All That Was Happy by M.M. Wilshire Page B

might make. In
the morning, we’ll go out to breakfast and take a look at this
whole situation. Now c’mon, have you got any better
ideas?”
    Beckie was exhausted. The day from Hades had
taken its toll. She was simply too tired to wrestle with it
anymore.
    “ Have you got any brandy?” she said.
“If you do, some brandy in a glass of warm milk would be nice about
now--I’m just too tired to react to any more of this.”
    “ Driver,” Huntington said. “Give the
lady her straw bag and load everything else into the back of my
Suburban and that’ll be it for tonight.”
    The driver opened the rear door and Mr.
Boopers sprang out, running to Beckie and whimpering excitedly.
    “ Awww,” the driver said. “I didn’t know
the dog was in there! Oh man, it stinks in this backseat! What’d he
eat, a rat taco or something?”
    “ For your information, he doesn’t like
Mexican food,” Beckie said, scooping up the tiny, quivering bundle.
“Oh, Mr. Boopers, I’m so sorry I forgot you--I’m so sorry I let the
bad man drive off without you.”
    “ Hey,” the driver said, after he
finished loading the Suburban, handing Beckie her straw purse. “I’m
sorry about your dog--but I can’t hear a thing back there when the
glass is closed and I’m blasting the Bose. I had no idea your
little dog was trapped back there--you’ve got to admit, he doesn’t
make much of a profile, him being not much larger than a rat and
all.”
    “ No harm, no foul,” Beckie said. “C’mon
Huntington, let’s go before this thing gets any further out of
control.”
    “ I’m sorry about your troubles, lady,”
the security guard said.
    “ It’s not your fault,” Beckie said.
“Just be a prince and keep the house secure for me while I’m
gone.”
    “ You got it, lady,” he said. “By the
way, your boyfriend’s a lucky man.”
    Beckie found herself flushing--in all the
excitement, she’d forgotten how she must appear to the guard, with
her new geometric platinum cut, gray-suede high heels and white,
silver-sequined tube dress. Embarrassed, she fished her bathrobe
out of her straw carryall and slipped it on.
    The Suburban idled slowly down the street,
crossing Wilshire completely and heading south before turning west
on Colorado. Huntington took his time, working his way over to the
Marina, cruising slowly down a long condo canyon, whereupon he hit
the remote and pulled the Suburban into a clean, unobstructed
garage.
    “ I had to have the garage lengthened to
hold my car,” he said. “They trimmed about three feet off my
kitchen to make it work--the contractor called it a man’s
compromise.”
    “ He was right,” Beckie said. “No woman
would give up kitchen space for a car.”
    “ I mostly eat out anyway,” he
said.
    “ You’ve got the neatest garage I’ve
ever seen,” Beckie said. “Are you sure you really live
here?”
    “ I’ve got another place across town,”
he said, “where I keep all the usual kinds of junk that most people
have in their garage, you know, the rear-bagger, the blower, the
bicycle with the flat tire--but how much stuff do you really need
at the beach? All you need is your board, your wet suit, your
bicycle for cruising the strand, your in-line skates for doing the
same, your telescope for checking out the action on the sand, and
your hibachi for whenever you feel hungry. Besides, if you let your
life get all cluttered up with stuff, it’s just a built-in excuse
not to do what’s important to you. Too much stuff creates
chaos.”
    “ You said you’ve got another place
across town?” Beckie said. “Where?”
    “ I’ve got a little place in San
Marino,” he said. “But I don’t spend much time there.”
    Beckie did the math. A little place in San
Marino, which happened to be the most expensive little neighborhood
on the planet, plus a tri-level at the edge of the Marina waterway?
She could only conclude that Huntington, if he was for real, must
have a net worth of a size somewhat