Blood and Oranges, James Goldsborough [spicy books to read txt] 📗

“Summa got to somebody. I had the feeling that Land Management wanted their report to be made public, that they don’t agree at all with the governor’s office. They are as interested in stopping Summa as we are.”

“I smell a story,” said Lizzie

“But you’re not a reporter anymore,” said Cal. “You run a foundation.”

“Why would the governor be cheating on official survey documents?” asked Maggie.

“I doubt it got to the governor,” said Rosie. “More likely someone in his office is on Summa’s payroll.”

“The Coastal Commission will have to rule on this,” Cal said. “Trouble is that commissioners are politicians, too. What if Summa gets to them?”

“So we go to the people again,” said Rosie. “As I’ve told Maggie, that’s why I came to the foundation.”

“So you do want money.”

“No! This will be your campaign.”

“Do you have any idea how much it costs to run a referendum campaign? Against Summa, with its billions?”

“We’ll have the Times on our side,” said Lizzie.

“Isn’t Dorothy Chandler fundraising for a huge arts pavilion across First Street from the Times?” asked Rosie.

“I believe so,” said Lizzie.

“And isn’t the pavilion architect Playa Vista’s own Fred Goering?”

“Otis won’t sell out because of his mother’s arts pavilion, will he?” said Maggie.

“You’ve never met the mother,” said Lizzie.

Cal threw up his hands. “How do you do battle with something like Summa?”

“Resistance starts with a few brave souls meeting over coffee and cookies,” said Rosie, “and grows and grows. On Long Island, nearly the whole south coast is a national wildlife refuge thanks to a group of ordinary New Yorkers influencing one man.” She smiled. “Of course that one man was Theodore Roosevelt. Interesting to think that Roosevelt’s main legacy today, the thing that put him on Mount Rushmore with the three greats—the only thing in my opinion—is his conservation legacy, the national parks. Everything else is forgotten.”

“If we pull this off, we’ll get someone to carve Eddie’s head into the Hollywood Hills,” said Cal.

“Who’s Eddie?” said Rosie.

“Eddie Mull was my father,” said Maggie, looking at Lizzie, “our father. He made his fortune on oil and land, which is the money we used to start the foundation. He doesn’t deserve his head on the Hollywood Hills. He would not be with us today.”

“But his money is,” said Lizzie to Rosie, “and that’s what matters. They were twin brothers, Eddie and Willie Mull. Willie was Cal’s father. Eddie was our father. They arrived in Los Angeles with the water.”

“I want to make another point,” said Rosie. “Actually it is my main point. Our view at the Ballona Club is that we can’t stop Playa Vista from developing the airfield—hence, we shouldn’t even try. The airfield is already zoned for industry and has to go anyway because of its proximity to L.A. International. Our goal should be to protect everything west of that.”

“I agree absolutely,” said Cal. “Everything west of that is the land Mull Oil sold to Hughes, half of which went to the county for the marina. The other half, south of the marina and west of the airfield is the land we want to protect. If we achieve that, we win.”

“And, finally, we atone,” said Lizzie. “The oil wells are gone and the land restored.”

Rosie went back to her notebook and extracted a letter. “Do you know anything about this fellow Morton?” she asked, passing the letter around. “That’s the signature on this letter from Summa requesting—actually ordering—us to stop our campaign to preserve Ballona. Morton claims Hughes supported Summa’s plans.”

“Howard hated Summa,” said Maggie.

“That’s not what they say,” said Rosie. “They think his will makes clear his agreement with Summa on Playa Vista.”

“If they find a will that supports Summa,” said Maggie, “it is a forgery. I can testify to that. Howard had never even heard of Summa. I was the one who told him.”

“Morton is lying,” said Lizzie, softly.

“Who is he?” said Rosie.

“You don’t know?” asked Cal.

“How would she?” said Lizzie. “I don’t use the name Morton.” She looked to Rosie.

“This whole story is a family story. Eddie Mull, our father, owned the land we’re talking about—all the land except Hughes Aircraft. When he died, it passed to Maggie and me and we sold it to Howard Hughes who gave us a letter stipulating that the land remain protected.”

Lizzie stopped long enough to look at all of them, one by one, remembering the sting from her son’s slap, feeling her face reddening again. Was that possible?

“Robinson Morton is my son, who now works for Summa. We don’t agree on this. Or on anything else to be honest.”

Chapter 49

“A Miss Dominique Martin on the line. Says it’s personal. Will you take it?”

“Dominique Martin?” he said over the intercom. “I don’t know any—ah, yes, as a matter of fact, I do know a Dominique. Or did. Put her on.”

“I’m not sure you remember me, Mr. Mull,” sounded a hesitant voice when he picked up. We met at Didi Heyward’s graduation party a few years ago, back when—well, you know, back then.”

“I do, remember, Dominique, of course I do. You’re Robby’s friend.”

“Robby, yes, Ram, I am Robby’s friend . . . at least . . . anyway, that’s what I’m calling about.”

“Ah.”

The line went silent.

“Dominique?”

“I wonder if I could talk to you.”

“Of course. What’s on your mind?”

“It’s just that, well, it’s rather personal. I wondered if we could meet.”

What could possibly prompt Robby’s girlfriend to call him on a personal matter, he asked himself. Robby was devious, but probably not to that point. On the other hand, better not invite his girlfriend to his office with the Summa hearings coming up.

“Where are you, Dominique?”

“I’m at Union Station.”

Union Station?How strange, he thought. He checked his watch. He had no lunch plans. “Are you going or coming?”

Long hesitation. “I’m not sure.”

Trouble in the voice. Should he do this? Family. No choice.

“Do you know la Golondrina on Olvera Street?

“I can find it.”

“Just cross Alameda Street in front of the station, turn right at the plaza and follow Olvera to the