by Lee René
“Uh, is that Duke Ellington? I love his music. I know that one. ‘It Don’t Mean a Thing if it Ain’t Got That Swing.’ It’s a great song.”
David sat back in his chair, a sly smile on his lips, his eyes on me. “Yes, it is.”
He wasn’t helping. The bouncy music ended, but we still weren’t talking. I felt the heat rising to my face and looked away. My eyes lit on the silver picture frame with my photo from so long ago, my hands trembling. Someone had smashed the glass, and I knew who.
He took it from me. “I’ll have it replaced, and it’ll be good as new. Things have been cool with Beth for quite a while, and seeing that picture confirmed her fears. I thank God her aim was bad.”
“It looks like she stomped on it too. I don’t know why she got so sore. She doesn’t love you like I do. Besides, I look twelve years old in that picture. Rose has taken so many great photographs of me, why do you want this one?’
“I like looking at that nervy kid from back home.” He smirked. “So, you love me?”
Caught in the act. “Yeah, a whole lot.”
We stopped talking and just stared at each other in the unbearable silence. I found it torturous to want to fly into someone’s arms and know he wouldn’t let me. The Victrola kept spinning. David walked over to it and put on another record. A trumpet knocked out a bluesy refrain and Louis Armstrong started singing.
“We never did get our dance, did we?”
David swept me into his arms. I rested my head on his chest, and he held me tight. Not only was he the handsomest man on the face of the globe, he was the smoothest dancer, too. The record ended, but we just kept on swaying in each other’s arms.
The man I loved tilted my face to his, and I went weak at the knees.
Suddenly, the door swung open. Nussbaum stood on the threshold, looking horrible. To be honest, he wasn’t such a nice-looking fellow to begin with, but in the last two years, he’d aged badly. His hair had grayed, and I could have packed my whole wardrobe in the bags under his eyes.
The moment I looked at his demonic mug, I knew he’d gone nuts.
I screamed bloody murder. Nussbaum fled, slamming the door. David sped after him. The thought of David tangling with a crazed maniac unnerved me, and I collapsed against the desk. It seemed like forever before I heard his footsteps. I threw my arms around him—no matter how tough I pretended to be, I was just a big cream puff—and started wailing like a baby.
“He could have killed you, and then what would I have done?”
David held me close and stroked my hair. “Don’t cry, baby. If that monster planned to hurt us, he would have done it when he opened the door. Got to admit, the guy was fast on his feet. We’d better leave. He might still be around.”
I shook my head. “He’s gone. Don’t ask how I know, I just do. He’s playing with us, David.”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right. I’ll call Ben. The lunatic must have flown in from New York on an aeroplane, but how the heck did he get on the lot?”
****
David and I reached the Casa a few minutes later. Leah and Omar sat in the living room, listening to Rudy Vallée on the radio. She jumped up from the sofa and gave David a sisterly embrace. “David, what a wonderful surprise. I kept dinner warm for Mitzi. Why don’t you join us?”
I opened my mouth to reply, but no words tumbled out. David squeezed my hand. “I’d love to, Leah, but we have a problem. Nussbaum is in Los Angeles. Mitzi and I saw him on the studio lot.”
Leah gasped, then exchanged a look with Omar and sat heavily on the sofa. “This is horrible news. I should have known something was up when Zisel said he’d left New York.”
Omar placed a comforting arm around her shoulders. “Don’t worry, my darling. You and Mitzi have nothing to fear with David and me protecting you.”
David took a step forward. “Omar is right, Leah. I called Ben after we saw Nussbaum. He’ll arrange for a guard to watch over the Casa, and we’ll get extra security on the lot. I’ll pick Mitzi up tomorrow morning and make sure she’s looked after.”
Leah gave him a nod of her head, but I saw the fear in her face. “Leah, let me walk David to his car. I’ll be back in a minute.”
David halted me. “You’re staying inside.” He turned to Omar. “I’m relying on you to watch her every movement.”
He gave me a sweet buss on the forehead and left.
Later, I picked at my dinner, then crawled into bed. I dreamed of dancing the tango in the Cocoanut Grove with a handsome, dark-haired fellow. Around midnight, I woke in pitch dark to the sound of muffled footsteps coming from the living room. My bedroom door opened, and I heard someone padding toward my bed. I whispered into the darkness, “Leah, is that you?”
Leah didn’t answer. Instead, a deep baritone spoke, barely above a whisper. “You thought you could get away from me. Silly little girl.”
Nussbaum’s voice was as soft and menacing as I remembered. I saw him moving close. I wanted to jump out of the bed and run away, but something held me fast. I opened my mouth to scream, but I froze.
“You’ll never get away from me.”
Nussbaum held a gun to my temple, and I felt cold steel. I gasped, and he laughed in my face.
“No. If I shot you, it would be too quick.”
His hands encircled my neck, and he began to squeeze, slowly choking the life out of me. Suddenly, I found my voice and screamed like there was no tomorrow.
The lights flashed on. Omar and Leah rushed to my side. Leah took me in her arms. “My poor darling, you’re shaking.”
“Nussbaum was here. He was going to kill me.”
She looked up at Omar. He nodded to her, and she climbed into bed with me.
“No, it was just a bad dream. Now go back to sleep. I’ll be here.”
I heard the worry in her voice, but somehow I managed to fall asleep anyway.
Chapter Thirty-One
The Turn of the Screwy
David arrived at the Casa the next morning and brought the Icebox with him. I took a seat next to him, vowing I wouldn’t bring up my horrific nightmare. The key went into the ignition, the motor buzzed, but instead of immediately driving off to Regal, he turned to me and took my chin in his hands. The kiss started gently, but heated up. “Look, baby, we’ll get through this thing with Nussbaum. Don’t you worry.”
Easier said than done.
When David turned onto Santa Monica Boulevard, he could barely maneuver his Caddie onto the Regal lot. Half the hoofers in Los Angeles had queued at the front gate, all of them auditioning for parts in the dance-marathon movie. They were youthful and good-looking, so I figured Joseph Nussbaum would surely stand out among them. Extra guards were on hand, but for some reason, I couldn’t shake the feeling something wasn’t right.
On my way to the barn, I noticed the piano tuners in their battered jalopy heading to the front office. They were probably on their way to work on Mr. Roth’s old upright. I hoped the big man wouldn’t give them the bum’s rush for driving their piece of junk onto his pristine lot. Still, I had other things to worry about than Ben Roth losing his temper. I’d soon be facing Chick and didn’t relish it.
By the time I reached the barn, a few of the principal dancers were having a smoke before work began. It would be another long, smelly day. Learning the intricate marathon routines wasn’t going to be easy. Rollo wasn’t in a jolly mood with all the desperate dancers on the lot. Edna and the twins were there, and luckily, Chick wasn’t. The happy newlyweds were shooting a pictorial for Silver Screen Magazine.
Rollo partnered me in the Lindy hop, insisting we dance with a rhythmical Charleston step, the way they did in Harlem.
“And a five, a six, seven, eight—” We were in the midst of practicing our turns when the scar-faced guard ran into the barn screaming.
“Stop, everyone! Some fellow just shot Mr. Roth and took Mr. Stein prisoner!”
I felt my heart pound wildly like a bass drum. My pulse soared so rapidly that I braced mys
elf to avoid falling to the floor in a dead swoon.
Sweat rolled down the guard’s face, and the poor fellow could barely catch his breath. I feared he would collapse before telling us what happened.
“Mr. Roth and Mr. Stein, uh, were talking when—oh, my God—this guy barges into Mr. Roth’s office holding a gun. Mr. Roth’s secretary said the guy was—dear Lord—babbling on about how Mr. Roth had ruined his life and—uh—took something he owned. They’d warned us, said a maniac was on the loose…but no one figured…he could get on the lot…Mr. Roth was expecting the piano tuners…for that clunker of his…the crazy fellow waylaid them…shot one dead…stole the truck…the other one is lucky to be alive.”
The guard turned to me. “The guy that shot Mr. Roth was screaming about you, Miss Charles. Lots of fellows go wacky for a face they’ve seen on the screen, and try to storm the front gate. None of ’em ever brought a gun before. Lord, help us!”
The room went silent. Edna put a reassuring arm around my shoulder. I’m sure she silently prayed to Jesus, but her entreaties didn’t comfort me. Rollo finally spoke.
“Kids, go on home. I’ll make sure they pay you for the day. I don’t know what else to say except I want you here tomorrow. Mr. Roth would expect the show to go on no matter what.”
With that, everyone left, except me.
****
I tried to speak to some of the deputies from the Sheriff’s Department, but only got a pat on the head and empty assurances.
“We’re handling it, little lady.”
Nuts to them. I wasn’t going to cool my heels waiting for Nussbaum to kill David. I knew what I had to do. With sirens blaring and coppers crawling all over the lot, no one noticed me heading to Wardrobe.
The hum of sewing machines greeted me. Nussbaum had shot Mr. Roth and kidnapped David, yet nothing interrupted the business of creating the costumes that made the movies glamorous. The seamstresses and tailors were so engrossed in their work they didn’t notice when I grabbed a jacket, a pair of slacks, and a boy’s shirt.
I had already buttoned up when Al walked in. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, girlie?”
Before I answered, I looked around the shop, then moved closer. “Al, if I ask you to keep your mouth shut, will you?”
He rolled his eyes then snorted a response. “No. Why the hell are you dressed like that?”
“I’m in disguise.”
His mouth twisted in disgust. “For what?”
Of all the times for him to act like a hard-nosed putz. “Look, Al, I can’t stay around and schmooze. The flatfoots are crawling all over, looking in the wrong places. I’m sure the crazy bastard is holding Mr. Stein in the building where they store the old film stock. The guy used to work at Regal and probably knows the place from the old days. I’m betting he has Mr. Stein hostage there.”
“Swell. Tell the sheriff and go home. You’re not needed here, cupcake!”
“Golly, you really know how to hurt a girl’s feelings. I tried to talk to them, but they won’t listen. Don’t you care that a maniac shot Mr. Roth, and he might kill Mr. Stein?”
He made a grab at my jacket, but I slipped out of his reach. I turned to see the tears welling in his eyes. “Of course I care. Ben and I were boys together. I’ve known David since before he could walk, but you can’t do anything for either of them. I once pegged you as a smart girl, but after that boxcar stunt, I knew you were as dumb at the rest of these bozos.”
I ignored his comment about my intelligence. “Please listen to me. The fellow who took Mr. Stein hasn’t been on the lot in years. That old storehouse has to be the only place he knows. The sheriffs are searching the sound stages, but the maniac wouldn’t set foot on any of them, would he?”
Al shook his head. “So little Mitzi’s got it all figured out, huh?”
Jeez, the guy could be really annoying. “Yes, I do. In this heat, with that nitrate stock, if the cops storm the place they could start a fire. If I can get in there, maybe I can talk that animal into letting Mr. Stein go.”
Al sneered, unconvinced. “And just how do you think you can do that?”
How the heck did I know? “It’s a long story. I’ve got to go now.”
He took me by the arm. “How do you know David’s not dead already?”
My eyes began to well, and I wiped them on my sleeve. I didn’t want to start blubbering in front of Al. “Because I can feel him.” He looked deep into my face without saying a word. “Al, if anything happens, if I’m not back in an hour, tell the sheriff where I went.”
“Kid, you have no idea what Ben went through nine years ago. If something happens—” His voice trailed off. “I need my head examined. Okay, I’ll give you an hour, but that’s all. Be careful, honey.”
I didn’t look back. “I will.”
With everyone rushing around the lot like a flock of decapitated chickens, no one noticed a boy walking toward the old gate and the abandoned storage building. Although I couldn’t hear the buzz of human activity around the building, and the place looked empty, I knew David was inside somewhere. The scar-faced guard had abandoned the place. When he got a second wind, he’d probably joined the flatfoots racing around the studio and led them up one blind alley and down another.
Regal buzzed with the gossip. A secretary swore Nussbaum shot Mr. Roth in the shoulder. Mr. Roth must have been preoccupied with the doctor digging out the bullet or he would have figured out where Nussbaum had hidden himself. The second-floor window remained ajar. If I could pry it open, getting into the building would be a snap. An old wooden ladder looked like it could reach the second floor window, and there was that abandoned scaffolding. I tried to move the ladder, but the darn thing wouldn’t budge. The old scaffolding reached all the way to the roof.
Back when I was a Girl Scout, our leader taught us that young ladies must always be prepared. I’d readied myself. In the hunt for Nussbaum, some of the grips had abandoned their toolboxes. I lifted a flashlight, a screwdriver, and some flares, which I vowed to return after the ordeal ended. Although nitrate stock could flame spontaneously, I’d pinched a box of matches, too.
I began climbing the wooden scaffold, a rickety mess that creaked and swayed with my every step, but I figured if it could support a grown man, it would hold me. I’d just started my ascent when I felt a tug on my trousers. I looked down. Omar, garbed in a denim work shirt, overalls, and a cap, stared back at me.
“Omar? What are you doing here?”
“I might ask you the same thing. Where the hell do you think you’re going? Come down right now!”
I lowered my voice in case Nussbaum was listening. “I’m not coming down, and you can’t make me. If David is in there, I have to get him out.”
For the first time since I’d known him, Omar shot me the evil eye.
“Tell me, miss, just how do you plan to get inside? That scaffolding is on its last legs, and I doubt it’ll hold anyone, even someone as small as you. If you don’t break your fool neck, how are you going to find your way through that old firetrap? I’ve been in there. They’ve got everything but Judge Crater stored in that dump. Now, come down, or I’ll climb up and get you.”
I did as I was told, not because of the wisdom of his words, but because the scaffolding moaned like an old yenta. By the time I’d climbed down, Omar had moved the ladder into place.
“Mitzi, I won’t let that son of a bitch wreck your life and your sister’s any more than he already has. Go on home.”
“Omar, I’m going in there with you, and that’s the end of it!”
He tried staring me down, but I stood my ground. “You’re a stubborn little thing, aren’t you, Mitzi? Okay, I’ll go up first, look around, and you follow, understand? What’s in that sack?”
I showed him the tools I’d nabbed. He took the knapsack and hung it around his neck. “Good stuff, but I’ve got something that trumps all of it.”
He pulled a small caliber revolver from beneath the overalls.
“Where did you get that?”
He caressed it before putting it back in his pocket. “You don’t think a fellow like me could survive without one of these, do you? I figure this Nussbaum, or whoever he’s calling himself these days, probably dragged David through the rear door, the one we’ll use when we leave.”
I had no idea about another entrance. “What? There’s another door?”
“Yes, but the minute it opens, David is a dead man. Now listen. I’ve worked it out. We’ll take the scenic route and surprise Nussbaum. If you’re coming, let’s go.”
Maybe I acted tough, but Nussbaum scared me out of my wits. Still, I wouldn’t let my fear stop me. Omar ascended the ladder and reached the partly open window. He used the screwdriver to pry it all the way open. After he climbed in, I waited for his signal. Nothing. My stomach knotted at the thought Nussbaum had laid in wait and ambushed him. Suppose the monster had murdered both Omar and David? I almost started bawling, but finally, a hand poked out of the window and gave me a wave. By the time I clambered half way up the ladder, Omar reached out and steadied it.
When I climbed through the second-floor window, slivers of light from the open window cut through the blackness. The place felt like an oven, surely as hot as the Black Hole of Calcutta and a million times smellier. Then, as if things weren’t bad enough, I felt something crawl over my shoe.
“Omar, we have a guest—the hairy, four-legged kind!”
He flicked on the flashlight and the little long-tailed critter scampered away. Growing up in New York, I’d become acquainted with rats, and the only one I feared went by the name “Nussbaum.” The flashlight’s glow revealed a graveyard of the grotesque and the ornate. Regal had been making films since 1912, and I imagined their entire history was in this room. Ancient Bell & Howell cameras, relics from the days of silent dramas, were stacked against each other. Tiffany lamps leaned against velvet divans and lacquered coromandel screens. They were discarded set pieces from the racy divorce dramas and high society melodramas that brought the studio fame in the old days.
Omar grabbed my hand and guided me to the stairwell. “When we were in Carlisle, Mr. Roth told me that Nussbaum and his cronies used to play poker in the basement. Now, it’s like a bank vault, reinforced with steel in case of a nitrate fire. There’s a door at the rear. If he’s down there with David, that’s how he got in.”