by Lee René
He poked around in his pockets and dragged out a skeleton key. “I swiped it from the guard shack. It’ll open the storage room.”
I started down the stairs, but he stopped me. “It’s hotter than blazes down here, Mitzi. It’s too dangerous. Maybe I better go it alone.”
I shook my head. “To heck with that. We’re in this together, Omar. Besides, the nitrate in that cracker box could ignite at any moment, so it really doesn’t matter if I stay or go, does it?”
At that moment, we both knew there was no turning back. Making our way down the stairs was no joy ride. The flashlight only lit part of the staircase, and the heat and stench added to our discomfort. Suddenly, a tiger with blood-covered fangs leaped at us out of the darkness. Our goose was cooked—we were goners. Omar’s hand over my mouth stifled my scream.
“Button it, Mitzi! This is where they stored the stuffed animals from old jungle movies.”
Omar swung the flashlight. The place resembled a taxidermist’s studio and gave me the heebie-jeebies. He removed his hand, then guided me back to the stairs. We started our descent in earnest.
“When we find David, don’t try to act like Joan of Arc. Let me do the talking, and you make sure you stand behind me. You got that?”
I nodded, and we traveled through the dark to the basement. When we reached our destination, we didn’t make a sound. The smell of deteriorating nitrate nearly overpowered us. They used the place as a morgue of forgotten movies, and I feared it might be ours too. Omar played the flashlight over reels of film stock. Some of it had disintegrated into brown powder. Nussbaum wouldn’t have picked such a dangerous hiding place if he knew how volatile nitrate stock was. Or would he?
Omar and I walked through the smelly void without knowing which way to turn. We edged our way through the darkness and stopped dead. David was somewhere in this chamber of horrors.
Suddenly, we heard voices, one low and muffled—and the other belonged to David. He tried to reason with Nussbaum. “I asked politely the first time, even said ‘please.’ The place is a firetrap. Put out your cigarette and douse the lamp.”
I almost sobbed with relief, but Omar gripped my arm. Now wasn’t the time to get sappy. We moved toward David’s voice.
“Look, Nussbaum or whatever your name is, if you don’t incinerate us and manage to escape, even if you dream up another alias and leave the country, you won’t get away. Ben will hunt you down to the ends of the earth.”
I heard the cold fury in Nussbaum’s voice. “That schmuck will never lay a finger on me. As soon as I finish here, I’ll be on my way, flying off to points unknown. Tell me, Mr. Hot Shot, did you enjoy despoiling Mitzi?”
I turned and could barely make out Omar in the darkness. “Omar, I’ll go and talk to Nussbaum. When I get him into the light, wing him with your gun.”
He tried to grab me by the sleeve. “Are you crazy? Suppose he shoots you?”
“Nussbaum won’t shoot me, but he might kill David. I’ve got to get in there.”
I darted toward the voices before Omar could stop me, shouting at the top of my lungs so David would know I was near, “Mr. Nussbaum, Mr. Nussbaum, where are you?”
David screamed out, “Is that you, Mitzi? Go away!”
The light from Nussbaum’s lantern illuminated a room lined with metal plating and cement all the way to the ceiling. If the nitrate ignited, this bunker would contain it—hopefully.
Nussbaum sat behind a dilapidated metal desk, pointing a gun at David, who sat upright in a chair. Nussbaum’s cigarette glowed, and in the dim light, I could see bruises on David’s face. The coward had roughed him up. I looked around for Omar but couldn’t see him, so I took a step forward and pulled off my cap.
“Hello, Mr. Nussbaum. It’s Mitzi.”
I moved farther into the light so Nussbaum could see me. He stared at me for a long time and then spoke in a voice so low I could barely hear him.
“So you came for him, little Mitzi. Here you are to plead for your lover. A whore, that’s what you are. There you were, chained to a bed in that filthy movie, and that’s where you belong. I’m sure you spread your legs for him and Ben Roth.”
Of all the films I’d made, The Golden Falcon had to be the one that maniac saw. It didn’t matter if the lunatic said nasty things about me, but I didn’t relish having a gun pointed at the man I loved. I looked around once again and still didn’t see Omar.
“Mr. Nussbaum, it’s not true. I’ll go anywhere with you, but please let David go. He hasn’t done anything to you.”
Nussbaum’s voice cracked. “Oh, he’s done a lot. I saw the two of you together in his office. I knew right away he’d ruined you. Where is the virgin I wanted to marry? She’s gone. Now you’re just a tart, a cheap whore going from one man to the next.”
How could someone wise up a moron who was straight from the sixteenth century? “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m still a virgin, if that’s what you’re worried about. I swear on the grave of my poor Uncle Baron. Do you even remember Baron Schector? You murdered him.”
Nussbaum shrugged. “I made a mistake with the boy. I made up for it. I gave your family cheap rent for years.”
“Cheap rent? That sure takes the cake. You think cheap rent makes up for killing my uncle and destroying my family? Do you?”
He answered by cocking the gun. “You’re coming with me, Mitzi. Say goodbye to your lover.”
I darted in front of David. “You’ll have to shoot me first!” Without warning, I heard a gun blast, then a scream. I fell back into David’s arms.
Omar stepped out of the shadows, smoke circling the barrel of his revolver. I made a dash for Nussbaum’s gun while Omar leveled his at Nussbaum’s prone figure. In my haste, I tipped over the lantern. Kerosene dripped onto the floor, mingling with the blood spurting from Nussbaum’s knee. I looked from the bleeding man to Omar.
“With that leg, how are we going get Nussbaum out of here?”
The look on Omar’s face didn’t bode well for Nussbaum. “Get him out of here? I can’t help him and David too. We have to shove off. Let the sheriff handle him. Come on.”
David struggled to his feet. Omar put a supporting arm over one shoulder, I took the other side, and the three of us made for the door. Before we left, Omar glanced back at Nussbaum.
“Whatever your name is, I’ll leave the place unlocked,” he told him. “You’ll have a sporting chance, more than you ever gave anyone else.”
Nussbaum screamed out, “Help me! Take me with you!”
Omar turned his back on him. “Sorry, brother. Where you’re concerned, the milk of human kindness dried up a long time ago.”
I heard no rancor in Omar’s voice, only disgust. David found his footing and pushed me out the door. It took a moment for our eyes to adjust to the searing sunlight. We all took deep breaths of clean air and then hightailed it away from the building as if demons were chasing us.
We were across the lot by the time we found a sheriff who would listen to us. Omar pointed at the storage building. Smoke billowed from the chimney. I guess Nussi regretted not putting out his cigarette. A stench wafted across the lot, burning nitrate, and probably Nussbaum too.
David glared at me. “Mitzi, whatever possessed you to do such a fool thing? What were you thinking? You could have been killed.”
“But I wasn’t thinking. I did it because he wouldn’t have kidnapped you if it weren’t for me. Besides, I love you.”
His jaw dropped, but before he could say anything, a crowd of gaffers, electricians, and carpenters jostled me aside. All the little guys David had once dismissed in his arrogance surrounded him. “Gosh, Mr. Stein, we thought you were done for. How are you, sir?”
David attempted to speak. “I’m fine, thank you. Thanks to all of you, I, well, I—” When he broke into tears, a roar of goodwill cheers went up. David continued sobbing.
Omar took me by the arm and helped me up into the ambulance. “Mitzi, I would go with you, but I’m
off to make sure your sister knows everything is A-OK. I’ll see you later. Stay with David. He needs you.”
He gave me a brotherly buss on the cheek and walked away. At that moment, it would have taken a regiment of Marines to keep me from the man I loved.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The Morning After
The Los Angeles Herald Examiner
August 22, 1932
The Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department made a concerted effort yesterday and contained the disturbance on the Regal Pictures lot in West Hollywood. A deranged man wandered into the studio’s front office and attacked Benjamin Roth, President, and David Lincoln Stein, Vice President and Head of Production at Regal Pictures.
The assailant wounded Mr. Roth during the assault and held Mr. Stein hostage for a short period of time. Studio Security alerted the Sheriff’s Department after spotting the unnamed culprit. Once the authorities were on hand, the alleged desperado freed Mr. Stein. The mysterious intruder later died by his own hand.
****
On the afternoon of August 25th, 1932, my hands trembled when I fired up the engine of my roadster. The gorgeous jumble of baguette diamonds and platinum flashed from my wrist. Since David and I were a couple, I wore the diamond bracelet to seal our pact. Just as he’d promised, David accompanied me to the meeting with Carlotta Dumont.
With our troubles finally behind us, I questioned the wisdom of confronting her.
“Nussbaum is dead. He can’t take another life, David. Are you sure I should do this?”
“You can’t go soft on me now, baby. Your uncle’s death is what brought you to Los Angeles in the first place, isn’t it? You have to ask her what happened to Baron’s body.”
I couldn’t deny his words. I shifted the roadster from neutral to first gear, and we took off down Santa Monica Boulevard. I still couldn’t talk much when I was behind the wheel, but I was getting better at it. David smiled as he always did when I sat behind the wheel. “Baby, you’ll get the hang of it one day.”
We arrived at the cemetery, and I parked at the main gate. “She comes around two in the afternoon.”
I tried to remain calm, but my heart pounded double time. At six minutes past two, a limousine drove up, and I followed. Since the cemetery remained deserted except for the limo and my blue roadster, the driver must have known we were behind him. We followed the automobile up the winding path until it finally stopped at Clarice’s grave. The chauffeur hopped out and opened the rear door. Carlotta Dumont didn’t step out. Ben Roth did.
David and I exchanged a look. A few seconds later, a pudgy lady in a veiled cloche hat emerged, and Ben extended his arm. She carried a spray of white roses and made her way to the grave. Here was Nussbaum’s confederate, the woman who helped murder my uncle, her own daughter, and old Mr. Roth, yet Ben Roth had helped her out of the limo. I leapt from my automobile and ran over to the woman I hated more than anything on earth.
“Carlotta! Carlotta Dumont!”
She turned, dropped the roses and lifted her veil. “Mitzi, my darling girl, I know you from your movies. I’m your Aunt Clarice.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Coda
The earth stopped rotating on its axis. I gazed at the woman’s face for a long moment and finally saw Clarice Dumont. She possessed the same luminous smile as in her movies, but her fabled golden curls were gone, replaced by an auburn marcel. Folds of pink flesh enveloped her once-slim body. Still, even zaftig, Clarice remained lovely.
“You must be confused, my dear. Where do I begin? Mother was soused for days. She became a monster when she drank, but Baron protected me. He told her never to bother us again, and she swore he’d pay for his words.”
Mr. Roth guided us to a little Jewish cemetery tucked behind the larger, gentile one. Enameled portraits of the dead embellished many of the gravestones, many of older people, but the images of handsome swains and solemn beauties most affected me. The death pictures captured their youthful likenesses for eternity.
Clarice made her way down a well-worn path past rows of gravestones inscribed with Hebrew letters, almost every one with a stone perched on top.
“That horrid man, Nussbaum, was the one who decided fire would be the best revenge. Mother was vicious, but not a murderess. The monster locked the both of us in the dressing caravan and set it on fire. Baron pulled me out to safety and went back for Mother. She was so drunk she couldn’t move. He tried to save her even after all the pain she caused, but the fire was too fast.”
She stopped walking and leaned on Ben, sobbing, her grief revived. “So many young fellows these days aren’t worth a dime, but your uncle was a prince, my prince. His last words to me were, ‘Clarice, you have to live for our baby.’ ”
If David hadn’t been holding me, I would have fainted.
Mr. Roth finished the story for her. “Clarice and Baron came to my father when they found out she was pregnant. They were determined to have that kid even if it meant curtains for her career. Pops said, ‘Okay, let them get them married. We’ll work out the details later.’ After the fire, I knew Nussbaum still roamed the streets. I lied to protect her from him.”
Clarice opened her pocketbook, pulled out a photo, and handed it to me. The child was the spitting image of Uncle Baron. My tiny family was growing by the minute.
“You and your sister must come to see our little boy, handsome devil that he is. He’s the joy of my life, my son, Baron, Baron Sachs. I married the physician who treated me. I’ve gained weight since they starved me for the screen. Thank goodness, my Melvin likes his ladies on the plump side. We live in a place where no one remembers Clarice Dumont. She’s long gone, but everyone knows Mrs. Clara Sachs. You, your young man, and your sister shall come for a visit.”
I finally asked the question that had bothered me since I learned she was Clarice. “Your mother destroyed so many lives. Why do you apologize when you visit her grave?”
A streak of sunlight fell on the side of her cheek, and I glimpsed the young beauty my uncle had loved.
“My husband said it would help with my anger. I hated her so much it nearly destroyed me.” She pointed to an ornate gravestone accented with jet and onyx and surrounded by a bronze-and-wrought-iron gate. “Baron is there.”
An enameled portrait of Uncle Baron’s smiling face, his Panama hat tipped at a rakish angle, sat under a bubble of glass. He looked as debonair as any leading man in the movies. We huddled together, quietly grieving for the unnecessary deaths and pain. Ben uttered the words everyone was thinking: “What a star that kid would have made.”
Birds chirped, and the sun streamed over the green oasis. David placed an arm around me. Finally, after all our tribulations, I knew everything would be fine.
A word about the author…
Lee René is a jazz-loving author of erotic romances, and of Young Adult and New Adult novels. She had the good fortune of being born in one the most diverse cities in the world, sun-kissed Los Angeles. The City of the Angels is more than just palm trees, toned bodies, movie stars, and beaches; it’s a fusion of people, languages, and cultures.
In her past literary life, Lee worked as a lifestyle writer for magazines in Los Angeles, San Francisco, New York and Vancouver as well as entertainment journalist and movie reviewer in print, on-line, and on radio in the Los Angeles area. She is a student of American history and her works are usually set in the past.
When Lee is not writing, she spends her time watching movies from the golden era on TCM, delving into history, enjoying classical music and jazz, and reading gothic literature.
Lee says: I’m thrilled to meet other writers, bloggers, reviewers, editors, and those involved in publishing. I write dark Young Adult fiction with strong female protagonists.
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Also available from The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
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Desiree Broussard is trapped in the black vortex of the sordid underbelly of life in the Big Easy. Her beauty attracts the attention of the mysterious scion of the wealthiest family in the city. Blinded by their attraction, they are sucked into a deadly vortex of the most powerful force in the city, the New Orleans police.
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