Still, I steered clear of Stage 13, lest anyone involved with Streetlight Story – specifically Brenda, the Baines of my existence – was afoot.
The usual soft drone of sewing machines filled the Wardrobe building, but no secretaries were on duty at Edith’s suite. Voices tumbled out of her salon, animated and tinged with laughter. I hesitantly announced my presence and Edith summoned me inside.
To my surprise, Florabel Muir greeted me first. The newspaperwoman wore the same suit she’d had on when last we’d met, now decorated with a lily-of-the-valley brooch, each bud a freshwater pearl. My response to her sounded notably guarded.
‘Don’t mind me,’ she said. ‘Just looking up your friend Edith while sniffing around Streetlight Story. I reacquainted myself with the cast of characters from the California Republic robbery. Square-jawed Teddy Lomax. Soft-hearted soft-touch lothario Borden Yates. Bianchi the wild man and Hoyer the degenerate. With the Hollywood angle as the cherry on top.’
‘Miss Muir hasn’t spared a sordid detail.’ Edith was in her version of weekend wear, a twill skirt and a jewel neck blouse printed with colorful sailboats. ‘How are you, Lillian? More importantly, how was the party?’
‘Yes!’ Florabel crowed. ‘I hear you called on the Countess di Frasso.’
I faltered, unsure how much to reveal in Florabel’s presence. The best move, I reasoned, was to play it conservatively. ‘You were right,’ I told Edith. ‘Mr Siegel was there.’
‘You’d think he and the Countess would have had enough of each other on that boat trip,’ Florabel said.
‘Can somebody please fill me in about that?’ I asked. ‘The Metha Nelson came up again last night and I was in the dark.’
‘The full scoop on that voyage of the damned is known only to those onboard, and they won’t talk. Paramount ought to scrap Streetlight Story and make a picture out of what we do know.’ Florabel settled herself, her delectation evident. ‘It begins, believe it or not, with a treasure map and a life-size golden statue of the Virgin Mary.’
‘Hold on.’ Edith reached for her telephone. ‘Let me raise the Story Department.’
‘Somehow Dorothy’s husband, the Count, acquired this map and gave it to her. A little project to keep her occupied. It purports to reveal the location of buried pirate booty including the statue. Which, did I mention, is also covered with diamonds and rubies.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘You did not.’
‘Legend has it some priests and nuns slipped it out of Peru on a ship bound for Spain. Pirates butchered the lot of them and swiped the statue, so if you ask me the thing is cursed. Which may explain what transpired when Dorothy decided she was going to find it. She got Benny Siegel involved, along with Marino Bello, a conniver who used to be Jean Harlow’s father-in-law. They assemble a jolly band and go off to the islands on this map. They dig until they get sunstroke, then they use dynamite. They find not a thing.’
‘I have to say,’ I had to say, ‘this screwy proposition doesn’t sound like something Bugsy Siegel would be involved in.’
‘It’s Benny, sweetheart, and that’s because maybe it isn’t.’ Florabel grinned wickedly. ‘The alternate explanation is the voyage was cover for a smuggling racket, Benny and the boys bringing contraband from the Pacific. Narcotics and French perfume, what every girl wants. The police raided Benny’s house back in January after a hot tip he’d stashed the perfume there, but came up empty.’
‘That sounds infinitely more plausible,’ Edith said.
‘But you haven’t heard the other other explanation. Are you ladies familiar with the name Lepke Buchalter? Gangland figure out of New York, wanted on multiple charges and currently the target of an international manhunt. Nobody’s seen hide nor hair of Lepke in two years. There are rumors he’s hiding out on a South Seas island.’
‘No,’ I said, anticipating the next twist.
Florabel nodded with glee. ‘This version of the Metha Nelson saga, by far my favorite, says Benny was dispatched by his New York cronies to bring provisions to Lepke so he doesn’t turn himself in and spill all he knows to Uncle Sam.’
I shook my head. ‘To think he told me it was about shark livers.’
‘I’ve heard that one, too. Who knows, maybe that’s legitimate. Anyway, debauchery broke out on the boat almost at once. The captain officiated a wedding between Bello and the ship’s nurse, some thirty years his junior, with Benny as best man and Dorothy as bridesmaid. The problems really start when the Metha Nelson breaks down on the trip back and goes adrift. They’re at sea for over four months. I can’t imagine being on a barge with the Countess for four hours.’
‘Edith mentioned something about a mutiny,’ I said.
‘Curiouser and curiouser.’ Florabel cackled. ‘The men were being kept separate from the women – the Countess, her maid, and the newly hitched nurse. Except for Benny and Bello, of course, who had special privileges. The crew members felt the ladies could stand to be more diplomatic. The half-hearted uprising was put down, but the Metha Nelson’s captain is a true old salt who insisted on following the law of the sea once the ship was towed back to terra firma. He got laughed out of court for his trouble. Here endeth this whale of a tale.’
‘Remarkable,’ Edith said. ‘Perhaps you can enlighten us on Mr Siegel. He’s shrouded in rumor, and unpleasant ones at that.’
‘Like I was saying, Benny’s New York’s man in Hollywood. He’s been coming out since the twenties, and really settled in a few years back.’
‘So he was making hay here in, say, 1936?’ I asked, thinking of Siegel’s familiarity with the California Republic robbery.
‘He’d definitely established his bona fides by then. He was sent out in part because the Chicago outfit had sewn up much of the town and gotten fat off it. They’d taken over IATSE, the International Alliance of Theatrical Stage Employees.’
‘Really?’ I gasped. ‘That’s my uncle Danny’s union.’
‘It’s the union of any craftsman who works behind the scenes. IATSE’s president, George Browne? Hand-picked by the boys in Chicago. His man in Los Angeles is a bruiser named Willie Bioff, and given his alleged business practices, it’s as apt a handle as I’ve run across. Bioff goes to the studio bosses and threatens a strike. He then says it can be averted with a generous cash donation. The studios figure they’re out the money one way or the other, so they take the deal.’
Edith, I noticed, had cast her eyes down in shame.
‘And the money lines pockets in Chicago instead of going to the stagehands as increased wages.’ My gorge rose on Uncle Danny’s behalf.
‘Exactly. Same difference to the studio chiefs. Some IATSE members have been after Bioff and Browne for years, claiming they sold out the workers’ interests and turned IATSE into a de facto company union. They even dug up Bioff’s past thanks to the Chicago Crime Commission. A sweet boy, Willie. Arrests for burglary and pandering. Vagrancy charges. And he was suspected of murder.’
‘Then they had proof,’ I said.
‘Yes, but “they” are a pack of rabid reformers in league with those radicals in the CIO.’ Florabel smirked. ‘A stink was raised back in ’37, but investigators cleared the union. Then came last year’s look into influence peddling in Sacramento, and people started asking whether that IATSE report was a whitewash. Bioff left his job for appearances’ sake, but he’ll come oozing back. His type always does. Unless …’
‘Unless?’ Edith nudged.
‘There are whispers the Screen Actors Guild sicced detectives on Bioff and took what they learned straight to the Treasury Department. Maybe that will ruffle the right feathers. Meantime, the Chicago boys are making a mint. New York says, “We want a piece of that” and unleashes Benny Siegel with orders to get them a union of their own. Benny works fast, grabs all the Teamster operations at the studios. Then he starts pressuring the extras. That’s his dream. You see, Browne and Bioff can call a strike against any studio behind the camera. Benny aims to do the same in front of it. Alw
ays a showman, Benny.’ She shook her head at the incorrigible scamp. ‘Right now the background players are pushing to have their own union, separate from SAG. I imagine the enterprising Benny is out stirring the pot and capitalizing on the uproar. If the extras form their own union, Benny will be in position to have his hooks in it. In the meantime, he’s probably shaking down the studios promising to tip the election. He doesn’t miss a trick. I hear he leans on his celebrity friends for loans he never bothers to pay back.’
Like George Raft, I thought. ‘Virginia Hill seems to know Ben.’
‘Why do you say that?’ Florabel’s eyes narrowed. ‘Was she at the Countess’s last night? Did she and Benny talk?’
I played it coy. ‘I got the sense they have history.’
‘That’s the trouble with these gangland types. Few hard facts. I believe I mentioned Virginia’s tied into the Chicago outfit. The story is they sent her to Los Angeles to keep an eye on Benny, see what he’s up to. They know Benny likes shiny things. The Chicago boys polished Virginia up and planted her in Benny’s path.’ She angled her head toward mine, just-us-girls style. ‘You sure Benny and Virginia didn’t have words?’
‘Nothing worth repeating,’ I said.
The three of us chatted about the Countess’s party a while longer, Florabel’s questions rather pointed. At long last, she rose to leave.
‘Wonderful meeting you,’ she told Edith. ‘But the missing Mr Fentress isn’t about to find himself.’
I tried to pass off my next query as idle curiosity, but – even with every Davis and Crawford pointer at my disposal – I couldn’t make ‘What on earth are you talking about?’ sound casual.
‘Clyde’s gone,’ Florabel said. ‘Flew the coop. Maybe he’s on that island with Lepke Buchalter.’
‘Mr Groff asked to see him late yesterday,’ Edith explained. ‘Mr Fentress never arrived for the meeting. It would seem he heard the rumors about his head being on the chopping block and made himself scarce to put off the inevitable.’
‘Trying to stay on the payroll until next week?’ Florabel asked.
‘As I understand it, he’s not going to be terminated. Mr Groff wanted to ask about his, shall we say, research methods in light of recent events.’
‘I’m assuming Mrs Fentress has no idea where he is,’ I said.
‘That’s where the story gets juicy. No one knows where Josie is, either. They both bolted, maybe separately, maybe together.’ Florabel practically salivated, already scenting the chase. ‘I don’t know which of them to search for first, but I’d better pick one instead of whiling away the afternoon.’
‘Let me walk you out,’ I said, feeling tremors of anticipation all my own.
I returned with an extra bounce in my step, enough to call my stride a swagger. Not that Edith noticed. She slaved over her sketchpad, her hand a blur.
‘Paulette Goddard is pressing for more panache in her wardrobe,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I enjoyed speaking with Miss Muir. A most formidable woman. I had to be on my guard with her, but I wanted to pick her brain about Mr Siegel’s enterprises. She’s very smart.’
‘Not as smart as I am.’ My bravado was almost too much for me to take. Edith finally peered up at me. ‘You said no one knows where Clyde Fentress is.’
‘Yes. Mr Groff deployed every tool at his disposal to find him last night.’
‘But poor Barney came a cropper. Ah, well. And Josie Fentress missing, too.’ I tutted in shame at the world’s laxity.
Edith set down her pad. ‘What are you driving at?’
‘I know where they are. Clyde and Josie. Both of them.’
‘What? But how?’
I buffed my fingernails on the front of my blouse. ‘I put a man on them is all.’
‘You had Clyde followed?’ Edith frowned. ‘You couldn’t have had Detective Morrow’s assistance.’
Too late, I spotted the hidden cost of my gloating. I paid it in full. ‘I asked Simon to help.’
Edith stood up so swiftly her petite frame seemed, for an instant, several inches taller. ‘I thought we agreed you weren’t going to see him anymore.’
‘No, we didn’t. We never spoke about that. You asked if I still saw him and …’ I faltered, but made myself continue. ‘And I lied to you about it.’
‘I see.’ Edith pressed her lips together, possibly to keep more damning words from escaping.
‘We’re not … involved or anything. I see him on occasion. Give him someone to talk to.’
‘If that’s the case, why lie about it?’
‘Because I know you don’t like Simon.’ Although now that Edith had asked the question, I had to wonder about my answer. Maybe I did feel something for Simon, something I didn’t care to admit even to myself.
‘I like Mr Fischer, Lillian. What’s more, I respect him. But I don’t like him for you. Not that it’s my place to make such judgments, much less share them. It’s your life to live as you see fit.’
‘Then I’d better go to where Clyde is, before he leaves. I’m going to call Addison and see if I can borrow his car.’
‘If I may go back on what I just said, I strongly suggest you learn to drive. You can’t keep relying on others to save the day.’ She closed her sketchpad and picked up her purse. ‘Now where are we going?’
TWENTY-FIVE
It was a good thing we had the roar of the Pacific to keep us company. My conversation with Edith had come to an awkward end once I’d relayed Clyde and Josie Fentress’s whereabouts. We stayed mired in our own thoughts on the drive, the dueling rumbles of the car’s engine and the ocean’s waves filling the silence.
As Edith’s roadster motored west along Roosevelt Highway toward Malibu, I recognized a building from many a fan magazine. ‘Isn’t that Thelma Todd’s restaurant?’
‘Please, Lillian,’ Edith said. ‘One murder at a time.’
I’d telephoned Simon from Edith’s outer office once Florabel Muir had left. He’d answered after six agonizing rings. ‘You’re lucky. I just locked up my apartment, on my way to the Bund for the usual Saturday session of beer and megalomaniacal chatter. I was starting to think this errand you had me run wasn’t that important.’
‘No,’ I told him. ‘It’s hugely important. Did you find Clyde yesterday?’
‘He left the lot and immediately stopped for an afternoon bracer. My kind of guy. Then he drove home. Big, fancy pile in Hancock Park. Really fancy. What kind of pictures does this Clyde write?’
‘The kind where he lives off his wife’s money.’
‘That makes sense. She came tooling home shortly thereafter in a dandy Cord Phaeton. Figured I’d wait a while, make sure they were tucked in for the night. Then man and wife came out, tossed two suitcases in her car, and took off. Per your request I followed them. Have to say, she drives like she’s been followed before. I thought he was the one who’d been in jail.’
‘He is. Her political bedfellows are probably why she’s got eyes in the back of her head. Where did they go?’
‘A cozy little mansion out toward Malibu. I had to let them turn off because traffic gets thin out there. I grabbed a bite at a fish shack, then looped back till I spotted the Cord outside a place with the name Graves on the mailbox. They could be gone by now or they could be there for the weekend. That’s all she wrote.’
He reeled off the address.
‘I can’t thank you enough, Simon. I’m going out there now.’
‘If you wait a while, I can take you.’
‘I couldn’t ask you to do that on top of everything else.’
‘Run the conversation back. You didn’t ask. I offered.’
‘No. You’ve done enough. More than enough. I don’t want to get you in trouble.’
‘Worse than you have tried. The offer stands, should you want to save me from another afternoon of bratwurst and braggadocio.’ He paused to let me reconsider, then threw in the towel. ‘Let me know what happens. I’m invested in this business now.’
Josie�
�s Cord Phaeton, indeed a dandy vehicle, was still outside the isolated splendor of a house on the hill above the Roosevelt Highway with a glorious view of the water. Simon hadn’t exaggerated; traffic and neighbors were sparse in this still fairly wild stretch of Southern California. As Edith parked the car, I almost mentioned we could easily be made to vanish in such secluded country. Then opted to hold my tongue.
No one responded when I knocked on the front door. I was about to go exploring when the Fentresses circled around the house to surprise us. Josie the viper in a cute patterned sundress, Clyde looking hopelessly out of place in knee breeches, argyle socks and a golfing cap. If the boys at San Quentin could see him now.
‘At least it’s not the fuzz,’ he grumbled. ‘I told you this wasn’t the place to hide out. Neighbors probably phoned the police on account of they didn’t like the kind of cheese we brought with us.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Josie said. ‘Who would complain about Brillat-Savarin cheese? Besides, Louisa gave us loan of the house.’
‘It’s too conspicuous! We should’ve stayed in town to lie low, some place where there are people.’
‘Like a flophouse?’ I asked. ‘Your friend Nap died in one of those.’
‘Don’t you know how to put a damper on a conversation,’ Josie said.
Clyde peered around me at Edith. ‘I know you. I read about you in the studio newspaper. You’re the costume lady. Why are you here? Do I have a fitting?’
Edith smiled at him. ‘I’m here because you’re about to spin a yarn, Mr Fentress. I didn’t want to miss it.’
The Brillat-Savarin cheese was delicious, its creaminess almost decadent. It made a lovely centerpiece to the impromptu picnic the Fentresses held inside their borrowed abode. Josie, it seemed, refused to go on the lam without toast points.
‘We’re not on the lam,’ her husband stressed. ‘We just wanted a few days away. Too many questions lately.’
Josie patted his hand, the affectionate gesture coming off as sarcastic. ‘We should have holed up at some noisy motor court. Taken our meals at Clifton’s Cafeteria so you could eat off a tray. Anything to recreate that jailhouse ambience you’re used to, my darling.’
Script for Scandal Page 20