Redford, though somehow more golden.
“That’s Peter. The guy I tried to tell you about Friday afternoon when I dropped by the Sun and you didn’t have any time for me.”
“The one whose friend they found in the mountains?”
I nodded. She stared out the window, her jaw hanging.
“He’s adorable.”
“That’s what I tried to tell you Friday afternoon.”
“What’s he doing in your backyard?”
“Playing with the dog.”
“Yes, I can see that.” She gave me a look. “Justice?”
“He’s staying in the apartment until Fred and Maurice get back.”
“Well, isn’t that convenient.”
“It’s temporary, Templeton. Until he finds a place of his own. By the way, as far as I can tell, he’s homosexually challenged.”
“Straight? And that good-looking? Hard to believe.”
She was staring out the window again. I noticed that her upper lip was slightly moist.
“Shouldn’t we invite him to join us, Ben?” She looked over, her eyes soft, her voice syrupy. “It would be the polite thing to do, don’t you think?”
Graff accepted our invitation, and the three of us sauntered down to Santa Monica Boulevard, swung left, and headed toward Boy Meets Grill. I hadn’t seen so many heads turn along the boulevard since a dark-haired, doe-eyed actor named Esai Morales had ridden through with a bunch of his Hollywood pals on their Harleys. As we passed the sidewalk tables outside Rimbaud’s, where the brunch champagne was flowing among the older crowd, there were the usual murmurs and low whistles. By the time we’d passed A Different Light and reached Boy Meets Grill, we’d left several cases of whiplash in our wake.
All three of us got high on caffeine, passing on the complimentary bubbly, while Templeton interviewed Peter with a reporter’s relentless curiosity and the savvy of an experienced single woman closing in on her prey. When Graff excused himself to use the restroom, I warned Templeton that she was in danger of scaring him off.
“You think I’m overdoing it?”
“You haven’t let up on him since we left the house.”
“You’re right. I’m being a complete fool. It’s just that—”
“He’s totally delectable, in every imaginable way.”
“He must have some flaws, Justice.”
“Let me know when you find one.”
“Someone should put him in the movies.”
“Yeah, playing Jesus.”
“I suddenly feel like I’m fourteen again. I haven’t felt this flustered since my first Michael Jackson concert.”
“Exactly my reaction the first time I met him. Completely disorienting.”
She paused with a forkful of eggs Benedict poised in midair, offering me an ironic version of a happy face.
“Isn’t it nice when we see eye to eye on something, Justice?”
“How about getting me a copy of the police report on Tommy Callahan’s murder? Maybe the autopsy as well. You think we can see eye to eye on that?”
“I guess I could find some time. Since you’re giving Peter to me.”
“Sorry, Templeton, you have to earn him.”
She looked up, across the room.
“Here he comes. What should we be talking about?”
“How about your new assignment at the Sun ?”
Graff took his seat, and placed his napkin back in his lap.
“The people in here are really friendly.”
Templeton and I exchanged a glance, and worked hard not to laugh.
“Alex and I were just discussing her new assignment.” I dug into my Belgian waffle. “You might fill Peter in, since he’s something of a newcomer to the city.”
In a nutshell, Templeton laid out the evolving story: After two successive police chiefs who were African American, it appeared that Los Angeles might once again have its first white chief since the notorious Daryl Gates. Gates, a public figure of unsurpassed arrogance and insensitivity to social issues and minority groups, had presided over the Los Angeles Police Department from 1978 to 1992, a period when crime and racial tensions in the city grew to an all-time high, along
“That’s Peter. The guy I tried to tell you about Friday afternoon when I dropped by the Sun and you didn’t have any time for me.”
“The one whose friend they found in the mountains?”
I nodded. She stared out the window, her jaw hanging.
“He’s adorable.”
“That’s what I tried to tell you Friday afternoon.”
“What’s he doing in your backyard?”
“Playing with the dog.”
“Yes, I can see that.” She gave me a look. “Justice?”
“He’s staying in the apartment until Fred and Maurice get back.”
“Well, isn’t that convenient.”
“It’s temporary, Templeton. Until he finds a place of his own. By the way, as far as I can tell, he’s homosexually challenged.”
“Straight? And that good-looking? Hard to believe.”
She was staring out the window again. I noticed that her upper lip was slightly moist.
“Shouldn’t we invite him to join us, Ben?” She looked over, her eyes soft, her voice syrupy. “It would be the polite thing to do, don’t you think?”
Graff accepted our invitation, and the three of us sauntered down to Santa Monica Boulevard, swung left, and headed toward Boy Meets Grill. I hadn’t seen so many heads turn along the boulevard since a dark-haired, doe-eyed actor named Esai Morales had ridden through with a bunch of his Hollywood pals on their Harleys. As we passed the sidewalk tables outside Rimbaud’s, where the brunch champagne was flowing among the older crowd, there were the usual murmurs and low whistles. By the time we’d passed A Different Light and reached Boy Meets Grill, we’d left several cases of whiplash in our wake.
All three of us got high on caffeine, passing on the complimentary bubbly, while Templeton interviewed Peter with a reporter’s relentless curiosity and the savvy of an experienced single woman closing in on her prey. When Graff excused himself to use the restroom, I warned Templeton that she was in danger of scaring him off.
“You think I’m overdoing it?”
“You haven’t let up on him since we left the house.”
“You’re right. I’m being a complete fool. It’s just that—”
“He’s totally delectable, in every imaginable way.”
“He must have some flaws, Justice.”
“Let me know when you find one.”
“Someone should put him in the movies.”
“Yeah, playing Jesus.”
“I suddenly feel like I’m fourteen again. I haven’t felt this flustered since my first Michael Jackson concert.”
“Exactly my reaction the first time I met him. Completely disorienting.”
She paused with a forkful of eggs Benedict poised in midair, offering me an ironic version of a happy face.
“Isn’t it nice when we see eye to eye on something, Justice?”
“How about getting me a copy of the police report on Tommy Callahan’s murder? Maybe the autopsy as well. You think we can see eye to eye on that?”
“I guess I could find some time. Since you’re giving Peter to me.”
“Sorry, Templeton, you have to earn him.”
She looked up, across the room.
“Here he comes. What should we be talking about?”
“How about your new assignment at the Sun ?”
Graff took his seat, and placed his napkin back in his lap.
“The people in here are really friendly.”
Templeton and I exchanged a glance, and worked hard not to laugh.
“Alex and I were just discussing her new assignment.” I dug into my Belgian waffle. “You might fill Peter in, since he’s something of a newcomer to the city.”
In a nutshell, Templeton laid out the evolving story: After two successive police chiefs who were African American, it appeared that Los Angeles might once again have its first white chief since the notorious Daryl Gates. Gates, a public figure of unsurpassed arrogance and insensitivity to social issues and minority groups, had presided over the Los Angeles Police Department from 1978 to 1992, a period when crime and racial tensions in the city grew to an all-time high, along
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