Charlie shook his head. Lanier sipped his tea. Shaughnessy clapped his hand to Lanier's arm. "You know, if Ellie hadn't been there, we'd have thought you were part of it."
"To burn your place down? Ellie?" Lanier was puzzled.
"Well, you did disappear just about the time the call came in. But Ellie cleared things up. She gets around, you know. Defended you gloriously. Besides," Shaughnessy concluded, "I have a lot of enemies. Probably Abraxas Studios did it. Who knows."
"And you believe Ellie?"
"Shit." Shaughnessy grinned. "She could tell me the world was flat and I'd believe her." Everyone laughed.
They walked over to a stand of low bushes where some tables and elegant wrought-iron chairs had been set out. Charlie was still watching Senator Randell move through the partygoers on the veranda.
Shaughnessy caught his expression. "I take it that your politics don't agree with Randell's."
Charlie, who still felt slightly out of place, tried to smile diplomatically. It was, he felt, rather rude to disapprove of the host's choice of guests.
"It's nothing," he declined.
"Sure, it's nothing. It never is. Listen," Shaughnessy confided, "this is California. Randell is out of his element. No one here really likes him except Ellie. We just tolerate him. He's not going to do anything crazy. He wouldn't dare. Not here, anyway."
"Ellie?" Lanier was curious. Two Moons' words still lingered in his mind. There was much he didn't understand, or perhaps didn't want to admit to himself.
"Sure, take a look. She's been around him all night."
Randell was grouped with a small gathering that talked gaily on the covered porch of the mansion. Ellie Estevan was moving casually among them, laughing with the rest. A large yellow rose was in her soft brown hair.
Lanier observed her, even as Charlie Gilbert watched Senator Albertson Randell.
Charlie gestured. "Look at the way he moves through people."
Randell strolled across the porch, cutting through men and women like a jungle-tank through underbrush. It was as if they weren't there at all; as if they were merely ghosts, or fog. Randell had absolutely no sense of other people being in the world.
Charlie said, "The man certainly gets what he wants."
Lanier, slightly piqued by the remark—accidental though it was—saw Ellie Estevan link arms with Randell. Lanier recalled the photographs from the scandal sheets in Christy's file. Randell, being a politico, attracted many of the brahmins in American culture. Naturally, Ellie Estevan would be one of them.
But Lanier didn't like it. Randell used people. He circulated with the rich, the popular, the controversial. He was always onstage, always in the spotlight. It was hard for Lanier to comprehend Randell's place in Ellie Estevan's life. They seemed so damned
comfortable
together.
But when anger began to rise inside of him, Lanier automatically recalled his mantra.
Be the rock in the stream. Let it flow around you
.
Randell moved away from the porch, stepping out into the weak afternoon light. Ellie Estevan was in tow.
Lanier, still holding on to his mantra, pushing out the sounds of the party, saw Randell approach their host. Lanier realized, suddenly, that no one but Charlie Gilbert knew of the fact that Lanier had "stalked" Senator Randell a few months ago.
And if he were lucky, Randell himself wouldn't recall anything of that rescue. Some patients did, some did not. Randell had gone under so resolutely that it was just possible he might not recognize him.
The blood
, Lanier recalled. Randell's crazed expression as they ran down the corridors of that incredible world came back to his mind.
"This should be interesting," Charlie'said in a low voice to Lanier.
Shaughnessy, suppressing his usual gregariousness, held out his hand to Senator Randell. "Having a good time, Senator?"
Remarkably condescending
, Lanier observed, watching Shaughnessy.
This man isn't afraid of anyone. Abraxas Studios or a slightly suspicious senator notwithstanding
.
Randell's thin white hair seemed somewhat yellower in the wan light of the sun. He had a mouth that neither Charlie nor Lanier liked. His upper lip never exposed his teeth. It gave Randell a slight ghoulish character. But when Randell laughed, his mouth changed entirely and became oddly comic.
Randell looked at Charlie and Lanier, even as he shook Shaughnessy's hand. Charlie was right. Lanier noticed how the Senator sized up people immediately. Friend or foe. Ally or commodity.
"Just came out to see what the fuss was. Thought for a moment them damn chicanos had gotten an airplane and were going to strafe this wonderful palace of yours."
Shaughnessy laughed, but this time it rang hollow. He didn't care if Charlie and Lanier knew it was staged. It only mattered that Randell was placated.
"I doubt that Draco would take his guerrillas this far into the wilderness just to bomb a few people. No one here I know is worth the trouble."
Charlie sputtered his drink, and even Ellie laughed. Lanier suppressed a giggle. Randell, slightly woozy on an afternoon of Manhattans, smiled at the apparent joke, missing it entirely.
Lanier turned to Ellie. So far she hadn't acknowledged him. At Shaughnessy's other party she had had her gorgeous eyes constantly on him. Lanier wondered if Ellie was onstage as well.
But Shaughnessy introduced both Charlie and Lanier to Senator Randell, and introduced Charlie to Ms. Estevan, who was charmed to meet him. Only then did she look at Lanier. She gave him an open, enchanting smile.
Randell had apparently failed to recognize Lanier.
Shaughnessy motioned everyone toward the arena of tables and chairs, but Lanier excused himself.
"I'd like to clean up a bit if it's OK."
"By God," Shaughnessy said loudly, returning to normal, "take your time, son. Make yourself right at home. And don't take any shit from my guards." He smiled at one of the Belgians standing next to a large planter. The mercenary nodded flatly.
Shaughnessy's attention was genuine, and Lanier felt much better. Everyone else began sitting around a wide tray of drinks a waiter had just set before them. He wouldn't be missed.
When Lanier turned toward the porch, he was careful to cast his eyes in Ellie Estevan's direction. He stared at her evenly, thinking no thoughts, if anything looking a bit adventurous. He had no other desire than that of speaking to her once again.
One could easily get lost in Shaughnessy's Spanish mansion. Lanier roamed the halls, admiring the tapestries and paintings. The furniture that was not antique was modern and expensive.
He finally found an empty room. It turned out to be a small film library and viewing room. There was a bathroom off to one side, and Lanier stepped into it.
He ran water over his hands and relished its warmth. He wondered where Shaughnessy got the electricity for the mansion. This close to the ocean, wind-generated power would be much more economical than propane. But the mansion was too large for that. In any case, he did appreciate the luxury of warm water. It relaxed him in a way that alcohol might if he had been drinking. He closed his eyes.
"I see you made it back," Ellie said suddenly from the doorway.
Startled, Lanier spun around.
"You shouldn't do things like that," he told her. "It's been a busy afternoon."
"I know," she smiled. "Mr. Gilbert is out there telling war stories. Particularly the one that happened this afternoon. I didn't know that flying was among your talents."
Lanier smiled at her, his heart still racing. In the bright lights of the washroom, Ellie's eyes sparkled intensely. Yet he couldn't tell if she was being anything more than simply coquettish. She looked at him much in the same way he had seen her entertain other people at the party. Especially Randell.
"I learned it during the War."
"Were you in Africa? You seem so young."
"It wasn't that long ago." Now it was his turn to be playful. "You aren't that young yourself." He set aside the towel. "No, I was a trainer in the States. No combat duty. Charlie's the hero in the family."
"Oh? He's a relative?"
"Just an expression. Were almost brothers. He and his wife are my best friends."
They stepped back into the film library. Two sides of the room had ceiling-to-floor shelves that held reels of movie film, and one whole wall was a large, wide screen. There were also two very plush chairs and three long couches in the room. The sounds of the party could be heard through the walls.
"I want to thank you," he said suddenly, "for telling Shaughnessy about what happened."
Ellie pulled out a thin cigarette, rolled in licorice paper, from a box on the table. She lit it elegantly.
"Oh, it was nothing. I just had seen it happen before. Everyone was quite alarmed. I thought it was funny. I told them not to worry about it."
He watched her smoke. She had the elegance and flair of someone who was very definitely at home with herself.
"How is it that you know so much about stalking?"
Ellie was sitting in one of the chairs. She crossed her legs in such a way as to expose herself for a brief instant.
Lanier's mantra jumped back into his consciousness. His body, reflexively, was telling him things his mind refused to face.
But Ellie did seem uncomfortable at the question. Her eyes sparkled, nonetheless. "Oh, I've met a few Stalkers in my time." She held up her cigarette in one hand as if it were a banner of some kind. Smoke trailed away, filling the room with its sweet scent.
She was totally ladylike, refined and casual. She made Lanier feel rather off-kilter. They seemed like opposites.
Fudd-Smith's Law at work
, he thought.
He decided to change the subject.
"I didn't know that you knew Senator Randell so well."
She drew hard on her cigarette, blowing out a long, healthy cloud of smoke before her.
We're old friends," she said, smiling at him disarmingly, even though she did appear nervous.
Lanier walked around the large library. "I'm not too sure I like Randell."
"I can tell."
Lanier turned and faced her. She was being playful. It was what she did best, apparently.
"No one likes Al, outside his constituency. But he sure is fun to be around, and he knows a lot of people."
Al
? he thought.
Fun
?
He could suddenly see the blood sluicing out of the drains of Randell's incredible city-within-the-wall onto the lush green turf. He could still smell it curdling around his feet.
He wondered just then if she knew that Randell had succumbed.
Certainly, she wouldn't know where Randell had gone or what he had imagined for himself under the disease.
Lanier was quite uncomfortable. He had one kind of knowledge; she, another.
"You know," he began somewhat reluctantly, "I didn't mean to disappear like that at Burton's party."
Ellie sat smoking thoughtfully. The sunlight that came in through the window behind her illuminated her entirely. Her eyes were like pools of stardust.
"I didn't think you did. It
was
rather strange."
Lanier looked at her, considered her ways. "I guess I was feeling nervous being in the midst of so many —"
"So many what?"
"Well, you have to understand that I don't associate with people in your business."
"Which is what?"
"I meant the movie industry."
She was playing with him. Lanier couldn't tell if he liked it or not. His body was saying yes while his mind said no.
She said, "Burton knows many kinds of people. Even politicos, even though he hates to admit it." She waved her cigarette in the air, smiling. "We're just folks, as he would say."
Lanier didn't believe for a minute that Ellie Estevan and Burton Shaughnessy were "just folks." The woman before him had an incredible aura of well-being. Lanier wasn't in any position to judge her skill as an actress, but her mere presence was enough to get her whatever she wanted from this world.
Lanier sat next to her in the other chair. There were so many questions he felt like asking her. And questions he needed to ask himself—questions whose answers he might not want to face.
But being in such physical proximity to her had fired up his courage. Years ago it had been Marie. Now it was Ellie Estevan, the most engaging woman in the western world. He felt his skin tingle. A few bars of the Villa-Lobos returned to his mind. A glassy look came into his eyes.
Ellie stubbed out her cigarette. "You aren't going under on me, are you?"
Lanier shook his head, smiling. "No, I was just thinking."
About what?"
What can you tell a woman like this that won't sound too much like fawning? What can you reveal to a person who's lived as she's lived
? The highlands of New Mexico rarely spawn worldly-wise individuals.
"Well, to be honest with you I was just thinking that it's very strange to be here, alone with you."
She sat back, her breasts uplifting slightly, almost imperceptibly so. "Is that so unusual?"
He laughed to relieve the tension. He had nothing to lose. "Of course it is. Up until a few days ago you were someone I read about, or heard about. Not this," and he gestured to her with his hand.
"I'm not unusual, believe me. And besides, you're the Stalker. There are fewer of you people than movie stars."
"But we're accidents."
"I hear that you're the best there is."
Modesty began to cloud his perceptions of her. But he looked up into her calm face, wondering just how approachable she was. Or how approachable
he
was.
"I don't know about that. And I don't know how long it will last. As soon as they find a cure for the Syndrome, I'll be out of a job. It'll be back to real estate or insurance for me. Whereas you'll always be in the movies."
"Until I grow old and ugly," she laughed.
"I can't see you being either. I can see you always being like the way you are, right here in that chair."