Between the second and third topcoats, they ordered pizza. Olly asked for a salad.
“Who orders rabbit food from a pizza place?” Rich asked incredulously.
“I like salad,” Olly protested. “There’s chicken in it. See?”
Rich said nothing, just rubbed his chin. His beard had all grown out, and he wasn’t quite used to it yet.
“It looks nice,” Olly said. “Now you just have to keep it trimmed. Unless you’re going for the Tom Hanks-in-Castaway look.”
“Probably not.”
By the time they put on the last coat, the sun was on its way down again, and the midday stuffiness was giving way to a balmy evening. Rich jumped into the shower before Sandy could—women always took way too long, in his experience. He put on a T-shirt and a pair of jeans he’d grabbed from a temporary pile in the garage.
Olly went next, since Sandy was still digging through boxes, looking for a particular dress. “I can’t wait to be completely moved in and actually know where everything is,” she grumbled.
“We can start moving the furniture in tomorrow,” Rich told her.
Olly strode up, wearing clean clothes and rubbing his wet hair with a towel. Disturbingly, he smelled of Sandy’s soap and shampoo. Though, so did Rich. “Are you guys camping out again tonight?” Olly asked.
“Not me. I have a warm bed waiting for me,” Sandy replied from practically inside a huge cardboard box. “There you are!” she added triumphantly as she pulled out a brightly colored sundress.
Olly stood to the side, curiosity etched into every line of his face, yet not saying a word. Rich had far less self-restraint. “That’s it. Who’s this mystery man?”
She gave them a coy smile. “Can’t say. Not yet.”
“Is he married?” Olly asked the question also on Rich’s mind.
“Goodness no. You’ll meet him soon enough. I don’t want to jinx things. Be patient.” She turned back to the box. “I know there are a pair of strappy sandals here somewhere.”
Rich knew his sister well enough not to press. “Fine. But he better not be some Hollywood nutcase who thinks the sun shines from his ass.” Tapping his pockets, he found his wallet—he’d been wondering where it was. He must’ve grabbed the jeans he’d worn the previous day. Sticking his hand into the other pocket, he caught his fingers on something—a piece of paper. He pulled it out to see. It was a photo of two men. Naked, arms around each other. One of them had his back to the camera and his face buried into the neck of his partner. The other had his eyes closed, but his face was still recognizable.
“That’s Chad Morton,” Olly blurted out. “Where did you get this?”
“Who?” Rich asked rather than answered.
“Chad Morton. He’s on Channel 16 News. Well, used to be. I remember he did a piece on Fred’s Trade Post a couple of years ago. But this is an old picture.” He wrinkled his nose. “Hm, I’m pretty sure he’s married.”
Sandy peered over from Rich’s other side. “He sure is. Or was. He passed away.”
Olly raised his brows. “Oh, he did? I didn’t know.”
She nodded. “Heart attack. It was quick.” She glanced back down. “He and Willard Keats—who would’ve thought. I mean, I knew about Willard—it’s an open secret—but I had no idea about Chad Morton.”
Olly leaned closer to the photo and squinted. “How can you tell it’s Willard Keats?”
“The birthmark.” She pointed at the man’s shoulder blade. “It’s in the shape of South America.”
“Ah. I thought it was a smudge.”
“No, it’s definitely a birthmark. I’ve seen it in person.”
Rich had lost patience with the two of them talking across him. “What the hell are you going on about? And who the hell is Willard Keats?”
They both gave him pitying looks. “Willard is an old character actor,” Sandy explained. “You must’ve seen him. He’s in half a dozen movies and TV shows every year.”
“He played the old prisoner with the pet mice in Escape from Hollow Rock,” Olly added. “And the evil dude in Blood Moon Island. You know, the guy with the long white beard, who keeps putting curses on people.”
“Oh, him.” The face of the actor was clear in Rich’s memory, someone he’d seen in tons of supporting roles, never big enough to bother to remember the man’s name.
“You saw him shirtless?” Olly asked Sandy.
She nodded. “We did Death of a Salesman in North Hollywood once. It was a short run, four weeks. We got very good reviews, though. Willard played the main role, of course, and I had a small one as Miss Forsythe. One day I accidentally barged into his dressing room as he was changing and saw the birthmark. We joked about it later. Willard is such an old-fashioned gentleman. You know, the kind who holds doors open for the ladies and such. And he didn’t look down at me either because I was a nobody. We got friendly. I’ve been to his house several times. He doesn’t live far from here, as a matter of fact. Just over at Los Feliz.” Sandy put her hands on her hips and fixed Rich in her sights. “The big question is, where did you get this photo from?”