A couple of hours into the job, she felt that a break was well-deserved. Her eyes traveled to the panel that Beltran had popped open earlier in search of a drink. She wasn’t necessarily looking for a shot herself; she just wanted to know how it worked. But before taking a crack at it, she walked over to the door and popped her head out into the corridor, peering around the jamb. Looking down the hall, she perceived a tall blonde man coming out of one of the staterooms. He didn’t see her, nor did it appear that he had heard her either. Instead, he bounded up the steps at the opposite end of the corridor with a bounce that said that he was well-satisfied with the way things were going in the world that day.
With no one else in view down that side of the corridor, she looked the other direction: only the door at the end leading to the main stateroom, and it was closed. Neither was there any noise coming from its interior. About an hour ago, she heard Ms. Lorraine get up from her nap and exit. Since then, no one had entered that room; she was sure of it.
Satisfied that she could take a peek at the panel without too much fear, she walked up to the wall behind Beltran’s desk, gingerly fingering the edges of the panel that the bottles of gin and tonic water had miraculously appeared behind. She couldn’t see anything, but as her fingers traced the inset, they came upon a small protrusion. It felt very much like the tip of a wire and felt almost as sharp. She played around with it for a while, pushing it to the left, pulling it with her fingernail to the right, until she finally tried pressing it directly into its tiny aperture. She heard the click of release on the other side of the panel just as she heard the click of the doorknob behind her.
She whipped around to see a brown-haired man in a brown suit walk in. He didn’t see her at first, but it wasn’t long before he did. Anna, frozen in front of the now ajar panel, tried to look as innocent as possible. The man didn’t say a thing. He just smiled at her, a grim smile, but a smile no less, then turned and walked back out the door. She quickly clicked the panel closed again and resumed her work (and her place) at the other end of the office.
*
It would be another full two hours before she finally made sense of the desk that she was given. Not only were the files now justified in being called “in order,” she had tended to the badly-tended typewriter, oiling the back rod, changing the ribbon, and brushing the type so that the keys would be ready to respond to her fingers whenever she pulled off the cover.
After she had finished her task, she looked at the gilded clock on Beltran’s desk. 6:45. Just enough time to go down to her cabin on the lower deck and clean up before dinner. Black ink smudges on her fingertips and grease stains on her arms would not fly at the dinner table. She made her way down the corridor to the forward steps and descended to the crew level.
At the bottom, she crashed into a blonde man in a blue suit, the same blonde man she had seen springing up the steps to the main deck earlier. Anna ended up on the floor while he barely paused to mumble what could have been an apology before rushing back up the stairs.
“Jerk,” Anna said aloud to herself.
“Yes, I was just about to say that myself. Although, I would have chosen a different name.” Anna looked up to see a thoroughly good looking man standing above her holding out a hand. “I had a mind to rush after him and teach him a lesson, but I couldn’t very well leave you on the floor while doing so. Name’s O’Connell.”
“Thank you Mr. O’Connell. I couldn’t have gotten up without you.”
He smiled as he pulled her up, held her ink smudged hand in his grasp a little longer than necessary, and then began his own assent up the steps.
A thrilling shiver went down her spine as she watched him ascend those stairs. She had always liked a man with strong hands, and his firm grip and the ease at which he had lifted her up only hinted at the power in the rest of his arms. He’s like Samson, without the hair.
Shiver spent, she walked passed the galley where Moreau was dexterously deboning a salmon and then passed the chef’s cabin to reach her own on the other side. But before she could open the door, she spotted Forster emerging from the cabin at the far end of the passage. It’s like command central down here. Not wanting a confrontation with Forster to ruin the perfectly pleasant feeling created by the biblically proportioned O’Connell, she avoided his gaze and disappeared into her own cabin.
13
Duck, Duck, Goosefeathers
* * *
Beltran was right. Moreau’s duck was fabulous. Crispy skin. Succulent juice. Tender meat. Anna had to consciously restrain her groans of ecstasy and the mad desire to pick up her plate to lick it clean. In addition to the braised duck, there was squash in rosemary butter, fresh sourdough bread from the wharf, and whole summer fruits fresh from the market that very morning. It was fortunate for Anna that food was not the only nourishment that evening, or she may have burst a seam.
“You did what?” exclaimed Eva.
“I turned the bathroom on the lower level into a darkroom. Surely Daniels doesn’t mind, do you Daniels? Have some photographs drying in there right now.”
“Actually Hess . . .” Daniels began to object.
“Nonsense, I will take care of the chemicals myself, and if I do spill something, we can cover it with a rug. I have some interesting photos from Monterey that I think Smith will find very interesting.”
The whole party was now aboard and gathered around the table in the dining saloon. Apparently the day’s excursion not only brought back film just begging to be developed but the remnants of a couple’s spat between a director and his wife as well as one extra soul.
“And what do you do Miss . . . I’m sorry could you please tell me your name again,” Eva turned to the platinum plated brunette who had joined the evening’s festivities thanks to an invitation from Hess.
“Temple. But please call me Candi,” replied the platinum tart.
“She’s a singer, down at the Embarcadero Club.” Hess put his arm around his newly acquired acquaintance. “Sounds like an angel.”
“I’m not sure you’d know what an angel sounded like Hess if one sat on your shoulder and belted the Hallelujah Chorus into your in ear.”
“Like they count you as one of their holy numbers, Eva”
Beltran was seated at the head of the table with Eva on his left, while Anna occupied the seat on his right. On the other side of Eva was Captain Daniels, a completely charming man with a smooth face and equally smooth black hair. Though he accepted and liked the moniker, he didn’t really captain the Allura at all, but his name was on the title. Next to Daniels were Marian Ocello, another noted actress, and her husband, director Antonio Ocello; Toni to his friends. Finishing off that side of the table was a man with average looks, an average suit, and a thoroughly average name, John Smith. The same man who had walked in on Anna down in the office. He said nothing throughout the meal. Just looked at his plate and chewed methodically, unemotionally, on the braised duck without ever looking up, not even when addressed directly by Hess. When Beltran had introduced him to Anna, he could not add anything to the introduction to set Mr. Smith apart except that he was a professor. An odd man to take with you on vacation. Couldn’t even say what he professed. Smith added no conversation at the table, nor did he seem to add life to the party in any way. And he certainly doesn’t seem to be enjoying himself.
To the right of Anna was Mr. O’Connell to whom Daniels entrusted the management of the Allura, but whose friendship elevated him above “crew” status, even above lower deck living as he occupied a stateroom on the forward end of the upper deck. Next to him was actor William Hess, the man accredited for the success of “Blue Herring” the latest box office smash, and the purported reason for this particular celebration. He was donning the blue suit Anna had seen him in earlier. Blonde and blue-eyed with a strong cleft chin, it was no wonder he made the women in the audience swoon. Next to him was the young platinum, Candi to her friends (and anyone else she happened to meet), another who did not add much to the
conversation; however, it was not for the want of words, unfortunately.
On the other side of Platinum, sat a Mr. Stuart. Stu and his wife, Una (sitting over there at the far end of the table), had been recommended to Beltran by his wife. He, apparently, was of old money; she a successful horror actress from another studio whose contract was coming to a close in the very near future. It was hoped that on this trip, she could be convinced to ditch her current provider and come work for Loew’s. So far, it was looking promising, except for Hess’s tendency to acquire the extra dinner guest a time or two.
After assurances from Hess that he would take care of any casualties done by his developing chemicals to the crew’s bathroom, talk turned to the excursion that half of the party took that day into the city. Una and Stu were happily relating to Daniels their journey into Chinatown with Marian and Toni. The Ocellos themselves added little to the topic, only nodding when applied to by Una. Apparently the director’s wife was still very unhappy with the director due to a certain joke he made about her hair earlier in the day, and both were not enthused enough with the day’s outing to offer any positive input on the subject beyond what was being stated by the Stuarts. Anna, however, was more interested in the present exchange between Beltran, Eva, Platinum, and Hess concerning the latest news that tantalized the lips of most of those in the city.
You could hear it in hushed tones everywhere: The burning of another body. Apparently this was the third one in the greater bay area. Several more had been reported in the south. Hess insisted that he had heard of at least twenty more as far up as Canada. Always the same pattern: Eyes gouged and bottled while the bodies had been burnt. The San Francisco locals used to believe that they were immune to the violence that had dominated much of the East and Midwest due to prohibition. Now it appeared that the gangs that plagued those eastern cities had finally set their sights on the golden riches of the western state, tarnishing its polished reputation.
“It looks like California has its own Capone,” Hess chuckled between bites of duck.
“California Capone,” mused Beltran. “Has a nice ring to it.”
Hess began describing the latest murder in graphic inaccuracy, when O’Connell leaned over to Anna, evidently wanting to change the subject.
“So where do you come from Miss Kelly?”
Engrossed in listening to all the gory details related by Hess, Anna started at being spoken to. Fortunately, she managed to keep her dress free from spill this time.
“Oklahoma.”
“Really? That’s quite a ways. What brings you out here to California?” His eyes expressed a genuine interest, and it was not hard for her to respond with a smile. But before she could answer, someone beat her to the punch.
“What brings every other Okie to California, Shamus. Work.” Eva had lifted one eyebrow, giving him a significant look.
O’Connell looked from Anna to Eva as if to say: Let the girl answer for herself, then looked back at Anna politely and expectantly.
“It’s true. There isn’t much work to be had in the Midwest, and my aunt owns a temporary help agency in Sausalito. She was kind enough to offer me a job and a place to stay.”
“Wait, did you say your name was Kelly?” piped up Hess. “Your aunt’s not Jane Kelly is she?”
“Yes,” Anna said tentatively.
“That’s right decent of you Beltran,” laughed Hess. “Trying to make up for the past?”
“Jane Kelly?” Marian now joined in the conversation. “Why does her name sound familiar? Hold on, isn’t she the one that Neilson . . . .” She was not able to finish as Eva loudly cleared her throat. Hess tried to finish for her.
“Yeah, the one that Neilson cut at the Orph- ”
“Hess!” Eva glared at him.”
“What it’s not like it’s some secret.” He looked to Anna expecting her to agree.
“Actually, I don’t know much about it.” She looked to him with doe eyes. “Perhaps you could shine some light.”
Surprised, “You don’t? We-hell, let me enlighten you. It’s a hell of a story. Would make a great film if Beltran wasn’t so mishish about it happening to one of his girls.”
“Hess. Stop.” warned Eva.
“What? She’s entitled to know.”
“But you’re not entitled to tell. It’s insensitive and hardly dinner conversation,” replied Eva.
Slow to speak, Beltran finally started his own defense, “Jane Kelly was not just ‘one of my girls,’ Hess. She was a real talent, and I would like her to be remembered for all she accomplished, not . . .”
“You act like she actually died. Anyway, that didn’t stop you from doing that flick on . . .”
“End of the subject Hess.”
It appeared Beltran could play the role of a lamb, but when push came to shove, there was no question who ran the show, and the subject was dropped. Even so Hess smiled as if he had gained a victory.
14
A Damn Good Broad
* * *
Forster couldn’t believe his luck. Of all the broads! Serves me right. He picked up a glass Moreau had just washed and began drying it with systematic care, cursing the fates that had put Anna on the Allura. No good could come of it. Shit. He hung the glass above him on the rack and reached for another. Moreau, who was usually talkative, was half-humming half-singing a Parisian show tune, blissfully unaware of the storm clouds that raged above the head of the Allura’s newest steward.
From what he could tell, she had received his message loud and clear: Stay the hell away from me! But would she stay silent as well? Even if most of what passed between them on the train was a tangle of lies and half-truths, the very knowledge that he had been on that train could land him in Dutch. Shit! He no longer had the security of being an absolute unknown. His little game had cost him his ace, and the only person he could blame was himself. It wasn’t her fault. She didn’t ask for him to drop in on her yesterday at the breakfast table. And the worst of it? He actually liked the kid. Damn! He hated who he had to be, but there was no way around it now.
“That Miss Kelly, she seems a nice girl.”
“Hmm? What? Yeah, I guess so.” The sudden intrusion of Moreau into his thoughts didn’t faze him. Though he wished Moreau could have chosen a better subject.
“You guess so? It’s not often a girl like that comes around. I tell you, if I were younger, and unmarried . . . .” He gave Foster the eye and left it up to him to finish his thought for him.
“She doesn’t seem all that special.” Forster picked up another glass.
“Mark my words Finn, Hollywood beauties may have the looks, but this girl, she’s got brains and good ones too. Could tell just by looking at her.”
Forster let out an involuntary snicker.
“You laugh! Good brains and a good heart. That is what matters in a woman. If I were you, I wouldn’t waste any time. That O’Connell has already got his eye on her, and he’s heavy competition.”
“I’m not here to get dizzy with some dame, Moreau. I just need the money. In a week, I’ll be gone again.”
“I just saying, a man like you could do with a good woman.”
“What do you know? You haven’t seen me in years.”
“I remember Pearl, and what you did for her. It showed me what kind of man you are, despite what everyone else thinks, even you.”
Forster coughed and grew sober. “That was then. I don’t want to talk about it.”
Moreau sighed and, with an eye of hopeless entreaty, looked up to the heavens, which were currently being blocked by a ceiling full of hanging glasses.
Light footsteps on the stairs behind caused them both to quiet and turn. Anna appeared from around the corner.
“Mr. Finnegan?” She couldn’t help the left end of her mouth twisting up.
“Yes?” The cold glare he gave her didn’t seem to have any effect on those lips.
“The party is asking for drinks and sent me to fetch you.” Her tone was polite and distant
, but he could see it in her eyes that she was laughing at him.
“I’ll be right up.”
In response, she turned on her heel and left.
Forster took his towel and threw it on the sink. Good heart my ass! As if he could read minds, Moreau laughed. Forster shot him a withering look, which of course, had no effect on Moreau. He was losing his touch. He left Moreau standing there clutching his middle trying keep his innards from shaking with laughter. Nope. No good can come from this, Forster thought as he mounted the stairs to the main deck. Shit!
15
Hess Shoots a Valentine
* * *
“Shut up Hess!” cried Eva in disgust as she glanced at Marian with concern.
“What? You have to admit, they control most of the banks here in America, not to mention Europe. If it wasn’t for their money grubbing, the economy wouldn’t be in such a mess. We are better off shipping them all back to where they came from.”
Marian stood up abruptly and left the deck.
The party had gathered on the aft deck for after dinner cocktails. Forster was busy behind the small mobile bar as the onboard radio crackled with “When You’re Smiling” in the low growl of Louis Armstrong. Producer, director, actresses, actor with wannabe actress friend, old money, average man, and temporary secretary were all seated on the banquette, while Daniels and his first mate were in the lounge chairs on either side of the bench forming a horseshoe designed perfectly for lively and pleasant conversation; perfect, that is, until the conversation turned to politics.
“Really Hess, I know you’re big on free speech, but sometimes you are better off holding your tongue!” seethed Eva.
The Golden Gates Page 7