Her thoughts kept racing through her mind, which was unfortunate, because she knew that lack of sleep usually caused her to be more critical and sarcastic beyond what was forgivable, and that was something she did not need on this job.
Footsteps.
Anna sat up. Who could be up at this hour?
No light came on under the door. The footsteps were followed by a door squeaking. Then a strange humming sound. It grew closer, stopped with a sputter, and after a few minutes sputtered to life again before gradually dying away as it faded into the distance. The sound of door hinges came again. The footsteps came back, grew louder, softer. Then all was silent.
What was that about? Despite the mystery of the nocturnal noises and the possibility that they might relate to the heavy air of apprehension around her, it didn’t outweigh the current Forster dilemma. Should she say something? Should she try to talk to him? Should she talk to Beltran? At least she knew the answer to the last question: NO!
She tried to think of other things. Her mind wandered back to Oklahoma. No. That was no good either. Thoughts of family just made a sleepless night worse. 100, 99, 98, 97, . . . 2, 1. Well, that didn’t work. It was nearing 3:30 when her lids finally grew heavy, then there was a knock on the door.
“Kelly!” came a hoarse whisper.
“Hmmm?”
“Kelly!”
The added resonance of vocal chords revealed the furtive whisper to be Mr. Beltran. Anna sat up and dropped her feet to the floor. “Eeesh!” The floor was like ice. C’mon Anna, this is no time to be dingy. Gritting her teeth, she reached for her sweater, wrapping it around her shoulders. And with great fortitude, Miss Kelly walked across the glacial surface toward the door and opened it.
“Ah, Miss Kelly. I am glad you are up. I have the greatest idea for a film.”
“Yes, Mr. Beltran. Let me get my shoes and I will be with you shortly.”
“I will be in the cigar room grabbing a drink. Do you want anything?”
The thought crossed her mind. Better not. “I will take a tonic water with lime if you please, sir.”
“That’s it?” came the dubious reply.
“Yes sir. I find that alcohol inhibits my work.”
“Don’t want that.”
“No sir.”
“I’ll meet you in the office in five minutes.”
“Yes, sir.” Anna closed the door. She could feel the circles under her eyes hollow.
She hastily dressed sans corset, tugged the same sweater up over her arms and shoulders before pulling shoes on over bare feet. No time for stockings. Nana Kelly would have a fit. Sorry Nana, no time for modesty.
Anna slipped out into the passageway and up the stairs to the stateroom level. As she was passing one of the main deck cabins on her way to the office, she heard muffled voices behind the door.
“Wo sind sie?”
“Ich weiß nicht noch,” came the whisper of reply.
“Sie wissen nicht! Wir laufen aus Zeit heraus. Jene Pläne . . .!” This particular voice, which had been steadily increasing in volume, was suddenly cut off.
Down the passage, Anna could see a shadow in the form of Beltran step out into the corridor from the office. Heels clicking, she hastily made her way down the passage to join him before he called out. Behind her, she could hear the knob of the cabin door click open. She passed through the office entrance without daring to glance behind her, wishing she hadn’t worn her shoes.
17
Breakfast in the Galley
* * *
Forty-five minutes later, Anna crawled back into her bunk. This time sleep was not so hard to come by. Beltran’s dictation session was both monotonous and monotone. It had required all her efforts to remain focused on the task at hand, and by the end all other thoughts and concerns, even the mystery of the voices behind the door, were successfully silenced by the constant clicking of the typewriter keys beneath her fingers. Now back in her berth, her eyelids drooped within seconds of her head hitting her pillow, and she lost all consciousness of the world around her.
Around 9:30 the next morning, there was a sharp rap of knuckles on her door. Her eyes opened, closed, then opened again. They were just about to close once more when the knock came a second time. More aware, she realized that the light pouring in through the porthole was much brighter than it should have been. Immediately, she rolled over and plunked to the floor with a resounding thud. Feet that were presumably under the same ownership as the hand that knocked walked away, apparently satisfied that their mission was accomplished: Anna was up.
Anna hastily dressed and ran her fingers through her hair. She washed her face in the small sink inside her cabin and dabbed a bit of powder across her nose to minimize the contrast of her freckles. Appearance tolerable, she headed upstairs to the dining saloon, hoping against hope that she didn’t miss breakfast.
Entering the dining saloon through the cigar room door, she saw indeed that the table had been cleared, the chairs set aside, and the buffet empty. Looking out the window, she could see the party sitting out on the aft deck. The women were wrapped in flannel blankets, the men in overcoats smoking cigars and pipes. All apparently satiated and enjoying the fresh morning air that hovered over the bay.
Her stomach was snarling in jealousy when the door clicked open behind her. She turned to see Forster walking in with a quiet nonchalance that was extremely irritating on an empty stomach. “Good morning Miss Kelly.”
“Good morning, Mr. Finnegan.” Despite all her desire and effort to respond with the same cold apathy he displayed, the lack of sleep and nourishment caused an involuntary sneer when it came to pronouncing his new name.
The familiar mocking turn that had been absent since the train ride returned to the corner of his mouth. “Please, call me Finn.”
Finn? Of all the nerve! Exasperation seethed behind her eyes, but before it could issue forth from her mouth, he cut her short. “If you hurry, you might catch Moreau before he throws out breakfast.” And with that he tucked a cigarette between his lips and walked passed her out the door leading portside.
His exit twisted an interior valve releasing the pressure that had been building up inside her, but it still left the emotions steaming hot. Finn, my sweet bippy! Her stomach growled, reminding her that other parts of her mechanisms needed tending to. She walked back through the cigar room and down two flights of steps to the galley. Moreau was furiously chopping and dicing, preparing for a lunch excursion that had been scheduled that day.
“Mr. Moreau?”
“Oui, Chérie!” He paused only for a second to point his chef’s knife over to the oven where a plate was keeping warm on the stove. “It was lucky that Finn told me you were still sleeping. You might have had to satisfy yourself with stale bread and water. I have saved a bit of everything for you. Duck pâté from last night’s dinner, croutes with goat cheese and lochs, peaches with crème, and a little bit of omelet. Careful it is hot.”
“Finn told you?” The smell was celestial and Anna could hardly believe her luck. She grabbed an extra towel and reached for the plate.
“Coffee is in the pot.” Moreau pointed the sharp blade from the plate to the pot and then to the rack above. “Cups are up there. Extra utensils are in that drawer there.” His knife returned the task at hand, and the chef continued to talk as Anna, with her free hand, searched for a fork in the appointed drawer.
“The party is going ashore today to Golden Gate Park. I understand you are expected to attend with them.”
“Is there anything that I should be particularly mindful of while I am around them? I’ve never been around movie people before.”
A sly expression simmered across the chef’s features. "Mon cher, they are just ordinary people prone to ordinary weakness. You are intelligent. Flattery here, discretion there . . . Avoid Hess, he is a cur, especially when it comes to les femmes.” He turned and nodded significantly at her. “Ms. Lorraine can be aloof, but I wouldn’t take it personally. Smith . . .?
” The knife stopped, “I don’t trust Smith.”
“Why?”
“I don’t like the look of him. He’s . . . tres laid. Yes, very ugly.” The knife started chopping again.
Anna let out an involuntary laugh. “But surely that is not a crime.”
“Where I come from it is. You would do fine chérie,” looking her up and down, “but he, he would be drawn and quartered!” His tongue produced several tsks.
“What part of France do you come from Monsieur Moreau?”
“The lower part,” he smiled at Anna and winked. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to make a market list for Finn.”
18
Botany, Biology, and Geology
* * *
The Allura pulled in next to the pier. The fog that socked in the bay earlier had burned off revealing a warm and golden sun. Beltran offered his arm to Eva and led her down the gangplank to the wooden planks of the pier. Marian and her husband followed. Hess stepped out solo leaving Platinum wanting an arm, a hint that she should have taken right away but, alas, didn’t. Instead, she hurried after him, slipping her arm into his. Daniels offered Anna his own arm, and she took it willingly as the gangplank was still slippery from the morning’s condensation. Stu and Una followed ten minutes later as she had insisted on adding yet another layer of mascara to her already heavily blackened lashes.
Anna was disappointed to hear that O’Connell was staying aboard. Apparently there were some maintenance issues with the yacht’s engines that needed his close attention. Forster, of course, would also remain behind. He was only a crew member after all, and since the party was not in need of his particular kind of services . . . on land . . . in a public place . . . under the exposing midday sun . . . cops as well as other members of the public milling about everywhere, of course the “steward” would stay on board to do what normal stewards usually do when left behind. Anna, herself, had not seen the man since he had popped his head into the dining saloon that morning, so he must be doing something to keep himself busy.
With the two men who caused her head to spin the most absent, she would have to content herself with the plush green pleasures of Golden Gate Park. Feeling the warm sun on her back and the muscles in her shoulders beginning to relax for the first time since boarding the Allura yesterday, it seemed a fairly reasonable trade.
The entire group now gathered on the pier, Anna expected them to set out immediately. What were they waiting for? Heavy footsteps on the on the gangplank answered her question. She turned to see Forster and Michaels, Moreau’s hired waiter for the day, descending from the yacht, both in starched white shirts and old-fashioned sleeve garters carrying a large wicker basket between them. Apparently, Beltran’s idea of a romantic outing. Having eaten breakfast later than the routine hour, Anna had forgotten that lunch was to be included in their tour of the park.
“Ah,” said Beltran. “Looks like we are ready to go. Finnegan, you remember the spot where I showed you on the map? We will meet you in about an hour.” Forster nodded and the two set off.
Eva still on his right arm, Beltran extended his other to Anna, releasing Daniels from the task of keeping her upright. “Now Eva, you need to help me convince Miss Kelly here to read a few lines for me from A Love to Die For. I am sure she could do for the part of Liza or Miss Molly as you my dear will surely be playing the lead.”
“Darling, you haven’t even told me what it’s about. Why don’t you tell us the plot and who the characters are. Miss Kelly might not want to play a bit part.” She smiled warmly at Beltran, but her eyes were on Anna.
“I am not really an actress, Mr. Beltran.” Anna tried to be firm.
“So you’ve told me, but I think with Eva’s help, we can get you in front of the camera.”
Anna blushed with displeasure. It wasn’t that she was against the film industry; she just wasn’t interested in life in front of the camera.
One of Eva’s eyebrows lifted, recognizing her sentiments. “I think between James and I, we might be able to convince you. Go on James, tell us more about it.”
Beltran led the women towards two cars parked at the end of the pier, one of which was a cream Cadillac V16. Built for seven passengers, most of the party would be traveling in style to the park. The others would follow in a black Cadillac V12, only slightly less comfortable. Forster and Michaels had already been sent ahead in a cab.
Hess separated Platinum from his arm and began a hushed conversation while hailing a second taxi. What resulted was a black and yellow car pulling up to the curb and a hard slap in the face for Hess. Platinum got into the cab, and Hess handed an unnumbered amount of bills to the driver. Rubbing his jaw with light grin, he walked back and joined the party just as Beltran left the group to give directions to the driver of the Caddie V16.
“Throw back another fish, Hess?” laughed Eva coolly.
“You know I believe in being humane Eva. Catch and release only.”
“For once you’re right Hess. It would be cruelty for any woman to be saddled with you.”
“Just like to horse around.”
“Spoken like a true jackass.”
Not affronted, quite the opposite in fact, “So, Ms. Lorraine, how did you sleep last night?”
“Well, thank you.” Eva answered curtly.
He walked closer to her and said in a low voice, “I bet you did. You in the market for a new stud?”
“Shut up Hess,” snapped Eva. Beltran was walking back to the group.
“I think we have everything squared away. We’ll take a scenic route through the park, do some walking through the botanical gardens, and then have lunch on the lawn. How does that sound to you Eva?”
Eva replied with warm approval, “Splendid. I think we’ve wasted enough time waiting for Hess here to wrap up his business.”
“Yes, er . . . , Hess try not to pick up any strays this time.”
*
The party wound around the paths of Golden Gate Park much like a nomadic amoeba. It would stretch, change shape, and contract as the endoplasm of speaking partners grew to groups of three and four, shrink down to one, back up to two all while moving forward as one unit with Beltran as the guiding nucleus holding them all together. At some point, however, his guidance failed, for the amoeba reproduced and split into two, with one small bit of endoplasm wandering off in another direction with a new nucleus. A new nucleus named Eva.
The split seemed to happen without thought or planning. One moment the group was together and the next, subtly diminished by two bodies. Anna herself hadn’t noticed when it happened. Like the others in the party, she had meandered from person to person and group to group in endless conversation, until ultimately she had found herself walking alone. Her mind drifted from the scenery, to her family, back to the yacht, to the people around her, and (now looking about with surprised curiosity) to those who were absent, I wonder what happened to those two? The present enigma brought to mind the troubling mysteries of the night before. Why was it that so many people seemed to be awake last night? What was all that noise about? And who was speaking Deutsch behind that cabin door?
‘Wir laufen aus Zeit heraus.’ We’re running out of time. How can you be running out of time on a cruise meant for leisure?
She was able to pick out a few of the words due to her rudimentary knowledge of “low” German thanks to her mother’s side of the family, but the dialect behind the door was not the back-country Russian-German her immigrant ancestors had spoken on their arrival to the Americas. Much of what was said was lost on her. However, her focus now was not so much on what was said, but who said it. One was definitely a man. The first speaker had carelessly let his voice rise above a whisper, causing his vocal chords to resonate his masculinity. The second, unfortunately, did not. And, as no one could be in two places at once, neither one of the voices could belong to Beltran. Unless of course, he is a ventriloquist. But that was highly doubtful.
Anna looked at the backs of the individuals who were
walking ahead of her. The director and his wife were wandering a few feet off to the left. Maybe it was their room she passed. Were the husband and wife up talking in the middle of the night? She’s Jewish. Could she have emigrated from Germany? Jewish migration from Eastern Europe had been on the rise since the brownshirts had gained popularity. What about him? By all accounts he was a native Italian, not German. But Italy and Germany are not more than 100 miles apart. He could very well know Deutsch. Her eyes drifted to a pair of narrow shoulders a little further ahead. Smith was walking with Beltran. What about Smith? He was a good possibility. She had only heard him speak a few words here and there, but there was no mistaking his accent. What did Moreau say about him? He was ugly. Was that really why he didn’t like him? In truth, he wasn’t really all that bad to look at either. Come to think of it, who on board wasn’t? It’s unnatural! Must be a Hollywood thing. Smith just looks average next to the glamour set. What was the real reason Moreau didn’t trust him? Moreau’s French. Smith is German. There’s a lot of bad blood between France and Germany. It’s quite possible that has something to do with it. Geez! Moreau’s French, Marian is Jewish, Toni’s Italian, O’Connell’s Irish, so is Forster. No wait, Forster’s not Irish! At least, I don’t think so. Crap. I don’t know what he is anymore. At least two people speak German, whether or not Smith is one of the two I heard last night, I can’t be sure. I’m an Okie. All we need is a priest, a rabbi, and an atheist and we’ll have a complete floating library of bad bar jokes.
The Golden Gates Page 9