26

I-Shirley

BEVERLY HILLS, CALIFORNIA

Peter Benedict saw his reflection and marveled at the way

his image was chopped up and scrambled by the optics

of the glass. The front of the building was a deeply con-

cave surface, soaring ten stories over Wilshire Boulevard,

almost sucking you in off the sidewalk toward the two-story

disk of a lobby. There was an austere slate courtyard, cool

and empty except for a Henry Moore bronze, a lobulated

and vaguely human conception off to one side. The building glass was flawlessly mirror like, capturing the mood and

color of the environs, and this being Beverly Hills, the mood

was usually bright and the color a rich sky blue. Because the

concavity was so severe, the glass also caught the images

from other panes, tossing them like a salad-clouds, buildings, the Moore, pedestrians, and cars jumbled together.

It was wonderful.

This was his moment.

He had reached the pinnacle. He had a scheduled and con-

firmed appointment to see Bernie Sch