Page 41 of Take It Till You Make It
“Oh, I can imagine it.”
Something in his tone keeps me facing the window so he doesn’t see the heat flare through me. I’m thankful when he flips on his blinker and exits the freeway. Sally is staying with her aunt, so within a couple of blocks, it’s evident we are in an upscale town. The homes are old, but beautifully maintained, and the landscaping is impeccable. The houses get bigger, the driveways longer, and then gates start to appear at the entrances as we progress deeper into the neighborhood.
Crispin’s navigation system sends him through a maze until it finally tells us we’ve arrived. He pulls up to a tall wrought iron gate and rolls down his window, letting in the oppressive heat of the day. If for no other reason, this heat is why I wouldn’t want to move inland. There is always a cooling ocean breeze at my place, even on the most stifling days.
Crispin presses a call button on a box outside his window, and the gate swings open. He pulls forward slowly, whistling. “Wow. This place is amazing.”
“It is.” I’m leaning forward to get a look at the tops of the palm trees that line the drive. A manicured lawn stretches out on both sides of us, ringed by tall oleander bushes that probably act as a privacy break from the neighbors as well as being a beautiful property border.
The house comes into view, and I smile at how totally Californian it appears. White stucco with a red tile roof. A sprawling single-level hacienda with lots of windows.
“It’s gorgeous,” I breathe.
The driveway curves, and we pull up in front of the double front doors, which swing open to reveal a grinning Sally. A tall, handsome guy follows her out of the house. I see him say something over his shoulder before he closes the door. Then he catches up with Sally and holds her hand as they approach the car.
She swings the back door open and scrambles inside. “Hey, guys. Thanks for picking us up. I’m so looking forward to this.”
She scoots across the backseat, and the boy climbs in after her.
“This is River,” Sally says. “River, Crispin and Ari.”
Crispin turns so he can shake River’s hand. “Glad you could join us, man.”
“Thanks for inviting me.”
It’s only then that I remember Sally saying her boyfriend moved out here with her. So, Crispin isn’t interested in her. He just wanted to do something with us. Huh. I don’t know why that surprises me so much, but it does. It seems so…nice. I mean, he’s from here. He must have boatloads of friends around, but he’s spending a Saturday with us.
I study him out of the corner of my eye as he resets the navigation for the little museum. I really had him figured all wrong.
“There’s like nothing online about this place,” Sally says. “They don’t have a website or anything. There are a couple of Yelp reviews, all of which are super positive. I can’t wait. Thanks for doing this, Crispin.”
“No problem. It’s the first thing I thought of when you went on and on about Bogart’s love life that day.”
I glance at Sally with raised eyebrows, and she rolls her eyes. “I do tend to go overboard about stuff like that. I’ve read everything I can about all the great old-time actors. I’m so obsessed.”
River chuckles. “Even her aunt is blown away by all the useless information Sally has about old actors and shows and movies.”
Sally hits River playfully with the back of her hand. “Hey, now. No sharing the embarrassing details.”
Crispin wasn’t kidding when he said Sally lives close to the museum. We’re there in less than ten minutes. He finds street parking, feeds the meter, and then we’re walking down the sidewalk toward a dark door he pointed to. It’s a small storefront in a line of retail establishments and restaurants on the ground floor with several stories of apartments above. The buildings are old and graffiti-tagged. Windows are covered in posters for upcoming neighborhood concerts or people advertising psychic readings or searching for lost pets.
“If you guys like Filipino food, there is an excellent restaurant we can visit afterward.” Crispin points to a place across the street.
“Authentic?” River asks, a strange look of longing in his eyes.
“I don’t know for sure, but it seems like it.”
“Oh man, what I wouldn’t give for authentic pancit.”
“That’s right, you’ve had the real stuff.” Crispin nods. “You can tell us how authentic it is.”
Just inside the door of the museum, we find a man sitting behind a card table, a newspaper spread open in front of him.
“Oh, hello,” he greets, seeming surprised to see anyone walk through the door. “Four of you today?”
Crispin nods and pulls his wallet out of his back pocket. He hands the guy a credit card. I dig money out of my little purse and hold it out to him, but he shakes his head.
“But…” I start, but he shakes his head again.
