74
Outside on the lawn, tastefully arranged uplights revealed a party that looked like it was winding down. A close knot of bodies was crossing the grass. Peter Weiss spotted Gwen.
“Hey, here’s the heroine of the day!”
“Hey, Gwen,” echoed Kevin Barclay. “Perfect timing.”
She walked up to them; the three grunts were part of the group too. Mandy and Mel and Randy Sieber had gone.
“Join us. We’re going to hit the beach bar in Carmel.”
Gwen eyed them. They weren’t drunk, but they were on their way. She had the feeling if she ever wanted to slip in any discreet questions about Falcon and Messenger, this would be her chance.
“Sure,” she replied.
* * *
The bar was heaving with people. They spilled out onto the sand. Gwen sipped on the Coke Peter Weiss had bought her. Everyone else was on tequilas, save Weiss, who announced he was sticking to beer. Gwen thought he looked oddly guilty drinking even that. He kept looking round as if expecting censure. He wasn’t saying much, just sipping and lapsing into song. More R.E.M.; “Everybody Hurts,” this time.
The limos lined up on Scenic Road, further incitement, if any were needed, to a liquid night.
Gwen half listened in to the conversations, eyes on the sea, on the breakers silvered by the full moon.
Weiss moved closer to Gwen. “That was amazing, what you did today,” he murmured over the rim of his beer bottle.
Gwen shrugged. “Instinctive, really.”
Weiss gave a slight shudder. “Not for me. I wouldn’t have jumped in there.”
“If someone you loved were drowning…”
“Yeah, well maybe then, but hell, please don’t tell me you love Mandy.”
Gwen laughed. “No, Peter. Rest assured, I do not love Mandy. In fact you could say I am severely pissed with her.”
“I’ll bet.” He sipped, paused. “So, who do you love then, mysterious Dr. Boudain?”
Gwen looked at Weiss, standing before her, eyes sad. She thought for a while.
“Truly love, rather than care for?”
Weiss nodded.
“My parents.”
He nodded again. “Bit sad, isn’t it, to love the dead best.”
Gwen shrugged. “At least it’s love. How ’bout you?”
“My mother. My dead mother.” He gave her a wry smile.
Gwen nodded. “No one since?” She saw her chance. “Like a substitute father figure?”
Weiss looked at her sharply. “Meaning?”
“Dr. Messenger?”
“Shit! I don’t love him!” he said angrily, slopping beer over the sand as he gesticulated.
“He’s my boss. That’s it!” he declared, face reddening.
“A kind of mentor?” suggested Gwen. “Like he said, he’s made you all millionaires. He’s made you all part of something.”
“That’s what he thinks, with all his speeches and his grandstanding. There are bigger things, Gwen,” intoned Weiss, with a mixture of what seemed like bitterness and portent.
Still angry, he turned and headed for the bar. Did he mean religion, wondered Gwen? There had been a brief flash of a manic light in his eyes.
She’d get no more out of him, she realized. He’d joined Jihoon and Curt at the bar. They made way for him, but it was obvious he was the odd man out, the permanent outsider, thought Gwen, feeling a flash of sympathy.
Atalanta and Kevin Barclay had disappeared. Gwen was alone. She felt oddly calm. Her hands dangled by her sides. She stood quite still.
Her normal restive energy was all burnt out. She was only truly relaxed when she had felt the catharsis of fear, all adrenaline spent on the waves, or when she had had truly spectacular sex.
She smiled to herself.
With the calm came a kind of super clarity, where she felt as if she could have seen individual blades of grass, seen through pretenses to the core. It was as if all the extraneous noise in her head and outside had faded away to insignificance. It was a kind of addiction, this feeling.
Now she was left with one clear image, one clear want: Dan Jacobsen. Messenger was right. You could die at any moment. So she might as well really live. She could imagine the smell of Dan’s sweat: honey, musk, and salt. She craved him. With her body, with her mind. If she fell in love with him, if she got hurt, then it was a price worth paying.