were you thinking when you rescued her?"
"I wasn't really thinking, I was kind of daydreaming."
"There are reports that you've done this sort of thing before."
"Not really."