Charlie had a strong suspicion that Laura wanted Jake to give a false impression and get the deference from the famously impulsive Los Angeles police department that went along with it. He knew enough to keep his mouth shut about his hunch. In any case, Ducky needed to be escorted out of the rumble seat and checked for wear, tear, and ticks while he was dusted off.
When the housekeeper answered the front doorbell, Jake said, “Hi, Mrs. Herbert. Laura back’s early, I see.”
“Yes, Mr. Jake. She’s in the study, working on her lines for tomorrow.” Mrs. Herbert was too much of a professional to ask questions, but too good at what she did to bother keeping her gaze from visibly traveling across the wicker chest Jake was holding, past Ducky at heel, and up to Charlie’s face. “Good afternoon, Mr. Hunter.” She almost -- almost -- smiled at him this time.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Herbert. Could you please ask Mr. Herbert to bring my suitcase inside? And Jake has his evening clothes out in his roadster, too. I understand we’re attending a dinner party this evening, and we’ll both need to prepare.”
“So I’ve been informed. Would you gentlemen care to wait in the front parlor? I can bring coffee.”
“Could you? That’d be great, thanks,” Jake said, and hurried in through the front door, obviously expecting Charlie and Ducky to follow. As they passed her, Mrs. Herbert’s look might have been faintly interested as she studied Ducky once more or it might just have been her usual, mournful mien. For his part, Ducky was eager to press on.
During Charlie’s last visit, a great many of the rooms had been sparsely furnished if at all. Now he detected the professional hand of Mr. Tildon at work. “I like what Laura’s done with the place. It’s a lot less bland, more expressive of her personality.”
“When the studio had me playing gooseberry back in those Hollywood apartments, she seemed to think too much femininity in the rooms we shared would make my eyeballs bleed. Now that we’re finally out of each other’s hair, Laura can do what she wants.” Jake rolled his eyes in a sibling’s amiable disdain. “I guess that includes wanting lots of fancy blue-green pillows.”
“Oh? I like blue-green very much; in fact, teal may be my favorite color. What do you want aside from a draftsman’s table? Orange crates? That horrendous armchair from your family’s apartment in Hell’s Kitchen? Umber upholstery: I won’t say exactly what the shade reminded me of while I’m under your sister’s roof. At least, not before the third round of drinks. Thank you, Mrs. Herbert.”
Drinking coffee and insulting decor kept them pleasantly occupied until Laura entered.
Both Charlie and Jake rose to their feet. Charlie stayed standing as she threw herself upon him, entwining her arms around his neck in a seeming impulse that was likely intended to provoke. Jake sank back onto the couch with a grin.
“My hero,” she said, and kissed Charlie soundly. “Just in time to rescue me during my hour of despair.”
Holding out Laura at arm’s length, Charlie inspected her. “No haggard look yet. I must have arrived early.”
“You wait.” Her words were darkly portentous. “Mr. Lowery’s fiftieth birthday bash should make up in strength for what it lacks in speed.”
“Don’t worry. We brought home your bribes,” Jake told her.
“I noticed. Especially this one. Hello, sweetheart,” Laura said as she approached Ducky. “Come to Laura.”
With a shake of those floppy ears, Ducky was up onto his feet with his docked tail frantically wagging. Whatever magic she wielded for purposes of enchantment, she’d used it again.
“Oh yes,” Laura told Ducky, mussing his ears with easy grace, “You are absolutely perfect. Yes, you are. Quite, quite perfect.”
Jake snorted. “After that kind of build-up, you’ll be lucky if he doesn’t eat three pairs of Mrs. Lowery’s pumps and then upchuck into their swimming pool.”
“As long as he waits until after I’ve left,” Laura said. “Not that he would. Would you, you darling?”
Ducky gave her his most earnest canine assurances he would never, ever dream of doing such a thing, whatever such a thing might be.
“The hunting equipment’s all first-rate, too, but I’m not unpacking anything, considering the mess I’d make putting it back together again,” Jake said.
“All right. Then we might as well get ready.” Laura checked her gold wristwatch before saying, “If we start now, there should be plenty of time. Jake, you’ll be picking up your date in an hour and a half.”
“Joanne Siegal?” he asked with a frown.
“No, Fran Cooper.”
“Better.” At Charlie’s inquiring look, Jake said, “Fran’s one of the two or three starlets keeping steady company with Henry Lowery these days. Whoever evens out the boy-girl numbers at table gets to be his girlfriend’s official escort if the fellow’s plausible in the role. It helps Mrs. Lowery save face.”
“You like Fran,” his sister said with a tiny touch of reproof in her voice.
“Do I sound like I’m blaming her? On what grounds? We all know how this town works. And her family builds roads down in San Diego County, so we’ll have something other than Hollywood to talk about. This wouldn’t be too bad an evening if the whole affair wasn’t a recognized studio function, meant to be reported on by the press.”
With a wince, Charlie said, “Well, that explains why my presence is required.”
Laura nodded. “Exactly. This will announce your coming to work for Cosmic. As an occasional guest at the Algonquin Round Table, you’ll also add sparkle and tone. And you photograph well in a dinner jacket. Which reminds me, I had Mrs. Herbert unpack your evening wear from the trunks you’re storing here and hang it up to air out in the blue bedroom.”
Charlie raised a hand in a way meant to attest to his resignation. “That’s fine. You’d also better set aside a quarter hour to brief me about who else will be in attendance and what I’m not supposed to know about them. All I would need as I start my studio contract is a hors d’oeuvre of foot-in-mouth.”
“Speaking of snares for the unwary, I think someone is supposed to be telling me about your day out on the town. Isn’t that right, Brother Dear?” Laura’s frown was gentle but deadly. In Charlie’s opinion, only long exposure allowed Jake to face her without quailing.
Instead, Jake looked over at Charlie with hope in his eyes and asked, “Maybe Charlie could explain the details?”
“Oh, no,” Charlie said and shook his head. “There is me playing at older brother and then there is me letting you copy my Latin. You will be explaining this venture into real estate all by yourself. I will be taking a shower and using my razor. Trains rattle too much for a shave close enough to get me through a Hollywood dinner party.”
After a boy scout salute to the pair of them, he strolled out of the parlor in what he hoped wasn’t too obvious a flight. As he left, he heard Laura say, in low, ominous tones that would have thrilled movie audiences from coast to coast, “Okay, Stinker, now that it’s just you and me--” before he closed the door on them.
Phew. That had been a close call.
When Charlie returned to the parlor a good while later, Jake was off somewhere, and Laura was seated on the couch in a careful curve that looked delightfully informal but actually would not rumple a single fold of the evening gown she wore. Her face was considering as she petted Ducky, who sat next to the couch within easy reach of her hand.
Laura looked up when Charlie hitched the knees of his trousers and then settled back in the armchair across from her. “Impressive results, especially as an amateur effort,” she told him.
“Thanks to my long trip, it’s a good imitation of the usual look of a Broadway intellectual on the morning after the night before. You’re no longer used to a beleaguered and sophisticated pallor, living in a town this sunny.”
“That’s not sophisticated pallor, that’s just Boston
blond. And respect the professional expertise, mister. I stand by my first judgment. Publicity will have no problems explaining you as my date.” She waved an easy hand toward the drinks cart. “Do you want a Manhattan?”
“Not if there will be wine at dinner. Something tells me I’ll need a clear head tonight.”
“It shouldn’t be too bad. They’re not the Thalbergs, but keep thinking ‘iron-clad professional partnership’ whenever you look at our hosts, and you’ll do fine.”
Charlie hesitated, studying her. Then he asked, “You aren’t seeing anyone you’d rather have escort you?”
Laura’s smile was dangerously close to a smirk. “What, you mean my current paramour? The press would have a field day. He’s supposed to be desperate to pop the question to Elaine Gray.”
“As long as you’re happy.”
“I’m having fun. Although I’m surprised you’re asking. After you identified the claws on the birds and the stings on the bees for me back when I was a green kid, I thought you gave up on guiding my love life.”
“When it comes to gritty specifics, feel free to spare my nerves.”
“Wise choice. You know I’m not in the running for the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval. I have a career to think about. And if I want to spend my leftover time worrying about some man, there’s always Jake. Since I promised maman to take care of him, he’s the obvious target.” Her tone was earnest when she added, “I’m awfully happy you’re finally moving out here.”
It wasn’t exactly a dodge to say, “You’re well aware Jake made a promise to your mother about taking care of you, too.”
“Oh, sure. Did she manage to con one out of you about both of us? Lingering deathbeds are dramatic, and maman certainly knew how to use drama to get whatever she wanted.”
Charlie frowned at her, glad he’d never been a guilty blusher. “A family trait.”
“You bet. From what little I remember, even papa could play the desert prince to his advantage. It was hilarious since grand-père was actually some rich merchant in Tunis. Although Jake has both the charm and the earnestness of Valentino or Novarro, so maybe that part of being a sheik is in the blood.”
Now Laura’s expression was as earnest as her tone. “Share lodgings with someone for nine months, and then keep that up for twenty-two years longer, and you understand a few things about him. For one, I’ve learned he’s terrible at sneaking around to get what he wants, unlike the rest of us Mors.”
After a moment, Charlie said, “Please tell me you didn’t arrange for my recent offer from Cosmic.”
“I didn’t have to. Don’t think I won’t be first standing on line to play Phoebe if you manage a good adaptation of The White Way, though.”
“But it’s still hopeless, demanding that you keep that slightly retroussé nose out of my business, isn’t it?”
“When do I get to see this house of all houses you’re buying with my brother?”
The door to the parlor opened and Jake stuck his head through the gap. “I’m off to pick up Fran. Are you two leaving, or are you going to sit around and gossip for the rest of the evening?”
“When I do it, it’s gossip. When he does it, it’s important information.” Laura rolled her eyes even as she uncoiled from the couch. “I’ll get my wrap.”
“I’ll get Ducky.” Charlie reached for the lead on a side table.
Ducky promptly rose to his feet, but the look he gave Charlie was reproachful.
Charlie shook his head. “It seems we are all slaves to duty around here, my friend.”
***
“You drive,” Charlie told Laura after a dubious look at her coupe.
“I’m glad you realize we don’t have the time for an accidental side-trip to Santa Monica.”
Sometimes the best offense was a good defense. “No, we don’t. Especially since we’ll need to go slow because of Ducky. And checking on him will mean keeping the top down.”
“So, also slow for the sake of my hair. Fine. I know good arguments when I hear them.”
At least they didn’t have far to drive as the Lowerys lived higher up one of Beverly Hills’s canyons. Even Charlie couldn’t have gotten lost.
The gate to the Lowery house was decorated with iron scrollwork, its large courtyard was covered with patterned stonework, and the house itself was a huge, two-storied gray building that looked like a truncated French Chateau with a small side wing added to throw it completely out of balance. The result, if impressive, was annoying. Charlie had to admit to himself, he’d finally seen a house out here he actively disliked.
They had driven up during a lull in arrivals. Laura had time to survey the grand staircase that swept up to the front doors with the intense but abstracted gaze of someone getting into character while Charlie gave instructions to one of the young men parking cars about transporting both the wicker basket and Ducky. After suitably bribing the attendant, Charlie also spoke with Ducky before handing over the lead. Then he made a tiny adjustment to his left cuff and looked over at Laura, who met his gaze with an opaquely bright smile. He offered her his arm. It was time to make an entrance.
A uniformed maid showed them into the huge living room dominated by several couches, a grand piano, and a decent Persian carpet on the floor. A well-worn tapestry of hunting courtiers hung over the mantelpiece, filling the space between the windows on one of the flanking walls and the landing across the other. Aside from that obvious antique, there was a lack of imagination to the rest of the French-styled furnishings that suggested a severe pursuit of social respectability. The guests were much brighter and more impressive than the room.
Their host quickly broke away from a pair of studio executives to approach Laura and exchange sustained and doting hellos with her before offering drinks. Mr. Lowery was a lanky man with an appearance crafted largely from u-shaped curves. He had an air of edgy pep about him and was the sort of fellow who always seemed to be sitting at the head of the table no matter where his chair was located. Charlie would wager Lowery’s bite was worse than his bark.
However, Lowery’s wife was a subtler challenge. During the drive, Laura had warned Charlie that their hostess was one of the first stars of the silent screen still playing her greatest role. Mrs. Lowery, in her late thirties, had kept dark looks dazzling enough to easily attract a society court in any other small city. In Beverly Hills, she might dominate her surroundings, but competition made her position more laborious than effortless. The local gluts on the charisma and beauty markets ruthlessly reduced their usual value, especially for older women.
Mrs. Lowery had mastered the fine points of her role. Her greetings to Laura and Charlie were appropriately, warmly aristocratic, and she put on a good show of having read Charlie’s books. She could also rise to meet a true challenge. When Jake and his date came in about a quarter hour after Laura’s arrival, Mrs. Lowery’s greetings to Miss Cooper was regally friendly, an impeccable job of acting. However, the way she welcomed Jake made Charlie narrow his eyes. There was something subtly possessive about the quality of her attentions that was alarming.
A few minutes later, Charlie grabbed a rare chance to get Laura all to himself. He steered her over to where French doors stood open in the high wall otherwise dominated by windows. A cool evening would provide both the excuse for their huddle and an approximation of privacy; the air felt pleasant to a recently arrived New Yorker but was almost chill to anyone whose blood had been thinned by Los Angeles winters.
Charlie murmured, with a smile he hoped didn’t seem as fake as it felt, “I thought Jake was only being dramatic when he complained about our hostess.”
“Just because Jake’s dramatic doesn’t mean he’s dim,” Laura replied as she unnecessarily rearranged Charlie’s boutonnière, her own bright smile never wavering. “But he also couldn’t hide how his sympathy for Mrs. Lowery made him like her. At least, he liked her before she spo
oked him. Although his wariness came too late. Don’t worry; I’m dealing with the matter.”
Charlie regarded her with wariness of his own. “You’re not carrying a rusty tuning fork with you this evening, are you?”
“Darling, don’t be cryptic. Someone around here will read it as cleverness at his expense, and you’ll end up writing second-feature scripts about humorous rubes chasing pigs through State Fairs.”
Right then, the general migration toward the dining room began, and Laura gave Charlie an admonishing look before taking his arm.
Charlie got through the meal by recounting well-worn literary anecdotes to his neighbors and mentally reworking the people he was eating with into minor characters in an unprintable novel. It helped that Laura was on what passed for her best behavior. Even when she was talking with the actress Ingra Songaard, who was both a smolderer and an obvious handful, Laura stayed cheery and polite.
After dessert -- Biscuit Tortoni, and, as promised, quite good -- they all returned to the Lowery’s living room where a pair of photographers took pictures of attractively posed clusters of guests. Then the photographers left and the company relaxed into only slightly less attractively posed clusters as they talked politics and box-office returns. The stances were instinctive; most of the people in the room had the constant awareness of being observed that went with being either star performers or studio powers.
Laura drifted over to exchange smiles with Fran Cooper and give some low-voiced instructions to Jake that ended with him leaving the room. It was the only clue Charlie needed to know that the time for tribute had arrived even if the soft-footed reappearance of the photographers hadn’t been a give-away.
The gifts to Mr. Lowery struck Charlie as rather expensive and extremely obvious. He thought Miss Songaard’s sterling silver pheasant was nice, but most of the other presents seemed forgettable. However, under the influence of this birthday bribery, Lowery was relaxing at last, smiling genially from where he’d settled into a bergère armchair to one side of the largest coffee table.
The Retrieval Page 4