looked
unperturbed, yielding in defense; she was not even in the room anymore. She
bent over to pick up a towel.
Looking up, Ray noticed on the mantel a photograph
tucked into a frosted glass frame. The photo showed two Asian women, Moon’s raw
beauty dominating, Tania’s lush sensuality revealing itself more gradually.
Both women huddled together, windblown against a backdrop of lilac-blue sky and
a smudge of golden sand. A long stretch of beach curled to the right. Orange
yellow light streamed over the water.
Ray peered at the photo. “Ocean Beach or Baker?”
Moon glanced at the picture and moved to the door.
“Baker,” she said finally.
“If I need to talk again, how can I reach you?”
“You can find me here.”
She jotted down a cell number on the back of a
magazine, tore off the scrap and handed it to him. “OK, big handsome man,” she
said, “You come back to see me.”
Ray walked down the hall to a rear exit and left
the house. He felt relaxed. He strode through a path lined with reed grass and
cone flowers and headed over to his car. He drove back to the hotel. The
Victorians of the Haight slid by in hues of mauve, gold, aquamarine, vermilion.
Ray was pleased, especially by Moon’s final
comment. She had lied, but the picture was worth the thousand words she left
unsaid. It often worked that way, sifting through a heap of crap until a cut
diamond hit you in the forehead.
A steep cliff rose in the background of the photo
on Moon’s mantel. The sheer sandy wall reminded Ray instantly of Drakes Beach
in Marin, a beach he knew well. Beach lore was a particular favorite of his. So
Moon and Tania had once visited Drakes Beach in Marin County. But Moon had
tried to hide that fact by agreeing to his suggestion that the photo had been
taken at Baker Beach. The cliff at Baker was not as sheer, and the topography
looked different: drifts of ice plant lined the cliffs below twisted eucalyptus
trees. But why was Moon hiding the fact that she had been to Drakes Beach once
with Tania? He thought about it, pictured her slight anger over his presumption
that she was still in touch with Tania. Perhaps Tania was presently to be found
near Drakes. Right now. And Moon knew exactly where she was.
He pulled into the garage. After he arrived back
at the hotel, he sat down to his computer and researched businesses near Drakes
Beach.
Drakes Beach ran along an estuary inside Point
Reyes National Seashore. The seashore hosted California’s richest assortment of
wildlife: coyote, bobcat, and elk were plentiful while sea lions and whales
churned the ocean.
Drawn to the tremendous natural beauty, communes
had sprung up in the hills near the town of Inverness. Some were headed by
devout leaders steeped in ancient Eastern traditions; others were wacky
California medicine shows that worshipped a Volvo-driving guru with dirty feet
and a past crime spree in Florida. There were also numerous resorts catering to
high-end tourists from the city. On Friday nights, fresh from their downtown
offices, middle-aged corporate men arrived, comfortable in their chinoed
chunkiness, recuperating for next Monday’s pillage. The women, sleek and
knife-haired, commanded the days behind their sunglasses, wildly overpaying for
everything.
There were many resorts to check, but Ray didn’t
think Tania was the resort type. No, the communes seemed more promising. Like
the resorts, they peppered the hills, and some were not open to the public at
all. She could also be hanging out in one of the innumerable little cottages in
the hills. He decided to let technology narrow the odds.
Chapter 18
In America, billions of electronic information
bits were packaged for sale. Email addresses. Unpublished telephone numbers.
Credit histories. A man’s social security number, his wife’s maiden name.
Buyers abounded, both innocuous and sinister. A small industry had arisen to
meet the demand, merchants of the information age, ensconced in
unperturbed, yielding in defense; she was not even in the room anymore. She
bent over to pick up a towel.
Looking up, Ray noticed on the mantel a photograph
tucked into a frosted glass frame. The photo showed two Asian women, Moon’s raw
beauty dominating, Tania’s lush sensuality revealing itself more gradually.
Both women huddled together, windblown against a backdrop of lilac-blue sky and
a smudge of golden sand. A long stretch of beach curled to the right. Orange
yellow light streamed over the water.
Ray peered at the photo. “Ocean Beach or Baker?”
Moon glanced at the picture and moved to the door.
“Baker,” she said finally.
“If I need to talk again, how can I reach you?”
“You can find me here.”
She jotted down a cell number on the back of a
magazine, tore off the scrap and handed it to him. “OK, big handsome man,” she
said, “You come back to see me.”
Ray walked down the hall to a rear exit and left
the house. He felt relaxed. He strode through a path lined with reed grass and
cone flowers and headed over to his car. He drove back to the hotel. The
Victorians of the Haight slid by in hues of mauve, gold, aquamarine, vermilion.
Ray was pleased, especially by Moon’s final
comment. She had lied, but the picture was worth the thousand words she left
unsaid. It often worked that way, sifting through a heap of crap until a cut
diamond hit you in the forehead.
A steep cliff rose in the background of the photo
on Moon’s mantel. The sheer sandy wall reminded Ray instantly of Drakes Beach
in Marin, a beach he knew well. Beach lore was a particular favorite of his. So
Moon and Tania had once visited Drakes Beach in Marin County. But Moon had
tried to hide that fact by agreeing to his suggestion that the photo had been
taken at Baker Beach. The cliff at Baker was not as sheer, and the topography
looked different: drifts of ice plant lined the cliffs below twisted eucalyptus
trees. But why was Moon hiding the fact that she had been to Drakes Beach once
with Tania? He thought about it, pictured her slight anger over his presumption
that she was still in touch with Tania. Perhaps Tania was presently to be found
near Drakes. Right now. And Moon knew exactly where she was.
He pulled into the garage. After he arrived back
at the hotel, he sat down to his computer and researched businesses near Drakes
Beach.
Drakes Beach ran along an estuary inside Point
Reyes National Seashore. The seashore hosted California’s richest assortment of
wildlife: coyote, bobcat, and elk were plentiful while sea lions and whales
churned the ocean.
Drawn to the tremendous natural beauty, communes
had sprung up in the hills near the town of Inverness. Some were headed by
devout leaders steeped in ancient Eastern traditions; others were wacky
California medicine shows that worshipped a Volvo-driving guru with dirty feet
and a past crime spree in Florida. There were also numerous resorts catering to
high-end tourists from the city. On Friday nights, fresh from their downtown
offices, middle-aged corporate men arrived, comfortable in their chinoed
chunkiness, recuperating for next Monday’s pillage. The women, sleek and
knife-haired, commanded the days behind their sunglasses, wildly overpaying for
everything.
There were many resorts to check, but Ray didn’t
think Tania was the resort type. No, the communes seemed more promising. Like
the resorts, they peppered the hills, and some were not open to the public at
all. She could also be hanging out in one of the innumerable little cottages in
the hills. He decided to let technology narrow the odds.
Chapter 18
In America, billions of electronic information
bits were packaged for sale. Email addresses. Unpublished telephone numbers.
Credit histories. A man’s social security number, his wife’s maiden name.
Buyers abounded, both innocuous and sinister. A small industry had arisen to
meet the demand, merchants of the information age, ensconced in
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