inch their way onto God's «To Do» list:
Dear Lord, please take care of the late Piers Wyatt Johnson, a king among men. Also bless the pesticide industry, our boys in Vietnam,
(still, even at the century's end)
and please find a nice young wife for John, preferably one who doesn't mind the smell of cigarette smoke, which is so hard to find in California… .
He heard Krista and Cindy come downstairs and begin chatting with Ivan, then returned his attention to the ice. He lifted up the bag of fused ice cubes and dropped it, shattering its contents into individual cubes. The noise was fearsome, and Ivan called from the living room asking if John was okay, and John called back, «Fine — couldn't be better,» and it was easy to take as many cubes as he liked.
Chapter Seven
Standing alone on the sidewalk, John watched the police car drive Susan away. He was as still as a statue as the sun went down behind the hill. Had he left a car at the restaurant? No, Nylla had dropped him off there. So he decided to walk the rest of the way home. Home was temporary digs in Ivan's guesthouse, the house he grew up in and in which his mother still lived. John had been staying there since his return two months earlier from his disastrous experiment in hobodom.
He headed along Sunset Boulevard and was oblivious to the stares of passing drivers, many of whom punctuated their cell phone calls with such comments as:
* «Good
Lord
— it's John Johnson — walking — yes, that's right, with his
feet
— on Sunset!»
* «
Yow,
he looks like crap — what were the numbers on
Mega Force
in the end? —
yeee
— that much?»
* «Maybe he's doing his walking thing again — I mean, he looks like a Mexican gonna sell you a bag of oranges at a streetlight for a dollar.»
* «Yes, I'm absolutely sure it's him — he looks really thin, or should I say, not sort of bloated like he was before detox number 239.»
* «Wasn't he in the hospital? — pneumonia? AIDS? — no, if it was, we'd all know.»
* «Maybe he's gone and found God again. Whatta case.»
Ivan spotted John from his Audi and pulled over just past the corner at Gretna Green. «John-O, what the
fuck
are you doing? Hop in.»
«Ivan, what do you know about Susan Colgate?»
«Susan Colgate? TV — rock and roll. Get in the car and I'll tell you. Jesus, you smell like the carpet in a Gold's Gym changing room.»
«I walked here from the Ivy.»
«The Ivy? That's, like, a
jeezly
number of miles away.»
«Ivan, what do you know about Susan Colgate?»
Ivan cut the car back into traffic. «Later. Later. Did you see the weekend numbers from France and Germany? Whoosh!»
«Ivan — » John was firm: «Susan Colgate.»
«Everybody in town is going to think you've gone crazy again. Walking. On Sunset, no less. Shit.»
«I don't care, Ivan.
Susan.
»
«What — you want to, uh, cast her in a
movie
?»
«Maybe.»
«You're gonna make her a
star
?» They both laughed. Ivan pulled the Audi into his driveway, entered a code into his dash panel, releasing the gate. They drove through, depositing the car by the front steps instead of the garage. They got out. Ivan stopped and grabbed John's arm before he walked down the hill to the guesthouse. «God, whatta gorgeous day, John-O. Look at the light coming through that mimosa tree. It looks backlit, like it's on Demerol.»
Both men sat down on the front entryway's limestone pavers and watched the late afternoon's solar aureoles around the plants and birds and insects of Ivan's garden.
«Where were you coming from just now?» John asked.
«Temple, temple, temple.»
«Three times a week still?»
«Sí.»
The sprinklers kicked in by a dahlia patch. Ivan said, «So you're in love, then, John-O? With Susan Colgate — ha!»
«I'm in …
need.
Desperate need.»
«Where'd you meet?»
«The Ivy. Today.»
«Lunch? Today?» He whistled. «
That's
a quick turnaround.»
«A half-year ago in Cedars when I, you know —
she's
who I saw when I
Dear Lord, please take care of the late Piers Wyatt Johnson, a king among men. Also bless the pesticide industry, our boys in Vietnam,
(still, even at the century's end)
and please find a nice young wife for John, preferably one who doesn't mind the smell of cigarette smoke, which is so hard to find in California… .
He heard Krista and Cindy come downstairs and begin chatting with Ivan, then returned his attention to the ice. He lifted up the bag of fused ice cubes and dropped it, shattering its contents into individual cubes. The noise was fearsome, and Ivan called from the living room asking if John was okay, and John called back, «Fine — couldn't be better,» and it was easy to take as many cubes as he liked.
Chapter Seven
Standing alone on the sidewalk, John watched the police car drive Susan away. He was as still as a statue as the sun went down behind the hill. Had he left a car at the restaurant? No, Nylla had dropped him off there. So he decided to walk the rest of the way home. Home was temporary digs in Ivan's guesthouse, the house he grew up in and in which his mother still lived. John had been staying there since his return two months earlier from his disastrous experiment in hobodom.
He headed along Sunset Boulevard and was oblivious to the stares of passing drivers, many of whom punctuated their cell phone calls with such comments as:
* «Good
Lord
— it's John Johnson — walking — yes, that's right, with his
feet
— on Sunset!»
* «
Yow,
he looks like crap — what were the numbers on
Mega Force
in the end? —
yeee
— that much?»
* «Maybe he's doing his walking thing again — I mean, he looks like a Mexican gonna sell you a bag of oranges at a streetlight for a dollar.»
* «Yes, I'm absolutely sure it's him — he looks really thin, or should I say, not sort of bloated like he was before detox number 239.»
* «Wasn't he in the hospital? — pneumonia? AIDS? — no, if it was, we'd all know.»
* «Maybe he's gone and found God again. Whatta case.»
Ivan spotted John from his Audi and pulled over just past the corner at Gretna Green. «John-O, what the
fuck
are you doing? Hop in.»
«Ivan, what do you know about Susan Colgate?»
«Susan Colgate? TV — rock and roll. Get in the car and I'll tell you. Jesus, you smell like the carpet in a Gold's Gym changing room.»
«I walked here from the Ivy.»
«The Ivy? That's, like, a
jeezly
number of miles away.»
«Ivan, what do you know about Susan Colgate?»
Ivan cut the car back into traffic. «Later. Later. Did you see the weekend numbers from France and Germany? Whoosh!»
«Ivan — » John was firm: «Susan Colgate.»
«Everybody in town is going to think you've gone crazy again. Walking. On Sunset, no less. Shit.»
«I don't care, Ivan.
Susan.
»
«What — you want to, uh, cast her in a
movie
?»
«Maybe.»
«You're gonna make her a
star
?» They both laughed. Ivan pulled the Audi into his driveway, entered a code into his dash panel, releasing the gate. They drove through, depositing the car by the front steps instead of the garage. They got out. Ivan stopped and grabbed John's arm before he walked down the hill to the guesthouse. «God, whatta gorgeous day, John-O. Look at the light coming through that mimosa tree. It looks backlit, like it's on Demerol.»
Both men sat down on the front entryway's limestone pavers and watched the late afternoon's solar aureoles around the plants and birds and insects of Ivan's garden.
«Where were you coming from just now?» John asked.
«Temple, temple, temple.»
«Three times a week still?»
«Sí.»
The sprinklers kicked in by a dahlia patch. Ivan said, «So you're in love, then, John-O? With Susan Colgate — ha!»
«I'm in …
need.
Desperate need.»
«Where'd you meet?»
«The Ivy. Today.»
«Lunch? Today?» He whistled. «
That's
a quick turnaround.»
«A half-year ago in Cedars when I, you know —
she's
who I saw when I
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