3
May of that year was unusually warm even for Los Angeles, and Albert Bosch, accustomed to the cool summers of the high mountains of
Europe, needed relief. He discovered that the air was far cooler along the
beaches, and he was able without much difficulty to rent a small house in
Malibu, only a few blocks from the beach. It turned out that he had some
acquaintances living there, including a cameraman and some actors of both sexes
who had worked under his direction in Europe and were now finding fairly
lucrative and not-too-demanding work in Hollywood, mainly in television. Their
hangout was a café on the Coast Highway that was owned by an Italian couple,
and soon Albert Bosch was a regular there. Another regular was a Belgian who
was working as an agent; he was the one who was finding jobs for the others,
and before long he was finding them for Albert Bosch as well: directing
episodes of television serials that the producers thought might benefit from
the Bosch touch. That was what they
called it: the Bosch touch.
On an early
afternoon in June, Albert Bosch arrived at his house after a walk on the beach
and a cappuccino at the café with the cameraman, who was between jobs. The mail
had already been delivered; aside from junk it included a long letter from
Margaret. He read only the first few sentences before he put it down on his
desk. He looked at her framed photograph, showing her smiling at him. He smiled
back, picked up the frame and, out of habit, started to bring it to his face as
though to kiss the picture good-bye, but he stopped in mid-gesture, opened the
left bottom drawer of the desk and placed the picture there, face down.
When she was not working,
Gina George liked to sleep late. The shooting of Fleshpots of the West had ended, and there was only some looping
left to be done. She would do that in the afternoon.
While she was
dressing, she turned on the television, and half-heartedly watched the ending
of a soap-opera episode. As the final credits rolled she began to turn away
when something on the screen caught her attention. It was the legend Directed
by Albert Bosch.
She waited to see
the name of the production company and, once dressed, looked up its telephone
number in the trade directory.
Hi, this is Gina
George. She waited for a response.
You mean... began
the woman at the other end.
Yes, that Gina
George. Can you tell me how I can get in touch with Albert Bosch? He directed
for you.
I cant, but
Ill
try to connect you with someone who might be able to. Would you please hold for
a moment, Miss George?
About an hour later Albert
Bosch, having made himself a simple lunch that he ate on the deck, was back in
his study, reading a script. The telephone rang.
Hello.
Mr. Bosch? My name
is Gina George. I am an...
Oh yes, I know who
you are, Miss George.
Would you be
interested in meeting with me? I have seen your films, and I have a project in
mind that might be right down your alley.
Yes, I certainly
would be interested.
Im a big fan of
yours, you know...
Thank you. You are
very kind.
Would today be
okay?
Yes, why not.
There is this bar
in Beverly Hills thats nice and discreet. Would you like to meet me there at
six?
Six oclock? Yes,
I think so.
Weve never met,
but Ill be wearing a...
Oh, dont worry,
Miss George, I shall recognize you.
When his work at the studio
was done, which could be late morning or early afternoon, Barry Bergman would
drive back to Hollywood and stop off for a workout at the neighborhood gym or
health club, as it had recently begun to be called that he had been
frequenting since his beginnings in the industry. The gym had kept up with the
times, acquiring newer equipment and raising its fees as the years went by
and as the fitness fad took hold, but it maintained the homey quality that made
it appeal to people of all kinds, and he liked that about it. Of course he
could afford to join one of the exclusive clubs that catered to his ilk, but he
was not drawn to them.
On this day, as he
was warming up on the stationary bicycle, he noticed a very pretty young woman
with seemingly natural honey-blond hair and an exceptionally well-built body in
a leotard and capris working out on the pectoral machine known as the fly. He
wondered if she was trying to increase her bustline, perhaps
her bodys only
feature that might need some work. When she finished a set, she looked his way,
and he smiled at her. She smiled back, with a kind of innocent and yet fully
sexual allure, and resumed her exercise. When he felt warmed up he dismounted
from the bicycle and walked over to the young woman, produced a card from his
shorts pocket and waited for her to finish another set before offering it to
her.
Barry Bergman, he
said. Im a producer, and Im looking for someone just like you. Are you in
the business?
Well, yes, she
said, I mean, Id like to be. Im Leslie Lyman. She took the card with her
right hand, looked at it and transferred to her left hand, freeing the right
for a handshake.
Leslie Lyman? he
said. A wonderful name. Give me a call. Any time.
Why, thank you,
Mr. Bergman, she answered melodiously, I sure will.
Barry, please, he
said. Are you done with this machine, by the way?
Oh, yes, I am,
uh... Barry, she said with a sudden smile. In
fact, Im, like, done, period.
Gotta go home and shower! It was not hard for Barry Bergman to visualize
Leslie Lyman in the shower. Bye!
Bye! he said.
And dont forget to call me, Leslie!
I wont, she
said, stopping at a locker and opening it in order to take out a small duffel
bag before she left the gym.
Since Albert Bosch came
from a country that was famous for punctuality, Gina George decided to be
early. She preferred to avoid a scene of coming into a place and appearing to
be looking for someone to recognize her. At one time or another she must have
seen a picture of Albert Bosch in a paper or a magazine, but she had no
recollection of it.
By six oclock,
then, she was sitting alone, simply but elegantly dressed in basic black, at a
corner table. Numerous men walked in, stared at her as she was used to being
stared at, and moved on. She had not yet ordered a drink, but by ten past six
Albert Bosch had not shown up, and she decided that she had better have
something. She asked a passing waitress for a glass of chardonnay.
Which one would
you like, Maam? said the waitress, pointing at a card on the table.
Whichever one is
the fruitiest, if you dont mind.
That would, in my
opinion, be the Fuller Creek nineteen-....
Sure, Gina
interrupted the vintage recitation, Fuller Creek sounds good. The fuller the
better.
The waitress
laughed and moved to the bar.
The wine was okay,
though Gina would have liked it fruitier still. She sipped it slowly.
It was
six-twenty-five when a man of medium height, with hair that seemed not to have
been cut in over a month, wearing a blue short-sleeve sport shirt and
not-yet-faded blue jeans, came through the door, took a quick look around the
premises and made a beeline for Ginas table.
Im sorry
Im
late, he said by way of introducing himself. There was an accident on the
Coast Highway. It took me over an hour to get here.
Thats okay, Gina
lied, I just got here myself. They looked at each other intently before
shaking hands. Hes quite good-looking, she thought as he sat down.
I have never
experienced such long traveling times, he said, but I like living in Malibu.
Ive always loved taking walks along the beach, barefoot, just on the line where
the wet sand meets the dry sand.
Me too, she said.
Hes so poetic, she thought, just like his movies.
You know the
feeling, he went on, when one foot is wet and
the other is dry... Its like
feeling two natures inside oneself. And what is that you are drinking? he
asked, noticing out of a corner of his eye that the waitress was headed in
their direction.
Fuller Creek
chardonnay. Its not as fruity as I would have liked,
but its nice.
Ah, yes,
California wines! They have been a lovely surprise for me, like so many other
lovely things. He smiled at Gina and turned to the waitress. A Fuller Creek
chardonnay, please!
Yes, sir, said
the waitress.
You know, said
Gina, Sometimes I feel two natures inside me, even without walking on that line
on the beach.
I fully
understand, said Albert. But, you know, we
havent really introduced
ourselves. On the telephone I called you Miss George, and you called me Mister
Bosch. I would prefer to call you Gina.
Yes, Albert. The
waitress brought him his wine and asked Gina, Any more
for you, Maam?
Yes, sure, bring
me another. And to Albert, after the waitress had left, So we can clink with
full glasses!
Yes! he replied
with enthusiasm. Our glasses must be full of Fuller Creek!
After clinking they
sipped in silence for a while. Albert noticed that unlike so many Americans
with whom he had drunk wine, Gina actually held her glass by the stem and not
by the bowl, and their clink resounded pleasantly.
Are you free for
the rest of the evening? she suddenly asked.
Oh yes, he said,
I am a free man! To freedom! And they clinked again.
Maybe we can have
a nice dinner somewhere, and then walk on the beach together... she suggested.
That would be
lovely, he said.
But what shall we
do about the two cars? she asked.
Where is your
car? he asked in return.
In the garage
across the street.
Leave it there,
and I will drive you back.
But thats a lot
of driving for you.
In your company
its a pleasure, my dear Gina.
Youre an
old-world gentleman, Albert. I didnt know they made
em like you any more.
Old world perhaps,
but a gentleman
Dont worry, I can be a son-of-a-bitch if I have to be.
Not much had been said
between Barry Bergman and Leslie Lyman as he drove his BMW from her apartment
house to the restaurant. It was only as they were walking inside, after the car
had been whisked away by the valet, that he felt like beginning a conversation
Im glad you
didnt wait too long before calling, he said.
Gosh, I mean, no,
like, I was so excited and all! I told Jennifer
shes my roommate when she
came home from work and shes like, Go on, call
him! So I did.
Jennifer is that
who answered the door? he asked.
Yeah. Its just me
and her living there.
They were shown to
their table, and Leslie sat down, letting her miniskirt roll up almost to the
groin and giving Barry Bergman a good opportunity to appraise her legs.
Shes cute, he
said. Cute was not a word he might have used in his own mind to describe the
radiant beauty who had greeted him at the door, but he
needed to speak Leslies
language. Is she an actress too?
Well, not right
now, but she studied for it in college and all, and
shes, like, been in some
plays, and maybe...
Because, he
interrupted, actually, I need two girls for this project.
Im just so
curious, she said. Whats it like?
Lets get some
drinks, he said, and order the food, and then we can talk about it, okay?
Cool, she said.
I want a margarita.
A waitress walked
by just then, and Barry Bergman hailed her.
A gin and tonic
and a margarita, please, he said, and then the menu.
The waitress looked
at Leslie. Could I see an ID, please? she asked.
Sure, said
Leslie. She fished a drivers license from her purse and showed it to the
waitress, who looked down on it suspiciously, then up at Leslie, and down again
on the license.
Okay, she said
before walking away.
This happens to me
all the time, said Leslie. Im, like,
twenty-two, and they think Im, like,
seventeen!
I think youre
just perfect for our project, honey, said Barry Bergman.
The waitress
brought the drinks quickly and set them on coasters on the table, with a menu
beside each coaster. Barry Bergman raised his glass as if to toast when he
realized that Leslie was already drinking her margarita. She grinned in
embarrassment when she noticed his gesture and raised her glass as well.
To the future, he
said before taking a sip.
Yes! she said.
To the future! And she giggled before taking a gulp.
A little later Albert Bosch
and Gina George were walking along the beach with their shoes his loafers,
hers sandals in their hands. The sun was beginning to set.
You know, Gina
was saying, when I saw that you were directing soap operas, I thought that you
could do one of my regular movies in Barry Bergmans studio you could make it
more sensitive, and all that. But now I think that would be a waste. I want to
do something completely different.
Tell me about it,
he said.
Oh, I will, I
will. They were now walking in the direction of Albert
Boschs house, and she
began to run. He, however, continued his steady walk. She stopped, turned to
face him, and threw her sandals into the air. One of them fell on the dry sand
and the other on the wet sand. He bent to pick one up, then the other, but he
held on to them by their straps and did not hand them to her when he caught up
with her.
Now I have
something of yours, he said.
You can have a lot
more than that, she said, putting a hand around his arm.
They were almost at
the sidewalk. He turned to face her, their bodies close but not touching. She
put her other hand on his other arm.
In that case, he
said, you can have your shoes back.
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