Faye Kellerman - Street Dreams

Now it was a waiting game.

A week passed before things finally settled down. Koby and I squeezed in an elegant dinner at one of my favorite spots. Musso & Frank was among the oldest and best restaurants in Hollywood. Built to look like a hunting lodge with high-beamed ceilings and lots of wood, it was one of those places that had a bar scene, without being tacky, and everything imaginable on the menu. The management boasted the best sand dabs in town (the truth) and famous martinis. I was on my second cocktail when Koby casually mentioned that a guy, two tables to my left, kept staring at me.

I didn’t turn around. I flicked my hair back and sipped my drink. “What does he look like?”

“Harmless. Middle-aged, graying hair. Jacket and tie. Looks like a lawyer.”

“Alone?”

“No. He’s with a woman, probably his wife. Also two other couples: They’re both white.”

“The guy’s black?” I asked him.

“Yes. I don’t mention that?”

“No.”

Koby smiled. “The men are in suits, women in nice dresses. There is nothing wrong except that he keeps looking over here.”

I put my napkin down. “I’ll make a trip to the bathroom.”

With the humidity down pretty low, I was having a very good hair day, my shoulder-length tresses filled with body and none of the frizz. I wore a sleeveless fire engine-red dress that had a loose crossover bodice and plunging neckline. Because Koby was six-one-and-a-half in bare feet, whenever we went someplace nice, I wore heels that put me close to six even. When I stood up, he gawked at me and swallowed hard.

“Maybe he eyes you because you are so beautiful.” He exhaled and shook his head. “Sometimes I must pinch myself.”

I bent over, giving him a view, then kissed the top of his head. “I’ll do that for you. Excuse me.”

I took the opportunity to reapply my makeup. I liked looking good for him. Upon returning, I had a full view of the table-three 50-plus couples, and yes, the men did look like lawyers. In fact, they probably were. I knew for certain that the lone black man was.

Raymond Paxton-David Tyler’s conservator.

I had called him three times in the past several weeks and all I ever got was voice mail. The first two times, I just wanted to know if he had heard from David. The third time, I told him I was looking for David in my off-hours. I gave him names of shelters I had been to, explaining that I didn’t want him to plow old ground, should he happen to be looking for David as well.

Not even the courtesy of a follow-up call from a secretary. Not that he was required to answer me, but it would have been polite. He saw me heading toward his table and stood up, excusing himself before I could intrude on his party. We met halfway between our tables and found a corner at the busy bar. I sat; he didn’t. I expected hostility. Instead, I got an immediate apology.

“I’m sure you’ve been busy.” I kept my face expressionless, although I maintained eye contact. Typical cop stare. I didn’t know if we got it from TV or vice versa. Paxton wore khaki pants, white shirt, red tie, and blue blazer. Very preppy. I wondered if he had attended an Ivy.

He said, “It takes two minutes to make a phone call. I didn’t call back because I didn’t trust you.”

My shrug was noncommittal.

“I couldn’t figure out what your game plan was,” he told me. “I still don’t know.”

“I’m looking for David Tyler.”

“Yes, but why?”

I actually gave the inquiry some thought. “I don’t know, Mr. Paxton. I suppose it’s because in life I’ve been given a great deal and he’s been given a raw deal.”

Paxton looked down. “His trust fund is significant. The first couple of months he was gone, I hired a private detective, you know.”

“I didn’t know. You never told me.”

“The man was a con artist.”

“That’s too bad.”

“My own fault. I didn’t do my homework. Since you seem to be on some sort of mission with David, I could give you money for your time and expenses. But you’ll have to make it official. I’ll need a written report of your progress.”

I held up my hands. “Maybe money for gas… wear and tear on the car. Other than that, I’m fine. How about giving some money to the baby instead?”

“I can’t do that unless I have medical evidence that the child is David’s offspring. Otherwise I could be sued later on. But there are… things I could arrange. Why don’t you have the mother of this child hire a lawyer? It would be easier if I spoke legalese with him… or her.”

“All right. I will.” I held out my hand. “Thank you.”

He waited a moment, then shook it. “I apologize for being rude, Officer Decker. I’m not a big fan of the police.”

“Neither is my boyfriend.”

“The man you’re with is your boyfriend?”

I nodded.

“I thought he might be your partner.”

“Not in this getup.” I smiled. “Once he was DWB-driving while black-and it put him in the wrong place at the wrong time. He spent a night in jail because of a mix-up in identity with a rapist. After hearing the story and the circumstances, I told him I would have done exactly what the cops did.” I shrugged. “He didn’t want to hear it.”

“I’m sure I could agree with him, having had a similar experience.” Paxton pointed to the dining room. “After you.”

We went back to our respective tables. By the time I sat back down, the waiter had brought our Caesar salads. “Sorry it took so long.”

“Everything all right?” Koby asked me.

“Actually, yes, everything is very all right.” Even if I didn’t find David, at least his baby might be provided for. Certainly, Louise Sanders could use some monetary help. Things were tough for her. If Paxton came through, then it was well worth his initial snubs.

I picked up my fork. “Wow, this looks good. I’m starved.” I took several bites. “Delicious!”

Koby stabbed a crouton and chewed it slowly, a half smile on his lips. “I love it when women eat. It’s very sensual.”

“You’d get lots of female fans with that statement.” I laughed. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re for real or is it, you know, like the Ethiopian restaurant. You just have all these great lines and angles to get into women’s pants.”

“It’s only your pants, my love, and I think I don’t need a line or an angle. You seem always very willing.”

A warm flush crawled over my body. “Will you please eat? You’re making me nervous, staring at me like that.”

“Why?”

“Because I know what you’re thinking.”

“What are you thinking?”

“That you look very handsome.”

His smile turned white and luminous. “Thank you.”

I stole a glance at his face. “That you look very good.”

“Thank you again.” His eyes had turned hot and hungry. “You know, Cynthia, we could ask the waiter to pack our main dishes.”

I put down my fork. “Yaakov, I’d really like to make it through a meal.”

“Certainly.” He sipped his beer, licking foam off his upper lip with the tip of his tongue. He raised his eyebrows. “Would you like another drink?”

“No… I’m okay.” I picked up my fork again. “But thanks.”

“Anything you want, my love. That is my motto.”

“Did you take your charm pills today, Koby?”

“With you, I don’t need them. It is all natural feelings.”

“That’s sweet.” I gave him a shy smile. “Really. I mean that, Yaakov. I feel the same way. I think you’re wonderful and sexy and brilliant… fun… just the best.”

He grinned. “It is you who takes the charm pills.”

“Yeah, I’m the one who needs them.” I laughed. “I wish a little of your smoothness would rub off on me.”