always a less predictable element, and the realtor had had some problems with them, as everyone else had.
The real estate agent left the property shortly after noon, and Liz drove back to her own apartment, after checking that everything was all right at the main house. All of the staff were still somewhat in shock after being given notice by Abe the previous afternoon, but given the irregularity of their paychecks, it wasn't totally unexpected. Livermore had already announced that he was going to Monte Carlo, to work for an Arab prince. He'd been hounded by him for months, and had called that morning to accept the job that had been a standing offer to him. He didn't seem particularly upset to be leaving Coop, and if he was, as usual, he showed no sign of it. He was flying to the South ofFrance the following weekend, which was going to be a major blow to Coop.
Later that afternoon, Coop came back to the house with Pamela. They'd had a long lunch and sat at the Beverly Hills Hotel pool, chatting with some of Coop's friends, all of them major Hollywood figures. Pamela couldn't believe the crowd she was suddenly traveling in, and she was so impressed she could hardly speak when they left the hotel, and came back to The Cottage. They were in bed together half an hour later, with a bucket of Cristal chilling at his bedside. The cook served them dinner in bed on trays, and at Pamela's insistence, they watched videos of two of his old films. And he drove her home afterwards, because he had an appointment with his trainer and acupuncturist early the next morning. Besides which, he preferred to sleep alone. Even sleeping with a beautiful young woman in his bed sometimes disturbed his sleep.
By the next morning, the realtor had prepared two folders with all the details of both rentals. She got on the phone bright and early, and called several of her clients who were looking for unusual rentals. She set up three appointments to show the gatehouse to bachelors, and another to show the guest wing to a young couple who had just moved to LA and were remodeling a house that was going to take at least another year, if not two, to finish. And shortly after that, her phone rang. It was Jimmy.
He sounded serious and quiet on the phone, and explained that he was looking for a rental. He didn't care where, just something small and easy to manage,with a decent kitchen. He wasn't cooking these days, but he realized that at some point he might like to start again. Other than sports, it was one of the few things that relaxed him. He also didn't care whether or not the place was furnished. He and Maggie had the basics, in terms of furniture, but they hadn't loved any of it, and he wouldn't have minded leaving it all in storage. In some ways, he thought it might remind him less of her, and be less painful, if even the furniture was different. In fact, as he thought about it, he realized he preferred it. The only reminder of Maggie he was taking with him were their pictures. Everything else that had been hers he was boxing up and putting away, so he didn't have to look at it every day.
The realtor asked if he had a preference of location, but he didn't. Hollywood, Beverly Hills, LA, Malibu. He said he liked the ocean, but that would remind him of her too. Everything did. It would have been hard to find something that didn't.
And when he didn't make a point about price, the realtor decided to take a chance, and told him about the gatehouse. She didn't mention the price to him, but described it, and after a moment's hesitation, he said he'd like to see it. She made an appointment with him for five o'clock that afternoon, and then asked him what part of town he worked in.
“Watts,” he said, sounding distracted, and as though to him there was nothing unusual about it, but the realtor looked instantly startled at her end.
“Oh. I see.” She wondered if he was African American, but obviously couldn't ask him, and also wonderedif he could afford the
The real estate agent left the property shortly after noon, and Liz drove back to her own apartment, after checking that everything was all right at the main house. All of the staff were still somewhat in shock after being given notice by Abe the previous afternoon, but given the irregularity of their paychecks, it wasn't totally unexpected. Livermore had already announced that he was going to Monte Carlo, to work for an Arab prince. He'd been hounded by him for months, and had called that morning to accept the job that had been a standing offer to him. He didn't seem particularly upset to be leaving Coop, and if he was, as usual, he showed no sign of it. He was flying to the South ofFrance the following weekend, which was going to be a major blow to Coop.
Later that afternoon, Coop came back to the house with Pamela. They'd had a long lunch and sat at the Beverly Hills Hotel pool, chatting with some of Coop's friends, all of them major Hollywood figures. Pamela couldn't believe the crowd she was suddenly traveling in, and she was so impressed she could hardly speak when they left the hotel, and came back to The Cottage. They were in bed together half an hour later, with a bucket of Cristal chilling at his bedside. The cook served them dinner in bed on trays, and at Pamela's insistence, they watched videos of two of his old films. And he drove her home afterwards, because he had an appointment with his trainer and acupuncturist early the next morning. Besides which, he preferred to sleep alone. Even sleeping with a beautiful young woman in his bed sometimes disturbed his sleep.
By the next morning, the realtor had prepared two folders with all the details of both rentals. She got on the phone bright and early, and called several of her clients who were looking for unusual rentals. She set up three appointments to show the gatehouse to bachelors, and another to show the guest wing to a young couple who had just moved to LA and were remodeling a house that was going to take at least another year, if not two, to finish. And shortly after that, her phone rang. It was Jimmy.
He sounded serious and quiet on the phone, and explained that he was looking for a rental. He didn't care where, just something small and easy to manage,with a decent kitchen. He wasn't cooking these days, but he realized that at some point he might like to start again. Other than sports, it was one of the few things that relaxed him. He also didn't care whether or not the place was furnished. He and Maggie had the basics, in terms of furniture, but they hadn't loved any of it, and he wouldn't have minded leaving it all in storage. In some ways, he thought it might remind him less of her, and be less painful, if even the furniture was different. In fact, as he thought about it, he realized he preferred it. The only reminder of Maggie he was taking with him were their pictures. Everything else that had been hers he was boxing up and putting away, so he didn't have to look at it every day.
The realtor asked if he had a preference of location, but he didn't. Hollywood, Beverly Hills, LA, Malibu. He said he liked the ocean, but that would remind him of her too. Everything did. It would have been hard to find something that didn't.
And when he didn't make a point about price, the realtor decided to take a chance, and told him about the gatehouse. She didn't mention the price to him, but described it, and after a moment's hesitation, he said he'd like to see it. She made an appointment with him for five o'clock that afternoon, and then asked him what part of town he worked in.
“Watts,” he said, sounding distracted, and as though to him there was nothing unusual about it, but the realtor looked instantly startled at her end.
“Oh. I see.” She wondered if he was African American, but obviously couldn't ask him, and also wonderedif he could afford the
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