Scotch. He picked one up and, had a vision of Julie Dakota.
WHILE JULIE drove toward Santa Barbara as if they were competing in time
trials for the Indianapolis 500, Bobby told her the shocking thing: that
he was not, at heart, the laid-back guy he appeared to be on the
surface; that during his hectic travels with Frank-especially during the
moments when he had been reduced to a disembodied mind and a frantic
whirl of disconnected atoms-he’d discovered within himself a rich vein
of love for stability and order that ran deeper than he could ever have
imagined, a motherlode of stick-in-the-mudness; than delight in swing
music arose more from an appreciation the meticulosity of its structures
than from the dizzyingcal freedom embodied in jazz; that he was not half
the spirited man he’d thought he was… and far more of a conservative
embracer of tradition that he would have hoped.
“In short,” he said,
“all this time when you thought were married to an easy-going
young-James-Gamer you’ve actually been wed to an any-age-Charles-Bronson
type.
”
“I can live with you anyway, Charlie.”
“This is serious. Sort of I’ve tipped into my late thirties, no child.
I should’ve known this about myself a long time a
“You!” I id.”
“Huh?’
“You love order, reason, logic-that’s why you got in line.of work where
you could right wrongs, help the innoc punish the bad. That’s why you
share The Dream withso we can get our little family in order, step out
of the!” of the world as it is these days and buy into some peace
quiet. That’s why you won’t let me have the Wurlitzer 95 those bubble
tubes and leaping gazelles are just a little too otic for you.” He was
silent a moment, surprised by her answer.
The lightless vastness of the sea lay to the west.
He said,
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’ve always knew what I am, deep down. But
then isn’t it unnerving that fooled myself with my own act for so long?”
“You haven’t. You’re easy-going and a bit of Charles Bronson, which is
a good thing. Otherwise we probably could communicate at all, since
I’ve got more Bronson in meanyone but Bronson.”
“God, that’s true!”
he said, and they both laughed.
The Toyota’s speed had declined to under seventy. She it UP to eighty
and said,
“BObby… what’s really onmind?”
“Thomas.” She glanced at him.
“What about Thomas?”
“Since that wordburst, I can’t shake the feeling he’s in danger.”
“What did that have to do with him?”
“I don’t know. But I’d feel better if we could find a phone and put in
a call to Cielo Vista. Just to be… sure.” She let their speed fall
dramatically. Within three miles they exited the freeway and pulled
into a service station. There was a full-service lane. While the
attendant washed their windows, checked the oil, and filled the tank
with premium unleaded, they went inside and used the pay phone.
It was a modern electronic version allowing everything from coin to
credit calls, on the wall next to a rack of snack crackers, candy bars,
and packages of beer nuts. A condom machine was there, too, right out
in the open, thanks to the social chaos wrought by AIDS. Using their
AT&T credit card, Bobby called Cielo Vista Care Home in Newport.
It didn’t ring or give a busy signal. He heard an odd series of
electronic sounds, then a recording informed him that the number he had
dialed was temporarily out of service as a result of unspecified line
problems. The droning voice suggested that he try later.
He dialed the operator, who tried the same number, with the same
results. She said,
“I’m sorry, sir. Please call your party later.”
“What line problems could they be having?”
“I wouldn’t know, sir, but I’m sure service’ll be restored soon.” He
had tilted the phone away from his ear, so Julie could lean in and hear
both sides of the exchange. When he hung UP, he looked at her. “Let’s
go back. I got this hunch Thomas needs us.”
“Go back? We’re little more than half an hour from Santa Barbara now.
Much further to go home.”