13
Ricky lowered the windows of the Porsche and opened the sun roof. He looked over at Roxy. “Do you mind if your hair blows around? It’s too nice a day to sit in a closed-up car.”
“I like the wind in my hair and on my face. I often wondered what it would be like to ride on the back of a motorcycle. I guess that’s the young, adventuresome girl in me that never quite left.”
“I still have a Harley from my wild young days. Say the word, and we can hit the road. I keep it in tip-top shape but haven’t been on it in over twenty years. The studio threatened to cancel my contract if I didn’t give it up.”
“Is there anything you didn’t do, Ricky?”
“That’s rather doubtful. The sad part of it is, Philly said I did it all, but I really don’t remember most of it. On second thought, let’s forget the Harley. If you like to ride around with the wind in your hair and face, I can either buy a convertible or an open-air Jeep.”
“You’d do that for me?” Roxy asked in awe.
“In an L.A. heartbeat.”
“Why are we talking about such silly things when I know you want to talk about those papers Gracie gave you?”
“It’s like making coffee and pouring it down the drain. It’s something to do so I don’t have to think or act on it because I’m afraid of what I’m going to find out about my brother. At the same time I’m wondering how it’s going to affect me.”
Roxy looked across at Ricky. She felt her heart flutter in her chest. She was falling in love with this man. Who was she kidding? She’d fallen in love with him the day he gave her back her old job.
“Oh, look, we’re here. I always loved this place,” Roxy said, pointing to a cozy little restaurant that looked like a Swiss chalet. “They have the best eggs Benedict. I always get those bananas they set on fire. That’s what I’m having. I didn’t eat a thing yesterday other than some chips on the plane. I’m starving.”
“I don’t think I ate either. We’re a pair, aren’t we?”
“Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you, not yes, we’re a pair.”
Ricky swerved into a parking space and, in stunned surprise, forgot to step on the clutch. The Porsche bucked and stalled. “You’re sure?” was all he could manage by way of words.
“I’m sure,” Roxy said softly. “I’m really sure. But not till the Crown Jewel is up and running. How would you feel about getting married there?”
“In the desert, in a tent, in a tree house, I don’t care. Do you want a big wedding, where you wear the white gown and I wear a white tux?”
“No, no, no. I think I’m a little too old to go tripping down the aisle in a white gown with a train. I want to wear a flowered dress and have flowers in my hair. Just simple, Ricky. A small wedding with your sons, my daughter, your housekeeper Ellie, Ted Lymen, Donna, a few close friends, that’s it. We can honeymoon at the resort. We won’t have to leave our suite for days. I can buy up a goodly supply of fireworks.”
“Get the hell out of the car, Roxy, before I explode.” Laughing, Roxy joined him. Their arms around each other’s waists, they entered the restaurant, where they waited to be seated.
A young girl with a megawatt smile, bouncing hair, bouncing breasts, and bouncing feet bounced her way to a small secluded table in a sunny window. She waved her arms with a flourish. “This is my favorite table.” Her smile showed a fortune in magnificent orthodonture.
“Take your time, Mr. Lam, we’re running a little slow this morning.” She bounced off to wait on another couple.
Roxy grimaced. “How can anyone be that cheerful, that bouncy, so early in the morning?”
“Youth, that’s how.” Ricky grinned. “Compared to her, we’re old! There was a time when I came here every morning, and I always asked for this particular table. For some reason, I hated to leave, so I would slow down and dawdle over my food. It looks exactly the same as it did the last time I was here. Aren’t things supposed to change? It has to be at least two years, and yet it still looks exactly the way I remember it. Different people, though.”
Roxy looked around. Ricky was right. Not only was the restaurant cozy and comfortable, it was so clean it sparkled. The green-and-white-checkered curtains on the diamond-paned windows were crisply starched. The tablecloths were dark green cotton with green-checkered napkins. The captain’s chairs were oak with checkered cushions. Luscious green plants that looked healthy and vibrant hung from the beams. The floor was wide, plank oak, and it, too, was clean and polished. A fieldstone fireplace graced one wall. It burned, at times during the winter, whole cherry logs. The mantel held pictures of famous people with the owner, Mary Sue Duvane. The best thing about Mary Sue’s was the smell of coffee and fresh-baked bread.
“That’s your picture on the mantel, isn’t it?” Roxy said.
“Yes. Me and Mary Sue on my Harley. She let me ride her around the parking lot. I don’t think she trusted me on the highway. She passed away a few months before Philly died. I think every movie star in town, myself included, showed up for the funeral. Mary Sue fed more out-of-work actors and actresses than you can imagine. I heard her son and daughter run the place now. They still help out-of-work actors and actresses.”
“I never knew that. It’s nice to know there are still some caring people out there. I’m glad you brought me here. This is charming. Just charming. I think I’d rather go out to breakfast than out to dinner. It just gives a good feeling for the start of the day.”
Ricky gazed at Roxy in awe. “That’s exactly how I feel.”
The young waitress, whose name tag said she was Sophia, filled their coffee cups. “Would you like a menu, or do you know what you want?”
“Eggs Benedict and the flaming bananas,” Roxy said.
“I’ll have the same,” Ricky said.
Two hours later, when the waiting line extended outside, Roxy and Ricky left the restaurant.
Roxy’s face was clouded with worry when she wiggled around in her seat so she could see Ricky better. “Have you thought about how you’re going to approach Lorraine Farquar? You can’t just blurt it out. What if she’s in frail health, or, worse yet, her husband doesn’t know? Do you have a picture of Philly with you?”
“I thought I’d wing it, take my cue from her, that kind of thing. I have a picture of Philly and me the night I won my first Oscar. I keep it in my wallet. For some reason, that night, I really felt like we were brothers. Usually I felt like he was the warden, and I was the wayward prisoner. I need to get past all this shit, I really do.”
“I understand that, but what if she denies knowing anything about Philly?”
Ricky pointed to the pocket on the driver’s door. “The report from the adoption agency is right here, and it’s all documented. The only thing we don’t have is the name of the father, and I’m thinking it’s the name on the paper in my mother’s safe-deposit box. I’m not above issuing a threat at this stage. Like I said, I just want to put this behind me.”
“I’m nervous, and I don’t mind admitting it,” Roxy said.
“You know what, Roxy, I’ve been nervous since the day Philly died, and I haven’t been able to shake the feeling. We’re coming up to Santa Monica now. Keep your eye on the map and tell me where to turn. I never liked this town, and I don’t know why.”
“The name Farquar is not a common name. I know I’ve heard it somewhere not too long ago. Maybe it was on the radio or television. Probably online since that’s how I read the L.A. Times. Whoa, this is a pretty ritzy-looking neighborhood,” Roxy said as she craned her neck to look at the high-end real estate. “Make a left, then another left, and that’s the street where the woman lives. The house number is 22865. Not shabby,” she said, when Ricky stopped the car in front of a house that was set back a considerable distance from the road. “At least fifteen thousand square feet. Bet there’s a pool and a tennis court. Live-in help, gardener. As I said, not shabby. I don’t have a good feeling about this, Ricky.”
“I don’t either, but we’r
e going to do it anyway. We’re here. What’s the worst thing she can do? Tell us to leave? Deny everything? Threaten to call the police? I expect all of the above.”
Together they walked up a flower-bordered walkway. Ricky rang the bell, sucking in his breath when he heard the melodious chimes inside. A maid with a gray dress, white apron, and perky little cap opened the door, her eyes full of questions. “My name is Ricky Lam, and this is Roxy Nelson. We’d like to speak with Mrs. Lorraine Farquar, please.”
“Is Mrs. Farquar expecting you?”
“No, she isn’t. Please tell her it’s extremely urgent.”
The maid looked doubtful. She weighed Ricky’s words before she said, “Wait here.” The door closed in their faces. Ricky stepped back when the maid opened the door. “Mrs. Farquar said she doesn’t know either one of you and requested that I ask you what is the nature of your call?”
“Tell her it’s personal and confidential. If you like, you can mention the name Vincent Nolan. If the name doesn’t ring a bell with Mrs. Farquar, tell her it’s about something that happened when she was fourteen years old.”
When the door opened for the third time, the maid stepped aside to usher them into a foyer that was as large as most people’s living rooms. It was full of live trees, bamboo chests and chairs, and floor-to-ceiling windows. “Follow me, please.”
The maid led them to a sunroom, or maybe the Farquars called it a solarium. Like the foyer, the room had wraparound windows allowing the warm sun to bathe the room in its golden glow, a perfect backdrop for the green plants and white wicker furniture with colorful cushions. Books and magazines filled the tables, along with a pitcher of frosty ice tea.
If Lorraine Farquar had been a little taller, and a little less thick, she might have been considered regal. She had high cheekbones, wide eyes, and a short neck adorned with a triple stand of pearls. She was fully dressed and coiffed. She raised a thin hand full of diamonds, an indication they were to sit on the love seat across from her. She tilted her head slightly, her eyes guileless and full of questions.
“I appreciate your taking the time to see us, Mrs. Farquar. I’m Ricky Lam, and this is Roxy Nelson. I need to ask you some questions.”
Lorraine Farquar’s harsh, raspy voice surprised Ricky. For some reason, he’d expected it to be soft and gentle-sounding. “Why is that, Mr. Lam? I don’t believe we’ve ever met. I have, of course, seen some of your films, but I think I would remember if we had met in person.”
“I’m not here about myself, Mrs. Farquar. I came about my brother, your son. The one you put up for adoption.”
Lorraine Farquar looked around, a puzzled expression on her face as though she expected someone to shout, Candid Camera! “If this is a joke, Mr. Lam, it is in exceedingly bad taste. Whatever are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about my adopted brother. His adopted name was Philip Lam. I called him Philly. My parents adopted him when you placed him with the agency. I have all the records. Yes, the records were sealed, and yes, they were subsequently removed from the agency. However, Martina Mangarella had already copied the records and stored them in her home. She didn’t try to sell them or offer them to anyone. But if someone managed to find her, she offered up the records. I got your records from her son, who is now the custodian of those files. I suppose what he and his mother did was illegal, but there are many people out there, like my brother, who needed to know they weren’t throwaways. I think that’s what Philly believed in his heart, that you threw him away.”
The voice was just as harsh and raspy as before when Lorraine Farquar stared over at Ricky. “I think you must have me mixed up with someone else, Mr. Lam. I have no idea what you’re talking about. I consider you shameless, and I deeply resent this intrusion into my privacy. I’d like you to leave now.”
“Mrs. Farquar, did you hear what I just said? I said I have the complete file. That means your fingerprints, your picture, and a picture of Philly when he was brought into the agency. I also have his footprints. And your Social Security number. I’m not making this up. I realize forty-eight years ago it was a stain on a woman’s reputation to bear a child out of wedlock, but it isn’t like that today. My brother searched for you for years. For years, Mrs. Farquar. Personally, I think it was cruel to have the records removed. Do you have any idea what that must have been like for him, and I ask you that with all due respect?” When there was no response from the woman across from him, Ricky continued, “Well, do you?”
“How could I possibly know something like that? It’s a ridiculous question to begin with.”
“I wonder if I might have a sip of that ice tea, Mrs. Farquar,” Roxy said. “I’m just getting over a terrible summer cold, and my throat is very dry.”
“Of course. I’m sorry, I should have offered you tea earlier.”
Roxy sucked in her breath when Lorraine Farquar picked up first a glass and then the pitcher. She handed the glass to Roxy, along with a small cocktail napkin. Roxy palmed the glass instead of holding it by the sides. “I feel a coughing spell coming on. Please excuse me. I’ll wait outside if it’s all right with you. I wouldn’t want to spread my germs.” She almost ran from the room, the glass still in the palm of her hand.
Quick on the uptake, Ricky stifled his grin. Fingerprints. How he loved that woman.
“My brother, your son, died six months ago in a tragic accident, Mrs. Farquar. He was also battling a terminal illness he hid from me. What harm can it do now to tell me the truth?”
“I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Lam, but it has nothing to do with me. I’d like you to leave now. I find this whole conversation very upsetting.”
“Will it be more upsetting if I go to the Associated Press or perhaps the Fox News Channel? How upsetting will that be to your husband and your family?”
“Are you threatening me, Mr. Lam? Or are you trying to extort me? Which is it?”
“It’s neither, Mrs. Farquar. All I want is the truth. We live in a new world these days. DNA is a powerful tool. We have yours.”
“That’s…hogwash, and you know it. There’s no way on this earth you could possibly have my DNA. No way at all.” She was starting to bluster. Ricky almost felt sorry for her and his part in being such a bulldog.
Ricky leaned across the wicker, glass-topped table, where six issues of Time magazine lay scattered next to the latest copy of Money magazine. They looked like they had never been read. “Now, you see, that’s where you’re wrong, Mrs. Farquar. Don’t you recall the letter you put in Philly’s cardboard box? The carton you dropped him off in. You sealed the envelope. That means you had to use your own saliva to seal the envelope. Voilà! DNA. All these years later. Your DNA, your Social Security number, your fingerprints. That’s pretty conclusive to my way of thinking.”
Lorraine Farquar appeared to be visibly shaken. Still, she blustered. “I want you to leave, and I want you to leave now!”
“Please, just tell me the truth, Mrs. Farquar.”
“If you don’t leave, I’ll call the police.”
Ricky sighed. “I’ll leave, Mrs. Farquar. Thank you for talking to me. Maybe I’ll have more luck with Vincent Nolan.” He fully expected his hostess to throw the pitcher of ice tea at him. Instead, she burrowed into the colorful cushions; her face was pasty white and fearful. “I can see myself out.”
In the car, Ricky looked at Roxy, who was still holding the glass in the palm of her hand. She’d either emptied the contents or consumed them. He shook his head at her questioning gaze. “She’s sticking with her story. But when I mentioned the name Vincent Nolan, she kind of shrank into herself. I thought she looked afraid. I’m not very good at this detective stuff. You, on the other hand, are the marvel in marvelous. In a million years I never would have thought of taking the glass. If I had a gold star, I’d give it to you.” Ricky leaned over and hugged her. Roxy beamed.
“I feel sorry for her, Ricky. I remember what it was like to be pregnant at sixteen. I thought about giving Reba up
for adoption, but when it came time to sign the final papers I couldn’t do it. It wasn’t easy those first years. Maybe Mrs. Farquar didn’t have any other choice. It’s possible her husband isn’t the understanding type. I remembered who he is while I was sitting here waiting for you. He’s that famous venture capitalist. He’s incredibly wealthy.
“If she was nervous at the mention of Vincent Nolan,” Roxy continued, “that might mean she’s more afraid of him than her husband. Possibly both. What now?”
“I say we look for a private lab and see what they can do for us by lifting the fingerprints off the glass. If the fingerprints match those on the letter, that’s our proof.
“Before we go home, Roxy, I want to stop by our old house. There’s a box in Philly’s closet I want to pick up. With all the stuff I packed in the car last night there wasn’t room for it. It won’t take long.”
An hour later, Ricky exited his old home, a blue cardboard box in his hands. He opened the passenger-side door and handed it to Roxy. She looked down at the black lettering and then up at Ricky.
It was midafternoon, and the sun was high in the sky when Ricky drove his Porsche through the gates of his Holmby Hills estate. As he and Roxy were getting out of the car, Gracie Lick, her red hair flying behind her, along with her shirttail, the mother and father dog running alongside her, shouted, “Mr. Lam! Mr. Lam! I think I found something! If I’m right, this is going to blow your socks off! I’ll be right back. I have to go back to my office to get it.” She was breathless with excitement. She called over her shoulder, “By the way, a letter from your attorney was hand-delivered earlier. It’s on the kitchen table.”
“Okay. Take your time. Want some coffee?”
“Are we going to drink it or look at it?” she called over her shoulder, a second time.
“Depends on what you have to show us.”
“With what I think I found, we’re all going to need some hard stuff in our coffee. I’ll be right back.”
“I like that girl, Ricky. You’re right, she’s perfect for Max. I’ll make the coffee while you put that box somewhere.”
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