Hard Case Crime: Fade to Blonde

by Max Phillips

  She told me she hadn’t thought much of Halliday when she first saw him. He was too pretty and flashy. She assumed he was one of those young actors who liked to dress like gangsters, because he was certainly too good-looking to be anything else, and Peter Lawford had come in right behind him, and she’d wondered if they were together, but when Halliday had seen her, he’d stopped, and Lawford had gone right around him, giving Rebecca a wink as he went by. Peter Lawford was always sweet and she didn’t believe the stories about him. Halliday walked up to the window, and she saw he had a ring on every finger. His blonde head was bare and he wasn’t wearing a coat. Well, here it comes, she thought.

  He reached into his pocket and took out a pair of sunglasses. “I’d like to check these, please,” he said.

  Halliday’s voice didn’t fit the rings or the clothes. His mouth was nice, too. He was with two other men and one of them laughed, but he didn’t seem to notice. She said yes sir and hesitated, then picked up the glasses by the bridge and took them back to a cubbyhole. He thanked her when she handed him the ticket and said his name was Lance, and what was hers, and would she be on all night? She said she would. “Bad luck for you,” he said. “But nice for me. Maybe I’ll see you on the way out?”

  “I expect you will, sir,” she said.

  After he went in to dinner, she went back and looked at the sunglasses sitting in the middle of the cubbyhole. They looked silly there.

  She picked them up and tried them on. They were still warm from his pocket.

  He and his friends came back through a little after midnight, just as the second show was starting. He said Hello Rebecca and she went back and got his sunglasses. “Can I have the ticket as a souvenir?” he asked.

  The tickets were just heavy pasteboard, printed with H. Hover Presents. You still caught hell for losing one. “Of course, sir,” she said.

  “It would be a better souvenir,” he said, “with your phone number on it.”

  One of his companions laughed and was about to say something, but the blonde man looked around this time, and they all got quiet.

  She agreed to meet him at Chasen’s on her next night off. He’d wanted to pick her up, but she told him she always drove her own car, so if she had to she could always get in it and drive home. She was sorry, but that was her rule. He nodded and said that was sensible for a girl like her, who turned all the men into wolves. It was a slick answer but it didn’t sound slick. It sounded sincere. She said, Oh, was she turning him into a wolf?

  “It’s touch and go,” he said. “But I got willpower.”

  She’d always wanted to go to Chasen’s and order something fancy, but afterward she couldn’t say what the food was like or who was in the room, because she was falling. I asked what they talked about and she said it didn’t matter what they talked about. Then she said, well, movies. They’d both thought To Catch a Thief was excellent. They agreed that you didn’t get much better than Cary Grant. Halliday liked the way Grant was out of the cat burglar business and living in high style, but still keeping his edge. Rebecca said, what did you think about where he drops a casino chip down this French girl’s front? It was awful but not the way Cary Grant did it. No one on earth wore clothes like Grace Kelly, but Rebecca didn’t know why men were so wild for such an obvious iceberg. He said, we all think we’re just the guy to warm her up. He said he’d been a little worried about Hitchcock after Rear Window, and she said what do you mean, that was a wonderful movie. She’d wanted to nurse Jimmy Stewart herself. He said Jimmy Stewart had been a sorry little punk. “Oh,” she said, “so they should have cast you instead?”

  “I’m not an actor,” he said. “You thought I was?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, I guess I did, too, once. Well, what if I did? You got to take your shot.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Can’t just spend your life wondering. And now I don’t have to wonder, and, ah, and boo hoo hoo. But it got me out of this stinking little town I come from, so I ought to be grateful.”

  “That’s the way I look at it,” she said.

  “What, you too?”

  “Of course me too.”

  “You too, huh? And they haven’t given you anything? Huh. All I can say is, you couldn’t be trying very hard. I’ve never seen a girl with more on the ball than you have. You radiate it.”

  “Why thank you very much I’m sure.”

  “I’m serious. I’d think you’d go big around here. There’s a million girls in this town, but there aren’t any of them like you. You couldn’t really be giving it a shot. You must’ve just been the queen back wherever you came from.”

  “They fussed over me a bit,” she said, “and what would you happen to know about wherever I came from?”

  “Well,” he said, “it’s obvious.”

  “You mean you used to be king back wherever you came from.”

  “I don’t know about king. I played some football. All right, I guess I got fussed over. You know, it was a pretty good town. I dunno why I hated it so much.”

  “Because they thought they owned you,” she said.

  “You’re right. That’s just what it was.”

  “They love you and they brag on you, and they talk about you to each other all the time, and the more they think you’re wonderful, the more they think they own you.”

  “I know. You can’t go anywhere without hello to this one and that one, and each time they’ve got to make you stand there and chat and answer questions. It’s not just you, of course, it’s how everybody’s got to talk to everybody, but you think, okay, that’s another fifteen minutes of my life. And fifteen minutes and fifteen minutes and pretty soon it’s seventy years and you’re dead.”

  “They think they’ve got some sort of claim on you. Every last one of them.”

  “I swear to God, it’s supposed to be only old men who think about time going by, but when I was a kid I never thought about anything else. There was this guy named Maitland who used to be the big football hero, and everybody in town could tell you every damn detail of his big touchdown against Endicott, even people who hadn’t been goddamn born then could tell you, and we all sort of pointed him out and wasn’t he great. And he was forty-five years old or something and standing behind the counter at Maitland and Son. And he was the Son, and all there was to say about him was the big game thirty years ago, and I thought, Kill me first. Just give me a rope and a chair.”

  “And they can’t believe you don’t want that too. They hate you for wanting things they don’t want. When you tell them you’re actually going?”

  “Ah, Jesus,” he said, laughing.

  “You see? You know. They’re all so nice, and they guess there aren’t any girls in Hollywood as pretty as their little girl, and they’re already proud in advance of how their hometown girl made good, but they hate you. They hate you because you’re saying nothing they’ve got or could ever give you is good enough.”

  “It isn’t, either. That’s the sorry truth, it isn’t.”

  “And then you get here,” she said.

  “Yes,” he said gently, “and then you get here.”

  It was so wonderful, she told me, to meet someone you never had to explain anything to. Not that they didn’t spend the evening explaining themselves anyway.

  The only thing was, she couldn’t help worrying about the expense. “What do you care about things like that?” Halliday said.

  “Oh ho, Mr. Big-What-Do-You-Care. Well, I suppose I shouldn’t have said anything but I can’t help thinking about it. It’s all very nice of you, all this. I’m afraid I’m somewhat broke.”

  “Broke? With a car like that?”

  “I’ll probably end up losing it. I can’t keep up the payments.”

  “You shouldn’t have to worry about things like that. You shouldn’t ever have to worry about things.”

  “Well, I’m afraid I do have to worry.”

  He thought a moment. “How much you put in so far? You m
ind me asking?”

  “Almost four hundred dollars. Oh, no,” she said, because he was taking out his checkbook.

  “Don’t say no before you hear,” he said, writing.

  “I can’t take a gift from you like that. If that’s what it is.”

  “It’s not a gift. I’m buying your car. Give me the papers when you get a chance, and I’ll get it fixed for me to take over the payments.”

  “Well, thank you but for one thing, I need a car.”

  “Sure. I didn’t mean for you not to have it. Look, I’m not giving you money, or even loaning you money. I’m buying a good car off you for four hundred bucks. So that’s good for me. And then, since you need a car, I’m letting you borrow this car I just bought, for as long as you need. That’s not such a big thing, is it? Just letting your friend borrow your car?”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “I know, you’re thinking, okay, and what if I don’t want to keep on being this guy’s friend? Well, I’d be sorry about that, I’d be very sorry, but then all you’d have to do is hand over the keys and that’s that. And you’d still have money in your pocket for a good used car, and some left over. See how good it is?”

  He tore off the check and held it, as if it were a report card full of A’s and he was ready to hand it to his mother to sign and be told he was clever. He was like a kid. When she didn’t reply, he got sheepish. “All right,” he said, setting it down. “I guess I’m coming on a little strong. All right, I didn’t mean to put you on the spot like that.”

  Just like a kid.

  “You? Put me on the spot?” she said. “Little smalltown hick like you? That’ll be the day. Now give me my money, please,” she said, and held out her hand imperiously.

  He grinned and gave her the check.

  “And thank you very much for the loan of your nice car.”

  “Don’t mention it,” he said.

  After dinner they drove to the pier. It was his idea. He loved the boardwalk, even at night. “Look around,” he said. “It’s better than the zoo.” They took the photo-booth strip in one of the arcades by the water. It seemed natural to sit on his knee on the little stool. They both hammed it up, making the faces they’d seen in publicity stills, and pretty soon he had her laughing too much to go on. She said, “You’re funny.”

  “Really?” he said. “You know, I do think I’m funny. But it seems like no one else does. I guess, in my line of work, they don’t call you funny much.”

  “What line of work’s that?”

  “Becky. You know what I do. I know you do. Cause all evening you haven’t said, Oh, and what do you do? You didn’t want to put me on the spot, either.”

  “I guess I sort of know.”

  “I’m a hood, all right? I can’t act, but I found out there’s other things I can do, and I do them. I’m one of the bad guys.”

  “You don’t seem like a bad guy.”

  “Well, I am.”

  “Maybe I know different,” she said, and put up her mouth to be kissed.

  She wasn’t all that good at all the other stuff, in spite of having done as much as she had, but she liked kissing. Halliday kissed very nicely. He was even gentlemanly with, maybe she shouldn’t tell me this but, well, with his tongue. He waited until she finally used hers, just to let him know it was okay. Hood, she thought, kissing, hood, hood, hood. It was a ridiculous word that couldn’t possibly mean anything. Not with him being so nice and so worried she wouldn’t like it when he’d given her the check. She didn’t even want to cash the check. She wanted to keep it. But the check was still a problem. He murmured into her ear: “Listen. Let’s get into my car, and you get into my other car, and let’s go someplace. Let’s go home.”

  “No,” she had to say.

  She felt him go very still, then, and for just a moment, she had the idea that if she could see his face, she wouldn’t like it.

  But then he pulled back and looked at her, and his face was fine. “No?” he said softly.

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry but not tonight. I can’t tonight because you just gave me money.”

  “Well, I’ll be — You’re kidding. You can’t even be thinking like that. A girl like you.”

  “You’d be surprised what I think like, a girl like me. I’m sorry. But there it is.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned. Well. I guess that’s a good one on me. You mean I wrecked it, just like that?”

  She shook her head again. “I’m off again Thursday night. And maybe you could ask me out again, for then? And this time not give me any money.”

  “Thursday, huh? Sure. Will you go out with me Thursday?”

  “I’d love to. And remember, this time, please don’t give me any money.”

  “Ho boy. Sure. No money. I get another kiss, anyway?”

  She kissed him again.

  “Ho boy,” he said again. “No money. Well, I’ll remember.”

  On Thursday she put on a dress she hadn’t worn for a while. When she’d first gotten to town and still had some money, she’d bought a couple of what she thought of as movie star dresses, very immodest, especially in front, but she hadn’t been able to wear them since she’d made the first movie. They made her feel too much like a whore. But that night, she said, she put one on and turned in the mirror, happily. She imagined him looking at her and thinking, all for me? And then taking him home and giving him everything and making him happy. That night they went out to LaRue and he looked at her just as she’d imagined, and then they’d had a wonderful dinner and gone back to his house. His house surprised her. It was just like somebody’s aunt’s house, with a big flowered armchair in the middle of the front parlor. He was back in the kitchen, getting ice for their drinks, and she was wandering around the room, a little nervous so that she had to remind herself to put down her purse, and she was looking at things. There was a door to the side of the parlor, and she opened it and peeked inside and stopped. In there was a plain-looking bedroom, and in the corner of the room was a movie camera on a stand. Halliday came out of the kitchen holding two drinks, saw her standing there, and made a face. “Looking over the old workroom, huh?”

  “You make those movies,” she told him.

  “Sure. I told you, I’m a hood. I do lots of things. C’mon, close the door. Let’s not think about things like that tonight.”

  She was shaking her head. “You make those movies.”

  “Rebecca,” he said softly. “What? C’mon. I do worse things’n movies. I told you.”

  “You didn’t tell me movies.”

  “Well, what do you care? I’m not in them myself. That’s just, that’s just work.”

  “Yes? Work? And what am I?”

  He stared at her. He looked like he’d been kicked.

  “What?” he said. “Aw, no. Oh, no, no, you can’t be thinking like that. Look, if I sold shoes, and I met you and I asked you to dinner, would you say, that guy only wants me so he can sell me a pair of shoes? That’s work. You’ve got nothing to do with that.”

  “Yes, I do. I have had to do with that. I’ve had everything to do with it.”

  He was silent.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Well, I’m sorry, too. What do you mean, you’re sorry?”

  “I’m sorry. I have to go now. I’m sorry, I can’t see you any more.”

  “Look, you’re upset.”

  “I’m sorry. I have to go now. Good night. I’m sorry.”

  “Go? Just like that?” he said.

  “Just like that,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

  He closed his eyes then. She’d never forget it, no matter how long she lived. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, they were different eyes. It was as if there was a mechanism in his head that had rolled away the old eyes and rotated a new pair into position, the same size and color as the first, but horrible. He stood there, the new eyes looking at her from inside the old face. It was the worst thing she’d ever seen.

  �
��Enjoy the car,” he said.

  She just stood there, staring at the eyes.

  “I must be the biggest, the biggest goddamn fool,” he said quietly. “No, take the car. Take it. I’m not in the mood for it back right now.”

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll—”

  “I’ll take it some other night.”

  “Okay,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

  “Some night, some night when you’re out riding? When you’re out some night. Miles from anywhere,” he said quietly.

  She’d listened to the rest of it then, her torn stockings, her black legs and bleeding feet, and the farm hands, and how she’d love it, but by that time she’d snatched her purse up and was stumbling out the door. She slammed it and ran across the lawn and got into her car. No, it was his car now. Hood, she thought, hood hood, you can’t talk like that to a hood, you can’t do that to a hood, he’ll kill you, I don’t know what he’ll do, you can’t. She was holding the wheel, getting control of herself again. She told herself she had to think. She thought, You can’t say you will to a hood and then you don’t. All right, she told herself. All right. You have to give him what you said. You have to do what you said, she thought, the way she’d told herself when she’d first came into the room, that first room, months ago, with the man and the other man with the camera and the bed. You can do this, you’ve done it enough. She got out of the car again and went steadily up the walk. She rang the bell.

  When he opened the door, his face looked sorry, as if it wanted to apologize. It was wet with tears, as if the eyes were hurting him, but it was the same eyes looking out as before. Still, she made herself stand there and not run. It’s just him, she told herself, just him and he’s upset. She said, “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to trick you. I’ll stay with you tonight. I’ll stay with you all weekend, just so you see, just so you know it’s not that. It’s that I can’t be your girl. Because of the movies, but I never meant to trick you, and you can have me and get me out of your system, because you think I’m something that I’m not. I’ll stay with you and you can have everything and that way you’ll see I’m nothing special,” and then she stopped, because he was walking toward her.