“It’s late, kiddo,” I said. Sly had big, moist brown eyes that reminded me of a sickly puppy I had found dodging traffic on the Embarcadero a few years back. He had been a panic-stricken mess. Like any good citizen, I had taken him to the animal shelter. When I left him, his pathetic cries had followed me all the way out to the parking lot. He now weighs about fifty pounds and sleeps on the antique brocade sofa my grandmother bequeathed me. He still has big, moist brown eyes, and he still cries every time I leave the house.
Pisces clutched the back of a chair, her eyes wide and steely. “Are you coming back?”
“You’re in good hands here,” I said, wishing I didn’t feel so rotten about going away. “Just behave yourselves. If you need anything, tell Agnes Peter.”
I watched Pisces swallow back panic. My impulse was to be a hero some more, promise her something. I just had no clue what that something might be. We had already done the Prince Charming thing and rescued her from the woods. Now what? I had no castle to offer her. Nor any happily ever after. Whether we left sooner or later, the pain for all of us would be the same. So I did what I hoped was the sensible thing. I followed Agnes Peter’s lead and walked out.
When we were again out of earshot of the kitchen, Agnes Peter turned to me. “What do you know about them?”
“Very little,” I said. “They seem to have been working the streets around MacArthur Park. She’s a nice kid. But Sly? You should lock up the silver tonight.”
Pete smiled. “He’ll be fine. Did they say anything about family?”
“Nothing specific,” I said. “Certainly nothing I could repeat without going to confession after. They both were very clear that they did not want to answer questions. I only got them here by promising that there would be none.”
“You know I can only keep them here for so long, Maggie. I prefer to begin by making some contact with their families, determining whether that situation is redeemable before we call Child Protective Services. The kids will have to give me some background.”
“Good luck,” Guido said. “They won’t talk.”
“Don’ worry, mein Herr.” Agnes Peter narrowed her eyes. “Ve haf our vat’s.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow, Pete.” Fighting back tears, I handed her all of my cash, maybe eighty dollars. “Anything you need…”
“We’ll be fine, Maggie.” She wrapped a reassuring arm around me. “You’ve done all that you reasonably can. Sly and Pisces have troublesome problems. Their own problems. Remember that, Maggie, and don’t feel guilty about leaving. Your hands are full taking care of Casey. And Guido here. Don’t beat yourself up about what you can’t do.”
“I’ll call,” I said.
She shrugged. “That’s up to you.”
“I’ll call.”
I felt miserable all the way to Guido’s house. I think he did, too. He was very quiet, for which I was grateful. He took the long way home, driving through the hills of Elysian Park instead of going straight to the Hollywood Freeway.
The park road offers one of the best views of the city. As the night was exceptionally clear, the city below shimmered like a movie version of fairyland. It was spectacular. I wondered what had happened to Cinderella after she moved out of her stepmother’s small house and into Prince Charming’s big one.
When we were blasting north on the freeway, I turned to Guido. “Who said they lived happily ever after?”
“Who?”
“Cinderella and Prince Charming.”
“The word probably came down from his public relations people. Why? What’s on your mind?”
“I’m not sure.”
He rolled his eyes. “Please, God. Give me strength.” “For what?”
“I know the signals. You’re cooking something, Maggie. I’m afraid to find out what it will be this time.”
“Right,” I said. I was in the strangest mood, very antsy, and I couldn’t figure out exactly why. I slumped back against the seat to watch the lights go by, trying to clear the clutter from my mind.
Guido lives in an inherited cottage that overlooks one of the canyons behind the Hollywood Bowl. The house is small but comfortable, an unpretentious ornament set on a million-dollar lot. When we turned up his street, we were less than two miles from the peak insanity of Hollywood Boulevard. Cradled deep among the canyons, we couldn’t see or hear anything except the sounds of wilderness around us.
Guido pulled into his drive and parked in front of the garage. We have worked together many times, and have fallen into a comfortable routine for sharing the load. He’s a modern man, I know he respects me professionally. Still, his name is Patrini, of the Sicilian Patrinis, and I am a woman. The pain he goes through when he sees me carry anything remotely heavy is pitiful to behold. So when he hauled out the big aluminum camera cases and the insulated bag of videotapes from the back of the Jeep, to spare him grief, I reached for no more than a tripod and a half-full bottle of Evian. He wrestled his load up the incline toward the front door, while I strolled behind. Don’t tell Gloria, but we were both perfectly happy.
The evening air was perfumed with dry eucalyptus and night-blooming jasmine. Somewhere in the woods above me, an owl hooted and set off a rustle of small creatures through the undergrowth.
Guido stopped to listen to the owl before he went inside and turned on lights. Through the open door I could hear him rattling around.
I lingered outside, enjoying the cold breeze on my face, the soft rustle of leaves. Below me, the rugged canyon was too deep for the moonlight to reach the bottom. I felt very small looking over the edge. Not small in the sense of feeling vulnerable. Rather, I felt invisible. Safely insignificant. The sensation helped put the events of the day into perspective.
The film I had been working on had been a problem for me from the beginning. There was a guideline of sorts written into the contract I had with WGBH in Boston and some health consortium. I had spent a lot of effort accumulating footage as if I knew where I was headed. But, truth told, I hadn’t a clue what the thing was really about. From the beginning, I hadn’t been able to find its essential core. Child-raising – what about it?
As I peered into Guido’s canyon, I finally heard the mental click. Behind my eyes I could see the finished film, frame by frame. And the face of Pisces in the moonlight. It was a sad film I saw, but I still felt the exhilaration of discovery at last.
Guido came out of the house and put a glass in my hand with about an inch of Glenlivet scotch in it. I knocked it back and held out my glass for a refill.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Message on the machine from Lyle. He says Casey has a slight fever, but don’t worry.”
“Too late to call her tonight,” I said. “I’d just wake her up.”
“Are you planning to stay out here much longer?” Guido had an evil little expression on his face. “It’s cold.”
“What’s up?” I asked.
“I have something to show you.”
“What?”
“Just come. You may be a genius.”
Who could resist a line like that? I went inside with him, sipping the second drink on the way. By the time we reached the living room, I was ready for thirds. Guido handed me the bottle and I carried it to the sofa. I pried off my boots, stretched out on the cushions, and waited for him to show me what he was talking about.
Guido squatted in front of his big-screen TV and slipped one of the day’s new tapes into the VCR.
“This is Encino,” he said. He fast-forwarded cherubic little preschoolers at play in the sunshine of their day-care center’s garden until he came to a pudgy little girl. She pranced across the lawn in mommy-dress-up gear: high heels, long dress, pearls, feather boa, big hat. She stopped by the paint easel to daub her cheeks with red tempera paint, then strutted on, feeling elegant. I followed her with the camera until she turned and noticed me. She stopped and dropped her head shyly.