his house. Yes to sex. No to the red carpet. No to eating out in restaurants with him. No to being seen anywhere in public that the media might interpret as a date. Spencer had his lawyer draw up a contract spelling it all out so that Sidonie would always know exactly where she stood.
Sidonie took it all in her stride. They’d been together two years now, and if she’d wanted something different from her life, it never showed. Spencer admired her for this. While Sidonie might not be book smart, she was canny. Most of the beautiful girls who came to Hollywood ended up typists or druggies or working on the street. Sidonie had about her a natural shrewdness. She recognized a good deal when it came along.
‘Where’s the kid at?’ Spencer asked.
Sidonie had been reading through scripts Spencer’s agent had sent over to see if any of them were worth Spencer’s consideration, and she was completely barricaded in by the stacks. Bleary-eyed, she sat back in her chair, stretched to ease tight muscles and pushed the glasses up on her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I’ve been in here since before three.’
‘He’s left a mess in the screening room,’ Spencer said. ‘Clean it up. It looks like a pigsty.’
She rose.
Could it be that the boy had actually taken his advice and gone outside? Spencer went into the kitchen and then out on to the deck. The barn wasn’t visible from the house because of the pine trees, but he gazed in that direction anyway.
It was a hot day. The mountains blocked the sun by that late point in the afternoon, leaving the deck in a warm, only-just-comfortable shade. The heavy scent of the pines wafted over Spencer as he stood. Focusing his mind in the way he’d learned to do from his meditation teacher, Spencer let the trees fill his senses. First the smell, then the sound of them. They were very still because of the heat, so he listened for the sound of birds and pine squirrels instead. He turned his attention back to the scent, trying to draw it in enough to get a taste of it, and the taste was there. Only very, very slightly but he could indeed sense the pines, pitchy and acrid, on his tongue.
He should meditate. Right then and there on the deck. It would be such a good place and Spencer kept meaning to establish a meditation practice. Meditation was so good for you, doing all those things like making you compassionate and lowering your blood pressure. If only it wasn’t so boring …
He lowered himself into a lotus position. His teacher in LA had complimented him on his flexibility and it was true. At forty-eight he could still do a full lotus perfectly. Spencer spent several minutes getting settled. Into the lotus. Out of the lotus. Back into the lotus. It was quite hard to imagine sitting for half an hour in such a position. All right for people who were malnourished anyway and would be lucky to see forty-five, but not so great for someone needing his joints to last eighty years. Spencer settled for just crossing his legs. Forefingers to thumbs, he rested his hands on his knees and exhaled deeply three times to release tension. Then he started into following his breathing in and out. Perfection, Spencer was thinking. Sitting here on the deck in the warm shade, the scent and sounds of the Montana mountains wafting over him. What could be more peaceful than this?
‘Have you found him yet?’ Sidonie asked when Spencer came back into the kitchen.
For just a split second Spencer wondered who ‘he’ was. Pleased with himself for having managed to spend a good twenty minutes properly meditating, Spencer had forgotten about the boy.
‘Maybe he’s with Guff,’ Sidonie said. ‘Could you ring the bell? I’ve already started dinner. By the time he gets here and washes up, we’ll be ready to eat.’
A wrought-iron triangle of the sort used on chuck wagons in the old West hung off the edge of the deck. Spencer took down the iron striker and clanged the triangle noisily. It was a rewarding activity. Like banging pot lids together when you were a child. He clanged it again. It was an effective means of communication too. You could hear it halfway across the valley.
For several moments Spencer waited on the deck to see the boy come up the path from the barn. When no one appeared, he clanged the triangle a third time, then he went back into the house. Sidonie was taking chicken kebabs out from the broiler. She spooned a sticky orange Chinese-influenced sauce over them.
The boy still didn’t show up.
‘Let’s eat,’ Spencer said. ‘It’s going to get cold otherwise.’
Sidonie’s brow furrowed. ‘Don’t you think we should see where he is first?’
‘You really shouldn’t do that, Sidonie,’ Spencer replied and gestured at her face. ‘Frown like that. You’re what? Twenty-six?’
‘Twenty-five.’
‘You’re already getting lines on your forehead from doing that and you’re young. You want to stop. It’s just a mannerism.’
‘About Tennesee …’
‘Botox would sort it out. Dr Margolis. I’ve really liked what he’s done for me. Right up here, see? Just a little Botox right here’ – Spencer pointed alongside his eye – ‘and it’s completely removed any hint of crows’ feet. Make an appointment next time we’re in LA.’
Sidonie looked at him.
Spencer looked back.
‘About Tennesee?’ she said. ‘Don’t you think we should find him before we eat?’
‘No,’ Spencer said with finality and sat down at the table. ‘He knows how to tell time. It’ll serve him right, because he’s just doing it to be annoying. Besides, it won’t hurt the little porker to miss a meal anyhow.’
By seven o’clock Spencer was irritated. He knew what was going on. Under his laconic exterior, Guff was a marshmallow, particularly when it came to stray animals. How many damned cats did he have living down there with him now? The boy would have shown up with his sob story: Oh poor me, having to be here where I don’t want to, having nothing to do, and Guff would have gone all gooey and grandpa-ish.
‘Go down to the bunkhouse and tell Guff we can’t have this,’ he said to Sidonie. ‘If the kid thinks he can move in down there, he’s got another think coming.’
Half an hour later, Sidonie was back. ‘Guff says he hasn’t seen Tennesee at all today,’ she said, still slightly out of breath from the climb up the path from the barn.
A small, frozen moment followed when, caught off guard by that information, Spencer had no idea what to think next. ‘Fuck him,’ he finally said with weary irritation. ‘He’s hiding.’
When he went in to search the boy’s bedroom, Spencer found the note. I’m going back to LA. Don’t come after me becose you can’t make me come back. I hate it here. I hate you. Good by.
‘Oh fuck,’ Spencer muttered and stormed out into the hall. ‘Look at this.’
Sidonie came over.
‘He’s fucking run away,’ Spencer said. ‘The goddamned little turd has fucking picked up and fucking taken off. Just like his motherfucking cunt of a mother would do.’
Spencer wanted to scream with frustration. Here he was in the only place in the whole world where he could have any peace and all he wanted was to be left alone to enjoy the mountains. Was that asking too much of life? Phoebe
