Santa Fe Dead

11

BARBARA/ELEANOR SAT IN the rear of the jet, her feet propped up on the opposite seat, reading Vanity Fair. She loved the airplane, so roomy and quiet. Up front, Walter was speaking to an air traffic controller, getting landing instructions. She could hear the conversation over the music on her headset. Maybe she would take up flying; it seemed easy enough.

The airplane touched down gently at Hayward Executive and taxied to an FBO. She knew that meant fixed-base operator, from her experience of flying with Ed Eagle. A black Mercedes drove out onto the ramp and positioned itself near the airplane’s door, its trunk open and waiting. Barbara handed Walter her small bag, containing only her makeup and toiletries and a single change of clothes, having sent everything else to L.A. in her Toyota. She would be starting from scratch, at Walter’s insistence. She liked it when men insisted.

An hour later she and Walter were enjoying a fine lunch on the terrace of their large suite at the Four Seasons.

“Have you spent much time in San Francisco?” Walter asked.

“No. I’ve been here only once, just overnight.”

“You’ll find great shopping around Union Square, which is just up the street from the hotel. I’ve kept the car for you, and the driver will take you up there and follow you around, to take the packages off your hands.”

“Walt, you think of everything.”

The doorbell rang, and Walter got up to answer it. He came back with an envelope addressed to her. “And you’ll need this,” he said, handing it to her.

“My goodness, gifts already?” she asked, tearing open the envelope.

“The gift of gifts,” Walter said.

She plucked a black card from the envelope. “Oh, my God,” she said.

“It’s the American Express Centurion card,” Walter said, “made of titanium, just so it will feel richer.”

“But we only decided to come here this morning; how did you get it so fast?”

“The Centurion service is very good. It was hand-delivered from the local AMEX office.”

She got up from the table and kissed him. “You are the sweetest man!”

“All right,” he said, “go shopping. The concierge has made a dinner reservation for us at eight, so that’s your deadline. I have some shopping of my own to do.”

“I won’t argue with you,” she said, grabbing her handbag and heading for the door.

Union Square and the streets around it were a treasure trove, waiting to be plundered, and she did not keep the shops waiting. She bought two suits and a coat from Chanel; half a dozen dresses, a raincoat and several blouses and pairs of slacks from Armani; shoes from Prada and Jimmy Choo; and lingerie, hosiery and cosmetics at a department store. She bought two alligator handbags from Lana Marx and a sweet little diamond bracelet and a gold Panthere watch from Cartier. It was exhilarating. Only days before she had been a guest of the City of Los Angeles, sharing a cell with a chubby hooker, and now she felt like the queen of San Francisco! She found a luggage shop and chose a quartet of handmade Italian cases.

She returned to the hotel at five. Walter was still out, so she called the concierge for a hair appointment in the suite. She made all the boxes and wrappings go away, hanging her new wardrobe in her closet, and had a long soak in the giant tub while she waited for the hairdresser to arrive.

Her hair was shampooed, cut, shaped and dried, and the woman also applied her light makeup. When Walter returned, it was a little past seven, and she waited until he was in the shower to dress.

Walter emerged in a well-cut blue suit and a gold necktie. He stopped short and stared at her in her new Armani dress. “Wow!” he said. “I’ve never seen anything so gorgeous!”

“Aren’t you nice,” she said, giving him a tiny peck that would not muss her newly applied lipstick. “Where are we having dinner?”

HE TOOK HER to a restaurant called Boulevard. It was large, a little noisy, in the way that wildly successful restaurants always are, and the food was delicious. They drank two bottles of wine, a chardonnay and a cabernet, both from a Napa vineyard, Far Niente. Barbara tried not to get too drunk, but everything was so delicious and the wines so heady that she nearly forgot herself.

CUPIE SAT AT his computer and trolled the Internet, breaking into hotel systems nearly at will. Cupie and computers had been friends from the day they first met. He found Walter Keeler registered in the smaller of the two presidential suites at the Four Seasons, and he tried to image what a small presidential suite must look like. He called Eagle to report in.

“Good work, Cupie. Just keep track of her-that’s all I want. If she heads toward Santa Fe I’ll start packing heat. It shouldn’t be too hard; anybody who flies his own jet isn’t going to be separated too far from his airplane.”

“Good point,” Cupie said. “I’ll check Flight Aware daily for his position.”

THEY MADE LOVE at bedtime, then Barbara gently woke Walter in the middle of the night and introduced him to new techniques.

“I’ve never done that before,” Walter said when they were done, panting a little.

“Sweetheart,” she said, “for as long as you know me, you will never want for any sexual technique at my disposal. For years I had an awful sex life with my late husband, and I’m going to enjoy making up for it with you.”

“Ellie,” he said sleepily, “will you marry me?”

“Oh, hush, Walter, and go to sleep.” It was working.

HE RUSHED HER through breakfast the following morning. “We have an appointment at nine o’clock sharp,” he said.

“An appointment for what?”

“You’ll see.”

The driver deposited them in front of a handsome old apartment building on a hill, and a real estate agent took them to the top floor in the elevator.

They stepped out directly into the foyer of a spacious apartment. A huge bouquet of fresh flowers sat on a table, their scent pervading the air. They moved through beautifully furnished rooms, bedrooms, a magnificent kitchen, a paneled library and a dining room that seated sixteen. Finally, they emerged onto a huge planted terrace, more of a yard, she thought. San Francisco lay at their feet, the bay sparkling, a fog bank nearly enveloping the Golden Gate Bridge, its towers peeking through.

“It’s breathtaking,” she said. “But what are we doing here?”

Walter turned to the real estate agent. “Will you excuse us for a moment?” The woman disappeared, and he turned back to Ellie. “Do you think you could be happy living here?”

“Why, of course. Who wouldn’t be happy living here?”

“Good. But I’m an old-fashioned guy; you’ll have to marry me first.”

“But Walter, we’ve known each other for only a few days. You hardly know me.”

“Let me ask you something: Do you think you know me?”

“Well… yes-unless you have some deep dark secret you’re hiding.”

“Nope. What you see is what you get. My feeling is that you are the same way. Am I wrong?”

She put her arms around his neck. “No, you’re not wrong.”

“I love you, Ellie. Will you marry me?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, kissing him, not worrying about her lipstick.

“I’ve arranged for a license; a judge will bring it at noon. A few friends are coming up from Palo Alto. Is there anyone you’d like to ask?”

“I have no friends in California,” she said. “Only you.”

“Then I will just have to be enough,” he said. “The judge will marry us at noon, then we’ll have a luncheon on the terrace.”

“Will the real estate agent let us do that?”

“Oh, I almost forgot,” he said, beckoning to the woman, who was waiting in the living room. She came out onto the terrace, and he produced a cashier’s check. “Here you are; you may close with my attorney immediately.” He handed her a card.

“The place is yours, Mr. Keeler,” she said. “And may I offer my congratulations?” She shook both their hands and left.

“All the furnishings come with it?” Ellie asked.

“It was an estate sale. The owners died in a yachting accident three months ago, and the agents had the place repainted and freshened up. It comes with two servants, too, a very nice couple, who will be here shortly with the caterers.” The doorbell rang. “That will be our clothes arriving from the hotel.” He went to let them in.

Barbara/Ellie turned and took in the view again. “There is a God,” she said aloud to herself.