Lies and Weddings(99)
“Now that he’s gone, when do you think you’ll be coming home?”
“Probably at the end of the week. I need to stay a couple more days to meet with Rene’s lawyers and get a few things squared away with Luis Felipe.”
“You might try getting him to cut back on his drinking. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him sober.”
“He hasn’t been sober since he was sixteen,” Thomas said, shrugging wearily. “His father tasked me with helping him deal with his addiction issues long ago, and as you can see I’ve been failing.”
Eden shook her head sadly as Luis Felipe grabbed a mic, hopped onstage, and announced, “You know what time it is? Do you know what time it is?”
The back wall of the screening room lifted up like the door of a freight elevator to reveal a Mexican-style cantina with three chefs manning sizzling taco stations as a mariachi band entered along with an army of waiters bearing trays of tequila shots and mysterious-looking covered baskets.
“It’s time for tacos, tequila, and toads!” Luis Felipe yelled into his mic.
The waiters opened the baskets to reveal that they were full of live Sonoran Desert toads.
“Everybody gets to lick a toad!” Luis Felipe yelled again as the crowd cheered.[*]
Eden turned to her father with a look of incredulity. “Tell me this isn’t really happening.”
“I’m afraid it is.”
“I think this might be my moment to slip out.”
“Of course. Thank you for coming, dear. I know it would have meant a lot to Rene.”
“I don’t think this psychedelic toad-licking fiesta is going to turn out well. I hope you won’t have to resuscitate anyone tonight.”
“Oh no, I’m leaving right after you,” Thomas replied. Eden gave her father a hug and left the screening room quietly. As she emerged through the front doors, the fresh air hit her face and she felt as though she could breathe again. Her shoulder muscles began to ease as she realized how tense she had been inside that mausoleum-like screening room. A uniformed attendant standing by a line of waiting golf carts waved at her with a friendly smile. “Ride to the parking lot, ma’am?”
“Thank you. I think I’ll walk,” Eden replied. She strolled down the long driveway, still feeling chilly despite the sun shining down on her. Arriving at the guest parking lot, which resembled a luxury car dealership, she reached into her handbag for the key fob to unlock the car Freddy had lent her. She had selected the least flashy car from the Farman-Farmihian garage—a Porsche Macan that Freddy said was the one their housekeeper used.
Eden got into the driver’s seat and turned on the engine, and the radio came on automatically, playing Fleetwood Mac’s “Songbird.” It was one of her favorite songs, one that was hardly ever played on the radio, so she rolled down the windows and turned up the volume, letting Christine McVie’s voice echo through the canyon.
And I love you, I love you, I love you,
Like never before…
As the song was ending, Eden burst into tears uncontrollably. She didn’t want the song to end. It was so lovely; it reminded her of England, of home. She missed the cottage, she missed her bedroom with its view through the trees of Greshamsbury Hall in the distance. She missed lying on the bed and staring out at the great house, seeing the dimly lit window under the tallest gable and knowing Rufus was in his bedroom as well, probably listening to Brian Eno or reading one of his Cormac McCarthy novels. She felt sad for Rene and a life interrupted in its prime; she felt sad for his son, so scarred by growing up with everything in the world; she felt sad for her father, who had fought for so long to find a cure for his patient.
This whole city, she realized, was tinged with sadness. Everything about the place seemed desperately out of balance. Even as she drove down Benedict Canyon Drive with all the pristinely trimmed hedges giving occasional glimpses of the magnificent estates that lay beyond, estates that most people could never ever dream of living in, she could feel the sadness emanating from behind every fa?ade. She thought of Maria Wyeth, the heroine of another book by Joan Didion, who would spend days on end driving the highways of Los Angeles in aimless desperation. She thought of Luis Felipe curled up and seething in his business-class pod thirty-five thousand feet in the sky. She thought of the children of the former supermodel, jumping up and down on a big outdoor trampoline listlessly dissatisfied.
She arrived at last at Freddy’s mansion and waited as the ornate iron gates opened slowly. As she pulled into the immaculately tiled driveway, she saw a man standing under the ivy-clad porte cochere and thought she must be hallucinating. She slammed on her brakes, rushed out of the car, and ran up the steps, right into Rufus’s arms.
Skip Notes
* Even though hallucinogenic toad licking has replaced mushroom parties as the hottest thing in Hollywood, the National Park Service has issued a serious warning against the activity: “These toads have prominent parotid glands that secrete a potent toxin. It can make you sick if you handle the frog or get the poison in your mouth. As we say with most things you come across in a national park, whether it be a banana slug, an unfamiliar mushroom, or a large toad with glowing eyes in the dead of night, please refrain from licking.”
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