A. Homes - This Book Will Save Your Life

"I'm not going back, if that's what you're asking me."

"That's fine," Richard says. "I'm going in there — what floor?"

"The guy used to work for the CIA; he'll probably kill you. My first day there, one of the guys warned me — he said, 'Never get into an elevator alone' — but I didn't know what he meant."

Richard leaves Ben in his car, idling at the curb. "If I'm not back in twenty minutes, call the police." He marches into the building, takes the elevator up.

"Hassam," he says to the receptionist. "Which way?"

"Your name?" the girl says, picking up the phone to buzz.

"Down here?" Richard points to a hallway.

"Actually, he's in the conference room with a client," She says.

Before anyone can do anything, Richard is in the conference room. There's an older gentleman sitting at the far end of the table who looks very familiar, and a few other men huddled around him. Richard feels like he's walked in on something — he's out of his element. It's incredibly awkward.

"Hassam," he says, and a guy in the middle looks up.

"You're busted."

"I don't know what you're talking about," the man says.

"My son's balls. Earlier today you had my son by the balls in the elevator. You've got two minutes to figure out what you're going to do to make it up to him, or the LAPD will be down here confiscating your computers, all your computers, given that you are a partner in this firm, and no doubt they'll find some interesting materials."

Hassam stands. "I think you should leave."

"I have the tape," Richard says, slipping the tape into the deck behind him.

"Stop," Hassam says, before the tape begins to roll.

Four men appear in the doorway, guns drawn. "Stop," Hassam says again. And the room falls silent.

"Sir, are you all right, sir?" the men with guns ask.

"Fine," the man at the head of the table says. "It's not about us."

"I'll buy the tape from you," Hassam says.

"It's not for sale."

"Well, then, what do you want, if not money?"

"Apologize to the kid, make sure he knows it's not something he did, make sure he knows that you trespassed his person, his boundaries, his rights, and you write him a glowing recommendation on his internship with the firm."

"And?" Hassam says, waiting for the deal breaker.

"That's all."

"Do I get the tape?"

Richard shakes his head. "No one gets the tape. Consider this fair warning; if it happens to anyone again — he'll testify." Richard pushes the "record" button on the deck and is out the door. He takes the elevator all the way down, picks up Ben's car, and drives up the ramp to street level. He is shaking when he pulls up behind Ben. He puts the VW in park and crawls into the passenger seat of the big car.

"What happened?"

"I busted him. I marched right in there and said, You're in such fucking trouble."

"Was he in his office?"

"In the conference room, with a bunch of guys; one looked very familiar."

"Oh God," Ben says. "President Ford was due in there this morning for a meeting."

"I'm surprised there wasn't more security," Richard says, and then realizes there were men with guns drawn, aimed at him, ready and willing to shoot him — Secret Service.

"Then what happened?"

"He asked how much I wanted for the tape — I said it wasn't for sale."

"He must have loved that."

"Can't sell it — that's blackmail. Anyway, you should be getting a major apology and a very nice recommendation. Are you sure it was Gerald Ford? I think maybe it was Harrison Ford."

"That too, it was Harrison Ford meeting Gerald Ford and his son Jack; they're making a movie about the Ford presidency."

Richard nods. "Yes, now that you mention it, there was a younger guy. I feel sick," Richard says. "I need a drink. Can you drive us somewhere?"

Ben puts the car in gear and takes them to Johnny Rockets.

"And what was Ford doing there anyway?"

"They're agents with heavy government ties; that's what I've been telling you."

At Johnny Rockets, they sit in a booth having chocolate milkshakes.

"I can't believe I did that," Richard says. "It's so not me."

"It was for me," Ben says. "Thanks."

"Is there any relation between Tad Ford, Harrison Ford, and President Ford?" Richard asks.

"I don't think so," Ben says.

"It's a lot of Fords," Richard says.

From their booth they can see the ex-president's two-car motorcade emerge from the building, a big SUV with "US Gov't" plates and an unmarked sedan.

"It's him," Richard says, again thinking about the guns pointing at him.

"Don't tell Mom," Ben says.

Richard nods.

THE NEXT MORNING they decide to take off for a few days, drive up the coast, explore. Richard goes to see Nic, to let him know that they're leaving. He and Sylvia are on the deck, each hooked up to an IV. "Vitamin infusion," Sylvia says. "The next-best thing to sex."

"Best just after sex," Nic says, smiling, lighting a cigarette.

"You look pale," Sylvia tells him. "Next week I'm going to give you liver and beets."

Nic stands and, pulling his IV pole after him, leads Richard into the kitchen. "I was about to come find you. I got a call from the kid, the little girl. She wants to see me — more to the point, she wants to bring me to school for Show and Tell."

"As what?"

"Her father. According to my ex, her classmates don't believe that she has a father and don't understand what it means that she now has two mothers, they've been giving her a hard time — 'Did your daddy marry them both?' "

"You should go."

"Do I get dressed up? I've never been to Show and Tell. I don't have a suit or anything."

"Just pants and a shirt." Richard slaps Nic's back. "It's great that she called."

RICHARD and Ben get in the VW, put the top down, and drive up the coast — Miles Davis on the CD player, Malibu curled up on the backseat. After a while it starts to feel like they are climbing: the road curves, and the twists and turns are sharper. There are signs for rock slides, slippery roads, inclines; the rough cliffs are more dramatic. A bird with a huge wing-span soars over them.

They drive and drive; they are going just to go, to ride, to listen to music, to feel the wind, to see where it takes them.

They call Ben's mother from the car and pass the phone back and forth between them. "I can't hear you," she says. "You sound very far away. Call me later; I'm about to go into a meeting."

They eat snacks they buy in gas stations, stop at local vineyards, let Malibu loose to chase scents. "He's probably only ever lived on the water," Richard says. "This is the first time he's chased rabbits."

Up past Santa Barbara, they find an inn that will also take the dog and have a communal dinner with the other guests — everything served is from the innkeeper's garden. Richard and Ben look at the other guests and then look at each other for clues. Something has happened between them — a bond. Now Richard really is the father and Ben the son, and together they are a team. The three of them share a king-sized bed, Malibu in the middle pushing Richard and Ben to the edges.

At dawn, father and son sit on a precipice high above the Pacific. Malibu is down below, jumping from rock to rock, chasing pelicans.

"It doesn't get better than this."

"I don't think Malibu has ever had a vacation," Ben says.

COMING BACK TO L.A. is hard. There are messages on the machine: the contractor is almost finished, but has questions; the sinkhole has been filled and covered with fresh sod — the bright green stands out against the scrub and wildflowers.

Cecelia wants to come back to work — part-time. She's not allowed to "do" anything but wants to get out of her house. Richard calls an industrial cleaning company and hires a crew of four to go through the house. It's covered in dust, in dead fire ants and pesticide — he can't give it back to her dirty.