Gateways. Part 14

This was going to take time and effort. Lots of effort.

"I got to spread myself around the old guy's house and get in if I can."

"You really think he has it?"

"Don't know. But I'm gonna do my d.a.m.nedest to find out."

"And if he got it, then what?"

"We ain't come to that bridge yet, Luke. When we do, we'll figure somethin' out."

And maybe in the meantime I'll just test this guy's inner stuff, she thought. See if he's worthy of me.

11.

Jack's head was spinning. Not from the wine he'd been drinking but from this d.a.m.n game he was trying to learn.

He'd spent the latter part of the afternoon in his father's hospital room with Anya-and Oyv, of course. No change in Dad's condition-still the same random, involuntary movements and incomprehensible sounds. He'd been hoping to see Dr. Huerta and find out if Dr. Harris had contacted her. He figured he might be able to get her to tell him what the doc was hiding about his father's pre-accident condition.

But she didn't show, and finally he drove Anya and Oyv back to Gateways. She didn't let up on his joining her for a drink, so after a shower and a call to Gia to rea.s.sure himself that she, Vicky, and the baby were fine, he ambled next door.

He found Anya outside on her front lawn, cigarette in one hand, winegla.s.s in the other, reclining face up on a chaise lounge next to a big liter-and-a-half bottle of red wine chilling in an ice bucket. She wore huge sungla.s.ses with turquoise frames. Her flat b.r.e.a.s.t.s were encased in a pink halter top over skimpy black shorts. She'd coated the exposed areas of her wrinkled, leathery brown skin with some sort of sun-tanning oil and lay marinating in the sun.

Oyv was curled up next to her. He barked once when Jack stepped across the line of dry brown gra.s.s onto Anya's lush green lawn, then settled down again.

"I started without you, hon," she said. "Pull up a chair and pour yourself a gla.s.s."

"Chilled red wine," Jack said. "I don't think I've ever had that."

"Don't tell me you're a wine sn.o.b."

Jack shook his head. "A bit of a beer sn.o.b, maybe, but I wouldn't know a cabernet from a merlot without the label."

"Glad to hear it. You've probably had people tell you that the only wine you should drink cold is white or blush or rose. Trust me, kiddo, they're talking out their tuchuses tuchuses. This is a Cotes du Rhone. That's French, by the way."

"Really?"

"You probably expect an old broad like me to be a whiskey sour or Manhattan drinker, but as far as I'm concerned, on a hot summer day like this, a gla.s.s of chilled Cotes du Rhone or Beaujolais. .h.i.ts the spot. Try it and see if you like it. If you don't, sorry, but that's what we serve at Casa Mundy. You want beer, you'll have to bring your own. I'm not into that fizzy hops-and-malt drek."

So Jack poured himself a gla.s.s and d.a.m.n if it didn't, as Anya had said, hit the spot.

"Not bad."

He pulled up a chaise lounge on the other side of the table with the ice bucket.

"How come you're the only one visiting my father? Doesn't he have any other friends?"

"He has lots. But they probably don't know. I think I'm the only one who knows, and I don't talk to many people."

"How did you find out?"

"When I saw his car was missing Tuesday morning, I called the police and asked if there'd been any serious accidents. They sounded pretty suspicious until I told them why I was calling. They told me about your father so I went right over to the hospital to see."

"Shouldn't you let people know?"

"Why? So they can send dead flowers and come in and stare at him? Tom wouldn't want that."

No, he wouldn't. Jack guessed she did know his father after all.

Together they sat and sipped and watched the sun settle in the west.

"Maybe we'd better go in," Jack said as it sank below the distant treetops. He checked his watch. 7:10. "The Wehrmacht mosquito squadrons will be launching soon."

"So?"

"You like mosquito bites?"

"You like to deny those poor females their sustenance?"

"Females?"

"Only the female mosquito bites. The males suck nectar."

"Male or female, I'm not keen on being a mosquito buffet."

She waved a hand at him. "Not to worry. They won't bother you here."

"Why not?"

"Because I won't let them."

Ooookay, lady, Jack thought. If that's what you want to believe.

But d.a.m.n if they didn't sit there well into the dusk without a single mosquito bite.

When the magnum of Cotes du Rhone was done, Anya draped a fuchsia blouse over her shoulders, rose, and faced him.

"Come on inside, hon. I'll fix you dinner."

Not having a better offer, Jack accepted.

He stopped short as he crossed the threshold. He'd thought the outside was lush, but inside was a mini jungle of potted plants and trees lining the perimeter and cl.u.s.tered here and there on the floor, with vines growing among them and climbing the walls. He could identify a ficus here, a bird of paradise and a rubber plant there, but the rest were a mystery: potted palms of all sorts-were those baby bananas on the big one in the corner?-and smaller plants with leaves mixing reds and yellows and even silver on a couple. Reminded Jack of one of the plant shops on Sixth Avenue.

Anya turned to him and said, "I'm going to change into something more appropriate for dinner."

"What's wrong with what you're wearing?"

"I want something more haute couture haute couture," she said with a wink.

"Not necessary, but this is your party..."

As she threaded her way through the plants toward the master bedroom, Jack decided to take a look around. Oyv, curled like a cat on a worn yellow easy chair, watched him with his big dark eyes as he wandered the front room.

He realized that her layout was the mirror image of his father's-whatever was on the right here, was on the left there. But where his father's walls sported some artwork-mostly south Florida beachscapes-and some photos, Anya's walls were bare except for the vines. Not a sh.e.l.l, not a fishnet, not a knick knack. Nada.

She'd said she had no family. Jack guessed she was right. But how about a painting of something something ? Even Elvis or a tiger on black velvet would say something about her. ? Even Elvis or a tiger on black velvet would say something about her.

And the furniture...a nondescript mishmash. Jack knew his talents for interior decor were on a par with his ability to fly a 747, but this stuff looked like secondhand junk. Fine if Any a didn't care, but he was struck by the lack of personality. He'd been in motel rooms with more personal touches than this. It was as if she lived in a vacuum.

Except for the plants. Maybe they were her personal statement. Her family. Her children.

Anya reentered and struck a pose with one arm held aloft. "What do you think?"

She'd wrapped herself in some sort of psychedelic kimono which made her skinny figure seem even thinner. She looked like a Rainbow Pop that had been left out in the sun too long.

"Woo-woo," Jack said.

It was the best he could do on such short notice.

Dinner turned out to be as idiosyncratic as the chef. She mixed up a wok of walnuts, peanuts, peas, jalapeno peppers, and corn seasoned with, among other things, ashes falling from her ever-present cigarette, all rolled up in big flour tortillas. Despite Jack's initial reservations, the melange proved very tasty.

"Can I hazard a guess that you're a vegetarian?" he said.

They were into their second magnum of Cotes du Rhone. Anya kept refilling his gla.s.s, and Jack noticed that she was putting away two or three gla.s.ses to every one he had, but showing no effects.

Anya shook her head. "Heavens, no. I don't eat vegetables at all. Only fruits and seeds."

"There's corn in this," Jack said around a mouthful. "Corn's a vegetable."

"Sorry, no. It's a fruit, just like the tomato."

"Oh. Right." He remembered hearing that somewhere. "Well, how about the peas?"

"Peas are seeds-legumes. Nuts are seeds too."

"No lettuce, no broccoli-?"

"No. Those require killing the plant. I don't approve of killing. I eat only what a plant intends to discard."

"What about Oyv?" He glanced at the little Chihuahua chowing down on something in his bowl. "He needs meat."

"He does perfectly well on soy burgers. Loves them, in fact."

Poor puppy.

"So I guess if I stop by with a craving for a bacon cheeseburger-"

"You can just keep on going, hon. There's a Wendy's not too far down the road toward town."

Gia would be right at home here, Jack thought. She wasn't a vegan or anything, but she'd stopped eating meat.

Whatever. This dish was delicious. Jack wound up having four burritofuls.

He helped clear the dishes, then Anya brought out the mahjongg tiles, saying, "Come, I'll teach you."

"Oh, I don't know..."

"Don't be afraid. It's easy."

She lied.

Mahjongg was a four-person game played with ill.u.s.trated tiles, but Anya was teaching him a two-player variant. The images on the tiles swam before his eyes-circles, bamboo stalks, ideograms that were supposed to represent dragons or the four winds-while terms such as chow chow and and pong pong and and chong chong searched for purchase in his brain. He didn't have any references for this stuff. Why couldn't the tiles have spades and hearts or jacks and queens and kings? searched for purchase in his brain. He didn't have any references for this stuff. Why couldn't the tiles have spades and hearts or jacks and queens and kings?

The constant stream of smoke from the chimney that was Anya didn't help. Neither did her plants. They seemed to be watching the game, like a gaggle of curious spectators crowding around a high-stakes poker table in Las Vegas. One strand of vine with broad green and yellow leaves kept falling off a palm frond and draping across his shoulder. Jack would put it back, but it wouldn't stay up.

"That's Esmeralda," Anya said.

"Who?" Jack replied, thinking she was referring to some new tile or rule in the game.

"The gold-net honeysuckle behind you." She smiled. "I think she likes you."

"I'm not fond of clingy women," he said, reaching once again to remove the vine from his shoulder. But when he saw Anya's frown he changed his mind and let it stay where it was. "But in this case I'll make an exception."

She smiled and Jack thought, Sweet lady, but nut so, nut so, nut so.

In addition to the green, leafy distractions, all the wine he'd consumed wasn't exactly helping his learning curve. Anya lifted the bottle-she'd opened a third magnum-to give him a refill. Jack put his hand over his gla.s.s.

"I'm flagging myself."

"Don't be silly, hon. It's not as if you have to drive home."

"I have something I want to do tonight."

"Oh? And that would be...?"

"Just getting some answers to a few questions."

"Answers are a good thing," she said. Her voice was clear, her hand steady as she refilled her gla.s.s almost to the rim. No doubt about it: The woman had a hollow leg. "Just make sure you're asking the right questions."