Chapter

 47

The lobby was busy this morning as I stepped away from the travel desk. I had finished making the plane and limo reservations for Julian and Max, and as I started back toward the bungalow, I realized just how good doing this for them made me feel. At worst, I was providing employment and a vacation for them. At best, a permanent home and no more financial worries...kind of like what I pictured a father might do for his sons. I thought of what it must be like to be a father...a real father.

Walking through the grounds, I tried to picture what my own mother and father must have been like. I wanted to believe they were loving and caring parents. I was a pretty well-adjusted person, I thought, all things considered. I was neurotic as hell, but I understood why, so it didn’t bother me that much. I liked children, so I must have had a pretty good childhood. I probably got along well with both. I didn’t have any rough attitudes toward either men or women, so they probably treated each other with respect.

As I stepped back into my living space, I closed the door and looked around. Next thing I had to do was find a bigger place for all of us. Maybe a house. What if they wanted to live alone? I could respect that. Then again, they would probably feel a little lonely coming to a strange town. A big house down by the water would be nice.  Sara and I could live in half and Julian...I was going too fast. It was 10:30 and I had the power of attorney thing to settle.

“What do I have to do to satisfy you men? I just want to live my own life.”

The three men, Mathews, Mike the broker and Palmer Sykes, Mathews’ attorney of 20 years, were all trying to be as patient with me as they could. After all, as professionals, they were at risk of exercising too much or too little influence on this...me...their biggest client ever.

“It’s not every day I have to advise someone who doesn’t give a damn about a couple a hundred million,” said the rotund man whose Beverly Hills 20^th floor office was bristling with frustrations.

We had been at it for two hours. Mathews had suggested we meet in his attorney’s office and look at all sides of the issue before I just sign off the revocation. I was willing to do whatever they felt was proper but having to sit through the broker’s and the attorney’s long explanation of my options, well, I was exhausted from it all. They looked like they were just warming up.

Mike recommended transferring all the business management to an associate firm in Texas, “...one used to dealing with complicated estates,” he had said.

Palmer was of the mind to freeze all the assets until a thorough investigation could be mounted to determine if any improprieties had been exercised in the sale of the Hong Kong property. “Phantom companies with phantom owners—no offense Mr. Randall—is delicate, to say the least,” he said. “Trying to uncover some side deal with the Germans could be a very long and costly affair. Without hard evidence, well, I don’t want her firm coming after you for defamation.” That had been his stand.

Mathews was only concerned that whatever the decision, the progress of regaining my memory should not be impeded. “You guys know I’m a no-nonsense taskmaster when it comes to a patient. Charles has more than just his memory to deal with, so let’s do whatever we must, but let’s do it simple. Possible?” That had been his position from the beginning of this grueling debate. Now I was asking once again... “What do you want me to do?”

Mike needed some comic relief. “Too bad we can’t claim you need to freeze everything while your accountant does some tax planning, ha, ha.”

“What does he do, Mike?” asked Palmer, apparently having not thought of that till now.

“Look...I’m just a broker. Sounds like Charlie never paid a dime of taxes, ‘cause he and his aliases never existed for the U.S. Government. Charles here, whoever he is...shit that didn’t sound right. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okey. I deal with it all the time. Go ahead.”

“Well, until Mathews and you get your memory working again, we don’t really know if you have any U.S. tax history, either. I mean, correct me if I’m wrong Palmer, but Charles here is walking around with millions of dollars’ worth of paper with his signature on it, and as far as we know, that’s the only reality in this mess...a whole hell of a lot of money. Unreported, widely invested, hiding in Swiss accounts...money. If it were me, I’d be... hell. I’d probably be just as nervous as you.”

Palmer turned from his Churchill pose at the window and said, “Revoke it. Tell her that until we can find Charlie Stevens, you don’t want to conduct any business. You’ll get screaming and yelling, but this is the least antagonistic approach. You don’t want her sensing any more personal attacks which some of the other options lay on her. We can thoroughly check out the Germans without her knowing, and I can probably arrange some ‘unobtrusive’ snooping around her offices as well...if that’s all right with you.”

I turned to Mathews for a sign of support. His face was deadpan. He was playing doctor again. This was going to be my decision. “Mike?” I said. “You okay with that?”

Mike paused.  His investment conscience for Mathews thought just a moment. “Unless there’s a market crash, which thanks to the present economy making that unlikely, we should be alright in the States for a while. Those foreign enterprises, I’ll have to watch closer, but yes. We’re okay...for the time being.”

I stood up with what must have looked like a casual response to it all...a good, long stretch. “Do it. I’m not good at this at all.”

Palmer wasn’t that happy as he sat down and leaned across the desk. “Mr. Randall, I really don’t know what or who I’m representing...quite frankly. Nothing personal, but I’m doing this for Mathews until he can tell me who you are...for real. You understand?”

“That’s makes two of us relying on him for a lot. Is the mountain getting steep?” I said to Mathews.

He stood up, putting his coat on. “It’s always been steep. You guys are just a new storm… making it slippery.”

He reached across the desk to Palmer. “Thanks Palmer. I know this is a tough one, so thanks.”

“Doc,” he said, “You ever going to bring me anything easy?”

“It gets me call-backs at least,” quipped Mathews.

“I’ve always returned your calls.”

“Not when I slipped up and told your secretary I wanted to play golf.”

Palmer walked us to the door with, “Christ, Mathews. Twenty years and you still want to punish me. Don’t you guys call that aberrant behavior?”

“Just normal sadism. I’ll spot you a couple more strokes if that’ll...”

“Get out of here.”

As Palmer opened the door, he shook my hand. “I’ll get a fax off to Sobel this afternoon.”

“Thanks, Palmer. That’s a big thanks.”

“I know. Take care of yourself. We’ll be in touch. Mike? Thanks for coming in. I’m sure we’ll be talking.”

“Any questions, just call,” replied Mike.

That’s how three men and a newborn of sorts solved one problem and created an even greater one that sunny day in Century City.

Mathews and I got off the elevator at the garage level and walked to our respective transportation. For the moment at least, with the burden of Sobel and the money in Palmer’s hands, we were probably in the most relaxed and buddy-like mood we’d ever been in. After all this time, we were finally seeing each other’s way of getting around town. I kidded him about the “Hollywood” look of the 728i he was driving and he gave me the routine that “Beverly Hills Bikers” only wore mink lined leathers, etc. When he asked if I ever really “drove it,” I challenged him to climb aboard and find out. He glanced at his four-door symbol of status and safety and smiled back at my open aired symbol of status and chance. “Never been on one of these.”

No one was more surprised than I was when he threw his leg over the backside and said, “Show me.”

I was used to getting looks, but now with a suit and beard on my backside the glances pulling out onto Ave. of the Stars were a little more askance. “You sure you want this?” I yelled back at him.

“Just don’t make me hug you for dear life, okay? I still have a role to live up to.” He liked it. Around the block twice wasn’t enough. He wanted more, so...

...Pacific Coast Highway took me six minutes to reach by using the side streets I knew well by now. At the last stoplight, before the highway, I asked, “Sure you want the ‘E’ ticket ride?”

“This is the most fun I’ve had since meeting you.” He motioned me on. The fun was about to ebb shortly.

At the stoplight, his words “...since meeting you,” kept repeating itself over and over in my mind. I pulled onto the highway and headed north. That’s when I realized I wasn’t fooling him anymore than myself. I pushed the speedometer to 60 and closed the distance between his office and the place it all started.

It was as if Mathews knew, as if he planned it. Once before, in the session, he had given me a post-hypnotic suggestion to take him there, then canceled it away. What was drawing me there now? Was it Mathews? Had he somehow, unbeknownst to me, planted the suggestion again?

The wind was stretching ten years off both our faces as the speedometer climbed to 70. I started thinking the cove today might not be a good idea. I was tired from last night with Sara and tired from the attorney’s office.

I looked out to sea. A typical day. Sun. Warm temperatures, and... a fog bank resting offshore for the next sea breeze to move it back to shore...back to the...

Who was I kidding? I was as anxious as Mathews to see that fog roll over the cove and for us to be there.

My thoughts were interrupted by Mathews trying to be heard over the now 75 miles per hour. “These the yellow lines?”

Looking down at the ground rushing past us, I nodded.. It was hotter today than my last visit to this place, this place that had sent me wandering through the beginning and running for my life a few weeks ago.

As we approached the bottom of the dirt road that wound down from the turnoff some half-mile back up the hill, my eyes became locked on the iron gate. It was open but tilted on its hinges now as if it had been in battle with the bumper of something bigger than its three-inch pipe frame.

I slowed the bike down to a crawl.  The predator cautiously approaching the prey. It had been there at the gate side that the voice had said, “Get the fuck out of here Charles.” I reached into my breast pocket and lifted the pill I knew was a trusted friend and protector now.

“When did you take your last one?” asked Mathews with that quiet voice. “Just before Palmer’s,” I answered.

He knew alright. He was as anxious as I was. “Want one?”

He wasn’t laughing at my joke. “Do we park here?”

“No. Further down.” I eased past the opening. There was no voice, only the purr of the bike’s reserved power, the power I knew could get us out of this quiet hell if I needed it to.

As we passed the askew “No Entry After Dark” warning sign, the additional bullet holes all but obliterated the “...After Dark” portion. What was left was a less qualified and more insistent request, “No Entry... “

Rains had rutted the road even more at this point. A few yards past the gate, I stopped. “Easier to push it from here on.”

Mathews climbed off and gazed around. “So, this is where it all began,” he said with hushed tones, as if conscious of the same fears I had thought were only my own...fears we both now seemed to know were capable of springing up through me any moment.

I began maneuvering the bike around the potholes as Mathews followed, peering into the thick foliage flanking both sides of the narrow road.

At the other end, the white sands of The Cove began to appear. Further out, the horizon was shrouded in the fog bank. In between, the water’s edge was calm.

I pushed the gleaming machine out into the clearing and paused. “This is it. Not that much to look at. Just a cove.”

“Hardly just a cove to you,” Mathews said as he wandered out onto the sand. As he walked, he took in the water to his right with its small docking area and the cliffs to his left. “That path go all the way to the top?”

“Don’t know. Don’t remember ever being on it.”

Mathews was thirty or forty feet away, but his eyes were as if right in front of me when he asked, “Want to try and remember?”

I eased the bike back a few feet to catch the shade of a palm and leaned it on its kickstand.  I walked out onto the sand and stood next to him. “Wish I recalled more. It’s the same as I told you before. I woke up right over there.” I pointed to a patch of sand next to a fire pit. “Bike was next to me that morning. I remember feeling cold. My pants were wet. Just me, the bike and some wet pants.”

“Remember you saying no shoes no shirt,” reflected Mathews. “You and your bike under a palm. Fire?”

“What?”

“Was there a fire in the pit?  Embers? Coals?”

“Don’t remember.”

He jammed his hands in his pockets and looked at the ash-filled fire pit. “November nights are cold, especially down by the water, and especially wearing wet pants.” He motioned me to follow and we walked over to the docking area. “None of this rings a bell?”

I wanted to say yes, just to feel some progress, but the answer was “No.”

He turned and looked at the cliffs on the other side of the beach. “When we walked the Santa Monica pier, you told me that finding the cove the second time hadn’t added anything to your recollection.”

“That’s right.”

“I think it might help if we sat down over there by the bike and tried again.”

“You want me to journey?”

“It’s up to you, but we’re here and we’ve tried a lot of office sessions that got us nowhere. Not pressuring you.  This is a bit inordinate, but…it’s your call.”

I nodded and walked over and laid down by the tree, next to the bike he now was straddling.

“Comfortable?” he asked. “Miss the couch?”

“Use the sand, Charles. Let yourself just lie there a minute.”

“I remember spreading my hands down…down on the sand and….” Suddenly, I rose up. I looked over at the cliffs. “That path. What if it does go to the top?”

That got his attention. The casual straddling of the bike was gone. He slid to his feet. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know for sure. Maybe nothing.”

There was a bit of excitement in both our gait as we strode off to the path leading hopefully to the top.