Script for Scandal

by Renee Patrick

  ‘But that’s not how it looked to Teddy when he found out,’ Gene said. ‘He leapt to a different conclusion, and didn’t believe us when we told him otherwise. What we didn’t know was he’d already set a plan in motion to get clear of his debts. He just … rolled us into it.’

  ‘He was an efficient man, my Teddy.’ The last vestiges of pride resonated in Abigail’s voice. ‘Always killed as many birds with one stone as he could. That’s a side of him they didn’t get in that screenplay of theirs.’ She drained her highball and set about building herself another one. I decided at that moment I liked Abigail very much indeed.

  ‘What was the plan?’ I prompted.

  Gene waved his hand over the bonanza on the table. ‘I assume he put together the crew, gave them their marching orders. Near as I can figure, Hoyer, Bianchi and Yates were to split up while Teddy held the scratch. Bianchi getting gunned down at the scene actually made it easier on Teddy. He met Hoyer at the rendezvous, likely finished him off, then took the cash. For his final trick, he’d get rid of both his remaining problems at once. Borden Yates. And me.’

  A chill settled its weight on my shoulders, binding my chest. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘Fentress actually had it right in that script. He just got the guilty party wrong.’

  I looked at Abigail. She sipped her drink with an unearthly calm. ‘You don’t know that,’ I said. ‘You can’t prove it.’

  ‘Of course not. I only know what I know. And Teddy knew where Yates was holed up. Think about that. The department could have descended on that place in force. Yates already had a hand in killing one of our own. Easy enough in all that chaos for Teddy to make sure Yates didn’t leave the house alive. But Teddy didn’t do that. Instead, he suggested we check it out ourselves, on our way to grabbing a beer after work. “Probably nothing,” he said. Just me and him. I can only assume he intended to kill me, then make it appear I’d died trying to capture Yates.’

  ‘After which, he’d leave me.’ Ice cubes rattled in Abigail’s glass. ‘Or stay and privately lord what he’d done over me, which is far worse.’

  Gene grunted. ‘Who knows why Yates got suspicious of Teddy? Maybe he always was. He came charging out of that house aiming at Teddy like I wasn’t there. Teddy fell, and I shot Yates without thinking. He died never saying a word.’

  With only his illegitimate daughter to avenge him, I thought.

  I needed a moment to catch my breath and absorb what I’d heard. ‘Then there were four men involved in the robbery. All of them dead. And nobody knowing the truth. Not even you.’

  ‘Not at first,’ Gene said. ‘The one indisputable fact was the money. It hadn’t been recovered. People wondered about that. I was spending time with Abigail, and people wondered about that, too.’

  ‘They can be so cruel, so simple-minded,’ Abigail said. ‘At the time, Gene and I were convinced we’d failed Teddy, who died in the line of duty. We needed to console each other. We thought we were living with a secret. But Teddy had one more in store.’

  I hefted a bundle of cash. Ran my thumb over its edge. The bills made a hugely appealing sound as they riffled past.

  ‘You don’t want to know how often I’ve done that,’ Abigail said. ‘After a few months, the rumors about us died down. Money, ha ha, was short – schoolteachers make even less than detectives – and I decided to sell a little fishing cabin Teddy owned up near Arrowhead Lake. It’s the one thing he refused to part with, but he wasn’t around to refuse anymore. I drove up to clean the place, and I found … that. Once again, I didn’t know what to do. Once again, I called Gene.’

  Redoubtable Gene. I’d summoned him in my hour of need once or thrice myself.

  ‘We worked backward from that.’ Gene again gestured at the money. ‘Figured what must have happened. This is the only explanation that makes sense.’

  ‘But wait. You told Abigail not to report what she found?’

  ‘Returning the cash only would have revived the rumors about us.’

  ‘We could have weathered that storm.’ Abigail spoke with a weariness indicating this ground had been trod many times.

  ‘No, we couldn’t. I can live with suspicion, rumor. Hell, that story may have even done my reputation some good, queer as that sounds. But once things become definite – once there are facts – you can’t change them. This money is a fact. Your finding it is a fact.’

  ‘What’s that thing you keep saying? “Better an open question than a firm answer.”’

  ‘You know who taught me that?’

  ‘Teddy. Who else would polish up that particular pearl of wisdom?’ Abigail looked at me. ‘I reluctantly agreed to go along with Gene’s idea then. That was, what, September ’36? And we’ve been living with it ever since.’

  This was what Gene had been hiding. Not a tortured romance, long-buried passions at last surfacing. He and Abigail had been bound together by hate, by the shared knowledge the most important person in their lives had schemed to destroy them both, killing one while abandoning the other. And they had uncovered this truth only after grieving Teddy as a hero. I couldn’t fathom the contortions they’d put themselves through. And I loathed myself for every misgiving I’d had about Gene, every begrudging thought I’d harbored about Abigail.

  She looked at me, the relief in her eyes fused with a steely resolve. ‘Do you know what I think? I think deep down – the subconscious, isn’t that what they call it? – I wanted you to find out. I may even have urged you to keep digging without being aware of it. Only two people can share a secret. Once a third person knows, it’s not a secret anymore.’

  Abigail’s statement plainly made Gene uncomfortable. ‘So tell me. What gave the game away?’

  ‘Nothing either of you said or did. Clyde Fentress told me a police officer was the fourth man. I suspected Captain Frady. I didn’t think of Teddy until I talked to someone about what’s worth protecting, and how far you’d go to do it.’

  ‘I vote we’ve gone far enough.’ Abigail sat back. ‘I’m surrendering the money. It’s all there. Every last penny.’

  Gene exhaled. ‘Abigail, no. Nothing’s changed.’

  ‘Only the calendar, which means everything’s changed. It’s been three years. If I say I found the money now, there’d be fewer rumors.’

  ‘Not with this mayor. Not with the DA’s investigation hanging over my head. It’ll look like I turned in the cash to avoid prosecution.’

  ‘You still have no idea what prompted the DA to reopen the case?’ I asked.

  ‘Not a clue. Somebody pushed him, but I don’t know who or with what. Until I do, it makes sense to hang on to the money.’

  I sided with Abigail, but chose to abstain. A silence settled over the table that even twenty thousand dollars in cash couldn’t lift.

  Abigail stood up. ‘If you’ll excuse me, it’s time for my usual Sunday afternoon stroll.’

  ‘Would you like company? We could—’ Gene started to rise, but Abigail waved him into his seat with an indulgent smile. Silly Gene, unable to take the hint she wanted to give us time alone. As she left the room, I marveled at meek, amiable Abigail Lomax. I’d met many great ladies of the silver screen since moving to Los Angeles, but never had I encountered a better actress.

  Another silence followed in Abigail’s wake, broken when Gene said, ‘You understand why I couldn’t talk about this. Why I’ve been distant these last few days.’

  So many emotions roiling, so many responses jockeying in my brain. In the end, I could only nod.

  ‘And now that you know what happened, I hope this means you won’t take any more foolish risks on my part.’

  ‘I know exactly how far I’ll go. Malibu.’

  Gene’s quizzical face made me regret the glib comment. Always making with the jokes, Frost.

  ‘That’s where Clyde Fentress was hiding out.’

  ‘How’d you learn that?’

  Dammit. After the frenzy of truth-telling, I had no choice but to make a clean breas
t of my use of Simon’s assistance. Gene’s brow puckered at the mention of his name.

  ‘He calls me sometimes. We’re friends. When I heard about Fentress, I couldn’t think of anyone else who could do the job. I told him I needed his help so I could help you, and he agreed to do it.’

  ‘Good to hear he’s a big softy. I’ll send him flowers.’

  ‘Stop it. Look at what I’ve been doing for you. Working against the police and the district attorney’s office, stirring up trouble for Edith and Paramount—’

  ‘I didn’t ask you to do any of that.’ His words were sharp.

  ‘You didn’t have to. I wanted to do it.’

  Gene nodded, not at me, but in agreement with the argument unfolding in his head. He must have swayed himself, because he reached for my hand. ‘And I appreciate it. But you don’t have to do any more. Except tell me why you asked about Bugsy Siegel.’

  Dammit again. ‘His name came up,’ I answered weakly.

  Gene’s fingers tightened around my wrist, his grip like a handcuff. ‘Came up how?’

  I told him everything. As I spoke, Gene stalked over to the living room window. At one point he made an odd gesture I belatedly realized was a signal to Abigail to take another spin around the block.

  When I finished, Gene said nothing for a long while, his gaze fixed on the street. Then he strode back to stand over me. ‘Don’t go near Siegel again. Understand?’

  ‘I didn’t. He came to me.’

  ‘Don’t split hairs either, Lillian. It’s not the time. Siegel, that phony Countess, Virginia Hill, George goddamn Raft, give that whole crowd a wide berth. Do you understand me?’

  He uttered each word of the question as a separate sentence. His voice radiated a cold fury I’d never heard before, his anger barely harnessed, a tranquilized beast beginning to stir. I nodded until I could compel myself to speak. ‘Yes. Of course. I understand.’

  I got to my feet and began clearing away our glasses, mainly to have something to do. Abigail returned and said a few quiet words to Gene, then joined me at the kitchen sink. ‘We should decide what to do with the money.’

  Drying my hands, I said, ‘I’ll leave that to you two. It’s your decision. I’m going home.’

  Gene stood in the doorway, trying to keep his aggression in check. ‘Let me drive you.’

  ‘No thanks. I could use the time to think.’

  I kissed Gene goodbye, then wrapped my arms around Abigail at the front door. I couldn’t shake the sensation I was truly seeing her for the first time. ‘I have to say, lady, you’re as tough as nails.’

  ‘I could have told you that. I come from good stock.’ She gave me one final squeeze.

  I stepped into the sunshine. At the corner drug store, I telephoned Addison’s house. I hated to take advantage of him on a Sunday, but needs must when the devil – or, in this case, Rogers – drives. When Addison came on the line, I explained I also needed his chauffeur to come in a different car. Not the Cadillac.

  Not anything Gene would recognize.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Moments for taking inventory of one’s choices in life come upon us without warning. I didn’t expect to engage in a rigorous self-appraisal on a Palm Sunday afternoon while cowering in a weedy alley opposite the home of a police widow, spying on the man I’d been romantically involved with for over a year. Yet the question rang in my mind: What am I doing here?

  An answer came too readily. Gene’s anger was new, his ease with it more frightening than its intensity. I feared he planned to do something rash, and prayed Rogers would arrive before he left.

  The celestial switchboard was apparently jammed, because Gene was striding toward his car. He’d get behind the wheel and I’d lose him. Some detective I was. Torchy Blane never lost anybody. I knew, because I’d seen all the movies.

  I edged backward into the alley as Gene’s sedan rolled past. It rounded the corner only to swing in at the curb outside the drug store from which I’d telephoned Addison. Gene marched into the store and toward that very phone booth. I trotted up the street to a better vantage point, where I could see Gene end one call and begin another. When he hung up, he planted himself at the counter and was served a cup of coffee, which he proceeded to ignore in favor of staring at the telephone and willing it to ring.

  It still hadn’t when a red Lincoln slowed down in front of me. Rogers at least had the sense not to lean on the horn. I ran to the Lincoln, clambered inside, and instructed Rogers to circle until he found a spot where we could watch Gene’s car.

  ‘You had to bring this big red job?’ I asked plaintively. ‘Why not a float from the Tournament of Roses Parade?’

  Rogers ran a hand through his hair, because as was always the case when he drove me he didn’t bother with his chauffeur’s cap. ‘My orders weren’t “Be inconspicuous.” They were “Don’t take the Cadillac.”’

  We pulled up a block from the drug store. ‘When that car leaves, follow it,’ I said. ‘I suppose you’d like to know why.’

  ‘I’m not paid to wonder why.’

  ‘You’re not even the least bit curious?’

  Rogers eyed me in the rear-view mirror. ‘Am I gonna get shot?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Then I don’t care.’ With that, he took out his newspaper.

  Twenty minutes later, Gene elbowed past the counterman to snatch up the pay telephone’s receiver. By the time he bolted to his car, Rogers already had the Lincoln’s engine purring. Gene miraculously didn’t notice us in his wake, so focused was he on traveling at a Bonneville Salt Flats pace. Rogers, I realized, relished the opportunity to drive at such a clip.

  When Gene’s sedan shuddered to a stop opposite Howard Greer’s boutique on Sunset Boulevard, I automatically assumed he’s buying me a trousseau. But Gene never glanced at the shuttered salon. Instead he targeted his gaze at the closer building, the Hollywood Athletic Club. The nine-story tower atop the structure served as a bachelor hotel, home to actors, studio executives, and assorted well-heeled heels. The clubhouse on the lower floors, open to both genders, had been erected as a temple to physical fitness. Gene quick-stepped to the entrance. After asking Rogers to wait, I took up the pursuit anew. As I entered yet another Italianate building, I wondered if all of Rome was decorated in a style reminiscent of Pasadena. One of these days I’d have to get over there and find out.

  I slipped into the club’s lobby. No Gene, no attendant – had Gene commandeered him? – which meant for the nonce I had the run of the place. Signs pointed toward the men’s and women’s locker rooms. The nose-stinging scent of chlorine led the way to the swimming pool. I inched open a heavy door labeled Gymnasium.

  The room beyond was large enough to accommodate multiple parties of people engaged in vigorous physical activity. Not that any of them needed the exercise; every individual in the gymnasium was already in peak condition, probably from climbing down off their pedestals in Athens. One familiar figure on the opposite side of the gym joked with a second man while throwing punches at a phantom opponent. His white T-shirt and black shorts appeared to have been painstakingly tailored.

  Ben Siegel.

  I shrank from the doorway, my worst fear realized. Gene had tracked down the gangster and intended to confront him – because of what I’d said. Briefly I toyed with warning Siegel, but decided that would only make the situation worse. I’d end up talking to Siegel again, and Gene might discover I’d followed him.

  I noticed a spectator’s balcony ringing the floor one flight up and sought the stairs. Whatever happened next, I would watch from on high.

  The scents of perspiration and assorted liniments gathered at the upper elevation; a clothespin for my nose would have been welcome. Peering down, I could see a considerable gap separated Siegel and his workout partner from the others on the gymnasium floor, as if a magnetic field surrounded them. Siegel continued shadowboxing, his sidekick mimicking his every move slavishly. This second man had jet-black hair and the lean and hungry look I�
��d come to associate with studio executives.

  Siegel threw a rapid-fire combination and spoke without sounding remotely winded. ‘Better loosen up. Handball’s a physical game. Tennis for savages, they call it. You a savage, Albert? I don’t want any crying from you like last time.’

  Albert laughed a little too long and too loud; definitely a studio man. ‘Have no fear, Ben. I’ve been practicing for our rematch. Brought in an expert for private lessons.’

  ‘The game’s not about form. It’s about instinct. Tell me something. This new picture, this Bible epic—’

  ‘The Story of Samson.’

  Siegel paused his routine to glare at Albert for daring to interrupt him. Albert busied himself with one of several nearby medicine balls, thumping it for ripeness. ‘Yeah. You think Lodestar can make them as good as DeMille?’

  ‘Absolutely. We brought over a director from Germany who did a picture there about—’

  ‘Gonna need extras. These kind of pictures gotta have a big cast.’

  ‘We’re sparing no expense.’

  ‘And sex. You’ve gotta put sex in it. Everybody sins, then they repent. Like DeMille, in Sign of the Cross, he put Claudette Colbert naked in that tub full of goat’s milk or whatever it was. You’ve gotta get everybody riled up before the temple walls come tumbling down. You make money on salvation, but you make even more with sin. That’s why I love the picture business. Only racket ever figured out how to get a cut from both sides.’

  Another histrionic laugh from Albert. I was wondering if Gene had gone into another building when the door beneath me banged open. Gene stalked in and saw Siegel. I tried to melt into the wall, hoping neither would look up.

  ‘There you are,’ Gene said, his voice pitched to bounce off the gym’s walls. ‘Guy told me you were upstairs playing handball. Should have just followed my nose. You reek like a New Orleans cathouse, friend.’

  Siegel continued throwing punches, slow and easy. ‘First, it’s a Paris cathouse. Second, we’re not friends, friend.’