Voodoo River

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I met Jodi Taylor and her manager for lunch on the Coast Highway in Malibu, not far from Paradise Cove and the Malibu Colony. The restaurant was perched on the rocks overlooking the ocean, and owned by a chef who had his own cooking show on public television. A saucier. The restaurant was bright and airy, with spectacular views of the coast to the east and the Channel Islands to the south. A grilled tuna sandwich cost eighteen dollars. A side of fries cost seven-fifty. They were called frites.

Jodi Taylor said, "Mr. Cole, can you keep a secret?"

"That depends, Ms. Taylor. What kind of secret did you have in mind?"

Sid Markowitz leaned forward, bugging his eyes at me. "This meeting. No one is to know that we've talked to you, or what we've discussed, whether you take the job or not. We okay on that?" Sid Markowitz was Jodi Taylor's personal manager, and he looked like a frog.

"Sure," I said. "Secret. I'm up to that."

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