Chapter

14

Slid beneath the door of the Mirage suite was an envelope containing an urgent message. The Beverly Hills Hotel switchboard had forwarded word that Ms. Sobel had called several times. The message read, “I’m at the Airport Hyatt for the night and wanted to personally give you the paper work you’re expecting. Please call me in the morning.”

“Important?” Sara asked.

“Slightly.  Ms. Sobel is in LA wanting to see me.”

“How did she know you were here?”  Sara asked.

“I left word with the Beverly Hills Hotel switchboard that I’d be traveling incognito under the name of Stevens. She’s in LA right now, Sara. She knows where all the money came from. She may even be able to tell me who I really am.”

“I thought you said she didn’t know you. Didn’t she say she was looking forward to meeting you?”

“She might still know who I am without having met me.” The him she referred to, the one who set up the Swiss accounts, might have told her about me. God, anything she knows is more than I know.”

I quickly picked up the phone. “Start packing. We’re going to have to catch the next flight back.”

“What about the car?” she asked.

“Jamison will have to drop us off and drive back alone. Hello, operator. Yes, this is Mr. Stevens. Could you please have two seats booked for me on the next flight back to Los Angeles? First, preferably, but Coach will do if that’s all there is. Yes. We’ll be ready in 15 minutes. Oh, can the ticket cost be deducted from my casino account?  Yes?  Thank you.”

Jamison drove like a crazed madman to get us on the 3 A.M. flight. As we pulled up to the curbside loading, we were still putting ourselves together. We’d hurriedly packed our clothes, withdrawn the winnings from the safe and rushed to the waiting limo. Now we were opening our own doors, jumping out both sides of the car, beating Jamison to the trunk, grabbing our suitcases and dashing into the terminal. The big clock read, 2:45.

We rushed toward those god-awful people movers, escalators.

“Good luck,” yelled Jamison as he rushed to the ticket counter to have them notify the gate we were en route.

“Don’t forget to phone ahead to the Hyatt and tell them to alert Ms. Sobel that I’m on my way.”

Jamison nodded and we ran along what seemed like miles of people movers and up to the gate, arriving with thirty seconds to spare. I gave the woman taking tickets an out-of-breath, “Thank you...thought we’d miss it...Stevens for two...God, we made it... “

As I handed her the tickets, she calmly said, “Catch your breath, sir. We have just started boarding. The flight’s delayed twenty minutes. Sorry.”

By the time the plane took off, I had caught my breath. I’d learned one more thing about myself. I was out of shape.

Sara started giggling.

“What’s so funny? I obviously haven’t had to run that hard in a long time.”

“Oh, I’m not laughing at you,” she said. I just flashed on a picture of Benoit when he realizes we both left without saying goodbye. He wanted an affair with your ‘husband’ in the worst way.” She kissed me, and lowered her voice, “You wouldn’t allow that, would you?”

I looked into her eyes and smiled. “You’re no joke to me, Sara. I wouldn’t allow anything to happen to you.”

She smiled back and rested her head on my shoulder. We both grabbed some much-needed sleep until the stewardess roused us at Los Angeles International.

My phone call from the terminal had been apologetic. It was very early for me and I had no idea what kind of clock Ms. Sobel was on. She was very cordial and assured me I hadn’t interrupted any sleep. We arranged to meet at the Hyatt restaurant and she left me feeling even more excited about the prospect of getting answers.

I sent Sara home in a cab, promising to meet her later at the bungalow for lunch. On entering the restaurant, I was seated at the reserved table by the waitress and poured some much-needed coffee while I waited. The room was packed with businessmen and women having their rushed breakfasts. Suitcases and travel bags were beside most of them and it was obvious that the hotel had more than its share of frequent travelers.

Suddenly, I felt very nervous over the threat that I might have to wheel and deal some business myself very shortly—business I could be totally in the dark over. She was, after all, a financial person, consultant or advisor, someone who could tell me who he was and why for some inexplicable reason had arranged for Ms. Sobel to deposit millions for me in Swiss bank accounts. That thought, together with the self-conscious way I felt remaining dressed in my tux, made me more than just a little nervous.

I looked at my watch. It was 8:10. She was late. The morning paper was folded neatly on the table and I picked it up, assuring myself that when opened and held, it would protect me from all the eyes I felt were staring at my attire.

The headlines suggested the rest of the world was nervous as well. There was the usual column devoted to the continuing banking crisis. Iran was going about its business as usual, warning everyone not to sabre rattle or they would retaliate with serious consequences. I turned the page and was faced with an editorial concerning some revised homeless figures. I was immediately reminded of Ivan and the volunteer work he was doing. Something inside me was arrested again, something still growing that had to do with the homeless, the hungry, the lost people of the streets. I was uncomfortable and unsure with how to deal with it. I knew it wasn’t as simple as passing out hundred-dollar bills down at “The Kitchen.” I wanted an answer to that question. What was it? What was gnawing at me every time I thought about the homeless?

The waitress interrupted my thought. “More coffee, sir?”

“Thank you.” I looked at my watch, again. It was 8:15. “Could you check to see if I’ve had any messages. I’m Mr. Steve...Mr. Randall.

“Of course, sir.”

I looked about the room once more. God, where’s my newspaper. I lifted it up again to shield myself and then decided to take care of this embarrassment once and for all. I headed for the men’s room in the lobby. The short walk seemed to take me past hundreds of examining eyes.

Once inside, I looked in the mirror and removed the bow tie and cummerbund. I noticed a change. I hadn’t seen myself this way when I put on the tux. What was it? Had something significant happened to me in Vegas? Had I taken on my true self? My eyes seemed different. Less honest? Less sensitive? Or were they just more confident? What was it? I didn’t like what I saw. I didn’t like it at all. I leaned over and splashed my face with cold water, gave my cheeks a vigorous rub and took another look. I removed the coat and rolled up my sleeves. That felt better. Some urgency popped out at me from the mirror. Was I really a "roll up your sleeves" kind of person? Another glance at my watch told me this wasn’t the time or place for self-analysis. I grabbed  my coat, cummerbund and bow tie and left my unresolved questions behind as I returned to the restaurant.

I stood there a moment scanning the tables. Everyone was busy eating, not looking around. The crazy looking guy in the tux wouldn’t be a conversation piece any longer. I was feeling better. Now, all I had to do was get myself through the meeting with Ms.

Sobel and I could relax. My eyes settled on a woman sitting at my table with her back to me. Ms. Sobel had arrived. This was it.

My first words as I placed my excess clothing in the unoccupied seat and extended my hand were “Ms. Sobel?” That’s all I said.

The attractive face with its rosy cheeks looked up. She appeared more than just a little surprised and said, “My God. Is this coincidence or what?”

She rose and threw her arms around me. “Charlie, but...” she sat back down.  “Never in my wildest would I... You look wonderful.” She was for a moment, on the verge of tears.

Well, you want confusion. She knew me? She knew Charlie? So why all the “...must meet you on my next trip” stuff. I sat down before I fell down as she continued.

“Mexico must have been a huge success.” She laughed nervously, trying to enjoy a moment that was disturbing her. “Your voice has even slightly changed.” She laughed again. “So, this is a surprise. You arranged this, didn’t you? So, when does Mr. Randall make his grand entrance? I’m so anxious to meet the man that everyone at the firm is talking about.”

I wasn’t feeling well, not well at all. My stomach was churning; my head was spinning. I was about to lose whatever was in my stomach. “Ms. Sobel...please excuse me a moment.” I stood up.

“Something I said? I’m terribly sorry.”

She was sincere. That much I remember as I assured her, “Something you said? I... I just need to step out for a moment. Please excuse me.” I hurried past her and out into the lobby and into the men’s room again.

It took me about half a minute to get rid of what little I had in my stomach. My head was pounding as I washed my face and rinsed out my mouth. I was scared like never before. But I knew I had to get back out there and deal with the questions and answers.

As I pushed open the door of the men’s room, I suddenly felt as if my arms were being pulled from behind, as if the forward motion of my body was being reversed. I was afraid to turn around and confront the force that was drawing me back. My eyes caught a quick glance of the restaurant entrance, just before the door swung back at me, hard. A voice echoed behind me, “This is not the time, Charlie.” I felt my neck tighten as my head seemed to bounce. The last thing my eyes told me was the tilted entrance of the men’s room bending and the clock above it waving, then melting over the doorframe like some surreal warning.