ROMAN GRABBED THE TOWEL he’d draped over the arm of the treadmill and wiped sweat from his face. His T-shirt was soaked. Something was off. He’d only run three miles and felt like he’d run a marathon. Cutting the speed, he walked another mile to cool down before shutting off the machine. Stepping off the tread, he felt light-headed. The moment passed, but left him weak. Maybe he was dehydrated. He uncapped another bottle of water with electrolytes and drank it. He’d skip the weights.
Ah, for the good old days when he did parkour in San Francisco. His graffiti had been in heaven spots, high and dangerous places, where his work stayed longer than the usual few days for other taggers. His initials, BRD, gained him a reputation as the Bird.
The pleasurable memories gave way to thoughts of White Boy. He redirected his thoughts.
The only adrenaline kick he got these days came from the endorphins he earned working out. Maybe age was the problem. Today was his birthday, not that anyone knew or cared. He was thirty-four. How should he celebrate the passage of another year? Look for a hookup in a club? Sex with a stranger didn’t have the appeal it once did.
A cold shower refreshed him, but didn’t alter his mood. He raised his face to the spray and thought he heard his cell phone ring. Who would be calling him on a Sunday?
With nothing else to do, Roman went into the studio and dabbed some more paint on the canvases set up near the windows. He wanted to put his fist through one, but tossed the brush into a can of linseed oil instead. He sat at his drafting table and sketched ideas. Crumpled papers littered the floor.
His cell phone rang, and Jasper Hawley’s face appeared. His teacher, counselor, and mentor at Masterson Ranch called every month or two, checking up on him. He visited now and then, too, although it had been a while since Roman had seen him.
“Keeping tabs on me, Hawley? Why don’t you come on down and do it?”
“Is that a real invitation? I’m in Oxnard. I can stay over at your place tonight. I haven’t seen the new house yet.”
“Sure, just don’t have a bed.”
“Still the minimalist. I have a sleeping bag in my trunk.”
“What’s in Oxnard?”
“Visiting one of my lost boys who just got out of prison. Speaking of lost boys, isn’t today your birthday?”
Roman relaxed, pleased. “Have you been poking through my juvie records again?”
“I have all the pertinent facts memorized. See you soon.”
Roman went downstairs and sprawled on the couch in the living room, sketching ideas in the black book he kept there.
Awakening to the door chimes, Roman cursed. First thing he’d have Grace do Monday morning was find someone to replace the annoying chimes with a short, functional bell. A straightforward ding-dong would be great. The chimes were still going strong when he opened the door. Jasper stood there laughing.
“Love the chimes. A Viennese waltz? Let me guess. Not your idea.”
Roman tried to overcome his shock at Jasper’s appearance. His mentor had lost weight, and his hair had gone white. “Man, you got old.”
“And you’re still the same smart aleck you’ve always been.” Jasper walked in, suitcase in hand. “Quite a place you’ve got here. Holy Jehoshaphat! Look at that view! Perfect setup for an artist.”
“If I painted landscapes.”
Jasper glanced back. “Why did you leave that sweet place in Malibu? Open a sliding-glass door, and there was the beach and all those pretty, bikini-clad girls walking by.”
“I needed a change.” The condo held one night of memories he couldn’t forget and a host of questions he’d never be able to answer about a girl he’d tried to find and knew he’d never see again.
Jasper shook his head. “I keep hoping you’ll grow up and settle down.”
Roman drove his red Camaro to a seafood diner in Malibu. Nothing much had changed for Jasper. He was still teaching at the Masterson Mountain Ranch and keeping tabs on the boys who would let him. He cared about what happened to every one of them. Most finished the program and moved on. A few stayed in touch. Some called when they were in trouble, like the young man in Oxnard. Jasper had a few extra days. “I figure I ought to live it up.”
Troubled, Roman gave in. “What is wrong with you? You’ve lost about fifty pounds since I last saw you. And don’t tell me you’re on a diet.”
“Nothing wrong with me now. I went through chemo.”
Roman lost his appetite. He looked at Jasper and didn’t know what to say.
“Don’t bury me yet. I went into the hospital with a colon and came out with a semicolon.” Jasper’s grin died. “That was supposed to be a joke.”
“Ha-ha.”
Jasper rubbed his head. “My hair is growing back. That’s something.”
“All white.”
“I think I look distinguished. You’re not getting rid of me yet. The tests have been clear, and I’m feeling good.” He patted his stomach. “Looking good, too. I’m keeping the weight off and walking a couple of miles a day. Funny thing about cancer. It reminded me I’m mortal. It doesn’t make sense to put off the things I want to do.”
Jasper talked. Roman tried to listen. Troubled, he thought about death. He’d lost his mother and the only friends he’d ever cared about. It was safer not to care. Less painful.
“Bobby Ray Dean.”
The name jarred Roman. “No one has called me that in ages.”
“You’ve come a long way, son, but you still don’t know who you are or what you want, do you?”
“More.”
Jasper folded his arms on the table. “More of what?”
“Life. Meaning.” He wished he knew.
They went back to the Topanga Canyon house. Roman gave Jasper the grand tour. Jasper offered the paintings on easels a cursory look and made no comment. Roman could guess what he thought. Problem was, Roman agreed.
Jasper picked up one of the crumpled papers scattered across the studio floor and opened it. He picked up a few more. Roman knew what they were. Sketches of a gang kid in a leather jacket leaning against a graffiti-covered wall, a young boy looking out a bay window, a naked girl with her back to the viewer, her long hair curling down to her waist. “These are good, Roman. Ever think about doing a show?”
“I’ll probably do one this summer.”
Jasper glanced at the three unfinished paintings on easels. “You don’t have to limit yourself to modern art.”
“The pay is good.” Roman leaned against his drafting table. “I have no illusions. I took your advice and went to Europe. Remember? I’ve seen the masters. I even left a calling card at the Louvre.”
“Calling card?”
“Never mind.” The Bird had left a piece of work glued among the masters—a winking owl perched on a pine branch. He jerked his head toward the easels. “That’s the best I can do.”
“I doubt that.”
“Yeah, well, a lot of people out there like to think they know art. I figured out what sells.”
They headed downstairs. Roman opened a couple of sodas. Jasper looked around the living room with the huge black sectional couch, massive modern table, and big-screen television mounted on the wall. “It’s pretty Spartan, even for a bachelor.”
“Haven’t had time to decorate.”
“You need a wife.”
Roman gave a derisive laugh. “For what?”
“Companionship. Comfort. Have some children.”
“You aren’t married. You don’t have kids.”
“Cheryl and I were married for twenty-four years, the happiest of my life, before she died. We wanted to have children. It just never happened.” He smiled. “That’s why I’m so attached to you.”
“Bull.”
“I’d get married again, if I met the right woman. Up to now, no one comes close to the one I had.”
Roman thought of Grace Moore.
“Chet and Susan want to know when you’re coming home for a visit.”
The Mastersons had been the closest thing to family Bobby Ray Dean had ever known. “I’m sure they have a full house, just like they always did.”
“Fewer these days, and you were special.” When Roman didn’t say anything, Jasper changed the subject. “So, you gave up doing murals.”
“I’ve got one more. In San Diego. I found someone to do the fill work. I’ll be heading down soon to add in the details. Hector will apply the protective coat. Saves me a lot of time, and I can get on to other things.”
“Hector?”
Roman told the story. Dry of ideas and looking for any inspiration, he’d gone to a flea market to sketch vendors. He spotted a man painting ceramic pots. He was skilled, and he was quick. Roman found someone to translate and offered the man a part-time position doing the fill work on a mural project in Beverly Hills. Hector Espinoza agreed, and they shook on it. “He works for me whenever I need him. I don’t know what he does in the meantime.”
“Nice to know you have friends.” Jasper’s tone was dry.
Roman laughed it off. He barely talked to Hector. They didn’t speak the same language, literally. They still had trouble communicating, but had come up with a system of numbers for colors so Hector knew what to do. Roman didn’t know anything about the man and figured he was probably undocumented. He paid him well, and the partnership worked. “Hard to make friends with someone who doesn’t speak my language.”
“Is that why you hired him? So you wouldn’t have to carry on a conversation?”
“Is this a psych session?”
Jasper let it go. They talked of other less personal things until after midnight. Jasper unrolled his sleeping bag on the leather couch. Both were up early the next morning. Roman made omelets, French toast, and coffee.
“You haven’t lost your touch.” Jasper raised his cup. Roman didn’t tell him he had a personal assistant who could make better. He knew Jasper would start asking questions, and Roman didn’t have any answers.
On the way out the front door, Jasper pushed the doorbell and set off the chimes. Roman called him a foul name. Jasper laughed. “I’ll be down this way again, sooner than you think.”
“The couch will be ready for you.” Roman stood outside until Jasper drove out of sight.
At two minutes to nine, the chimes went off again. When Roman opened the door, he knew by the look on her face that Grace Moore had decided to move into the cottage.
“That happy about it, huh?”
“We’ll have things to discuss first. After work.”
This girl didn’t make anything easy.
The hint of triumph on Roman Velasco’s face set Grace’s nerves on edge. The coffee had already been made. “You must have been up early.” She headed toward the office. “I’ll check your messages first.”
“Not yet.” Roman dug into his front pocket and slapped a key on the counter. “So you can come in without setting off those—” He stopped short of saying something that would offend her. “Make it the first order of business today to find someone who can reprogram that thing before I rip it out of the wall with my bare hands. I’d rather not have it go off like church bells ringing in a New Year.”
“I’ll take care of that, but you can keep your key.” She slid it back to him.
“It’s an extra, and it’s for convenience, yours and mine.”
“I’m not comfortable having your house key.”
His mouth tightened. “Take the—darn key, Ms. Moore.”
She knew he’d almost said something else. Maybe she was being unreasonable. Harvey Bernstein had given her a key. She took Roman’s and attached it to her key chain. “I’ll knock before I come in.”
“Just to make sure I have my pants on?”
She started toward the office.
“I need your cell number.”
Grace faced him. Alarms went off inside her head. “Why?”
“In case I need you.”
“I work nine to five. I’m not available before or after that. Or on weekends.”
His eyes darkened. “It’ll save you steps.”
The doorbell sounded again, and this time he forgot to curb his tongue. Her eyes flickered at the words that came automatically. “It’s Hector. Another irritating employee. The guy doesn’t speak enough English to get what I’m saying. We have to resort to sign language, and I’m not in the mood this morning.”
“Maybe I can help you. I took Spanish in high school.” She followed him to the front door. Roman opened it and waved her forward to face a wiry Latino with a startled look.
She introduced herself, and he grinned broadly. Hector responded in a stream of rapid-fire Spanish until Grace held up her hands in surrender and said, “Please slow down.”
He obliged, and Grace translated for Roman, who stood by watching them with a less-than-pleased expression. “Hector says you called, but he doesn’t know why.”
“Follow me.” Roman headed for the studio.
Hector fell in beside Grace, continuing to talk in his native language. “Who are you, and where did you come from?” She told him she came from a temp agency, and Roman had hired her full-time as his personal assistant. “It’s about time. He needs help.” He talked faster, and Grace had to concentrate to catch everything. Clearly, the man liked Roman. El jefe paid well and was a gifted artist. Hector considered it an honor to work with him. He didn’t pause until Roman interrupted their conversation.
“Do you know what he’s saying?”
“Most of it. He was just telling me about himself.” And you.
“Get to know him later. Tell him I still have another transfer to go, but he can get started on the two I have ready. I’ll bring the last one down to San Diego when I’m done. Tell him I’ll call before I’m on my way. Better yet, I’ll have you call. That way, if he needs anything, you can tell me what he says.”
Grace relayed everything. Hector had questions. “He needs to know where he’s staying while he works down there. He can’t keep driving back and forth, and he doesn’t like sleeping in his car.”
“What the—?” Roman exploded, but managed to swallow the rest. “The hotel was supposed to put him up. We’ll get that straightened out. Pronto. Call the hotel and remind them he was to get a room free of charge so he can stay and work. That was part of the deal. They can now add meals in the restaurant, since he’s been running back and forth. And tell him to take time off and go to the zoo, where he can see some real, live animals.”
“Is that a suggestion or an order? Zoos are expensive.”
Roman dug for his wallet, extracted a hundred-dollar bill, and handed it to Hector, who looked confused until Grace explained. The guy grinned like a happy kid and talked fast.
“He says—”
“Yeah, yeah. I can guess.” Roman dismissed the thanks. He picked up two long, numbered cardboard tubes and handed them to Hector. “Tell him to charge whatever supplies he needs at the usual place. I’ll see him as soon as I can. I want to get this job finished. Pronto.” He held out his hand, and Hector shook it.
Hector grinned at Grace. “I guess that means he’s done with me.”
She laughed. “I guess so. I’ll walk you to the door.” She went a few steps ahead before Roman demanded her attention.
“After you show Hector out, I could use a cup of coffee.”
“What’s in the pot, or fresh?”
“Fresh.”
Hector was in no hurry to leave. Grace made coffee while they talked. He said it was going to be a relief having her around. He’d like to get to know the man he worked for. They talked for another ten minutes at the door before Hector said adiós and headed for an old Ford pickup.
Grace returned to the studio with a mug of fresh coffee. Roman sat at his drafting table, working on the transfer. There was no place to put his mug. He gave her a strange look.
“You two sure hit it off.”
“Hector is very nice. He admires you. He said you do amazing work. I’ve never seen one of your murals.” She came closer, offering the mug while looking at the parade of elephants he’d finished. Even without color, the drawings looked alive and in motion. She spotted something he’d drawn near the bottom and grimaced.
“What’s wrong?”
She turned her head and found him staring at her intently. “Isn’t this mural going into a hotel lobby?” She pointed to the lion devouring a baby giraffe. “Children might be upset by that.”
“It’s what happens in real life.”
“Not in a hotel, hopefully. If children are upset, you can count on their parents being upset, too.”
“I won’t be around to worry about it.” Roman wore an odd smile. “And most people wouldn’t have noticed something hidden in the grass.”
“It’s right there.”
“It’s not right there. You just happened to spot the hidden picture people usually miss.”
His scrutiny made her uncomfortable. She looked for a place to set his mug, hoping to escape, and noticed he’d done more work on the easel paintings. Talia had been calling every few days asking about his progress.
He certainly had varying tastes in art. “Which style do you enjoy most?” She looked pointedly from the transfer to the paintings.
“Neither.” He turned on the stool and faced her. “And both. What about you?”
Grace couldn’t read his expression, and she wasn’t about to give her opinion. “I don’t know anything about art.”
Roman finally took the mug of coffee, his hand brushing hers. “Worried you might hurt my feelings?”
She admired the Serengeti migration. “You have a God-given gift, Mr. Velasco.” No wonder he was so successful. He had a wide range of work.
“God-given? I doubt God has anything to do with me. And enough with the Mr. Velasco. You didn’t say Señor Espinoza. You said Hector. Time to call me Roman.”
“All right. Roman.” Something had him upset. He must be stressed about getting the project done. He’d told Hector he wanted it done pronto. Grace took a step back. “I’d better let you get back to work. I’ll call the hotel and clear things up for Hector. And the door chimes.” She headed for the door.
“Grace. When Talia calls, as we both know she will, tell her the paintings are almost done. She can pick up two on Wednesday, and I’ll finish the other before I head for San Diego.”