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backward into very heavy surf, and stopped once to take a picture of a gnarled cypress tree perched precariously at the end of a rocky promontory. As they were walking away from the cypress, Cyrus buttonholed an elderly Japanese man, handed him Kyna's camera and asked him to take their picture in front of the tree. Later, they lunched on tuna salad and bagels at a general store in Pebble Beach and then made the loop back to Monterey. After turning in the bikes, they returned to the Lincoln and took the freeway to Carmel. |
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"Get a load of this place," Cyrus said as they entered the village. |
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Carmel reminded him of a set from Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. An artists' and writers' colony, the town was a symbiotic union of brooding wood and brick buildings from the late thirties and gleaming multilevel shopping malls all wedged together like delegates at a cultural diversity conference. The business district was well laid out and contained both trendy shops and gourmet restaurants with a tiny flower park thrown in for color. The streets and side alleys were a narrow battleground where station wagons with Ohio plates and dusty VW vans from Alabama engaged in mortal combat with the local Mercedeses and Ferraris over the few public parking spaces. |
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Kyna picked a motel in a quaint, quasi-colonial building a half block from the main street. The room was spotlessif not much larger than a shoe boxwith a gas fireplace in one corner and a king-sized bed that took up nine-tenths of the floor space. The walls were papered in a tiny lavender wild-flower print, and above the fireplace mantel was a reproduction of a group of men on horseback chasing a red fox over the moors. |
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As usual, the second their suitcases hit the floor, Cyrus announced that he was starving. While he was in the shower, Kyna searched the newspaper for a place to eat. Her eye skipped over the local headlines, MOTHER OF FOUR DROWNS OFF MONTEREY, and the sales, END OF SEASON SAVINGS ON RANCH MINKS, and tore out an advertisement from a small |
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