Disclaimers in Part 1

Jim versus the Volcano
Part 3--Manhattan  

I stood in the entrance to the Cafe Pierre and gazed at the numerous diners 
who were dressed to the nines, relieved that I had chosen the tuxedo. 

"Mr. Ellison!" A nicely built man in his middle thirties, also wearing a 
dinner jacket, strode across the lush carpeting. "I'm so very pleased you 
could join me! Please, come this way." Set aside from the other tables, in a 
dimly lit alcove, was a small table set for two.

We sat across from each other and he signaled the wine steward. After a brief 
discussion, he selected a wine and handed me a menu.

"This is a very lovely hotel you have here, Mr. Carlyle."

"Please, call me Marshall, and I shall call you James. And thank you, my 
staff and I work extremely hard to maintain its reputation as one of the 
world's finest hotels." 

"Well, you have succeeded."  I opened the menu. "Um, what would you 
recommend, Marshall?"

"Shall I order for you, James?" His glance summoned a waiter. "The hearts of 
palm salad for our appetizer, Charles. Then I think the chilled oyster 
Vichyssoise soup, followed by the pan seared saddle of rabbit served with 
fava beans."

I couldn't help myself. "Oh, please, we aren't having a nice Chianti, are 
we?"

The waiter bit his lips in an effort to stifle his laughter, but Marshall 
didn't seem amused. "Chianti? With rabbit? I do not think so!" 

My reference to Silence of the Lambs had gone right over his head. Here was 
an attractive man who had gone to the trouble of inviting me to dinner. I 
supposed it was too much to have hoped we'd share a sense of humor. For 
something to do while he completed the order, I studied the centerpiece of 
cream rose buds tipped with red. Nestled within the arrangement was a 
floating candle that cast a soft glow. 

The waiter hurried away, and Marshall turned his attention back to me. "So, 
James, tell me. Will you be staying in our fair city long?"

"No." I wasn't about to confess that I'd been a resident of the city that 
never sleeps for the past four and a half years. "I'll be flying out of JFK 
tomorrow."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'd hoped to... Well, no matter. Perhaps the next time you're 
in town we can get together."

"Perhaps." I also wasn't going to tell him there would never be a 'next time' 
for me.

Our wine was poured, and then the waiter was bringing our appetizer, and we 
began to eat. Marshall was an entertaining dinner companion, and spoke of 
Broadway shows, concerts at Lincoln Center, and even the possibility of the 
Yankees taking home another pennant.

Time passed pleasantly. Finally, Charles brought out a most intriguing desert 
and served it to us. The various tastes exploded over my tongue, and I closed 
my eyes in pleasure. "Oh, very good!"

"This is peach clafouti with almond ice cream."

"I thought clafouti was cherry flan." When my brother and I were children, 
Grace, my father's housekeeper, had often sought to expand our culinary 
horizons. 

"Ah. So you're familiar with it?"

"I haven't had it in years, but yes, it was something my father's housekeeper 
made for us a few times."

"How does this compare?"

"There is no comparison. Grace was a marvelous cook, but your chef is a grand 
master!"

"Yes, he is worth his weight in gold. And he demands it." He pushed his plate 
aside and reached for his coffee. 

"Tell me something, Marshall. Why did you invite me to dinner? I can't 
believe you do this for everyone who stays in your hotel."

After sipping thoughtfully, he remarked, "I understand you're acquainted with 
Naomi Sandburg." 

"How did you find out about that?"

"It's my business to keep abreast of these things. Actually, when we 
processed your credit card, we were quite impressed to learn that it belongs 
to one of the world's wealthiest women." I tensed, and he reached across the 
table to touch my hand. "No, I know you have authorization to use it. Please 
don't think I was questioning that. Ms. Sandburg stays here on occasion. 
She's a very valued guest, and anything we can do for her friends..."

I finished my coffee. "Marshall, the next time I see Ms. Sandburg, I'll let 
her know how much I enjoyed my stay here. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think 
I'd like to go up to my suite."

"Of course, James. And please remember, if there's anything my staff can do 
for you, they will be more than happy!" His voice lowered. "As will I."

Was he volunteering to sleep with me? "Thank you, Marshall. I appreciate the 
offer, but it's been a long day, and I need to get some sleep. Good night, 
and thank you for dinner." 

I was almost at the entrance of the restaurant, but I still heard his 
whisper. "Pity. You are attractive, James Ellison!"

****

The next morning, Megan called to let me know she'd pick me up at ten 
o'clock. I was checked out and waiting in the lobby when she arrived. She 
grinned broadly. "Morning, mate."

"And a very good morning to you, Megan. Let's go. I'd hate to be late."

"Not a chance! I always see my friends get where they need to be on time!" 
Just like that, she had given me the gift of friendship, and I wondered if 
she even realized how priceless that was to me. "Come on, boys, shake a leg!" 
She harried the bell captain and his cohorts in how she wanted the trunks 
placed on and in her limo. 

I tipped the men and slid into the front seat. There was no room in the back, 
even if I had wanted to sit there.

"By the way, Jordie loved the nightie, Jim. She thanks you. I thank you, 
too."

"I take it you had a good night?"

"The best, mate. Almost makes up for the piss poor day my girl had. A child 
beaten and burned with cigarettes, and starved to death to exorcise the 
devil. Never mind, you can't want to hear about that. *I* don't want to hear 
about that. Blows my mind, what some parents can do to their children in the 
name of love." I knew what she was talking about, having dealt with quite a 
bit of that when I was in Major Crimes. "How did you handle your senses last 
night and this morning?" 

I had no objection to the change of subject. I told her, and as she drove 
through the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel and onto the Belt Parkway with easy 
competence, she listened, offering some suggestions, but basically pleased 
that I seemed to have come to some kind of terms with my abilities. She 
pulled up in front of the American Airlines Terminal and whistled up some 
skycaps, who took one look at my trunks and called for back-up. 

"A final word of advice. You'll want to keep your senses on the QT. People 
tend to freak, y'know?"

"Thank you, Megan. You've been a real friend."

"Take care of yourself, Sentinel. I hope you find your Guide soon." She 
gripped my hand in a firm handshake, and then she got back into the limo and 
drove out of my life.

I went into the first class passenger lounge to wait for my flight to begin 
boarding. 


Los Angeles--Jim   

I concluded that first class was the only way to fly. A very attentive flight 
attendant hovered over me, making sure I had a pillow, a blanket, headphones, 
whatever I might want. 

While I stretched out my legs, enjoying the spaciousness in first class, he 
approached me. "Mr. Ellison? I have a message for you from Naomi Sandburg!" 

//Dear Jim,// it read.

//Hope you enjoyed your shopping spree yesterday, and I hope your stay at the 
Pierre was everything that Marshall Carlyle promised me it would be. He's a 
very competent manager. I reward competence.

//Anyway, someone has been notified to meet you at the airport. He'll take 
you out to dinner and has instructions to amuse you in any manner you desire. 
Nothing too good for my hero, eh?

//Tomorrow, he will meet you for breakfast, and then take you to the marina, 
and you'll start the final leg of your journey, aboard the pleasure yacht, 
Twiddle Dee.

//Enjoy your stay in LaLa Land, Jim.

//~*NS*~//
 
I glanced down at my lap. "'Amuse me in any manner I desire.' Sounds like 
she's offering me sex on top of everything else," I muttered to myself. 
"Think you're up to it?" There was no response from my dick, not even a 
quiver, and I sighed, wondering if I'd ever be able to get it up again. It 
abruptly occurred to me that in less than three weeks I wouldn't have to 
worry about it any more.

The jet finally landed at LAX, and as a first class passenger, I was able to 
exit before everyone else. I walked out of the gate and into the terminal, 
searching for my driver. I was brought up short by the sight of a young man 
with shoulder-length red curls. I thought for a second that I recognized him, 
but then he turned. 

No. I didn't know him.

He had a strange expression on his face, a combination of boredom and 
nervousness. He was dressed in a blindingly white suit that fit his compact 
body perfectly. In his hand was a placard that he was holding backwards. For 
some reason, I went to him and turned the placard around. It had my name on 
it.

"I'm Jim Ellison," I told him. 

"Welcome to LA, Jim. It's a great town. It stinks, but it's a great town!" 
Blue eyes swept over me and settled on my mouth. "I'm BJ Sandburg."

"*Sandburg*?"

"Yeah. I'm the son of the woman who hired you." He licked his lips in what I 
imagine he thought was a sultry manner, but to me he just looked like a male 
version of Lolita. I almost expected him to start sucking on a lollipop. He 
huffed and frowned at me. "Are you ready to go?"

"Um, my luggage?"

"Oh, right. Sorry. I'm a flibbertigibbet." He cupped his mouth as if about to 
impart a secret. "Don't tell me anything; I'm very unreliable." His mouth 
curved down, and his lower lip thrust out. "I've booked you into the 
California Suite at the Peninsula Beverly Hills. It's a little on the small 
side, only eleven hundred square feet, but the bed is comfortable. And they 
keep the wet bar fully stocked."

"You've stayed at the Peninsula?" We went to baggage claim and retrieved my 
trunks. He arranged to have them delivered to the hotel.

"Just overnight. With a friend. You understand." His lashes lowered and then 
slowly rose until his eyes met mine, almost challenging. "Come on, Jim. I've 
made reservations for us at the Belvedere for a late lunch. We should get 
there... What?"

I was staring at my Audemars Piguet, trying to figure the time. "Um, BJ, I 
left New York five hours ago. It's ..."

"It's three now, Jim. Time difference, remember? Normally the Belvedere 
doesn't open for lunch, but there are some advantages to being Naomi's son."  
He winked and tipped his head. "If you'll follow me?"

BJ strolled out into the bright afternoon sun, and glanced back at me over 
his shoulder. Parked in a No Parking zone was a candy apple red, 1968 Mustang 
500 GT. "Oh, my god!" I almost had an orgasm just looking at her. The 
convertible top was down, and he sat on the door and swung his legs over and 
into what was every teenage boy's wet dream. I ran reverent hands over the 
passenger door, then opened it and stared at the butter-soft, white leather 
interior.

"Let's go, Jim. Time's a-wastin', and the Dungeness crab I ordered will be 
feeling lonely!" Clearly, he was tickled by my reaction to the classic sports 
car. "She's a 'puff!" he stated proudly.

"Original or restored?" I lowered myself carefully into the bucket seat and 
automatically reached for the seat belt, but there was none. 

"Original, Jim. She's even got an 8-track tape deck."

"Too bad you can't find the tapes any more." There was a four-speed stick on 
the floor, and I was entranced by it.

"Wanna bet, big guy?" BJ leaned over, hit the glove compartment, and a pile 
of tapes spilled out.

I reached for one, The Righteous Brothers, Soul and Inspiration. I hadn't 
even known that had been released on 8-track! "Don't tell me... 'When you're 
Naomi Sandburg's kid...'" 

"Yeah. It's..." he glanced down at the tape in my hand and grinned saucily, 
"... righteous!" 

There were four hundred and fifty horses under that hood, and when he turned 
the key in the ignition, the engine growled to life. He popped the clutch and 
left a trail of rubber behind us, speeding out of the airport and heading us 
toward the hotel.

****

The maitre d' seated us at a table. I was startled by the hostility in his 
gaze. "Um, BJ, maybe it wasn't a good idea to make them open this restaurant 
just for us." The place was deserted. 

He shrugged. "Naomi said to make sure you had the best. The food here is the 
best. Don't pay any mind to Adam. He gets pissy sometimes."

"Adam?"

The maitre d' was back beside us with our drinks, a beer for me and something 
fruity and frozen for BJ. The young man across the table from me flirted his 
lashes at the maitre d'. "Adam. He's a... friend."

Adam scowled at him, turned the scowl on me, and then stalked away, and this 
time I wasn't the only one able to hear what he was saying. "*Ex*-friend, 
*ex*-lover! If he thinks he can flaunt his affairs in front of my nose..." 

"I think your friend is a little miffed with you."

For a second he looked desolate. Then he wiped his face clear of all 
expression. "He'll get over it." He took a sterling silver cigarette case 
from his inner pocket and selected a long, slim cigarette. "Care for one, 
Jim? They're Egyptian; unfiltered. They're all I've smoked since I saw Mary 
Astor smoke them in The Maltese Falcon when I was twelve." 

"Those will kill you," I frowned disapprovingly. Jesus, I felt as if I was 
scolding my child.

BJ grinned at me. "If it's not this, it'll just be something else, Jim." He 
lit an end and blew a stream of smoke into the air, then inhaled again and 
let the smoke dribble from his nostrils. "Do you like the decor in this 
place?" He waved his hand to indicate framed cels of what looked like comic 
book artwork. His expansive movement left a scattering of ash across the 
pristine whiteness of the tablecloth. "I did them. I'm an artist. And a 
poet."

"Really?"

"Want to hear one of my poems?" He didn't wait. "'Long ago, the delicate 
tangles of his hair covered the emptiness of my hand.'"

From behind me came a choked gasp. "You said that poem was for me! You 
promised no one..."

I turned in my seat to see the maitre d' storm away. When I glanced back at 
BJ, he was pale. "Shit!" The word was spoken so softly that, even as close as 
I was to him, without my sentinel hearing, I never would have heard it.

"I'm... I'm impressed, BJ. Your mother must be very proud of you."

"Must she? Obviously you don't know her very well. What other mother would 
name her son after a sexual act?" He stabbed the cigarette out in the ashtray 
and took a gulp of his drink. "Nothing I do makes Naomi proud. She'd be the 
first to tell you I'm a flibbertigibbet." Again he repeated the epithet, and 
it was as if it was something he was used to hearing repeated, used to having 
directed at him. His lips stretched in a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. 
"That's all I am. Ah, the food is here. I ordered for you too, Jim. Dungeness 
crab! Looks like a little monster, doesn't it? But it's a *good* little 
monster!"

A waiter set down the platter, the huge crustacean almost spilling off it.  
He placed my dish in front of me. "And for you, sir, the sea scallops with 
three caviars."

"Oh, er, thank you." I began to eat, flinching as BJ viciously wielded a 
wooden mallet to break the crab shell and get at the sweet, white meat.

"I will be your server for the remainder of your meal, gentlemen," the waiter 
said softly as he refilled our water glasses. "M. Adam has been called away."

BJ's head shot up. "Is he... is he all right, Raymonde?" 

The waiter's eyes were chill. "He will be, once he rids himself of an 
annoying little douleur dans l'ane!" He picked up our empty glasses. "I will 
return with fresh drinks."

****

BJ was quiet after that, saying little, alternating a bite of seafood with a 
puff on his ever-present cigarette. Once we finished eating, he suggested a 
drive around Beverly Hills. We eventually wound up at the beach so we could 
watch the sunset. The sky changed colors and gradually darkened, and I 
watched in fascination.

Beside me, BJ whispered under his breath, "'Long ago, the delicate tangles of 
his hair covered the emptiness of my hand.'" He clenched his fingers tightly, 
as if capturing those strands of hair. "Fuck. Tell me something, James." He 
lit another cigarette. "Do you ever think about killing yourself?"

"*No*!" My reaction was too abrupt, too vehement. After all, in effect, 
wasn't that what I would be doing in twenty... nineteen days? "You can't... 
You're not thinking of doing that, are you?"

"Why shouldn't I?"

"BJ, some things take care of themselves; they're not your job!" 

His mouth tightened and he looked stubbornly away. "You know why my artwork 
is on the walls of the Belvedere, Jim? Because my mother paid them to hang it 
there! I'm a grown man, and I live on my mother's money."

"Then don't."

"What? Stop taking Naomi's money?"

"See, you know what you need to do! Take the leap, and do the thing you're 
scared of doing. But you don't want to kill yourself!"

His breath hitched. "Are you sure you've never lived in California, Jim? 
That's a typical California conversation if ever I heard one!" I recoiled 
from his harsh tone of voice. "It's all bullshit and lies, and *//it doesn't 
cost you anything!//*" He stared at the ocean. I could feel his silent 
struggle to bring his emotions under control once more.

I reached out to touch his hair, then withdrew my hand. For a long moment I 
stared at the breakers that rolled gently into the shore. "I'm very troubled. 
I'm not ready to..." My thoughts became disjointed, but I tried to explain. 
"There's only so much time, BJ... If I use it well..." I took a deep breath. 
"I don't want to throw it away."

"I have no response to that." BJ's voice was brittle.

"I think you'd better take me back to my hotel, please."

He drove me back to the Peninsula Beverly Hills, each of us lost in our 
thoughts. When he pulled the Mustang under the arched colonnade, he cleared 
his throat. "Do you want me to come up? I can come up with you."

"No, BJ. Thank you, but no."

He drew in a breath. "Will you meet me for breakfast?"

"Sure."

I was on the curb before he glanced in my direction. "I told you I was a 
flibbertigibbet." The look in his eyes was heartbreaking.

"BJ!"

"Don't worry, I won't do anything stupid. Goodnight, Jim." The red taillights 
of the Mustang grew smaller and smaller until they vanished from even my 
Sentinel sight.

#### 

Los Angeles--BJ  

I had gone to school with the son of the man who managed the Peninsula 
Beverly Hills. He remembered my artwork and mentioned it to his father, who 
in turn got in touch with me.

"I'm looking for something a little different to hang on the walls of the 
Belvedere, BJ. Why don't you stop by tomorrow and bring some of your work? If 
it's suitable, I'd like to buy some of it."

I was thrilled. I was even more thrilled to find Naomi at home when I came 
down to eat dinner. "Mom!" I bussed her cheek.

"Please, BJ. *Naomi*! What are you so happy about?"

"Mr. Summerlin is interested in seeing my work!"

"What work, BJ?" she asked absently as she helped herself to some 
bouillabaisse from the silver tureen.

"My... my cartoon cels, Naomi."

"Are you still playing at being an artist? Pass me the baguettes, please. 
Hmm. Perhaps I'll go along with you."

I didn't have a good feeling about that. "Oh, you really don't need to come, 
Naomi. I can..."

"Nonsense. I'll go with you, and that's all there is to that." 

That was why Naomi was in the manager's office that day, actually dickering 
with him over what it would cost her to have my artwork hung on the walls of 
the Belvedere, the Peninsula Beverly Hills' posh restaurant. And I would 
never know if instead of paying Mr. Summerlin to hang my artwork, he would 
have paid me.

****

That was the day I met Adam, the youngest maitre d' in the Belvedere's 
history, and the best. He wasn't even supposed to be there. He had the day 
off, but he had left something or other behind the night before and had just 
stopped by to pick it up.

"Hey, Raymonde!" I heard him call to one of the waiters who were getting the 
tables ready for the dinner crowd. "Who belongs to that Mustang outside?"

I grinned approvingly. A man who knew how it worked. You didn't own a 
Mustang, it owned you. "That would be me." I pushed myself up from the 
archway I'd been leaning against. "I'm BJ."

"Hello, BJ." His hand was warm and firm in mine as I shook it. "I'm Adam 
Carter." He was average height, with thick brown hair that was tied back at 
the nape of his neck, and eyes that were so dark a grey, they were just a few 
shades lighter than black.

"So. You want to go for a ride... in my 'Stang?"

Adam's eyes grew hot and eager, and he tossed a fleeting good-bye over his 
shoulder to his fellow worker; it wasn't until some time later that I learned 
he was actually the man's boss. He followed me out to the candy apple red 
convertible, and I showed him how she maneuvered. And then I drove to a motel 
I knew of and showed him how I maneuvered.

It didn't mean anything to me. It was fun, but it was just a fuck. That was 
the way it was. 

"Beej, do you have to go?"

I was buttoning my shirt. "I left Naomi at the hotel. She's going to throw a 
hissy if I'm not back to take her home." She really wouldn't care, would most 
likely charm Mr. Summerlin into giving her a lift, but if Adam thought I had 
previous commitments, it would make it easier for me to leave.

"Will I see you again?"

I was tucking my shirt into my trousers, and froze. "I'm a flibbertigibbet, 
Adam. You want to see me again? Why?"

"Because you're cute, BJ. Because I like the way you handled that cherry 
Mustang. And because I like the way you handled me. Come on, rich boy. Take a 
gamble. Say yes." Adam got up and approached me, and I watched him warily but 
didn't move. He slid his arms around my waist and thrust lazily against me, 
teasing my groin with his. The smile on his lips was tantalizing.

"I never gamble." The smile left his face. I fisted my hands in his hair and 
pulled his mouth to mine. But when our lips were just a whisper apart, I 
said, "Yes." 

****

Seeing Adam didn't stop me from fucking other people, but Adam didn't seem to 
mind. I'd made it quite clear that if he ever got clingy, I was out the door. 
I never went to his place, and I never took him home.

Only somehow, without my quite realizing it, I saw fewer and fewer other 
people. When it suddenly hit me that I was in a 'relationship,' I panicked 
and determined to break up with him. 

I told him to meet me at a little B&B up in Carmel. It would be one final 
rendezvous. I kept at him all night, until we both fell into an exhausted 
doze. Morning sunlight in my eyes woke me, and I rolled over to see that he 
was still asleep, his soft, thick hair spilling across his cheek. Unaware of 
what I was doing, I reached out to stroke the strands, and it was almost as 
if they wrapped themselves around my fingers. I found myself saying, "Long 
ago, the delicate tangles of his hair covered the emptiness of my hand."

"Mmm. Nice, Beej." His voice was thick with sleep. I hadn't realized he had 
awakened, and when I would have jerked my hand away, he pressed his cheek 
into my palm and sighed contentedly, the warmth of his breath tickling it. 
"Who said that?" 

I licked my lips. "I did." I braced myself, expecting him to mock me. It was 
what Naomi often did.

"You made that up? For me? Ohhh!" He pulled my mouth down for a hungry kiss.

I decided maybe I wouldn't break up with him just yet. I raised my head and 
looked into his eyes. "Just for you, Adam."

****

Talking about suicide and then tearing into Jim Ellison as if it was his 
fault that I was a flibbertigibbet and that my life was a waste... I didn't 
know what possessed me to get all maudlin like that.

Yes, I did know. I was showing off, playing the literary elitist. I didn't 
want Jim, but I wanted to impress him. If I impressed him, and he told Naomi, 
maybe she'd...

Love me?

I'd learned years ago to keep my feelings deep inside where they couldn't get 
trampled on. I'd never even told Adam that I... 

So I recited that stupid poem, and Adam overheard me. I'd wondered how much 
he would take before he left me. Now I knew. And I wondered how long it would 
take before my heart stopped hurting.

When I'd dropped Jim off at his hotel, I'd offered to sleep with him, hoping 
another body would ease the pain. He'd turned me down.

****

It was a little after 9 when I met Jim in the Roof Garden, the Peninsula's 
more casual dining spot, which offered breakfast. He had already taken a 
table, and he sat watching the couple who was taking advantage of the early 
hour to frolic in the nearby lap pool. 

I took the opportunity to examine his attire. He was wearing a khaki safari 
jacket. On the chair beside him was a bushman's hat that sported a jaunty 
foxtail curled around its brim. His ensemble was completed by walking shorts 
and half boots. People tended to dress as they chose in California. He 
wouldn't draw a second glance. 

Jim smiled when he saw me approaching. I stiffened my spine, striving for 
insouciance. I owed him an apology. "I'm sorry I was so grotesque last 
night." 

He waved aside my apology. "Good morning, BJ. I hope you had a good night's 
rest. I sat on the beach and counted stars, and listened to the waves on the 
shore." 

I'd spent the night wandering through the empty rooms of Naomi's mansion, 
fighting the urge to call Adam and beg him to give me another chance. 
Finally, a couple of hours before dawn, I'd surrendered to it. "Adam, 
it's..." I was talking to his answering machine. "Where are you?" Had he 
already found someone else? Raymonde, perhaps, who'd never made any bones 
about his feelings for Adam? "It's BJ. I'm sorry. I know I screwed up. I've 
treated you badly, and you never deserved that from me or from anyone. Adam, 
please, I'd like another chance. Please call me?" I hung up before my voice 
could crack. 

He hadn't called, and I wanted to kick myself for begging. 

I dropped into the chair opposite Jim and picked up the menu, hiding behind 
it. "I had a generally shitty night. Thank you for asking."

He took it from me, and I had no choice but to look into his ice blue eyes. 
"I've already ordered. Since you did the honors yesterday, I took the liberty 
of doing so today. I hope you like what I've selected." The waiter, not 
Raymonde who only worked in the main restaurant, thank god, began serving our 
breakfast. "I feel so alive today. Who would think..." He lapsed into 
silence, and his expression became sad. 

"I wish..."

"What do you wish, BJ?"

I shook my head. "It isn't important." I touched the tip of my tongue to my 
upper lip. "What did Naomi hire you to do?" He seemed reluctant to tell me, 
and I knew it was useless to press for the information. "Never mind." We 
finished eating in silence. "Oh, damn! What time is it?" I took his wrist and 
turned it so I could see his watch. "You've got an Audemars Piguet! Aren't 
they fantastic?"

"If I could figure out how to tell time on it!" he groused.

"Maybe Blair can show you how. We've got to go! Are you all packed?"

"I didn't really *un*pack. The people at the front desk seemed to know where 
my trunks needed to be sent." He finished his coffee and rose. "Who's Blair?"

I placed a handful of bills on the table. "My brother. I'll bet *he* knows 
what Naomi wants you to do."

"You have a brother?" We entered the elevator and rode down to the lobby.

"Well, *half*-brother. Naomi insisted that all the men she married take her 
last name, and since she's got more money than god, of course they all 
agreed. Blair's a couple of years older than I am. We don't see much of each 
other. The Sandburgs are not a very close family."

"That's sad." Before I could snap that I didn't need his pity, he continued. 
"My family is like that too. I haven't seen my father and brother in more 
than... jesus, more than ten years!"

I had no response to that. We walked through the lobby and out into the 
California sun. A valet parking attendant brought the Mustang around and I 
drove to the marina where Blair would be waiting to take Jim to wherever he 
was supposed to take him.

tbc