Lucidity Page 13

  “I wanted to ask you something,” Madden said. “But I was waiting to do it in person. You have someone following me?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You sure you aren’t being paranoid, Detective?”

  “You sure you aren’t lying to me?”

  Shelby smiled. “Not about that. You mind if I take this?” he said, holding up Darren’s short story.

  “You paid for it,” Madden said. “How ’bout the snake? You want him, too?”

  “No, thanks. Freddy’s all yours.”

  “I was going to bury him again along with the dog, although your friend J.J. seems to be quite attached to him.”

  Shelby looked back at J.J., who still had Finnegan’s skull in his hand.

  “He’s found his muse, Detective. If you’re lucky he’ll write a song about you. And you, too, Ms. Dupuy. Immortality beckons. But time’s a tickin’. I’ll give you another couple of weeks to make some progress.”

  “But your contract says I have six months to find them,” Madden said.

  “It does.”

  “So why’d you say I only have a couple of weeks?”

  “I have a chronic case of impatience. I take these pills to control it, but they don’t seem to work.”

  “A contract’s a contract,” Dupuy interjected.

  Shelby nodded in agreement. “But you can always write multiple contracts with multiple people. Last I checked, your contract didn’t include an exclusivity clause. And I believe that it would be your fault that it doesn’t have one, wouldn’t it, Ms. Dupuy?”

  The comment left Dupuy looking a little dumbfounded, which wasn’t a good look for her.

  “You realize he can quit at any time,” she said, recovering her composure. “And you still have to pay him.”

  Shelby smiled. “You a quitter, Detective?”

  “There’s been someone else on this from the start, hasn’t there? That’s how it works with you, doesn’t it? You guys put two competing teams on a project to double your chances of success.”

  “Didn’t they tell you that in the Valley it’s all about collaboration? Working across teams. The free flow of ideas. Open offices. Flat org charts. Bah.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “My company had thirty-one employees when I sold it. There was only one team. But remember my background, Detective. I am an enabler. My mission is simple. I have faith in you. Your baby’s crying, Ms. Dupuy. I believe it’s feeding time.”

  17/ A Guiding Hand

  FREMMER WAS LATE. HE BOLTED THROUGH THE TWO SETS OF DOORS leading into the restaurant and pulled up in front of the hostess stand to survey the bar area. His eyes darted around frantically, his heart beating hard after running the last few blocks. The restaurant was busy but not hopping, so it wasn’t hard to pick out individual people.

  “Do you have a reservation?” asked the hostess from behind her podium.

  He managed to tell her no before covering his mouth and letting out a series of short coughs. Recovering, he said: “Did you see a single woman come in about fifteen minutes ago? Medium height, very attractive. Oh, there she is.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rochelle in a booth by the window.

  “Sorry,” he said, sliding into the bench across from her. “I didn’t have your phone number or I would have texted.”

  “I wasn’t worried,” she said. “I don’t usually get stood up. And someone already bought me a drink, so you’re off the hook.”

  Fremmer looked around for his competition. “Who?”

  “Some guy up at the bar. He asked to be on the standby list. I told him it was closed but he sent it over anyway.”

  Fremmer thought he spotted the guy. But it was hard to tell. He noticed a few barstool straddlers looking in their direction, and based on the frequency of their glances, they seemed to have already written him off as boyfriend material. They were ready to pounce at the first opening.

  It didn’t help that he looked like he’d thrown on some clothes he’d found sitting in a hamper and then sprinted four blocks because he was late. He had showered, shaved, and exchanged the dual-layered long-sleeve T-shirt for a button-down Oxford, but he was still in jeans and his Fred Perrys, a get-up that would have fit in better at one of the more collegiate bars up on Amsterdam like the Gin Mill or Brother Jimmy’s. Establishments that focused on serving alcohol not food.

  “Well, thanks for waiting,” he said, running a hand up his brow, pushing a light layer of moisture up into his hair. “Can I still buy you a drink?”

  “Did you find it?” she asked.

  “Wow, no foreplay.”

  “Overrated,” she said.

  “Let me get a drink first. Been a long day.”

  He flagged down a waitress and ordered an Old-fashioned with Bulleit, then asked Rochelle what she was drinking. It looked like a vodka or gin tonic. She’d almost finished it.

  “I’ll take what he’s having,” she told the waitress.

  “You also want Bulleit?” she asked.

  “Excuse me?”

  Fremmer answered for her. “Yes, the same.”

  After the waitress left, Rochelle admitted she wasn’t much of a drinker.

  “It doesn’t help you with lucid dreaming?” Fremmer asked, only half joking. “I heard it helps some people.”

  “It can,” she said. “Alcohol gives you REM rebound once its effect wears off. It’ll delay your first few cycles of REM sleep but then REM gets more amplified later in the morning, which can increase the chance of having a lucid dream. But not everybody’s brain chemistry is the same.”

  They continued talking about things that might help or hurt the chances of having a lucid dream until their drinks showed up. He reached for the glass as soon as the waitress had set it on the table and took a long swig.

  “How old did you say your kid was?” she asked.

  “Thirteen.”

  “You have him stay at his friend’s place whenever you think you’re going to get lucky?”

  “This one was already scheduled. But his best friend’s mother has taken pity on me and thinks I should be more unencumbered to find a wife so she offers to take him whenever I want. They’ve got a very large apartment and only one kid. I sometimes think he’d prefer to live there.”

  “He have a girlfriend?”

  “I don’t know about a full-blown one but he’s got stuff going on. I try not to poke around his Instagram too often, but I don’t always succeed. The kids these days have different levels of attachment. You know, there’s hanging out. There’s going out. Then there’s HU-ing, which I only learned recently is short for hooking up. And the girls are much more aggressive. One will just walk right up to him and say, so and so likes you, you’re going to go out with her. They’re very forward. But you’re probably not so removed from that. What are you, twenty-five, twenty-six?”

  Rochelle smiled. She picked up her new drink and looked down into it for a moment. “Thirty,” she said. She picked up her glass and sipped it like it was a palate cleanser that would wash the bad taste from her mouth.

  “Wow. Thirty. You’re actually marginally appropriate.” He left out the for me, but she knew he meant.

  “What happened to his mother?” she asked. “The book ends with him two years old and her off in L.A. with a cocaine problem.”

  “Among other problems and other drugs,” he said, wiping his brow again. “You talk about unstable, she was unstable. But very hot. As hot as you.” He raised his glass in a pseudo toast and took a drink.

  “But you were into her?”

  “She was out of my league. Looks wise anyway. I had no illusions about being with her long-term. You take the trip and enjoy it while it lasts.”

  “What happened to her?” she asked again.

  “She got her shit together,” he said. “I don’t know how, but she did. She got a couple of parts, then a real role on a sitcom. And then she m
arried a high-powered entertainment lawyer. They’ve got a couple of young kids. She still does a little bit of acting, but she’s basically a stay-at-home mom. Not something I ever pictured her doing.”

  “Does your son see her?”

  “He has. Not often. But she comes through New York occasionally and they meet.”

  “Does she want him back?”

  “She can’t have him back. You read the book. I got full custody. That’s ironclad. She had her chance. At first, she wasn’t going to have him, then she was going have him and put him up for adoption. And then she was going to have him but said I wouldn’t be in the picture. Finally, in the end, she ended up dropping the kid in my lap and saying, ‘Sorry I really can’t deal with this, I’m splitting, he’s all yours.’”

  “And you wanted her to have the baby all along?”

  “Call me superficial but aside from being borderline insane, genetically speaking, she was grade A. Smart, an athlete. I wasn’t going to do much better. I figured you put her with a B+ guy like myself and I might get an A-. I actually did better. He’s a great kid.”

  “I think you read Brave New World too many times,” she said.

  “Probably.”

  “You ever come close to getting married again?”

  “Not really. You?”

  “I was never engaged,” she said.

  “You know what I mean.”

  She took another tiny sip of her drink. “I’ve been proposed to.”

  “Of course you have. I think three guys up at the bar are ready to get down on a knee right now. So what happened? Ring not big enough?”

  “Rings are cheap,” she said.

  “What do you consider cheap?”

  “Fifty grand is cheap, Max. You should really pay it.”

  “I should. But then I’d feel stupid. So I’ve got a proposition.”

  She gave him that hard look he’d seen before. Now it made him think he’d been naive to accept her earlier, friendlier tone at face value.

  “Don’t worry, it’s not romantic.”

  “I’m not worried,” she said. “But maybe you should get another drink to have on hand when I say no. You’re empty.”

  He looked down at his glass. She was right. Only the rocks and cherry garnish remained. He hadn’t realized he’d finished. By the time he looked up again she’d flagged down the waitress, who was at a nearby table. After he put his order in, she asked about his proposition.

  “Shouldn’t we wait for the drink?” he said.

  “I don’t need to.”

  “Well, I have a question for you first. You wouldn’t answer it in the car. How’d you end up at this Lucidity Center and what’s your role there?”

  “That’s actually two questions.”

  “Just answer me. I won’t tell you what my proposition is until you do.”

  “Now you’re getting childish.”

  He couldn’t help it. He was good at it. He propped his elbows up on the table and folded his hands in front of his chin. He let his face rest against his hands and waited.

  “I used to clean his fish tank,” she finally said.

  He laughed. “What do you mean?”

  “Exactly what I said. I came in every month and cleaned his fish tank and then set up the new one when he got it. And then I did some cooking for his events. I was a chef. Not a chef chef. I did dinner parties for people.”

  “By yourself.”

  “I had another guy who worked with me. He still cleans Braden’s tank and helps out around the Center. If I needed extra bodies for the parties, I’d bring in some of his actor friends. A lot of them worked in restaurants or as cater waiters.”

  “So you had a fish-tank cleaning business?”

  “We worked out of a shop downtown. They’d send us out. It paid pretty well. We gave half of what we earned to the store, usually got a decent tip, and the store would give us a little percentage if we got the customers to order supplies or new equipment.”

  “Fascinating,” he said. “And then Braden brought you into the business?”

  She nodded. “He’s a smart guy but he isn’t so business smart.”

  “Where’d you go to college?”

  “Maybe I didn’t,” she said.

  “That would be good.”

  “Good for what?”

  “For the memoir. Have you ever considered writing one?”

  She laughed. “Oh, no. I’m barely literate.”

  “I bet I could get you a $50,000 advance for it.”

  “I hope that’s not your proposition.”

  “No. But I bet I could.”

  Just then the waitress came back with his new drink and took his empty.

  “Time’s up,” she said.

  “OK, OK.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a high-capacity USB thumbdrive.

  “What’s that?”

  “That’s Candace’s hard drive.”

  “Is the manuscript on there?”

  “No. But she’s got some notes, some recorded interviews with Braden, and a bunch of other stuff. All her emails are here. This is everything that was on her computer. I cloned it.”

  “What am I going to do with that?”

  “I don’t know. But I figured it’s worth something to you guys. Because I know something shady is going on here. And it took me a lot to get this. I had to call up her daughter, who’s a basket case right now. She’s staying with a friend’s family, and I had to speak to that family and convince them to let me into Candace’s apartment and get me onto her computer. I’m a little shocked that the police hadn’t taken it away. Do you know how hard that was?”

  “What about the cloud?” she said.

  “What about it?”

  “Does that have the contents of her Google Drive?”

  “She was old school. She didn’t use Google Drive. Not with me anyway. She always sent Word docs.”

  “Thanks, but we’ll pass. I’ll take that check now.”

  “Look, can you at least call Braden and ask him?”

  “Sure. But I know the answer already.”

  “Well, call him, please.”

  With that she picked up her drink and left the booth. He noticed then that she was wearing a skirt, not pants, showing a lot of skin, which hurt him a bit. She walked over to stand near the entrance. He watched her take her phone from her purse, tap the screen and start talking. She kept her back to him so he couldn’t try to read her lips.

  When she returned she slid back into the booth and said, “He says no deal.”

  “Take it or leave it,” he replied. “I’m not writing you a check.”

  “Come on, Max. You’re a good guy. I don’t want to see anything bad happen to you. The truth is I kind of like you. Trust me, it’s not worth $50,000. It’s not even your money.”

  “Look, I don’t get these vague threats. Let’s wait to see if Candace wakes up. She’s the one who needs to write you a check, not me. Like you said, it’s not my money.”

  She smiled, then picked up her drink—or what he thought was her drink—and took a big sip.

  “These aren’t bad,” she said.

  “So, that’s it?”

  “For now.”

  “And then what?”

  “That’s up to Braden.”

  A little sigh of relief. She hadn’t turned her cards over, but he suddenly felt better for calling the bet and throwing his chips into the pot.

  She stood up to go.

  “Where you going?” he asked. “You didn’t finish your drink.”

  “I think we’re done here,” she said.

  “You said you’d have a drink with me.”

  “I had two.”

  “You didn’t finish either one.”

  “OK,” she said, “I’ll finish this one. But I want you to pretend this is a lucid dream.”

  “How so?”

  “This is how you do it. Watch me. You shake your head.” She shook her head like she was clearing cobwebs. “Then yo
u take a drink. OK?”

  OK, he said, and followed her example. At the time, it occurred to him that his drink was a little more watery than he thought it should be; it wasn’t as fresh as he’d have liked. But he didn’t give it much thought because it still tasted fine.

  “Are you lucid?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “No.”

  “Well do it again,” she said, repeating the process and draining her glass in the process. He finished his, too, and after he was finished, he looked at her. When he did, she leaned forward and kissed him gently on the lips.

  “You lucid now?”

  “More so,” he said.

  She leaned forward and kissed him again, this time longer.

  “Now do the next thing you want to do,” she said. “Put your hand under the table. Put it on my leg.”

  He hesitated. What game she was playing?

  “Come on,” she said invitingly, “do it,” and his resistance went out the door. He did as instructed. He put his hand timidly on her knee. He was suddenly back in high school. But instead of contemplating his next move, she made it for him. She slid down in the booth, slouching badly, his hand riding up the inside of her thigh.

  “Keep going,” she said. “Let it go. Let it go where it wants. Yes. Now you’ve got it. Now you’re really lucid, aren’t you?”

  He was. He was completely lucid.

  She put her hand over his, the skirt between them, and guided his hand into her crotch. That he remembered: her hand, guiding his. But everything after that was a blur. And then there was nothing. A void. Until he woke up on a bed somewhere with an oxygen mask over his face and someone slapping him lightly but sharply and asking him something he didn’t understand.

  “What’d you take, Mr. Fremmer? Can you tell us what you took?”

  18/ Long Road of Dead Ends

  CATHLEEN MILEKI, STACEY WALKER’S ONLY DAUGHTER, LIVED IN Petaluma, an exurb north of San Francisco in Sonoma County. Madden had only been to Petaluma once before. On the way to Calistoga for a wedding, he and his family had stopped there for lunch after running into a nasty patch of weekend wine country traffic just past Marin County, on a rural stretch of the 101 freeway where one didn’t expect traffic.