Forget to Remember

where Beverly Drive and Crescent Drive intersected Sunset, and found she was at the Beverly Hills Hotel.
    Carol walked up the driveway toward the entrance. Uniformed men were helping two guests with their luggage. They had just exited an exotic car Carol didn’t recognize. She approached one of the hotel employees. “Can I get a taxi?”
    He glanced at her. She tried to hide the scrape on her arm. He smiled. “Yes, ma’am. Right over here.”
    He led her to a waiting yellow taxi she hadn’t seen and opened the door for her. She couldn’t afford to give him a tip. As she climbed in, she gave him a smile and a flash of leg, hoping that was enough. It would have to be.
    The taxi driver started his engine and said something to her in broken English. Carol gritted her teeth before speaking. “I only have forty-two dollars. Is that enough to get to Palos Verdes?”
    He shook his head.
    “How about the beach?”
    “The beach—where?”
    “Manhattan Beach?” She knew from her travels that Manhattan Beach was south of the Los Angeles Airport. She could walk from there.
    “Manhattan Beach? Okay, we go to Manhattan Beach.”
    He drove west on Sunset. Carol remembered hearing somewhere the Chevrolet Corvair, an ancient General Motors car with a rear engine, was supposed to have been so unstable the curvy Sunset Boulevard became a graveyard for them. They passed the UCLA campus, and the driver went south on the 405 freeway.
    Communication wasn’t good between them because his understanding of English was questionable. Carol monitored their progress, hoping he was really going to the beach. She was relieved when she saw the signs for LAX and knew they were headed in the correct direction. He exited the freeway at Rosecrans Avenue.
    The meter had reached forty-two dollars, but she sweet-talked him into driving closer to the beach with the meter off, figuring it would be safer to walk on the beach than on the streets. He took her to the corner of Rosecrans and Highland Avenue. She could see the ocean. This would have to do. She gave him the forty-two dollars, thanked him, effusively, and headed downhill to the beach walking path.
    Late as it was, there were still a few people walking and running on the concrete path that wended its way in front of the beachside houses. Now that Carol had safely eluded Beard, she felt a lot better. This was an adventure.
    The coolness of the ocean breeze caressed her face. In addition to her cell phone, she had left her jacket at Ault’s place. All she wore were her short-sleeved sweater and skirt. She didn’t think the temperature was below fifteen—Celsius. She reminded herself Fahrenheit was used in the U.S. Okay, about sixty Fahrenheit. As long as she kept moving she wouldn’t get cold.
    Hermosa Beach followed Manhattan Beach. Here the walking path and bike path, which were separate in Manhattan Beach, became one. However, bikes were almost nonexistent at this hour. Carol was getting tired. Her feet hurt. She could see the lights of the hill of Palos Verdes Peninsula ahead, but they looked like a mirage she would never reach.
    She asked a female jogger what time it was. The answer was twelve thirty. Rigo must be home now. Hopefully, he would be in bed and not worrying about her. At the end of Hermosa Beach, she had to walk on the street to get around the small-boat harbor. She walked past the shops and the parking structure at the Redondo Beach pier. There was still some activity at the restaurants on the pier, a couple of which had Tony’s as part of their name.
    Instead of taking the beach path through Redondo, she went uphill to the path that followed the cliff above the beach. It fronted a series of apartment buildings. She would have to start climbing eventually, anyway. It didn’t hurt to gain a little altitude now. The apartments were largely quiet. Even beach lovers slept. When the path ended, she walked along the cliff-side street. A few cars cruised by.
    One slowed down to her pace and a male voice called. “Need a ride, honey?”
    She kept walking along the sidewalk, not looking at him. He said a couple of other things, getting progressively more inappropriate. She walked faster. The car accelerated and sped away.
    Palos Verdes loomed directly in front of Carol. It looked like a mountain. The street started uphill. She remembered Rigo telling her their home was higher than 1100 feet above sea level. She was coming from close to sea level. Her legs ached. She came