And now this: the cherry on top.
Khezir and Gozan sat together inside the Bentley in the parking lot of Warner Brothers Studios, just grinning at each other, saying in unison, “Can you believe this?”
They laughed as one, then Khezir adjusted the visor, started up the wonderful car, and drove past the guard’s booth to the exit onto Forest Lawn.
As Khezir waited for an opening in the four lanes of traffic, he dialed up the air-conditioning. And he thought about the luncheon meeting Gozan and he had just had in the executive dining room with five serious young people who wanted to know more about them.
Those highly intelligent kids had an idea for a three-part miniseries and had “spitballed” ideas with them over cold potato soup and Kobe beef sandwiches. Khezir was still high on the intelligence and fierce energy of these young movie people. He admired their creativity and their structured ideas.
Gozan said, “You can go,” and Khezir pulled out of the Warner Brothers lot onto Forest Lawn Drive.
The car picked up speed, giving Khezir a lovely feeling of riding on clouds. He was going to buy a car exactly like this one. The latest model. Then he would find a willing young girl, his type, and take a road trip with her, sharing big beds in hotel rooms across America.
Gozan said, “This is the life, right, Khezzy? This is the American life.” Gozan started singing a song from that prewar period of America that he liked so much.
“‘Blue skies, la-la-la-la. Nothing but blue skies, from now onnnnn.’”
Khezir laughed. “This is our them
e song, Uncle.”
Gozan beamed.
“Khezzy, I think they liked us. I know they said they love us, but even if they are only warm on us, I think they will make this TV show.”
“I love them,” Khezir said. “Raiders of the Lost Ark meets David and Goliath. I don’t know exactly what they mean, but I like the way they said it.”
He banged the steering wheel with his fist for emphasis and sped up Forest Lawn, passing the cemetery, heading toward the Ventura Freeway. He hit the ramp for 134 East, and the lovely car zoomed past Griffith Park on their right.
Tonight they would be back in the Beverly Hills Hotel. They had a bungalow in the garden, an even better one than last time. This one had an enclosed private pool.
Khezir took the exit to I-5 South, the Golden State Freeway. Khezir leaned down to adjust the air-conditioning controls, and when he looked up, he saw something unimaginable.
A silver vehicle had jumped the barrier between the two lanes and was hurtling toward them. The car was out of control.
“Uncle,” he screamed. He jammed on the brakes, twisted the wheel as the silver vehicle filled his windshield.
There was an unfathomable clash of metal and plastics exploding together, and Khezir was thrown violently against the seat. Glass fired on him like an ice storm, and horns blew like the wind roaring through the rocky clefts of Sumar.
Chapter 119
JUSTINE WAS RUNNING with Rocky, her five-year-old rescue who was part dachshund, part beagle, part comedian, and all-around best pooch in the world.
Rocky was giving her the happy-dog grin, letting her know that he had been waiting forever for this run, and that he wasn’t going to forget a minute of it, and that he really loved the guy who was running with them.
The best-looking guy in the world was also enjoying their run on the wide grassy divider between the lanes of traffic on Burton Way. All three of them had been running for a half hour at a nice even pace, although it was becoming harder for Justine to keep up because she was laughing so much.
“Pick it up, Justine,” he said. “Try this. It’s good for your calves.”
And then he did sideways leaps over Rocky as the dog ran on the leash ahead of them, unaware or uncaring that he’d become exercise equipment.
“Now you try it.”
“No, sir, no way,” Justine shouted. “Look,” she called out. “I think we should go out for dinner.”
“You’re crazy,” he said. “I’ve already marinated the fish. You saw me, Justine. I made my special marinade.”
“We can freeze the marinade,” she said.