The Face

played in memory not as though he’d viewed them from a theater seat, but as though they were true-life experiences that he and his father had shared.
        These dreamy spells of half-sleep were some of the happiest moments of Fric’s life.
        Of course, if he ever told anyone that those were some of the happiest moments of his life, the Pathetic Losers Club would erect a [189] thirty-foot statue of him, emphasizing his uncombable hair and his skinny neck, and they would spotlight it on the same hill that held the HOLLYWOOD sign.
        So on this Monday evening, though Fric might have preferred to eat in the theater while watching his father beat the crap out of bad guys and save an entire orphanage full of waifs, he dined in the wine cellar because in the pre-Christmas bustle, little privacy could be found elsewhere in Palazzo Rospo.
        Ms. Sanchez and Ms. Norbert, the maids who lived on the estate, had been away on an early Christmas leave for the past ten days. They would not return until Thursday morning, December 24.
        Mrs. McBee and Mr. McBee would be gone Tuesday and Wednesday, to have an early Christmas with their son and his family in Santa Barbara. They, too, would return to Palazzo Rospo on December 24, to ensure that the biggest movie star in the world was met with the proper pomp when he arrived from Florida later that afternoon.
        Consequently, here on Monday evening, the other four maids and the porters were working late, under the firm direction of the busy McBees, alongside a few outsourced services that included a six-man floor-cleaning crew specializing in the care of marble and limestone, an eight-person holiday-decorating team, and an emergency feng-shui facilitator who would make certain that various Christmas trees and other seasonal displays were arranged and festooned in such a way as not to interfere with the proper energy flow of the great house.
        Madness.
        Far from the hum of floor-polishing machines and the jolly laughter of the Christmas-besotted decorating team, Fric took refuge deep underground in the wine cellar. Within these brick walls, under this low, vaulted brick ceiling, the only sounds were those he made swallowing and the clink of his fork against his plate.
        And then: Ooodelee-ooodelee-oo.
        Muffled but audible, the phone rang inside a keg.
        [190] Because the temperature in the tasting room was too high for wine storage, the barrels and bottles in this chamber, on the warmer side of the glass wall, were strictly decorative.
         Ooodelee-ooodelee-oo.
        Stacked floor to ceiling along one brick wall, several of the enormous barrels featured hinged bottoms that could be swung open, doorlike. Some barrels had shelves inside, on which were stored wineglasses, linen napkins, corkscrews, other items. Four contained televisions, allowing a wine connoisseur to view multiple channels simultaneously.
         Ooodelee-ooodelee-oo.
        Fric opened the phone keg and answered his private line in the usual Frician style, determined not to sound intimidated. “Pete’s Pest Control and School of Home Canning. We’ll rid your house of rats and teach you how to preserve them for future holiday feasts.”
        “Hello, Aelfric.”
        “Do you have a name yet?” Fric asked.
        “Lost.”
        “Is that a first name or last name?”
        “Both. Are you enjoying your dinner?”
        “I’m not eating dinner.”
        “What did I tell you about lying, Aelfric?”
        “That it won’t get me anything but misery.”
        “Do you eat in the wine cellar often?”
        “I’m in the attic.”
        “Don’t seek misery, boy. Enough of it will find you without your help.”
        “In the movie business,” Fric said, “people lie twenty-four hours a day, and all it gets them is rich.”
        “Sometimes the misery follows swiftly,” Mysterious Caller assured him. “More often it takes a lifetime to arrive, and then at the end, there’s a great roaring sea of it.”
        Fric was silent.
        [191] The stranger matched his silence.
        At last Fric drew a deep breath and said, “I’ve got to admit, you’re a spooky son of a bitch.”
        “That’s progress, Aelfric. A little truth.”
        “I found a place where I can hide and never be found.”
        “Do you mean the secret room behind your closet?”
        Fric had never imagined that any creepy