Curtis looked anything, but happy. It had clearly unsettled him. "I'll tell you what," he said looking around. "I don't feel much like staying here now. Shall we continue this conversation back at the house?"
Against his better judgement he reluctantly agreed. He left his car parked up in town and gazed out of Curtis's window as the urban countryside rushed by before opening up onto the Pacific front.
"They call this the American Riviera. Did you know that?" Jake didn't answer; he was too enamoured with the sight of palm trees, blue sky, and the sound of the gentle rhythms of the sea. "They call this East Cabrillo Boulevard Jake; love this stretch, never tire of it."
"How long have you lived here?" he asked, looking at Curtis.
"Obviously not long enough," he replied looking at him and half-smiling. "All my life," he added. "And you, where do you hail from?"
"Columbia, Missouri."
"Ah, my wife, Anya was born and raised in Columbia, coincidence."
They drove by some colourfully attired runners out jogging along the boulevard.
"How did you meet?" Jake asked.
"Oh gosh, let me see; it was a while ago now. We met when I was teaching at the Missouri School of Journalism, for the university to help supplement my income." Jake looked at Curtis surprised.
"There was a time when I had to learn my craft as well, you know!" exclaimed Curtis. "Not all been a bed of Roses – though some think so."
"I appreciate that ... its just I naïvely never imagined Curtis Neumann being a novice at one time," Jake replied deceptively, relieved that Curtis hadn't picked up on his look of shock when he'd mentioned the school of journalism in his hometown.
"Well, we all have to start somewhere. It took me years to hone my craft. It was when I met Anya that I got my first publishing contract and was able to give up my day job. It was just as well that it took as long as it did. Otherwise, I wouldn't have met her in the first place. She's proved to be my true inspiration, but don't tell her I told you that," he said with a knowing smile. "You know what they say, 'behind every great man; there's an even greater woman'."
Jake noticed the change in scenery when Curtis turned off the main boulevard and they were now driving down a narrow country lane flanked by overgrown hedges and trees. Jake had a sudden panic attack when he realised that he didn't know where he was heading. Curtis looked across and must have seen the tension on his face.
"Don't worry Jake. I just thought to drop by my bolt-hole before we head on back to the house. Thought you might like to see where I derive most of my inspiration and do most of my writing."
They pulled into a short driveway of a one-story, modest looking, timber framed house. "This is where I wrote all four of the novels you mentioned, including my latest," he said, with evident pride. He opened the door, and Jake followed. When they entered the building, it smelt musty, but Curtis led the way through to the rear room and opened the windows to let some air into the room.
"Wow! I can see why you like to write here; the views are very inspiring," he said looking out over the drop to the beach and the sea beyond.
"Here, have a look at this," Curtis said and unlocked the door that led onto the decking area. "Be my guest," he remarked standing aside and letting Jake go first.
"What a wonderfully setting," Jake said, looking out over the landscape. It took him back to the days when he was young. He created a secret den at the bottom of the garden. It was his world. He used to fantasise that his den, which was a hollow formed out of the gnarled roots of a tree, created a concealed hiding hole, and was filmed by his imaginary friends. He would conduct a running commentary, talking to the camera through an invisible lens. He would tell them what he was doing and how he was feeling. This was probably the happiest period of his life. He felt safe and secure.
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
They approached the house up a long sweeping driveway which opened up onto a courtyard comprising of single story buildings in a kind of Spanish revival style with mature gardens, and established trees that proliferated the landscape along the drive and throughout the grounds and beyond with great sweeping views down to the sea. Jake noticed Ivy and Wisteria in abundance around the outside of the house. There was nothing fake about this place, or indeed the person sitting next to me, Jake thought.
Anya was standing at the door. "Were you expecting us?" asked Curtis inquisitive. Anya didn't answer, she looked away and seemed slightly embarrassed. "We didn't stay long; our conversation was somewhat disrupted. I've brought Jake back here so we can continue our talk if that's okay with you," Said Curtis getting out of his car.
He patted the roof of his Bentley and proudly said, "British!" to Jake. Anya bent down in the car, opened the driver's door and ran her finger along the dashboard, collecting copious amounts of dust, and holding her finger up said, "American!" Jake couldn't help but smile.
As they stepped inside, Jake was blown away by the grandeur of the place. It wasn't opulent, or ostentatious, but considering his wealth, the home was lavish, without the palatial feeling of 'stately home' proportions. What Jake particularly liked was the prolific use of wooden beams in the ceilings throughout, and ivy and creepers inside the light and airy breakfast room, and just the pleasant feel that seemed to exude from the place.
Curtis showed him to the sitting room with its white walls, and wooden ceiling. Jake looked at the panoramic views afforded by the large windows. He walked over to take a closer look at the landscaped garden.
"Its a great pad you've got here Curtis," he cheekily said, and then paused to think as he sat back down. "At the cafe, did you mean it when you stated that you were only meeting me, because of this weird coincidence I had with the title of your latest book?"
At that moment, Anya came in bearing a tray with cafetiere and cups. Curtis patted the cushion next to him. "Come and join us," he said looking across to his wife.
Then turned to Jake answering his question, "In a way, yes. I mean, let me ask you this, do you think that it was just a pure fluke that you thought of the exact title of a piece of work I'd been developing for the past six months?"
He shrugged my shoulders, "I guess so."
"Well, what do you think the probability was for coming up that exact title? Infinitesimally small is my guess. From my perspective you tuned in, turned on, but I'm not too sure about the dropping out bit - only you can answer that," he laughed.
"Anya, you'll be interested in this, there were some mysterious happenings down at The French Press this morning, weren't there Jake? All sorts of gossiping and murmurings." Jake nodded a second time.
"We didn't like it, did we, Jake?"
You mean you didn't like it, Jake thought but continued to nod and agree.
He turned to Anya, "so we decided to confront them, we did." Anya looked across at me, and then shrugged her shoulders and rolled her eyes and gave me a, 'we've heard this a million times before, look'. He liked Anya.
"But as soon as I got up they were gone. Couldn't see them for dust, could we?"
If he looked at Jake just one more time and said, 'didn't we, or couldn't we 'Jake'?', he thinks he might do something involuntarily like scream or hit him.
Anya frowned, "did you get a good look at them? I'm wondering whether they were official looking, police maybe, FBI?"
"I don't know," said Curtis thoughtfully. "I doubt it, but they did seem to confer quite a lot, whatever it was they were gossiping about."
Anya looked across sceptically, "Don't forget that you're famous. People are bound to gossip, although, I know it's not nice when they're talking behind your back."
"That's what Jake said, but you know that I keep my face out of the press Anya. Only a few people know what I look like, and even then it's close friends. No, there was something odd about them."
"You mean other than the fact they were the worst dressers in town?" Jake responded, smirking.
Anya looked across at Jake questioningly. "They looked as if they'd just stepped out of 'the worst dressed people on the beach' competition selling cheap trinkets. Not from around here, stood out like a sore thumb" Jake added.
Anya looked away embarrassed. There was a pregnant pause. It was the right time, but he wasn't looking forward to the moment.
"I've got a confession to make," he said looking at Curtis and swallowing. "I went to the Columbia school of Journalism too," he said holding his breath.
Curtis sat there for a while staring, wide-eyed into space. "You were there?" He said, in a hypnotic state looking at nothing in particular.
"Yes."
"When I was there?"
"I don't know."
I could see it was taking time for the realisation to sink in. "But... how come... What do you do?"
"I'm a freelance journalist," Jake said gulping.
"And is this coincidence as well?" asked Curtis sceptically.
"No, no it isn't," he announced to his lap. "I ... I would like to write a piece about you."
The atmosphere in the room changed, and the sun momentarily went in behind a cloud.
"But... why? You should know better than anybody after this morning's fiasco; I simply don't do interviews. Never have done, never will, not even for you."
Jake considered this last comment as praise indeed. "Look, Curtis, I hear your objections, but I feel an affinity with you, and having a published exposé about you will only go to further this aura you seem to project, winning over thousands of additional new fans in the process. I think it will be great for your reputation. It will be your opportunity to tell your side of the story - as it were."
"I appreciate what you're saying Jake, but I just don't see the point. I don't need more fans, I don't need to 'enhance' my reputation; it is, what it is. All I want to do is be me. I don't want to be someone I'm not. I don't want to live to other people's expectations, do you understand?"
"I think that's a fear you carry if you're totally honest with yourself," retorted Anya feeling slightly irritated by his comments. "The truth is you've become far too comfortable with this pretence, this enigma. I get the feeling that this sense of the mysteriousness has become a convenient mask for you to hide behind," she rationalised. "Its just like your books. At the end of the day, you'll argue, until your blue in the face that they're fiction because it's a convenient, non-committal statement, a cop out! It saves you from having to get out of your comfort zone, stand up and be counted."
Jake remained silent. There was enough static electricity around the place between these two, without getting in the way. He thought Curtis would explode, or implode under the weight. Instead, he got up and made his way to the door that opened out onto the grounds.
He turned to face both Anya and myself wearing a pained expression on his face. "I hear what you both say, I need to give it some serious thought Jake." Then looking directly at Anya he added, "I'm not the man you think I am. I've never compromised the truth; for me, it's all or nothing." He stepped out into the grounds and disappeared in amongst the trees of the wooded grounds.