Spiral

phone made a deedling sound. I picked it up and looked for a receive button near the send one. Not seeing any, I pushed send just as a green arrow in the traffic signal told me I could make my left-hand turn.
    ”Hello?”
    ”John, Justo here. Did you not get my message?”
    ”Where?”
    ”At your hotel. I tried you there three times today.”
    ”Justo, I’m sorry. Why didn’t you use this cell number?”
    ”I did that also.”
    Which he could have, since I hadn’t been carrying the phone on me. ”What’s up?”
    A pause, then, ”I grow weary, as I try to balance the demands of a law practice with my concerns about a certain client.”
    Cryptic. ”Meaning, that since cellulars are insecure radios, you’d like me to call you back on a land-line?”
    ”Yes, as to security, but no as to calling me back. I just wanted to know if you have had any success with that client’s matter, since I am to drive up there tonight to see him.”
    ”Not much. And I’m pretty beat, too. Try me at the hotel later if you need me.”
    ”More likely tomorrow, John.”

    I left my car in the hotel garage and walked through a lushly landscaped pool area to the lobby entrance. The desk clerk—who wasn’t my ”ally,” Damon—told me I could access their voice mail system from any phone. When I held up the cell unit, she nodded and gave me the number to call and the code to enter.
    In my room, I saw the red dome light flashing on top of the telephone next to the bed. After showering, I plumped up two pillows and dialed for my calls. In between the three expected messages from Justo Vega were one each from Mitch Eisen, Spiral’s manager, and Malinda Dujong, Jeanette Held’s ”spiritual advisor.” Both just said to return theirs, and since Eisen’s had been the earlier, I tried him first.
    ”Hey, Cuddy, I’m glad you called me back. What’re you doing tonight?”
    ”Going to bed.”
    ”What?”
    ”I’m tired, Mitch.”
    ”Tired’s one thing, but eight o’clock is the shank of the fucking evening. You eat yet?”
    I had to think about it. ”Not since lunch at Spi Held’s house.”
    ”Yeah, he called me, said you’d been out there. Well, look, you got to have dinner, right?”
    ”I suppose.”
    ”Okay, I’ll pick you up at your hotel in half an hour.”
    ”Mitch-”
    ”This first place, it serves great food, and we ought to be timing it about perfect.”
    First place. ”Mitch, I’m not really up for a night on the town.”
    ”Just dress casual, account of it’s more like a seminar for you. Music appreciation, so you understand Spiral better as a band.”
    I didn’t answer for a moment, thinking of how discouraging it had been for me to be with David Helides and most of the other people I’d interviewed that day.
    ”Cuddy?”
    ”Half an hour, Mitch. I’ll be outside the lobby, downstairs. What are you driving?”
    ”Don’t worry. You can’t miss it.”
    I depressed the connection button, got another dial tone, and called Malinda Dujong’s number. After four rings, an outgoing tape of her voice repeated the seven digits I’d just entered before a ”please leave any message.” I said something like ”John Cuddy, returning your call,” and gave her the hotel number again.
    Then I went back to the bathroom to dry my hair before pulling on a short-sleeved shirt and some olive-drab slacks.

    ”Didn’t I say you couldn’t miss it?”
    Changing lanes, Mitch Eisen sent his eyes back to the road. The plugs of his hair transplant stood straight up in the wind.
    I said, ”A fifty-eight?”
    ”Fifty-nine, like they used on Route 66, though that show was in black-and-white, so you couldn’t see the colors.”
    From the lobby door, I’d watched the orange-and-cream Corvette slew around the circular drive, top down. Mitch Eisen had waved for me to climb into the passenger seat of the two-door sports car.
    As we swerved around a delivery truck, I said, ”How long have you had it?”
    ”Just about a year, so it’s almost time to turn it in.”
    ”Turn it in?”
    ”Yeah. I rent them, I don’t buy them.”
    I remembered Pepe telling me he could get me a flashier car before I chose the Cavalier. ”That’s cost-effective?”
    ”Hey, it’s ‘image-effective.’ A producer or promoter sees me drive up in wheels like this, he figures I’m still a player.”
    Still a player. ”I meant more, wouldn’t you be better off buying the car?”
    ”Oh. Used to, in fact. Had a sixty-five Imperial