A few blocks later Balboa turned narrow and residential: beautifully landscaped two-story homes lining both sides of the boulevard, beach view to the west, marina vista across the street. A turn onto Balboa East took us past more sparkling windows, bougainvillea flowing from railings, Porsches and Lexuses and Range Rovers lolling in cobbled driveways. Then a two-block, low-profile commercial stretch appeared, and Milo said, “Should be right around here.”
The shop fronts were shaded by multicolored awnings. More shade from street trees, immaculate sidewalks, easy parking, bird chirps, the merest drumbeat of the tide rolling in lazily. Cafes, chiropractors, wine merchants, beachwear boutiques, a dry cleaner. The address Dugger had given for Motivational Associates matched a one-story, seafoam green stucco structure near the corner of Balboa East and A Street. No signage, just a teak door and two draped windows. The immediate neighbors were a dress shop with a window full of chiffon and a storefront eatery labeled simply CHINESE RESTAURANT! Behind the glass front of the cafe, an Asian man played the deep fryers at warp speed as the woman next to him chopped with a cleaver. The aroma of egg rolls mingled with Pacific brine.
We parked, got out, and Milo knocked on the teak door. The wood was highly varnished, like a boat’s deck; with so many coats laid on the thump barely resonated. Ben Dugger opened and said, “You made good time.”
He wore a white shirt under a gray crewneck, wide-wale green cords, brown moccasins with rawhide laces. The sweater showcased dandruff flecks. He’d shaved recently, but not precisely, and dark hairs hyphenated a raw-looking neck. Behind the thick lenses of his glasses, his eyes were bloodshot and resigned, and when they met mine the pupils expanded.
I smiled. He turned away.
Milo said, “Easy ride. Scenic.”
Dugger said, “Come on in,” and admitted us into an off-white ante-room set up with cream canvas chairs and tables piled with magazines and hung with photos of the ocean in various color phases. An unmarked door at the back took us into a larger space, empty and silent and lined with a white door on each wall. The entrance to the left had been left open, revealing a very small, baby blue room furnished with a single bed draped by an Amish quilt and a plain pine nightstand. Stacks of books on the stand, along with a cup and saucer and a pair of glasses. Dugger continued toward a door to the right, but Milo paused to look into the blue room.
Dugger stopped and raised an eyebrow.
Milo pointed at the blue room. “You’ve got a bed in there. Sleep research?”
Dugger smiled. “Nothing that exotic. It’s a genuine bedroom. Mine. I sleep here when it’s too late to drive back to L.A. Actually, this was my home until I moved.”
“The whole building?”
“Just this room.”
“Kinda cozy.”
“You mean small?” said Dugger, still smiling. “I don’t need much. It sufficed.” He crossed to a closed door and took out a key ring. Double dead bolts, a sign marked PRIVATE. He’d unlatched the first bolt when Milo said, “So how long ago did you move to L.A.?”
The keys lowered. Dugger took a deep breath. “All these questions about me. I thought this was about Lauren’s employment.”
“Just making conversation, Doctor. Sorry if it makes you uncomfortable.”
Dugger’s lips curled upward, and his long, grave face managed a low, inaudible laugh. “No, it’s fine. I moved a couple of years ago.”
“Newport too quiet?”
Dugger glanced at me. Again I smiled, and again his eyes whipped away. “Not at all. I like Newport very much. But things came up, and I needed to be in L.A. more, so I opened the Brentwood office. It’s not really in full gear yet. When it is, I may have to close this place down.”
“Why’s that?”
“Too much overhead. We’re a small company.”
“Ah,” said Milo. “Things came up.”
“Yes,” said Dugger, releasing the second bolt. “Come, let’s meet the staff.”
On the other side of the door was a large, bright office pool partitioned into workstations. The usual off-white blandness, computers and printers and bracket bookshelves, potted plants and cute calendars, stuffed animals on shelves, the smell of lilac air freshener, Sheryl Crow from a cassette player over the watercooler.