But by whom? he wondered, and then he recalled the tracks beneath the tree.
“Screwed by a bear?” His voice sounded foreign to him as it echoed in the empty restaurant kitchen. Human speech had slept in him, but now he was caught again in the web of words—their meanings and the sorrow they could articulate. “Screwed by a bear!” he cried, and ripped the newspaper in half, straight down through the best-seller list, after which he hurled the fish at the wall.
His stomach was rumbling from the pie and cake he’d greedily shoved down it; a bear could handle such gorging, but Bramhall was swiftly shaking off his bearness. “God almighty,” he said as he caught sight of himself in the reflected light on the window—a hairy, naked creature with pine needles and twigs in its gnarled beard. He tried to neaten himself up, then realized it was dangerous to do so here. He had to get away before he was caught and hauled off to jail or an insane asylum.
He went out through the broken window, grunting as he did so, which gave him another shock. The bear in him wasn’t quite dead yet.
“I’ve studied your case, Mr. Bramhall.” Eaton Magoon looked across the desk at his prospective client.
“Well?” growled Arthur Bramhall, who, with much difficulty, was returning to civilization. The suit he wore was splitting at the seams. It had fit him perfectly once, but he now had an inch of hair all over his body, and his neck had grown noticeably thicker.
Through the window behind lawyer Magoon, the town clock was visible, its hands permanently stopped. Beyond the clock was the Feed and Seed store. The lettering on the sign was faded and old, like much of northern Maine. “I’m just a small-town lawyer, Mr. Bramhall, and you’ve got a lot going against you.”
“But it’s my book,” growled Bramhall. He’d been unable to get the gravelly sound out of his voice, and every sentence he spoke ended in a soft howl, like a dog with worms.
“There’s no carbon of it,” continued Magoon, “which leaves us with no proof that in fact you are the author of Destiny and Desire.”
“Ask Vinal Pinette. He’ll tell you I was working on a book.”
“Yes, but what book? Vinal Pinette can barely read.”
“He’s an honest man.”
“Honest but illiterate. He’d make a good witness if this were a case of a stolen cow.”
“I wrote Destiny and Desire.”
“I believe you, Mr. Bramhall. But will a judge? Will a jury? May I be straightforward?”
“Certainly.”
“Your appearance is against you. You don’t look like an author.”
“What do I look like?”
“Frankly, you look like a bear.”
The bear’s tour ended in Southern California, whose lushness was like nothing he’d ever encountered before. He took an early morning walk on the grounds of the Hotel Bel Air. The tropical trees with their gigantic roots and branches filled the air with a sultry power. He wandered down the path to the pond, in which a pair of the hotel’s trademark swans were swimming. They were pampered creatures, and when the bear looked at them he could not help drooling. Bear drool is aromatic and the swans were shocked. Who was this barbarian? How had he gotten into their hotel? They disdainfully turned their tail feathers toward him and paddled away. The bear charged, paws thumping on the grass. The swans twisted their long necks around in horror, then raced very inelegantly up the far bank into the bushes.
The bear skidded to a stop on the edge of the pond and looked back over his shoulder to see if he’d been observed. I’ve got to hold back on the woodland instincts here. Could be a world of misunderstandings if I ate those birds.
Attempting a casual air, he climbed up out of the swan garden, to another path. It was lined with moist, exotic flowers; fountains shaped like animal heads spouted water from their mouths. He crossed the dining terrace beneath a canopy of branches which held masses of blue blossoms. Females were already lying on loungers beside the pool, with a shoestring between their buns. He paused, and the young pool attendant said, “Can I set you up in a chair, sir?”
“I’m looking at the buns.”
“Certainly, sir.”
The bear helped himself to a banana from the fruit basket set out for the bathers. Morning sunlight glittered on the pool, and tropical birds sang in the trees. Might be nice to take a little dip, he said to himself.
He removed his hotel robe and took several slow, graceful steps toward the water, then launched himself and hit the water with a tremendous splash, sending waves surging up over the edges of the pool.
With the cloudless California sky above him, he paddled peacefully along. As he paddled, he kept his eye out in case there was a briefcase under a lounge chair. But ladies with shoestrings between their buns apparently didn’t carry briefcases.
He reached the end, reversed himself, and paddled back. A pool like this, he observed, could be improved by putting a few salmon in it.
He emerged and shook himself vigorously, sending a halo of water around himself. Then he walked off with his robe draped over his arm. He went up a few tiled stairs, past a lighted bubbling fountain on which petals floated. The path opened into a small courtyard with more animal-headed fountains, and his room faced all this splendor. His doorway was framed by flowering plants and trees, their rich scent playing in his nostrils as he passed them. A bee flew out of a blossom, and he caught it and ate it, then looked around nervously.
I really shouldn’t be eating hotel property, he told himself. But the old habits die hard.
He entered his room. It was large and cool, with double doors at the other end, leading to a private garden protected by a high redwood fence. He ordered some breakfast for himself and the guest he was expecting, then waited in his garden in a white lounge chair beneath a tree. He was wearing sunglasses, and his white bathrobe bore the hotel monogram—a swan.
He peeled a piece of bark off the tree and nibbled on its rich interior. The vegetation in Southern California was heavy with juice. That, and the fact that women wore shoelaces between their buns, were strong points in favor of permanently denning here.
A waiter arrived with a serving table on which a breakfast was laid for two. A jar of special honey had been provided, with macadamia nuts floating in it. Beside it lay a folded copy of the Los Angeles Times.
“Will there be anything else, sir?” asked the waiter.
“No, that’s all,” said the bear, and signed the bill in his slow, careful style.
When the waiter left, the bear opened the paper and checked the best-seller list. Destiny and Desire was still number one.
There was a knock at the door. He opened it for his Hollywood agent.
“Hi,” said Zou Zou Sharr hesitantly, not knowing how things stood between them any longer.
“Come on in,” said the bear genially.
Zou Zou’s outfit—a simple tailored suit—reflected her uncertainty. She didn’t want it to seem as if she were presenting herself as a physical object. He showed her out to the garden, and when she saw the jar of honey, a twinge of melancholy went through her for those first days in New York, before the whirlwind had swept him away to stardom. She laid the tip of her red fingernail on the best-seller page. “You must be very happy.”
He bit into a ten-dollar slice of papaya. “Do you wear a shoelace between your buns?”
“On occasion,” she said nervously. He was the New Presence. He was hot. The A-list actresses were after him. How could she compete? But did the A-list actresses understand him?
“Success has been easy for you, hasn’t it, Hal?” she suggested hopefully.
“Signing my name is tough.”
“What do you mean?” Her emotional antenna folded back down and her business antenna went up. True, he’d signed with her agency, but agreements were made to be broken. Had CAA swept in to grab him? “You’re not going to do better with another agency, Hal, no matter who may be sweet-talking you.”
“If I don’t hold the pen right I make a mess.”
/> “What kind of a mess?” Her antenna was humming now. CAA had moved in, the predatory bastards, and Hal was telling her if he didn’t get what he wanted there was going to be a costly contractual battle. God, he’s such a shrewd negotiator, able to unnerve you with just a few words. “What do you want, Hal? Tell me now before things get ugly. Has CAA offered you a house out here? We’ll get you a better one. With a car, a driver, whatever you want. But we have to have your next book.”
“I haven’t been able to find it.”
She saw he was going to stonewall them. There’d be no new book without a new contract. “What have they offered you that we can’t get you too? Whatever you want, Hal, it’s yours. We’ll give you a house, a car, and a maid wearing a shoelace between her buns.” Zou Zou stood, smoothing down the front of her skirt. Any silly romantic notion she’d had when she’d walked in was buried now. She believed in enduring love, but what truly endured was money. “You and I can drive around and look at real estate. We’d all love to help you settle out here.” She closed her eyes. “I can just see you in Topanga Canyon.”
The telephone rang. The bear cradled it to his ear. “Yes?”
“Hal, this is Elliot. There’s a little problem here in New York.”
“Problem?”
“Some nut is suing you. He claims you stole his book.”
The bear dropped the phone into its cradle. He looked at Zou Zou Sharr, but hardly recognized her.
“Hal, what is it?”
He got up abruptly from the table and looked at the redwood fence.
Now, said an ancient voice. While you’ve got the chance. Run!
Primal landscapes flashed past his mind’s eye. He slapped violently at the trunk of the tree, to make loud sounds that would frighten his enemies. Then he grabbed the tree and shook it so violently its roots bulged up from the ground. Zou Zou was only mildly terrified, having seen him in this mood the very first day they’d met. She put out her hand to him. “Hal, it’s me, Zou Zou.”
“Zoo?”
“Zou Zou.”
He swung around, his lips parting in a snarl, and she backed up immediately.
He spied the jar of honey on the table, with macadamias suspended in the golden hue, and he groaned with anguish. My life as a human being, my honey and sunglasses—he groaned again—it’s going to be taken from me.
He leapt toward the table, opened the honey, and drained it down while it was still available. His thoughts went no further than that, the moment was all he had, with its fragments of desires and fears. He started gobbling up the rest of the two breakfasts.
Over the fence! said the ancient voice. Follow your nose to freedom!
“Hal,” said Zou Zou, “you can confide in me.”
He looked at her with uncomprehending eyes. What did this female want? Was she connected to the zoo? He let out a roar and tipped over the table.
Zou Zou leapt away. “I’ve caught you at a bad time, Hal. I’ll call later.” She was picking papaya rind off her skirt as she backed up. Her client was clearly out of his mind for the moment, which can be a good time to renegotiate. A plateful of eggs came at her through the air. “Call the agency, Hal, we’ll get you anything you want.” She ducked into the hallway and closed the door behind her as another plate struck the wall.
The bear raged around in his private garden, shaking the tree and the fence. Then he bent the iron garden furniture.
There’s no time for that, said the voice. Run for your life!
The bear took a last look around at the luxury he must leave behind. He was going to miss feathery pillows and room service. He’d miss lounging around at poolside. He’d miss women’s shiny buns. He picked up the Los Angeles Times from the ground, wanting a last look at his name on the best-seller list, but before he found it an advertisement caught his eye.
TITLE FOR SALE
What’s this? wondered the bear. Was it possible he could buy his new book? Elliot was always after him for the next title, and here was one for sale. It might solve his current problem of being sued. A second book would make everybody forget about the first one, which he’d stolen. He read the first line of the advertisement.
FOR IMMEDIATE SALE—A DISTINGUISHED BRITISH TITLE.
Nothing wrong with that, thought the bear. A title is a title.
THIS RARE OPPORTUNITY BECOMES AVAILABLE WHEN A PREVIOUS TITLEHOLDER WISHES TO TRANSFER OWNERSHIP. ONLY A SMALL NUMBER OF TITLES ARE EVER OFFERED IN THIS WAY, AND IT IS SELDOM THAT THEY REMAIN ON THE MARKET FOR LONG.
Fine, thought the bear. The previous owner is selling the title. I don’t have to steal it. I buy it.
THE PRIVILEGES THAT GO WITH TITLE ARE MANY. ELEVATED SOCIAL STATUS, PRESTIGE, AND THE ESTEEM CONNECTED TO AN OLD TITLE—AND THIS TITLE IS VERY OLD—CANNOT BE EASILY CALCULATED.
That’s what I want, thought the bear. Elevated social status, so I can’t be put in a zoo.
A TITLE WILL OPEN DOORS THAT ARE CLOSED TO ALL BUT THE TITLED, AND FROM THIS ENHANCED POSITION ADVANTAGEOUS RELATIONSHIPS WILL BE FORMED BOTH SOCIALLY AND PROFESSIONALLY. THE PRICE FOR THE FULLY DOCUMENTED TITLE—LORD OF OVERLOOK IN THE COUNTY OF DEVON—IS US$35,000.
The bear set the paper down and called London immediately.
“Bagget and Smallwood.”
“I need to buy a title.”
“One moment, please, I’ll connect you.” There was a pause and then a man came on the line, “Bagget here. How may I help you?”
“I want to buy a title,” said the bear.
“Very good, sir. And you are—?”
“Hal Jam.”
“Calling from?”
“Los Angeles.”
“Yes of course, sir, I see.” The mention of Los Angeles put a lift into Bagget’s response, for he received many crank inquiries, but Los Angeles was a likely place to sell an English title, of that Bagget had no doubt, and it was for this reason he’d advertised there.
“A bear can own the title, can’t he?” asked the bear nervously.
Bagget pressed the receiver to his ear, thinking there was something wrong with the connection. He winged an answer. “Most of the newer title acquisitions are made by citizens of other countries.”
“Good,” said the bear.
“The title is a very old and fine one, Mr. Jam,” said Bagget. “The pedigree is handsome and without flaws. The first Lord Overlook was granted his title by King Edward the Elder in 923, so you can see we are discussing a hallowed title indeed.”
“That’s what the title is? Lord Overlook?”
“Yes.”
The bear probed with his paw in the empty honey jar. Lord Overlook sounded like a historical novel dealing with kings. Kings were dominant males so it should make for lively reading. “Okay, I’ll buy it.”
“Acquisition of the title is only a matter of you transferring $35,000 in U.S. funds to our bank here, which is Barclays of London.”
“How soon do I get the title?”
“Five days should see it in your hands, Lord Overlook,” said Bagget, now keenly aware that he had a live fish on the line.
“I’ll send the money right away,” said the bear.
“Very good, Lord Overlook. Very good indeed. All the paperwork will be forwarded immediately. It will include your various rights and the complete historical documentation.”
“What rights?”
“There are fishing rights in the streams of Overlook, which I’m told are well stocked.”
“I love to fish,” said the bear, salivating.
“There are possible mineral rights too, though nothing of substantial value has been found in the ground there for several centuries, but it never hurts to look, eh?”
“That’s right,” said the bear. “Squirrels hide things.”
Bagget faltered momentarily. The man sounded like a simpleton. Mental defectives sometimes placed calls such as this. “You say you’re at—?”
“The Bel Air hotel. I’m an author.”
Bagget’s confi
dence was renewed, as he classed American writers beside Russian gangsters, with whom he had done some title business in the past. Gangsters found a title helpful when they were arrested. “You may put your title on your passport, checkbooks, and credit cards, a nice advantage, Lord Overlook. Imagine the impression you will make at a hotel when you pass across a credit card bearing your title.”
“That’s what I need to make,” said the bear. “An impression.”
“I quite understand. Along those same lines, you can expect to have your application for membership to the most exclusive clubs in the world greatly expedited. And you shall undoubtedly be invited to functions at which royalty will be present.”
“Princess Diana?”
“Very possibly.”
“She has nice buns.”
“I share some of your feeling, sir,” said Bagget, and pressed forward to safer ground. “I should alert you—you may also find yourself being offered appointments to company boards. I have no doubt there are many companies in the Los Angeles area who would be honored to have you on their board.”
“How about if I’m being sued?”
“I sincerely hope you are not, but should that be the case, the prestige of a legitimate title will weigh heavily in your favor with any court in the civilized world. I suggest we conclude our business directly, so the protection your title affords will become operative at once. For that, as I said, we need only your funds wired to our bank.”
“No problem,” said the bear.
“I should tell you that no land comes with the title, but if you wish to purchase a home in North Devon, where Overlook is situated, Bagget and Smallwood stand ready to serve you in this way. Overlook is lovely farm country, and I’m sure we could find you a few acres with a substantial dwelling attached. You could walk on the very land that has been part of your title’s glorious history.”