Forget to Remember by Alan Cook Page A

talking to their friends.
    Carol saw the view beyond the stadium was
very similar to that from the Ramirez house. It was like looking
down from the aerie of a hawk. She had seen several of the graceful
birds soaring above the canyons, scanning them, trying to spot a
juicy rodent to eat for lunch. From somewhere she remembered their
vision would allow them to read a newspaper at a distance
unimaginable to humans.
    She was glad she’d brought a sweater based
on Rigo’s advice—purchased for her by Tina. Although the September
afternoon was still warm, it was cooling off, and the sun was going
down behind the bleachers. A breeze had sprung up. Rigo had told
her the rule for living in a desert area like Los Angeles was that
regardless of the daytime temperature, always take a wrap to wear
at night. The dry air couldn’t hold the heat.
    She had vague memories of watching football
games—the noise, the crunch of players hitting each other, the high
spirits, the cheerleaders, the bands, the majorettes. Could she
have been a cheerleader—or perhaps a majorette? She would like to
get her hands on a baton, sometime, to see if she could twirl one.
It didn’t look that difficult.
    Rigo stood up and waved as he spotted his
friend, Adam, walking around the bleachers. Adam, still dressed in
business clothes, climbed up the wooden steps and joined them.
    Rigo introduced Adam and Carol to each
other. “Carol, this is my friend, Adam. Adam, this is Carol.”
    Carol reached out and shook Adam’s hand. He
had a large hand, but his fingers weren’t as long as Rigo’s. He was
tall and handsome, with the blond hair and blue eyes of a
Scandinavian.
    He gave Carol a sunny smile. “From Rigo’s
description of how you looked when he found you, I thought you’d be
a basket case, but I must say he’s been withholding evidence.” He
sat down beside Carol, so she was between the two men.
    Rigo spoke quickly. “Adam is married and has
two children.”
    Carol remembered what else Rigo had said
about him. “I understand you two have been friends since elementary
school. You were on the tennis team together, and you still play
tennis with each other.”
    Adam had a mock sorrowful look. “We’re going
to keep playing until I can beat him. That’s the only reason our
friendship has continued this long. Plus the fact that his parents
are among my best clients.”
    “You’re a financial advisor, aren’t you? Are
you skipping out of work early? Rigo is going to start work
late.”
    “Being a financial advisor is like having my
own business. I set my own hours. My office is just a half mile
from here.”
    “Did you walk here?”
    “No, I drove.”
    “Doesn’t anybody walk in Los Angeles?”
    Adam looked across at Rigo and spoke over
the roar of the crowd as the Palos Verdes team made a long gain.
“She obviously isn’t from here. We’d love to have you join us on
the hill, however. We need some new blood. Your coloring is similar
to Rigo’s. Maybe you’re Hispanic. I think Rigo and his family are
the only Hispanics living in Palos Verdes who aren’t live-in
caretakers and nannies. We could use a few more rich ones.”
    Carol was taken aback by this statement. It
sounded racist to her. It didn’t seem to bother Rigo who responded
in turn. “You’re about to be knocked off your pedestal,
g ringo . The Asians are taking over the hill. Soon you’ll
know what it’s like to be part of a minority.”
    “ Es verdad . Most of my clients are
Asian. They have all the money.” Adam faked glumness but then
brightened as he spoke to Carol. “I’d be happy to look after your
investment needs.”
    “I don’t have any money.”
    “You and Rigo are singing the same song. A
temporary situation, I assume, at least in your case. Beautiful
women don’t have trouble attracting money. I’m not so sure about
Rigo.”
    First Rigo and now Adam. If enough men
implied she was beautiful, she might start believing it.
    ***
    Carol declined offers