“Why the hell would he want to please me?”
“You know why, Todd. He’s in love with you.”
Todd shook his bandaged head, which was a mistake. The room around him swam for a moment, and he had to grab hold of the table. “You okay?” Maxine said.
He raised his hands, palms out, in mock surrender. “I’m fine. I just need a pill and a drink.”
“I sent Marco out to get some supplies.”
“But Todd … it’s not even noon.”
“So? If I stay here and get shit-faced every day for the next month who’s going to care? Find me something to drink, will you?”
“What about Jerry? We didn’t finish — ”
“We’ll talk about Jerry some other time.”
“Am I telling him or not?”
“I said I don’t want to talk about it any more.”
“All right. But if he starts to gossip, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“If he tells the fucking National Enquirer it’s my fault. Happy?” Todd didn’t wait for a reply. Leaving Maxine to search for the liquor, he wandered out to the back of the house. The lawn — which lay at the bottom of a long flight of steps from the house, their railings entirely overtaken by vines — was the size of a small field, but it had been invaded on every side by the offspring of the plants, shrubs and trees which surrounded it, many of them in premature flower. Bird of Paradise trees twenty feet tall, sycamore and eucalyptus, rose bushes and fox-gloves, early California poppies shining like satin in the grass; meadowfoam and corn lily, hairy honeysuckle and wild grape, golden yarrow, blue blossom and red huckleberry. And everywhere, of course, the ubiquitous pampas grass; soft, fleecy plumes swaying in the sun. It was uncommon, even uncanny, verdancy.
Todd strode across the lawn, which was still wet from the rain, down to the pool. Dragonflies flitted everywhere; bees wove their nectar trails through the balmy air. The pool was a baroque affair, descending from the relatively restrained style of the main house into pure Hollywood kitsch. The model, perhaps, was B de Mille Roman. A large mock-classical bronze fountain was set at the back of the pool, the intertwined limbs of its figures — a sea-god and his female attendants — rendered more baroque still by the tracery of living vines which had crept up over it. A sizable conch in the sea-god’s hands had once been a source of rejuvenating waters for the pool, but those waters had ceased to flow a long time ago. Todd was mildly disappointed. He would have liked to have seen sparkling blue water in the pool instead of the few inches of bottle green rain-water that were there at the bottom.
He turned and looked back towards the house. It was still more impressive from this side than it had been from the front, its four floors rising like the tiers of a wedding cake, its walls lush with ivy in places, and in others naked. Beyond it, further up the hill, Todd could just see a glimpse of one of the guest-house that Maxine had mentioned. Altogether, it really was an impressive parcel of land, with or without the buildings. Had Jerry shown it to him as part of the grand tour Todd might well have been tempted to invest. The fact that Jerry hadn’t done so probably meant that it had not belonged to anyone of significance, though that seemed odd. This wasn’t just any Hollywood show-place: it was the crème de la crème, a glorious confection of a residence designed to show off all the wealth, power and taste of a great star.
By the time he’d made his way back inside, Marco had turned up from Greenblatt’s with a carload of supplies. He welcomed his boss with his usual crooked smile and a generous glass of bourbon. “So what do you think of the Old Dark House?”
“You know … in a weird way I like it here.”
“Really?” said Maxine. “It’s nothing like your taste.” She was plainly still mildly irritated by their earlier exchange, though for Todd it was past history, soothed away by his wanderings in the wilderness.