Flesh And Blood

“Hmm,” I said, handing her the coffee. “No, I don’t think that’s it. This co

“Oh, right… sorry.”

I sat down, picked up my cup. She did the same.

“Mmm, good,” she said, sipping. “People who do these things – puzzles. I always think it’s amazing. I’ve got street smarts, but I never really cared much for school.”

“Which streets?” I said.

“Phoenix, Arizona.”

“Hot.”

“Like an oven. Sucked. I left there when I was seventeen – dropped out before graduation, fibbed about my age, and got a job in Las Vegas Rollerblading in Magic Wheels.”

“The skating show,” I guessed.

“Yeah, you know it? I used to be a great skater – skated since I could walk.”

“Magic Wheels,” I said. “That went on for a while, didn’t it?”

“Years. But I was only in it for six months, sprained my ankle and it healed okay but not good enough for serious skating. Then I got a place in the line at Follies du Monde.”

Off came the sunglasses. Her eyes looked serene. Talking about herself had relaxed her. I sat back and crossed my legs, looked at the three diamond rings on her right hand, the three-carat ruby on her left.

“A showgirl,” I said.

“Well, it really wasn’t all that – just your basic dancing and kicking,” she said. “First thing they did was change my name. The producers. They said I was go

“What’s wrong with Cheryl?”

“Cheryl Soames,” she said. “It’s not exactly Parisian.”

“So what’d they come up with?”

“Sylvana Spring.” She stared at me, waiting. “It was like a big meeting between me and the choreographer. We came up with it together.”

“Sylvana. Pretty.”

“I thought so – it means the woods, so like, let’s take a walk in the woods. And Spring because what’s the best time to walk in the woods – the spring. I thought it was kind of fresh and poetic. Anyway, I danced my tush off for a year but they never made me a headliner but I kept the name.”

“Another injury.”

“No.” She frowned and put the sunglasses back on. “It’s all politics. Who does what to who.”

“So how’d you end up in Malibu?”

“That is a long, long story.” She tapped the newspaper, looked away. “Would you mind if I break off a tiny bit of your bagel? I haven’t eaten all day – watching the carbs, but I am kinda droopy.”

“Take all of it.”

“No, no, just a nibble.”

“Don’t tell me you’re on a diet.”

“No,” she said. “I just watch. Because – I mean, how long do you have what you have?”

She broke off a crumb, chewed, swallowed, took a bigger bite, ended up finishing half of the bagel.

“Kids napping?” I said.

“Yup. Finally – it’s hell getting them tired enough to nap. That’s why we were down on the beach. What a day – So anyway, I figured why not use the time to look after little old me?”

“Makes sense,” I said. “I want to be honest with you, Cheryl. Your brother-in-law told me who owns the property.”

“My brother-in-law?”

“Kent Irving. He said he was Baxter’s and Sage’s uncle, which would make him your brother-in-law, right? He gave me his card with Duke Enterprises on it. I didn’t realize I was on famous ground.”

She frowned. “He’s not their uncle. He just likes to say that because it’s… simpler to explain.”

“What do you mean?”

“His wife – Anita – she’s actually their sister – Baxter’s and Sage’s. Their half sister. Not their aunt. That makes her my stepdaughter, so I guess Kent’s my stepson-in-law.” She giggled. “Pretty weird, huh?”

“It is a little complicated.”

“She’s a lot older than me and I’m her mom – Don’t laugh, okay? If I start laughing this coffee’s go

“Hey,” I said. “Blended families. Happens all the time.”

“I guess.”

“So Kent’s their brother-in-law,” I said. “And he works for… He is your husband, right? You’re married to the famous Tony Duke.”

“Not anymore.” She looked into one of the shopping bags. Pulled out a red string bikini and held it up. “What do you think?”

“The little I can see is nice.”

“Oh, you,” she said. “Men – they just can’t visualize.”

“Okay,” I said, closing my eyes. “I’m visualizing… The little I can see is terrific.”

She laughed and dropped the swimsuit back in the bag. “Men think naked is the best, but let me tell you, a little bit of cloth’s a whole lot sexier.” Her hand lowered toward her coffee cup, digressed, and brushed against my knuckles.

“So you’re the ex-Mrs. Duke.”

She slapped my wrist, lightly. “Don’t say it like that. I hate that.”

“Being an ex?”

“Being any kind of Mrs. I’m twenty-five years old – just think of me as Cheryl, okay? Or even Sylvana. Mrs. is like someone old.” She breathed deeply, and her breasts budged reluctantly.

“Cheryl it is.” I finished my coffee, went in for a refill, and bought another bagel. “Here you go – more nutrition.”

“No way,” she said, showing me a palm. “A few bites of that and I’ll bloat up and have to be rolled home.” But after another sip of coffee, she began taking tiny chipmunk nibbles, and within moments she’d gnawed off the top of the bagel.

“Look,” she said, “I shouldn’t even be talking about this – Anita, Kent, Tony. We’ve been divorced for a year, if you need to know. But, what the hey, no one can tell me what to do, right?”

“Right.”

“The thing about Tony is, I still feel close to him. He’s really a great person, not at all what you’d think.”

“What would I think?” I said.

“You know, the whole sex thing. The dirty old man stuff. I really did – do love him. Just in a different way, now. He’s-” Shaking her head. “I really shouldn’t be talking about this.”

I ran a finger across my lips. “Don’t mean to pry.”

“You’re not prying, I’m blabbing. The thing is, it’s totally my life, right? Why should I be always listening to people telling me what to do?”

“Who tells you what to do? Anita and Kent?”

She picked up the crossword puzzle, squinted at the grid, blinked. “These letters are tiny, I probably need a new contact lens prescription… You know, I think that pony clue might be ‘cayuse.’ That’s got a y, and I think I remember some Indian word like that from Arizona – Cayuse ponies, whatever. Take a look – what do you think?”

She pressed forward, bosoms resting on the table, slid the paper toward me.

“You know,” I said, “I think you’re right – excellent.”

A huge smile spread across her face as I filled in the blanks, and for a moment she looked very young.

“You must be smart, doing these. Maybe I should start doing them too,” she said. “To keep my mind active. I get bored a lot – there’s not much to do.”

“At the estate?”

“I know, I know, it’s everyone’s idea of paradise, what am I bitching about? But believe me, it’s boring. There’s te

“Why not?”

“So many details,” she said. “Finding the right place, arranging transportation. Making sure about security.”

“Security?” I said. “Like a bodyguard?”

“At least somewhere we can be sure they’ll be safe. There are plenty of movie stars in Malibu, and they send their kids to preschool, but we want to be especially careful.”