I gave an unconvincing laugh. “I don’t have any plans at all. But what would I be doing? I don’t have any talents.”

“I doubt that’s true. You recognized that Adios Diablo was a great picture. I’m sure I can find something to keep you occupied. Come see me next week.”

“Do you mean it?

“I do. Just don’t wear red.”

Chapter Thirty-eight

I took Irene’s advice and got my hair cut, and afterward, I went to a matinee of High Society. That very first scene, where Louis Armstrong and his musicians all sit at the back of the bus, that made me want to stand up and yell at the screen. And really, Bing Crosby as a cool jazz man? Don’t make me laugh. Bing is a geezer, old enough to be Grace Kelly’s father. If beautiful, fresh Grace Kelly was going to be stuck with an old man, she should have chosen Louis Armstrong—at least he had some grit and verve. I was still cranky when I got home from the theater, parked the MG in the garage, and opened the mailbox on PCH. No eviction notice—that was cheering. As for the rest of it, bad news and bills, I scooped those up to read later.

Along PCH I saw a Bentley coming north. It slowed and pulled off to the side, stopping right beside my mailbox, and the uniformed driver got out and opened the door to Leon Greene. I thought perhaps I was asleep, dreaming maybe. He was hatless, casually clad, still superbly tailored, though I could not read his expression. Even when he took off his dark glasses, I could not read his expression. Even when he opened his arms in a welcoming embrace. I was too stunned to speak, but I hugged him just the same.

When at last he released me, he said, “Roxanne, I have someone I want you to meet.” He gestured inside the Bentley and a stern, white-clad woman got out, holding a tiny, blanket-wrapped bundle in her arms. Leon took the baby from her tenderly. “Meet my son, Roxanne. Aaron Leon Greene. Isn’t he beautiful?”

What could I say? He was a baby. His little face above the blanket, and a baby cap protecting his head, he slept, utterly unaware of all the drama that had swirled around his coming into this world. I said all the things you’re supposed to say to a new parent—beautiful, cute, adorable. When, to my chagrin, Leon put him into my arms, I held him in an unpracticed embrace as the white-uniformed nanny glared. She was middle-aged with severe features; a perpetual scowl had driven deep furrows between her brows, and the pinch to her lips was clearly of long standing.

“Mrs. Shea,” said Leon, “we’re going to take Aaron inside. Please wait here. I’ll let you know when you’re wanted.”