Collecting her nerves after successfully silencing the tinny demon, she wondered if anyone else had heard its rampage. She wrapped a thin pink robe edged in tiny black feathers (a provision of Aunt Jane’s) around her shoulders before quietly opening her door. Peering around the jamb and down the hall, she could smell the aroma of bacon, butter, and toast drifting up from the stairwell at the back of the house. When it was apparent that she, at least, was not at fault for waking Aunt Jane, Anna ambled down the stairs and into the kitchen to see her aunt at the greasy enamel stovetop, cigarette holder aloft in one hand, a spatula in the other, frying up eggs in a pool of rich melted butter.
Catching a glimpse of Anna out of the corner of her eye, she looked up at her with a twisted grin. “You really ought to get rid of that thing,” Jane croaked. “My nice neighbors won’t be so friendly if they have to wake up to that hellish sound every morning.” Color rose to Anna’s cheeks. “Oh, don’t get all bothered. I never liked them anyway. They have a dog that craps on my lawn. A little white mutt they call a poodle. If that’s a poodle, my Sam,” pointing her cigarette holder to an oversized Maine Coon sleeping in the window, “is a pink puma. If you like, I can give you a wake up knock. That is when your first assignment is over, of course. Did I tell you that you would be staying on a motor yacht while working for him? I did? Well, apparently it’s the cat’s meow. All of Hollywood charters that thing for their 12-mile limit cruises.”
“12-mile limit?”
“It’s the imaginary line drawn in the ocean that marks the end of the FPB’s jurisdiction. Not that that stops anybody from drinkin’ right here in the city. Never stopped me.” The last sentence was spoken so low that it almost escaped her niece’s ears. Almost. A shadow of humor flitted across Anna’s face unnoticed by the aunt who was suddenly so intent on the eggs. “Now, I know your daddy is a religious, law-abiding man, but I don’t want your prejudices to cause you to lose work or to cost me my reputation. You go and just watch yourself. You can decline any drinks they offer, but make sure you don’t go condemnin’ where you have no business to.”
Obviously Jane was not aware of the bottle of whiskey Papa kept below the floorboards in the kitchen on the farm. Of course not many people were, including Ma. Anna had not tasted the corn elixir herself; she could never get past the smell. There was, of course, that barrel of cider he kept near the door, but that was legal, a random concession written into the 18th Amendment.
“I understand Aunt Jane,” Anna spoke in innocent acquiescence contrasted by the rogue twinkle in her eye that was, again, lost on her aunt.
Assured that she had made her point, Aunt Jane slid the eggs from the iron skillet to a plate already piled high with bacon and toast. Looking up, “Now girl, you are as thin as a parched wheat stalk. You eat up and then we’ll see about getting you settled before we head to the pier. I told Beltran I’d have you there by noon.”
It was then that Anna first noticed the thin scarline that wrapped itself around the front of Aunt Jane’s throat.
11
Gin on the Rocks Ahead
* * *
Shamus O’Connell was standing on the pier next to the Allura, a stunning 136’ motor yacht with teak finishes that glistened in the midday sun. Son of an Irish fisherman, he was born with saltwater coursing through his veins and had a great appreciation for the Allura’s masculine lines and two powerful 11 ton Winston engines that propelled her through the ocean waves with ease and speed. He was checking the sides of the transom for wear when he saw a nice pair of stems walk by in short brown heels on the deck above him. He looked up to see who they were attached to and witnessed Anna closely following Mr. Beltran as he instructed her on her duties while on the yacht. So intent was she on taking notes, that she did not notice O’Connell standing there beneath her, so he felt free to admire those legs and the pretty face that went with them without the need to hide his appreciation. He watched the legs walk around the corner out of sight, then went back to work.
Anna followed the producer, a large man with a large personality, through a narrow door down a narrow passage. Arrayed in an expensive navy pinstripe suit well-tailored to fit the abundant form that clashed with the lean times, he led her to a small stateroom that had been transformed into his personal office, complete with a modern rosewood desk and leather chair. A smaller, simpler desk had been set up at the opposite end of the small room along with a Remington Portable and a straight wooden chair, clearly intended for his absent secretary. While Mr. Jones was recovering from his unfortunate ordeal, these were available for her use should she need to type up business notes or when Mr. Beltran wished to dictate letters. Of course she needed to be prepared to be called upon at any time, day or night. The middle of the night was when his most brilliant ideas for new films usually came to him, and it was essential that someone else be there to take them down for him because he needed his ideas to freely emerge from his mind without the added labor of typing. After all, he was a producer, not a writer. It wasn’t here that complex screenplays and award winning movies were written. He had not the talent for that. Admittedly so. That is why he employed screenwriters. But he knew what would bring audiences in and, consequently, their cash. Many of the most profitable films in Hollywood were spawned from inside the smooth, flashy dome that sat upon the shoulders of yours truly.
“I expect you to join us during meals and to enjoy yourself while you are here; this is supposed to be a vacation for me and Eva after all, as well as a party celebrating our newest release. Perhaps you’ve heard of it: ‘The Blue Herring?’ Third most profitable film in history.” She nodded politely and sat down, when he indicated, in the rigid chair belonging to the absent Mr. Jones. He then walked over to one of the dark mahogany panels that adorned the walls behind his desk and, with a simple touch, opened what had seemed to be a solid wood pane, revealing a small compartment inside. From its interior, he pulled out two glasses and two bottles. “Gin and Tonic?”
“No, thank you,” she replied courteously, though very intrigued by the cunning contraption.
Listening not being one of his strong suits, he began to pour one for her anyway as well as a one for himself that was particularly heavy on the gin, “Of course, you will need to be available at any time I require your services, but beyond that the time is yours. I will introduce you to most of our guests later as they are touring parts of the city at this time and will be joining us later.”
Sitting down in his own leather tufted chair, he changed the subject abruptly, “You know, your face would translate well to the silver screen; have you ever thought of acting? I know your aunt had talent in her day; I am sure she is not the only one in your family with a knack for acting.”
At that instant Eva Lorraine, Hollywood siren, sauntered in, hips swaying in a way that highlighted each and every curve she possessed. She acknowledged Anna with a cynical smile and slithered over to the producer, draping her arms around his neck as she sat on his lap. He put his arm about her waist as she lithely stretched across him for the gin and tonic that Anna had left untouched.
“Dear, you are supposed to wait until we get past the 12-mile mark,” she spoke with that sultry voice she was so well-known for and then slyly winked at Anna across the rim before taking a delicate sip.
Beltran looked up at his famous wife, pride and adoration beaming on his face. “I was just trying to make our temp here feel a little more at ease. What do you think dear? Could she make it on the silver screen?”
“Oh, is that her angle?” She eyed Anna with mock analysis. Anna’s cheeks reddened under the gaze. Ms. Lorraine let out a merry laugh that resembled a small stream trickling over pebbles. “She’s got the bone structure, maybe a little more make-up, and something done to that hair, but I’m not sure she can handle the cut-throat business of Hollywood. Look at that angelic blush, all innocence. You know how malicious and jealous some actresses are. They’re liable to eat her up.” She took another sip of gin while her eyes continued to
laugh at Anna over the chilled glass. Anna got the impression there was far more behind those eyes than sheer amusement; a threat for one thing.
“Jane Kelly is her aunt. You remember Jane don’t you honey?”
“Hmm. Vaguely. Rather an odd old bird right? No offense sweetheart.” The last remark was casually directed at Anna without much apology lacing her words.
“A beauty in her day, though. Could sing like a meadowlark too. It’s a shame.”
“What’s a shame?” Anna looked from her employer to the film star with interest.
“Growing old dear,” was Eva’s quick cold reply as she tossed back the rest of the gin in a swift stiff motion that was out of character with the rest of her fluid movements; a fleeting glimpse of the undercurrents rippling beneath the seductive façade. The brief surfacing of the real woman underneath was not lost on Anna; Just as I assumed. Immediately after thinking it, the word assumed immediately transported her mind to the conversation she had with Forster on the train. He had called her on her naiveté device, the use of her guileless features to her own ends, in this case, to discover a little more about the characters of the pair in front of her. A small prick of guilt stung Anna’s cheeks. But alas, it was only a small prick and gotten over rather quickly.
The cherubic look of pure innocence that had drawn in so many of the unsuspecting to reveal their inner selves, had become a habitual and almost subconscious expression of Anna’s countenance, especially when she was seeking information. Looking younger than her years had been highly annoying at first. Her girlish face misled people into believing that she was a mere child, inexperienced and incapable of original thought or opinions. What she needed was looking after, was what one or two men had unwisely said to her before. In translation, she was weak, helpless, and stupid. Eva too had seen a naïve girl in front of her, but Anna’s pretty looks did not escape her notice either. She had perceived Miss Kelly as a threat even before she overheard her husband’s remark about Anna’s face being one that would “transfer well” to screen. Even a simple girl can turn the mind of a man fairly easily if she knows just a few tricks. Youth and beauty, a little confidence mingled with fragile femininity. That’s what made a Hollywood bombshell. Eva had learned the lesson herself early in her career, and years of practice and rehearsal had made her an expert in the use of a silken voice, a walk that accentuated every line of her body, and the bedroom eyes she now directed at Beltran. Men like her husband, were easy to handle if they thought you needed them. And there had been many men all too willing to “take care of Eva.” Unfortunately, the tiny imperceptible lines that had begun appearing around the corners of her eyes in the mirror each morning screamed her fallibility, even if they were still undetected by everyone else. They shook the once confident starlet, and she began to realize that her powers had a time-limit. Time was one thing she could not wield power over with swaying hips and a honey tongue, and though it was evident that Eva would not be warming up to her any time soon, Anna observed the actress with a sense akin to empathy. In truth, Anna herself was much closer to thirty than even she wanted to admit.
“Actually, I was referring to what happened at the Orpheum darling.” Beltran looked to Anna with apology. “Neilson wasn’t in his right mind.”
“What happened at the Orpheum?” Anna’s brows knitted in confusion.
“You don’t know? Jane was in the middle of -“
“James,” warned Eva under her breath.
“Neilson was -“
“James!”
“Oh, er . . . I, uh . . . sorry. Perhaps you should ask your aunt. Let me show you around the yacht. Like I said, most of the party is off somewhere in the city, but there are a few still here on board that you should meet. Smith is moaning about somewhere. Captain Daniels is here, as well as Mr. O’Connell, his first mate and close friend. Both good men. Most of the crew you need not bother about, but our chef, Moreau, is famous for his duck. Eva, darling, was he able to find a bartender to replace Jones?”
“Yes. Some Irishman from Chicago. A Mr. Finnegan I believe. Word is he used to work for Capone but doesn’t own up to it. Supposed to be really good.” Eva looked down into her glass, jingled the ice, and then set it back down. “Well dear, I’ll let you finish with Miss . . .” Eva looked again at Anna.
“Kelly, Anna Kelly,” replied Anna.
“Yes, well. Like I said dear, I’ll let you finish with Miss Kelly here. I am going to go and take a nap in the cabin.”
“It was so nice to meet you Ms. Lorraine. I’ve seen your movies in the picture houses and have always admired your work. You’re even more beautiful in person.”
Despite the blatantly obvious flattery, a chunk of ice melted off of Eva’s cold shoulder. “Thanks dear. Let me know if I can help you with anything.” She kissed Beltran on top of his shiny head leaving a red set of lips atop the glistening dome before slowly sauntering back out the door. Beltran watched her leave in a trance. With the lip imprint on his head and the love-struck smile on his face, it was hard to imagine that here sat one of the most powerful men in the film industry.
“Sir?”
No response.
“Sir?” Anna repeated this time a little louder. “You were going to show me around the yacht?”
Waking up from the spell, “Hmm? Oh, yes. Follow me.”
“Um, sir?” Anna said, pointing to her head, indicating that there was something on his. He reached up, gingerly touching the area where Eva had kissed him and then looked down at the crimson stain on the tips of his fingers.
“Ha! Thanks. I would have felt like a putz if I had walked around with this all day.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the linen square residing there, dipped it in some leftover ice, and wiped the area clean. Tucking the square back into his pocket, he led Anna out the door.
Leaving the stateroom slash office, they reentered the main deck passageway. Anna would have liked to have had her cabin on this elegant floor, but knew that it was highly unlikely, being a mere secretary, and a temporary one at that. They walked up a flight of steps to the upper deck before touring the cigar room and the dining saloon.
“Most of our dinners of course are here in the dining area, but the deck out here is where we hang out in the evenings.” Leaving the main saloon, the two stepped out onto the aft deck. This area was also floored and paneled in well-lacquered teak. A banquette lined the back of the yacht, its seat cushions, along with an abundance of pillows wrapped in navy, burgundy, and gold cloth. Four equally padded wicker chairs were also placed on deck to complete a conversational area with seating enough for 10, more if you squished, still leaving room for a small open area perfect for dancing.
The two began heading round the corner to the portside passage when they nearly crashed into two men coming the opposite way.
“Ah, Chef Moreau!” Beltran addressed the smaller of the two gentlemen. “I’d like you to meet Miss Anna Kelly. She is the temp taking over for Jones while he is recovering, poor soul.” Turning to the other, “And are you our new bartender? Mr. Finny . . . ah, what was it?”
“Mr. Finnegan, sir. Jack Finnegan.” The bartender grasped the producer’s outstretched hand.
“Let me introduce you to Miss Kelly.”
The bartender turned his eyes onto the curious face of Miss Anna Kelly.
He tipped his hat and smiled, “Miss Kelly.”
“Mr. Finnegan,” she replied with slight hesitation. She noted that though his lips were smiling warmly, his eyes threatened, and his jaw clenched just enough to enforce the threat.
“Well, if you’ll excuse us Mr. Beltran, I would like to show Finnegan here the bars and the galley.”
“Yes, yes, by all means.”
Beltran and Anna stepped aside as the other two brushed past them, the bartender menacingly closer to Anna than she felt was necessary, even in that narrow passage. He touched his hat to her again before turning to follow the chef around the corner. Anna’s eyes watched him disappear wit
h a knitted brow. What on earth is Forster doing here?
As she turned to follow Beltran towards the forward deck, she addressed him. “Sir, did I hear you right before, Finnegan is a replacement for someone else?”
“Yes, Jones.”
“Your secretary?”
“No that’s Mark Jones, a very reliable man. Elias Jones was a bartender we hired from a speakeasy down in Burbank. Not a bad mixer, but apparently he was hired more out of a favor to a friend than for his skill with a shaker.”
“What happened to him?”
“Funny thing that. He disappeared.”
“Disappeared?”
“Got off yesterday when the Allura was docked in the morning, and we haven’t seen him since. Left us in a pinch last night; we had to mix our own.”
“And you’re not concerned about him?”
“We figured something came up. It happens more often than you think. Especially with those who make their livings the way he does. I wouldn’t worry about him Miss Kelly.”
“Oh.” She glanced behind her one last time before continuing in the opposite direction.
12
Hello Nurse!
* * *
Once released by Beltran, Anna spent the rest of the afternoon in the office setting up her space. Jones the secretary had left things in rather a state, and she had to make some sense of it all before she could possibly be of any use to her new employer. Managing to sort through the files that were stacked without any semblance of order on the desk, she then turned to the drawers, which, hard to believe, were in an even sadder state. Eventually, she just pulled everything out and started anew. If Jones complained? Well, she would most likely be long gone by that time.
The Golden Gates Page 6