myself to hold his gaze. “I was just going to try them on.”
“Everyone likes those Ray-Bans,” he says. “They were a birthday present from my son. I’d let you borrow them, but I wear them every day. We’re burning through the ozone layer pretty fast, and you know what that means, don’t you?”
“I think so.”
He ignores this. “Wrinkles,” he says, laughing in a hard burst. “Eye damage too. The sun has one mission: seek and destroy.”
“I was just going to try them on,” I repeat lamely. “I’m sorry.”
“As long as you weren’t going to steal them, Jim. Some of my things here seem to grow legs and walk off. I know it’s best not to get too attached to your possessions, but I can’t help but feel fond of a few of them. I’m sure you understand.”
I nod, wanting very badly to leave but not sure how to manage it. Ivins is still in the doorway, and he has started to pry up the edges of his goatee, which makes him look both comical and sinister. “Tell me, do I need any water?” he asks. “Or is my fridge well stocked?”
Along with yes or no, I can only think of one other reply, not really, which means that I probably have a thirty-three percent chance of choosing the correct answer. I have no idea if Ivins knows what’s in the fridge; his face gives nothing away. I wonder if he recognizes that we’re playing our own game of liar’s poker.
My throat feels very dry. “You could use a few more bottles,” I manage to say.
He gives me a long, unblinking look. “Really? Why don’t you double-check?”
A horrifying urge to laugh seizes my chest. I take the few steps over to the fridge and am now even farther from the door. The refrigerator is almost empty. Inside are only two bottles of water, one very shiny Granny Smith, a few pieces of string cheese, and a bottle of O’Doul’s. O’Doul’s? Despite the fact that I’m in no position to judge him or anyone else, I can’t help but wonder. Does he really drink that swill? Or does he keep one on hand for his friends who are in AA? Would they even be allowed to drink O’Doul’s?
“Gotcha,” he says. He’s standing only a couple of feet behind me now. “You looked pretty nervous for a minute or two. I bet you weren’t too sure what you’d find in there.”
I turn around but can’t meet his eyes. “I’ll go get you some water,” I mumble. My stomach feels like it’s living in my shoes now. I shut the refrigerator and move toward the door. I have never in my life wanted so badly to leave a room.
“Hold on a second, Jim,” Ivins says.
It stings like a slap, but I force myself to look right into his tired, suntanned face.
“I’ll let you off this time,” he says, his eyes malice-hardened. “But I don’t want to catch you in here again.” He peels off his goatee and rubs his reddened chin for a few seconds. “There’s a reason you’re the person you are and I’m the person I am, no?”
“Yes, I guess so,” I say.
He finally steps aside and lets me go. I hear him shut the door behind me, the lock clicking into place.
He must know that I won’t have the guts to bring him the water. I wish that I could prove him wrong, but I can’t. You’re the person you are and I’m the person I am. I find one of the caterers and ask her to bring Ivins eight bottles of Evian, which she does without complaint, her pretty face blank, but I know she doesn’t mind.
Admittedly, he did me a favor. He could have had security throw me out, and I would promptly have been fired, possibly arrested. He could also have made it impossible for me to be hired anywhere else. Maybe he still will, but I don’t think so. It’s over now though—my side business, our friendly acquaintance, if that’s what it was. Yet as far as I know I’m still employed at the studio. I still have a decent place to live, a coach house that I rent in Topanga Canyon, a two-bedroom with a small garage that sits behind a bigger, nicer house. I have a car given to me by my parents when I graduated from UCLA. It’s a Honda, only six years old, and hasn’t needed any major repairs. Larissa, my girlfriend, who