The Childish Churl (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 15)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  Kenneth nodded. "Oh, yeah. Can't wait for the next one." He walked over to Brigham Taylor and looked at him intently. "How do you get your hair up like that?" For a moment, I thought he was going to touch the kid's pomp.

  So did Taylor since he stepped back a bit. "Gee, mister, I just use a lotta pomade."

  Maria Lopez crossed her arms and looked at him sideways. "And you never wash your hair."

  Taylor blushed, put his hands in the pockets of his dungarees, and looked down at the floor sheepishly.

  Harry Vicks slapped Taylor on the back. "Don't listen to her, boy. I told you I like it."

  I glanced over at Ben who nodded slightly with a hint of a smile.

  . . .

  Ben and Martinelli drove Carter and me back to the airport where the DC-3 was waiting for us. Ed, Louise, Kenneth, and Michelle were following in a cab. The four kids were driving back to L.A. in Brigham Taylor's '47 Ford. Jessup was getting back however he arrived. Even though we were business partners, I didn't much like the guy. And I was beginning to notice the feeling was mutual. I figured he was still upset about our contract negotiations which had been tense.

  I was up in the front seat with Ben, who was driving his huge white Chrysler. Carter and Martinelli were in the backseat. I heard Carter ask, "What'd you think?"

  Martinelli replied, "It was OK. I'm with you. I'm too old for something like that."

  Ben glanced in the rear-view mirror at Carter. "Did Nick tell you we re-shot the ending after Jimmy Dean died?"

  Carter said, "Yeah. What was the original ending supposed to be?"

  "Bill and the bad guy, Willis, both drove off the side of the cliff instead of stopping. It was supposed to look like they were daring each other and then both decided to go on without stopping. Like driving to glory. Real edgy stuff. But, after the drag-race scene in Rebel Without a Cause and then Jimmy dying after Giant was mostly wrapped, I thought that was too close to the edge. Besides," he said, thumping his fingers on the wheel of the car, "I like the new ending better. That Bill is gold. Pure gold. The camera loves him."

  I nodded. He was right. "It's odd how shy he is in real life."

  Ben nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, yeah. That's the best part. It's all an act. He can turn it on when the camera is rolling. But then, when Jessup yells 'cut,' he turns it right off. Sweet kid."

  I turned and looked at Martinelli who was rolling his eyes. "So, he and that other kid are an item?" I asked.

  Ben nodded. "Yeah. I've been telling them to keep it cool. But that's the thing, Nick. All those kids on the set are pretty wild. I've never seen anything like it."

  Martinelli added, "But Taylor is also in love with that Maria Lopez."

  Ben shook his head. "Yeah. And I don't get it. Pick one, man."

  Martinelli, who had once been married, made a huffing sound. "You know, baby, it's possible for a guy to like both guys and gals."

  "I don't buy it. It's one or the other."

  I glanced back at Martinelli, who was staring out the window at nothing.

  Sensing trouble, Carter asked, "When does this film get released?"

  Ben, still drumming on the steering wheel, said, "Next Friday. First thing in the morning, I've gotta call the publicity people and give them some notes from the cards. We can really pump up the ads."

  "Ads?" I asked.

  Ben glanced at me for a moment. "Sure. We got a quarter-page ad going into every middling paper in the country."

  "What does that mean?" I asked. "Middling?"

  "I had the idea that we need to push the film in towns with big military bases where there are plenty of bored kids who have enough dough to go see movies. So we got ads going in the Sunday papers in towns like Watertown, New York, and Beaufort, South Carolina, and Lubbock, Texas, and Shreveport, Louisiana. In San Bernardino, too, but that's gonna be a half-page." He took his hands off the wheel for a split-second to spread them out above his face. "Thanks, San Bernardino, for being the home of the newest generation of motion pictures."

  "That sounds corny," said Carter.

  Ben nodded. "Sure. You can't put all that hep-cat talk in a newspaper. They won't take the ad. But the kids know how to read between the lines."

  Carter asked, "What did the movie title mean?"

  Ben asked, "The Lonely Tigress?"

  "Yeah," replied Carter.

  Ben laughed. "Nothing! That was Jessup's idea."

  No one said anything in reply to that. I sat there and wondered, one more time, if we were doing the right thing. When he was first pitching the idea, Jessup had said he wanted to, "exploit the American id," or words to that effect. About a month earlier, I'd mentioned that to Mike over lunch one day. He'd thought about it, looked at me, and said, "If there's anyone in this country who can do that, it's you." I wasn't sure whether he was for it or against it. Deep down, I had a feeling it didn't matter. We were riding a wave, more than anything else.

  . . .

  Once we took off, I stood and made my way to where Louise and Ed were seated. I squatted down next to Louise, who was on the aisle. "Was it that bad?" I asked.

  She thought for a moment. "Not horrible. Just too direct. Too obvious."

  I nodded. "That's what the kids want."

  "But should you be the one who's giving it to them?"

  I shrugged. "That's a good question."

  She nodded.

  Ed leaned over and said, "My only real concern for you, Nick, is that you're going to end up in front of one of those Senate committees. Eventually, someone outside of Hollywood will get a whiff of the connection between you and these pictures. Remember what they were saying just last year about the connection between juvenile delinquency and, well, you know."

  I nodded. He was right. There had been a cavalcade of Senate hearings around the country where local police had all testified about how juvenile delinquency was being promoted by homosexuals and the various nightclubs and bars that catered to people like us. There had even been some hearings in San Francisco. And the police had cracked down even harder on the bars than they had been before.

  Looking up at Ed, I said, "I worry about that, too. But, if Carter and I had given in to that back in '53, we'd be having your wedding in France."

  Ed grinned. "I'm glad we're not but I wouldn't have been opposed to it."

  Louise swatted his arm and said, "Now, Ed."

  He leaned in and very sweetly kissed her on the lips. "I love you, too, Louise."

  Chapter 17

  1198 Sacramento Street

  San Francisco, Cal.

  Friday, October 14, 1955

  A quarter past 2 in the morning

  We were finally alone after a very long day. Kenneth and Michelle were sleeping in the Sapphire Room up on the third floor. Bobby and Peggy were in the Emerald Room.

  Back in the late '20s, my mother had redecorated the three rooms up there in Art Deco style according to the trend of that time. They were identical in furnishings and in every way you could imagine except for the colors. One room was blue. That was the Sapphire Room. The Emerald Room was green. And the Rose Room was pink. There was a large white bathroom at the end of the hall, also decked out with Art Deco touches.

  Jimmy was sleeping in my old bedroom. Just in case he was the kind of kid who liked wandering around at night, Carter had made sure to turn the skeleton key in the lock on our bedroom door.

  The windows were open and there was a small fire on the hearth at the far end of the bedroom. I was stretched out and Carter was holding me like a very skinny teddy bear. His head was on my chest and I was running my left hand through his hair.

  We'd been like that for a while, neither of us talking, when he suddenly sat up and looked down at me. Whether it was a trick of the light or something else, I could clearly see his green eyes looking down at me.

  I smiled and asked, "What?"

  "We never did..."

  "I know. How about now?"

  He sighed and ran his hand through the hair on m
y chest and belly. "Not with a kid next door."

  I laughed.

  "What?" he asked.

  "You can't hear a damn thing in here from that room. Besides the closet that Zelda must have added to my room, there's the linen closet between this room and my bedroom."

  "You sure?"

  I nodded. "Yes."

  "How do you know?" he asked.

  "You really wanna know?"

  He nodded and put his hand under my chin. "Yes."

  "Parnell Williams was not a chaste man during his alleged widowhood." I blinked. "Wait, wouldn't that be 'widowerhood?' Is that even a word?"

  Carter smiled. "You mean that, after your mother left, when he thought she was dead, and while you were still living under his roof, that your father, the esteemed Dr. Parnell Williams, was bringing women to his bed? To this very bed?"

  I nodded. "Yep. I don't know who they were."

  "They?" asked Carter with a raised eyebrow.

  "There was more than one. I can distinctly remember three. If Janet were here, she could tell you a lot more about them. She was a lot like you, in that way. She always remembered names and other little details."

  Carter frowned. "How old were you?"

  I thought for a moment. "The first one I remember was in the summer of '35, so I would have been 12, going on 13."

  "How'd you know?"

  "Well, it wasn't because of any noise from in here. I saw them sneaking in and sneaking out. So did Janet."

  "I get the feeling you and Janet were always up to something."

  I nodded. "You remember how my father used to be. We always had to sleep with one eye open. I'm sure I told you about those first few nights after I moved in with Mike."

  He shook his head. "No."

  "I slept and slept and slept. I think it was because I finally felt safe."

  "He didn't make any moves on you?"

  "Nope. We slept in the same bed, but nothing happened at first. Later, he told me that he was so shocked that I just went right to sleep. He said that, on that first night, he watched me sleep for the first few hours before he dozed off. I slept something like fourteen hours that first night and didn't wake up once."

  "What was that like?"

  "Sleeping that long?"

  "No. Those first few days with Mike."

  "I slept a lot. But I also cleaned a lot. Of course, I didn't really know how to clean. But his place was a mess."

  "Like Micky Bailey down in L.A.?" Micky was one of our employees. In July, when we'd been down there on a case, we'd had the misfortune to walk into his apartment. It was a pigsty. But, from what I'd heard, he'd been keeping it clean ever since he'd fallen in love with Tom Ruggles, an ex-cop from Santa Monica who also worked for us.

  "No. Not filthy. Just dirty. And messy."

  "So you slept and you cleaned."

  I nodded. "For about a week. Then I tried to cook dinner one night, which was a failure. Mike very gently showed me how to scramble an egg and I never looked back."

  Carter slid down next to me and stretched out. He patted his chest and I put my head on it. "He's a great guy, that Mike."

  I sighed. "He sure is."

  . . .

  Carter fell back on the bed with a happy sigh. I turned around and kissed him on the lips. He smiled as I did and, then, frowned for a moment. The fire on the hearth was mostly down to embers but I could still see his face in the dark. "What?" I asked.

  "Did you notice that thing between Ben and Carlo in the car?"

  "You mean how Ben doesn't believe that a man can be in love with both a woman and a man?"

  Carter nodded. "Yeah. That."

  "Poor Ben," I said.

  "What about Carlo?"

  "Oh, he knows how to take care of himself. It's Ben who's, as always, out of his depth."

  "And what do you know about the subject?"

  "I read The Kinsey Report. It's a scale. And a man, or a woman, can be anywhere on the scale. Ben just thinks that, since he's a 6, like me, that everyone is either a 0 or a 6."

  "Where am I on that scale?" asked Carter, playfully.

  "You once told me you were a 6, but I've seen you flirt with women. There's always a little heat there. So I put you at a 5."

  Carter said, "It could all be an act."

  I laughed. "Well, I hope I never find out."

  As he performed one of his signature moves, he said, "This isn't an act, Boss."

  "I know, Chief. I believe you."

  . . .

  Once we were done, I asked, "Have any cigarettes hidden around anywhere?"

  Carter chuckled. "No, son, sorry to disappoint you."

  I sighed. "You can't."

  "Can't what?"

  "Disappoint me. I don't think it's possible." I wondered if that was right. It felt right.

  "I might. You never know."

  "You can be bossy. Like you're the big man on campus."

  Carter chuckled. "That's me."

  "And you're stubborn as hell."

  "Sure."

  "But you can't disappoint me. I think I know you too well."

  Carter sighed and quietly asked, "What does that mean?"

  I sat up and looked down at him. "What does what mean?"

  "That you know me too well."

  I shrugged. "I know you always have good intentions. Whatever you do."

  "Isn't that how they pave the road to hell?"

  I laughed. "Sure. But I've never put much stock in that phrase."

  Carter nodded. "And that's one of the things I love about you. You cut a lotta people, myself included, slack that we don't always deserve."

  I shrugged. "I don't know about that."

  "What about the TV?"

  I smiled. "OK. You're right. I did cut you a lotta slack there." Carter had wanted to buy a TV back in the summer and it was obvious that the only place to put it was my sister's old bedroom. It had felt like a sacrilege. But, after having a talk with a friend of ours down in Mexico, I'd realized it wasn't a big deal and I'd given in. But, and I had no idea if Carter knew, I still carried a bit of a grudge about it. And, at some point, it would come up. But not on that particular morning, with both of us exhausted and satiated and in the glow of our love for each other.

  Chapter 18

  1198 Sacramento Street

  San Francisco, Cal.

  Friday, October 14, 1955

  Half past 8 in the morning

  "Good morning!" That was Kenneth. He was sitting down at the dining table. He was on the side that faced the great room. He was reading the paper, which he folded as I walked up. Jimmy was sitting next to him and munching on a piece of toast. They were the only two up and about.

  I nodded and said, "Mornin'." I sat down in my usual spot, by the kitchen door. Carter was still asleep. I had decided to get dressed and come down as soon as I smelled the coffee.

  Breakfast was laid out buffet style, all piping hot on the long table behind Kenneth and Jimmy. There were coffee cups laid out on the table at each chair. I poured myself a cup from the pot sitting near me. Without waiting for any sugar, I tried to gulp down as much as I could.

  With a grin, Kenneth asked, "Didn't get much sleep last night?"

  I shook my head. "Nope. How'd you like the Sapphire Room?"

  Kenneth smiled. "It's blue, I'll say that much. But it had your mother's touch, all right. I..." He stopped and blinked a couple of times.

  Jimmy stopped munching and looked at me. "Where is your mother? Am I going to meet her?"

  I shook my head. "Nope. She's not around anymore. But your parents knew her." I looked over at Kenneth, hoping to pass that particular ball back to him.

  "You did?" asked Jimmy, looking at his father.

  Kenneth said, "Of course. Remember me telling you about Allie?"

  Jimmy nodded. "She was a friend of grandpa's up in Vermont."

  "Well, Allie was Nick's mother."

  Jimmy turned and looked at me. Something in his head clicked. "Did she used to
live here?"

  I nodded. "Yes. This is the house I grew up in."

  Jimmy picked up his fork and stabbed a small mound of scrambled eggs. "But who is Janet?"

  I sat back in my chair, feeling a chill run down my spine. "Janet?"

  "Sure, there was a nice lady with long, brown hair who came into my room last night. She sat down on my bed told me a story to help me go to sleep after Mommy and Daddy tucked me in. It was all about her kids. They were named Nicholas and Janet."

  I was barely able to speak. "How'd you know they were her kids?"

  Jimmy looked at me with a grin. "Oh, you can always tell when grown-ups tell stories about their kids. Daddy's always telling me stories about Jim, the famous pirate." Rolling his eyes, he laughed. In a stage whisper, he said, "I know he's talking about me."

  I nodded, trying very hard not to let the tears get out one more time. I looked over at Kenneth, who was about as pale as I probably was. He quietly asked, "Did she say anything else?"

  "About what?" asked Jimmy as he tried to use his fork to cut his bacon.

  "Oh, about anything."

  "Nope. But she told me she would come see me every night while I was here. She was real nice. I liked her." Looking at me, he asked, "Uncle Nick, is it OK if I pick up this bacon with my fingers? Mommy says I should always use my fork, but it isn't working."

  I stood, walked over and squatted next to him. "Sure, Jimmy. We like our bacon chewy and the only way to eat it is with your hand." I rubbed his head affectionately as he picked up the piece and bit into it. I looked over at Kenneth. He was openly crying and I decided I might as well do the same.

  . . .

  "What's wrong with you two?" That was Bobby. He walked over to the table as Kenneth and I were both drying our eyes.

  I let Kenneth answer. He said, "Nothing. We were just talking about Allie."

  Bobby nodded as he walked around me and helped himself to a plate. "That green room sure is green. I was pretty sure I could smell Allie's perfume all night long. Peggy said it was my imagination, but I could smell it OK."

  I asked, "Is coffee OK?"

  He nodded. The one time we'd met back in Boston, he'd stormed off into the night. It looked like he hadn't warmed up much.