Fletch

15

Still in tennis whites, Fletch cruised slowly down Vizzard Road The telephone directory had said the number was 12355.

It was a pleasant Spanish-styled stucco house set back on a cool lawn. In the driveway was a blue Cadillac Coupe de Ville.

Fletch parked in the street.

Going toward the house, he smelled and saw smoke, so he went around to the back.

Inside the pool enclosure was a fat, balding man in Bermuda shorts contemplating a lighted hibachi. Beside him on a flagstone was a large gin and tonic.

“Burt?”

The man looked up, ready to be pleased, ready to greet someone, to be glad; instead, he looked slightly hesitant at someone he had never seen before.

“John Zalumarinero,” Fletch said.

“Oh, yes.”

Burt Eberhart put out his hand.

“I’m only in town for the day. Just had lunch with Joan Collins and her father at the Racquets Club.”

“Oh, yes.”

“I asked for you. Joan said you lived here at The Beach and I should pop in to say hello on the way back to the hotel.”

“Oh, yes.”

“I haven’t seen you since Joan’s wedding. You were best man.”

“John!” Burt Eberhart said with a burst of synthetic recognition. He shook hands again. “By God, it’s good to see you again. How have you been keeping yourself?”

“Furniture business. Montana.”

“That’s terrific. You look so young. You say you just had lunch with Joan and her dad?”

“The grilled cheese special.”

“Jesus. John Collins and his grilled cheese sandwich. A billionaire practically, and he gives you a grilled cheese sandwich. I’d hate to see what he’d eat if he were poor. I know what you mean, fella. I’ve had plenty of his grilled cheese sandwiches. At least he could buy you a steak. With his money. He’s afraid of putting on a pound. As if anybody cares. Everybody’s too busy weighing John’s wallet to care what he looks like.”

“You look prosperous enough yourself.”

“Now no cracks, boy. What can I get you to drink? A gin and tonic?”

“That would be fine.”

“It’s right here, right here.” A bar was in the shade, against the house. “Never be more than ten feet away from your next drink, I always say.”

And he looked it.

“We had great fun at the wedding together, you and I,” Fletch said “I guess you don’t remember.”

“God, I was bombed out of my mind. I don’t remember anything. For all I know, I was the one who got married that day. What did you say your last name is again?”

“Zalumannero.”

“That’s right, that’s right. An Irish boy.”

“Welsh, actually.”

“I remember now. We did have fun. Wasn’t that a beautiful wedding? Oh, God, did we have fun. I remember you, you went right into the pool with your hat on.”

“I did?”

“You did. You certainly did. You walked right up to the pool with your hat on and kept right on walking. Splash! Any man who can do a thing like that can’t be all bad.”

“I don’t remember.”

“I wasn’t the only one putting them down that day, my boy. Here’s to your health. Oh, God, it’s hot. Why people live in this climate I’ll never know. We all rush to California because of the beautiful climate, and then spend the rest of our lives indoors hugging an air-conditioner. Come sit by the hibachi. We’re having a few people over later.”

Fletch sat in the shade of an umbrella and watched Burt fiddle with the hibachi between gulps of his drink

“The trick to a good charcoaled steak is to start the fire plenty early. Two or three hours ahead of time. Our ancestors, you know, used to have the fire going all the time. Of course they weren’t paying what we are for charcoal Then, when they wanted to use the fire, it would be right there, ready, and they could control it. You can’t control a new fire as well. Golly, I’m awful glad you stopped by, John. You should stay for supper.”

“No, thanks, I really can’t.”

“I mean, you should. Anybody who has lunch with John Collins needs a steak supper. And a battle ribbon.”

“My plane leaves in a couple of hours.”

“Then you should have another drink. I always believe in being at least as high as the plane. That way, if it falls down, you still have a chance.”

“How’s Alan?”

“Oh, he’s terrific. Beautiful. He looks like you. Not an inch of fat on his body. Great shape, great shape. Just watching him makes me tired.”

“I think you said at the wedding you and he were great friends at school.”

“Colgate, ta-ra! I’ve been living off him ever since.”

“What do you mean?”

“Almost ever since I had a few lean years before he got married I had to work for a living. Want another drink? I’ve got all his insurance accounts. His life insurance, house, cars, inland marine, the Collins Company. That’s why I never disagree with John Collins, despite the grilled cheese sandwiches. After all, I’ve got my future drinking to consider.”

“Joan said Alan’s life is insured for three million dollars.”

“You’d better believe it.”

“It’s true?”

“Absolutely true. That guy’s worth a lot more dead than alive. Except to me, I get the premiums commission. Every night I pray for him. If he dies, I die. I’d even have to go back to work. Jesus. Think of it. Some damn-ass mechanic forgets to tighten a screw on some damn-ass airplane in Idaho this weekend and my life is over. I hate airplanes. I won’t even look at any. Put Raquel Welch on one wing stark naked and Ursula Andress on the other wing and put the airplane right in front of me, and I wouldn’t even look in its direction. I’m like Al’s mother—he flies and I worry. Probably I’ll die of worrying and he’ll fly a loop-de-loop over my grave.”

“How did you know each other in school?”

“Oh, he was beautiful. We were roommates as freshmen. He had boxed Golden Gloves. He was very serious. Work, work, work all the time. You’d think he had a little clock wound up inside him, and if he didn’t keep time to it, he’d choke or something. I wanted to get into the fraternity and he didn’t. I mean, he didn’t care. He went home most weekends. To the ribald town, Nonheagan, Pennsylvania. Jesus, what a boring town. I went home with him one weekend. On Saturday night for excitement we went downtown and watched the bus stop. I said, ‘Jesus, Al, you’re always so serious. College has more to it than just work, work, work.’ I wanted to get him to apply to the fraternity with me. I thought I’d have a better chance. They turned me down and made an offer to him. He hadn’t even applied. The most crushing blow of my life. I thought I’d never get over it. I mean, how the hell can kids, seventeen, eighteen years old, make decisions like that about someone else after knowing him only a few months? I mean, turning me down? In a few months this bunch of jerks decided Al was all beautiful and good and I was a shit. And Al didn’t even spend the weekends on campus. I rushed the fraternity, and the fraternity rushed Al. Jesus, I wept. Al accepted, on condition they accept me too His roommate. Jesus, I’ll never forget that. The sweetest thing anybody ever did for me. But how did he have the balls to do it? It meant so much, and he stood back cool as a cucumber at eighteen and bargained with this bunch of brass monkeys. I thought he’d never carry it off He did. They accepted us both, they wanted him so bad. Then he never did a damn thing for the fraternity except honor it by living there. He still went home on the weekends. I stayed at the fraternity weekends. Jesus, we had some beautiful times. I’ll never forget that.”

“I don’t understand. What was so great about Alan Stanwyk?”

“What’s so great about Alan Stanwyk? He’s thirty-three now, and he’s running one of the biggest corporations in the world.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I know what you’re going to say. You’re going to say he married Collins Aviation. He’s also brilliant, and he’s worked like a son of a bitch. I’m proud to live off him.”

“Sorry.”

“Believe me, the Collins family wanted him, needed him more than he needed them. I think if it were a toss-up as to whether he saved Alan or Joan, old John Collins would rescue Alan and send his own daughter to the wolves Alan would be running Collins Aviation today whether he married Joan Collins or not.”

“You really think so?”

“I really do. No question about it. You don’t know how able this guy is. Corporations should trip over themselves to get Alan, just like the fraternities did. That guy’s got everything.”

“You’re a hero-worshipper ”

“Yes, and Alan Stanwyk is my hero.”

“Do you actually see much of him?”

“No, not really. We’re interested in different things. He’s flying, playing tennis, squash, sailing. I’m interested in drinking. He works hard at his business. But he’s still very serious about everything. He’s incapable of sitting down and having a casual drink as you and I are doing right now. I mean, we’re just talking. You’re not trying to learn something, I’m not trying to learn something; we’re just shooting the breeze. He has to use every moment for some purpose or other. Also, I don’t think Joan is too fond of my wife. I’m not either, of course, the little darling. Jesus. You haven’t met my wife. With a little luck, you won’t. What can I give you to run away with her?”

“So, Burt, you don’t really know an awful lot about what Al’s doing or thinking these days.”

“I never have. No one ever has. That guy plays awfully close to the chest. He could be dying of cancer and he wouldn’t tell you.”

“Funny you should say that.”

“He wouldn’t tell his best friend his pants were on fire.”

“I thought Joan was very subdued at lunch.”

“Well, let me put it this way: you’re a friend of Joan’s, and I’m a friend of Al’s—right?”

Fletch said, “Right”

“So you see things from her side. I see things from his side.”

“Right.”

“He didn’t just marry the girl of his dreams. He married a corporation. He married a business, an omnipresent father-in-law, a board of directors, a staff of servants, a Racquets Club, Christ knows what else If the average wife is an anchor, that guy is tied to a whole continent.”

“Joan said something about their buying a ranch in Nevada.”

“Yes, Al’s told me about it. I’m to take over the insurance for it when the deal goes through. Sometime in a couple of weeks. Fifteen million dollars worth of cows.”

“Lucky you.”

“All these years I’ve been worrying about Al’s dying. Now I have to worry about cows dying. At least cows don’t fly airplanes. Maybe now I should worry about Al’s dying of hoof and mouth disease.”

“Insuring a Nevada ranch seems a little out of your line.”

“Al’s been very good to me. I’m supposed to be in touch with the real estate broker out there in a couple of weeks. I forget his name. I’ve got it written down somewhere inside.”

“Jim Swarthout?”

“Yeah. That’s the name. You know him?”

“Sure. Nice man.”

“Hope he knows more about insuring cows than I do. I need all the help I can get.”

“I guess the ranch will give them a chance to get away together. I mean Joan and Alan.”

“No. It’s just more corporation. It’s her idea, you know—the ranch.”

“It is?”

“Yeah. Al couldn’t care less about it. He knows less about cows than I do, and all I know is that a cow is square with legs sticking out at the corners. He doesn’t want the damn place Rancho Costo Mucho.”

“I thought it was his idea.”

“Negative.”

“Then why is Joan so subdued?”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe I’m wrong, but I thought she acted sort of sad. Over lunch.”

“She’s worse than he is Serious, serious, serious. Haven’t you ever noticed it before? You’d think with all that money, they’d smile once in a while. It’s almost as if they think smiling costs money.”

“Sorry I didn’t get to meet their daughter, Julie.”

“Little brat.”

“Little brat?”

“Jesus, I wish she had a sister so I could beat one of them to death with the other one. Have another drink?”

“Burt, no thanks. I’ve got to go get on that airplane.”

“Going back tonight, huh?”

“Just have time to get to the hotel, change, and get to the airport.”

“Pity you can’t stay and meet my wife. Maybe you’d want to take her with you.”

“Nice talking with you, Burt.”

“God, she’s awful. Don’t make it such a long time again, John. Anytime you’re in town, drop by.”

“I will, Burt. I will.”