He started down the sidewalk slowly, walking with the same level gait Jeff had noted when watching his outline. Jeff watched his face for any sign of pain, but from across the street he couldn’t tell. Was he still nursing his ribs? He would have been, yes. But he had come into work.
Jeff scurried down the sidewalk on his side of the street, toward Brighton Way, keeping an eye on Francis. It wasn’t difficult to gain on him. He thought he might be able to make it across the street at the end of the block, so that he could place himself in front of Francis, walking toward him on the sidewalk, and create a chance encounter. But the signals were not in his favor, and there was enough traffic to make jaywalking risky. When the walk signal lit up, Jeff walked diagonally across the intersection as briskly as he could without breaking into a run. Francis had already passed, continuing down the street. Jeff followed, careful not to overtake him. Francis might be meeting someone for early drinks. A bar would be an excellent location for a chance encounter. Much better than running into each other on the sidewalk. But Francis walked into a shop, not a bar. Only as he stepped in front of it did Jeff see what it was—a tiny lingerie boutique with a French name. He did not follow Francis inside but tucked into the next shop down, a gift store full of fancy and preposterously priced knickknacks.
The shopkeeper, a sturdy woman with maroon lips and a platinum bob, asked if she could help him, and when he said he was just looking, she raised an eyebrow, or at least he thought she did. He pretended to browse the Chinese vases and crystal paperweights, but his eyes were on the sidewalk outside.
He stood where he would be able to see Francis exiting, expecting him to return to the gallery after running this errand. It wasn’t yet the close of business hours, so that would make sense. The shopkeeper hovered a polite distance away. Jeff checked the price tag on a ceramic elephant. Eight thousand dollars. He didn’t have that much money in the world.
The shopkeeper came over, having decided to give Jeff the benefit of the doubt, or wanting to keep a closer eye on him now that he was fingering price tags. She was dressed in what looked like black silk pajamas. She told him about the elephant’s origins, how the workshop in which it was made only put out a limited number every year, how both Nancy Reagan and Michael Jackson had purchased them recently, though she wasn’t sure whether it was for themselves or as gifts.
Jeff saw Francis step onto the sidewalk, paper shopping bag in hand. He didn’t want to interrupt the shopkeeper, but it was time to resume his pursuit. He made up an excuse, that his mother had been looking for an elephant and that he would be sure to send her in. By the time he stepped outside, Francis was already a hundred feet down the sidewalk, moving smoothly, purposefully, in the same direction he’d been walking before, away from the gallery.
Where was he going? Perhaps he had a parking spot under one of the buildings down the block. Jeff didn’t think it was likely he was going to go to a bar with whatever he’d purchased at the lingerie shop.
Francis stopped at the crosswalk at Wilshire Boulevard, waiting for the walk signal. Was it possible he lived down here, in the residential area below Wilshire? Made sense, to rent a place near the gallery while the house was being redone. He might have been bringing home a little gift for his wife.
Jeff caught up. He stood not quite next to Francis. He easily could have tapped him on the shoulder. Aside from a woman standing several feet away, they were the only ones waiting for the signal. He hadn’t realized how small Francis was, a head shorter than himself, almost. He stood in Francis’s peripheral vision, he knew, because Francis looked briefly to the left, to assess whether Jeff was friend or foe. The glance wasn’t nearly long enough for a positive identification, only a ruling-out. In Francis’s world, someone who looked like Jeff—long hair, jeans, T-shirt—was background, atmosphere, as they said in the film business.
There was a box in the shopping bag, elegantly gift-wrapped.
They crossed Wilshire to the sounds of honking and revving from the congealing traffic. Outside the cocoon of the shopping district they’d just left, the winds blew wilder and the interactions were more anonymous. Jeff walked slowly but had to stop and pretend to look in the windows to avoid overtaking Francis. Every once in a while, he heard a hiss escape from Francis’s lips, accompanied by a shift in his gait. The ribs. Jeff felt like apologizing then and there for what he’d done to this poor man’s ability to move around without pain. Apologizing! He caught himself. The man wouldn’t have been able to move at all if it weren’t for him… he would have been six feet underground.
They came to a large building with striped awnings over its windows facing the street. Miniature manicured hedges in front. Stone columns, carvings up the walls. A giant American flag hanging from a pole at an angle, flanked by flags of other nations. A massive black Mercedes parked at the curb. It was far nicer than any hotel he’d ever been in, yet he felt he had seen it before. It had been in a movie probably, he couldn’t remember which.
The doorman opened the door and welcomed Francis inside. Jeff thought he might have to sneak in after him, but the doorman, to his surprise, gave him an equally warm reception.
Half the lobby was taken up with a restaurant, and because he had already pictured Francis heading to a bar, Jeff expected to see him check in with the hostess. But Francis had lined up at the registration desk.
Jeff made a circuit of the lobby, checking his watch periodically as if he were waiting to meet someone. He tried to act casual, but he felt completely out of place in what seemed to him the acme of wealth and luxury. (Looking back, he found this amusing. He would never stay there nowadays and would never recommend it to clients. Faded glory, corporate ownership, cookie-cutter rooms. It was for tourists, boosted by its appearance in Pretty Woman—that was where he’d seen it.)
He found a bench between the elevators and sat to observe Francis standing in line behind another guest. Francis didn’t look around, didn’t seem to take in anything other than what was happening at the registration desk, where two different parties were checking in. He radiated the impatience of someone in line at the grocery store, watching the customer at the register pull out a checkbook, or worse, dig around in their wallet for exact change.
Once at the desk, Francis identified himself and was immediately handed a key. No driver’s license, no credit card, no signature. He made for the elevators, walking directly toward Jeff. Jeff looked at his watch again, this time for Francis’s benefit, though he wasn’t sure Francis noticed. Francis seemed preoccupied. He pushed the UP button several times, stepped back. Jeff sat facing him, directly in front of him but on a different plane. Francis’s eyes were on the indicators above the elevator doors.
Jeff was close enough to see Francis’s chest move with every breath. He examined Francis’s clothing up close now. It was obvious that what he was wearing was high quality, though it wasn’t flashy in any way. Same for his watch. Jeff knew nothing about watches, but Francis’s exuded understated elegance.
He was going up to a room, his room, a room he had stayed in before perhaps. Or a room he was staying in while his house was being remodeled. But that would have been prohibitively expensive. And there was the matter of the lingerie. A gift, judging from the careful wrapping.
Francis stood stiffly, as if stillness would render him invisible. He kept his eyes locked on the display, watching the floors count down. But why should he worry about being observed? Was Jeff’s presence making him anxious?