“Why, Mr. Steele, you do know the way to a woman’s heart.”
“Hopefully into her bed as well.”
“I’d say your chances are very, very good.”
We spend the time before meeting Gale exploring the Getty Center property. The center is off Sepulveda Boulevard and high enough in the hills to boast stunning views. More than that, though, the entire property is a testament to the thing that both Jackson and I love—fine architecture. And as we stroll through the grounds, we discuss not only the fine work that the architect, Richard Meier, accomplished with the structures, but how it works in harmony with the surrounding land and other natural elements.
“Even the stone that he chose,” Jackson says, pointing out the fossilized feathers and leaves that decorate the travertine stones that make up so much of the center. “These are the kinds of elements we need to look out for on the Cortez project,” he adds. “Shells, driftwood, fossils. The rocks that have been beaten and carved by the sea. The more we can work those elements into the design—incorporate them as part of the building materials—the better.”
We continue like that, chattering on about the Getty, the resort, and the beauty of the space in general until it’s time to make our way to the restaurant.
Reggie is already there, and he shakes Jackson’s hand enthusiastically and then pulls me into a crushing hug.
“I like the beard,” I say. He’s always been a big man with a Paul Bunyan build, but now he looks more like Santa Claus with the full, graying beard and mustache.
“Thought I’d try something new. Always good to keep them on their toes.”
“Who?” I ask.
“Everyone,” he says, and then winks.
We get settled at the table and order drinks, then fall into a convivial conversation full of reminiscing, catching up, and lots of laughter.
“So what were you doing in Santa Barbara?” I ask as I finish the last bite of my seared scallops.
“Visiting family, primarily. My nephew is the concierge at the Gateway hotel. He and his wife wanted my advice on an investment property, and I wanted to get away from Houston. Seemed like a win-win situation.”
“So the investment is a good one?”
“Some land outside the city. Lots of growth potential. So long as they can afford to keep those assets tied up, I think it’s a good deal for them. And speaking of good deals, you certainly had the right idea,” he says, his attention focused on me.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been paying attention to your Cortez project. A resort that is spread over the entirety of one of the channel islands. Honestly, Syl, it was inspired.”
“Thank you.”
“Even if the Lost Tides Resort gets up and running before Cortez, it still won’t have that aspect going for it.”
I glance at Jackson, who doesn’t appear to understand, either. “What’s Lost Tides?” I ask.
Reggie leans back in his seat and sighs. “Well, shit. I assumed you’d heard. A developer in the Santa Barbara area is trying to bring a resort to one of the islands. Hasn’t managed to acquire all the square footage, but as far as I’ve heard, they’re moving forward with development.”
“Who’s the developer?” I ask even as Jackson asks about the architect.
“Not sure. Apparently, they’re being as anonymous as possible until they’re ready for the big announcement. I guess the plan is that the more drama they can drum up, the more press they’ll get. And the more press, the more interest from the tourism industry.”
I feel a little sick to my stomach. “So how do you know?”
“My nephew’s boss,” Reggie says. “He keeps his ear to the ground.”
I glance at Jackson and grimace. “Well, a little competition never hurts anything.”
He puts his hand over mine. “Don’t worry,” he says gently. “Our resort is fine.”
I sigh, then nod, relieved that he can read me so well.
“He’s right,” Reggie says. “Santa Barbara’s a long way from Los Angeles.”