Blue Screen

by Robert B. Parker

  “I suppose the next stop is your pimp friend,” Jesse said.

  “My friend?”

  “You’ve met him,” Jesse said. “I haven’t.”

  “Okay,” I said. “We talk to my pimp friend. It will not be an easy conversation. My pimp friend is not cop-friendly.”

  “Cronjager feels bad because he had to fire me,” Jesse said. “He’ll provide us a jurisdictional presence.”

  “Wow,” I said. “A jurisdictional presence?”

  Jesse nodded.

  “Now and then I impress myself,” he said.

  We were quiet, sipping our drinks, looking at our fellow drinkers. There was nothing ill at ease in our quiet. But the unobtrusive force of the tension tightened. We had another drink. I looked at my watch. Six-twenty.

  “I assume we are off duty,” I said.

  “We are,” Jesse said.

  “So we are now just a couple of pals sitting around having drinks together.”

  “Yes.”

  “There is a boutique I have always wanted to go to,” I said.

  “A boutique?”

  “I’ve been out here half a dozen times and I’ve never been.”

  “A boutique?” Jesse said.

  “It’s open until nine tonight.”

  “All of a sudden you’ve turned into a girl?” Jesse said.

  “I’ve done that before,” I said.

  Jesse smiled.

  “I remember,” he said. “What’s the store?”

  “Jere Jillian,” I said.

  “In Beverly Hills,” he said.

  “Right up the street.”

  “And you’d like me to go with you.”

  “I would,” I said.

  Jesse grinned.

  “Is it fabulous?” he said.

  “Fabulous,” I said.

  47

  IFELT ODD walking up Rodeo Drive with Jesse. Of course, walking up Rodeo Drive with anyone is odd. Rodeo Drive is odd, the logical result of intersecting movies and fashion.

  “This is ridiculous,” Jesse said.

  “I know,” I said. “Don’t you love it?”

  “Fabulous,” Jesse said.

  There were a lot of couples looking in windows of idiotically chic stores. Many were Asian tourists. And I realized what the odd feeling was. Jesse and I felt like a couple. I looked at him. If he felt it too, he wasn’t showing anything. That didn’t mean much; as far as I could tell, Jesse never showed anything. Almost never.

  Jere Jillian was all glass and stainless steel. Anything that was neither was white. In the window was a huge blowup of a glamorous woman purported to be Jere herself. There were a few dresses in very small sizes hanging on display. Several perfectly dressed saleswomen in tight clothes and very high heels stood around, trying not to laugh at my attire. Several other customers moved reverently among the garments, closely attended by a salesperson.

  “Place looks like a whorehouse,” Jesse murmured.

  “But a very elegant one,” I said.

  The nearest saleswoman accosted me as soon as I was through the door. The others not with customers lingered in place, smiling at Jesse, covertly checking themselves in the many mirrors. My salesperson had long, honey-blond hair that fell forward on one side of her face and covered one eye, like an old movie star whose name I couldn’t remember.

  “Are you lookin’ for anything special?” she said.

  And so it began. Jesse sat quietly in a low, white chair that appeared uncomfortable and watched me. I hadn’t shopped with a man since Richie. I felt myself almost wallowing in it. Except for the exotica of my surroundings, it seemed so normal. There were two other men sitting with equal boredom and discomfort. Shopping Rodeo Drive isn’t pretty.

  My salesperson’s name was Amber. Of course.

  “Oh, that’s perfect for you…. Look at yourself…. I have just exactly the shoes for that dress…. What do you think, sir?…Doesn’t she look fabulous?”

  “Fabulous,” Jesse said.

  Finally we had narrowed my selections down to three, and it was time to try on. During the narrowing process, Jesse had sat motionless in his uncomfortable chair and said nothing except an occasional “Fabulous” when asked. He seemed content, but there was something in his face, some brightness that made me wonder about him. We’d had two drinks each before we came to Jere Jillian, so it wasn’t that he was drunk.

  The dressing room was small, with the kind of saloon doors that leave your feet visible as you changed. The floor had a good carpet. There was a small bench and a lovely three-way mirror. Jere had class. Amber hung my selections on a hook and backed out.

  “I’ll be right outside,” Amber said. “Call me if you need anything.”

  The first dress I tried wouldn’t do, and I knew that immediately when it was on me. But the other two I couldn’t decide. I tried each one twice, and then, wearing one of the two contenders, I called Amber. She opened the door immediately. I handed her the reject dress.

  “I’ve got it down to two,” I said.

  “You’re absolutely right,” Amber said. “This one isn’t quite right for you, now that I see you in that one.”

  “You can put that one back,” I said, “and would you ask the man I’m with to step over here.”

  “Of course,” Amber said. “He’s so good, sitting there so patient.”

  “He is,” I said.

  Amber hustled off, and I stood in the door of the dressing room in one of the two dresses. When Jesse arrived, I stood on the balls of my feet to simulate heels.

  “Pretend that my bra straps aren’t showing,” I said. “What do you think?”

  “Fabulous,” Jesse said.

  “No, really. It’s important to me; I can’t decide.”

  “You look beautiful in it,” Jesse said.

  I turned around.

  “How about the back?”

  “Front and back,” Jesse said. “Beautiful.”

  I had been naked with this man, had sex with him. But somehow this ritual moment seemed the most intimate thing we’d done. I almost blushed.

  “Is it at all too tight around my butt?” I said.

  “No.”

  Our eyes met for a moment, and I realized that he felt the intimacy, too.

  “Okay, stay right there,” I said. “I’m going to try on the other one.”

  I closed the door and slipped the dress up over my head, trying to be careful of my hair. The door opened behind me. I slid the dress off and looked and it was Jesse.

  “I’m in my underwear,” I said.

  “Flesh-toned,” Jesse said.

  “Appropriate under light, Southern California clothes,” I said. “Why are you in here.”

  “I thought it was time for us to have sex again,” Jesse said.

  The room was small. He was very close.

  “Here?” I said.

  “Yes.”

  “In Jere Jillian?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “In the dressing room?” I said.

  “The very place,” Jesse said

  He put his arms around me.

  “Standing up against the wall?” I said.

  Jesse glanced briefly around the room.

  “Seems our best bet,” he said.

  “With Amber lurking outside?”

  “Adds to the excitement,” Jesse said. “And, as a special feature, this perfectly situated three-way mirror.”

  “We’d be fools not to, I guess.”

  “Fools,” Jesse said.

  “But quietly!” I said.

  I giggled. He kissed me. I kissed him back. We pressed together. He began to help me with my underpants. And then we were fully engaged. We were both agile and strong. Standing up was okay. The three-way mirror showed me a Sunny Randall I had never quite seen before. It made me uneasy. But it was sort of interesting.

  Outside the dressing-room door, Amber said, “Do you need any help?”

  I held myself still inside to answer her.


  “No thanks,” I said in a perfectly normal voice.

  “Is it too big, at all?” Amber said. “I have a smaller size.”

  “Oh,” I said, “God no. If anything it might be a little small.”

  In my ear Jesse whispered, “Hey!”

  “I could get you a size larger,” Amber said.

  With Jesse pressed against me, I could feel him shake with repressed laughter. I laughed too. And pressed together, fully connected, standing up and moving against the wall, with Amber lurking hopefully outside the door, we giggled covertly together in an intimacy I had never shared with anyone.

  48

  INEVER DID try on the other dress. I bought the one I had tried on, for far more than I should have spent. I tried not to blush while Amber put my credit card through. If Jesse was ill at ease, he concealed it. He leaned on the jamb of the front door while he waited. Amber smiled as she put my dress in a silver garment bag with Jere Jillian written across it in lavender script.

  “Thanks so much for coming in,” she said. “I hope you have a fabulous night.”

  From his spot at the door Jesse said, “Fabulous.”

  I glanced back through the big glass window as we left and saw Amber talking with two other saleswomen. Were they laughing? About us? Or was I imagining it?

  “I feel like I’ve just been in a porn film,” I said to Jesse as we walked back down Rodeo Drive toward the hotel.

  “Kind of fun,” Jesse said.

  “Only kind of?”

  “Cop understatement,” Jesse said. “It is probably the most fun I’ve ever had.”

  “Me too,” I said.

  We were quiet for a while.

  “I wonder what Amber thought,” I said.

  “That’s part of the fun,” Jesse said. “Wondering what she thought.”

  “She could see our feet below the dressing-room doors,” I said.

  “If she looked,” Jesse said.

  “She could see my underpants,” I said.

  “Around one ankle, as I recall,” Jesse said.

  “That might raise her suspicions,” I said.

  “Perhaps,” Jesse said, “we can never shop at Jere Jillian again.”

  “I couldn’t afford to go back anyway,” I said.

  “Maybe we ought to organize a hobby for ourselves,” Jesse said.

  “Having sex in public?” I said.

  “Just a thought,” Jesse said.

  “If we made a habit of it, it would cease to be special,” I said.

  “Good point,” Jesse said.

  We crossed Wilshire at the light and went into the hotel lobby.

  “What would you like to do about supper?” Jesse said.

  “I’d like us to have room service together,” I said.

  “Your place or mine,” Jesse said.

  “Your room is bound to be neater,” I said.

  “Almost certainly,” Jesse said.

  We were alone in the elevator.

  “You know what I like especially about our, ah, frolic in Jere Jillian? It sort of relaxed everything. Sex was not a moment of intense and ponderous passion.”

  “It was not, on the other hand, dispassionate,” Jesse said.

  “No. But it was fun. Sex is often fun, and probably should be undertaken sometimes just for that reason.”

  “Because it’s fun?” Jesse said.

  “Uh-huh.”

  The elevator stopped. The doors opened and we got out.

  “And you,” Jesse said as we walked down the hall, “a native Bostonian.”

  He opened his door and we went in. His room was in fact far neater than mine would ever be.

  “Don’t ever rat me out,” I said, “to the Harvard Club.”

  49

  CAPTAIN CRONJAGER went with us to see Gerard Basgall. He and his driver picked us up in a big, black Crown Victoria. Cronjager sat in front. Jesse and I in the back. Cronjager turned sideways in the front seat to talk with us.

  “Chance to visit with you,” he said to Jesse. “And it’s nice to do a little fieldwork now and again.”

  “Elaine is used to running the show anyway,” Jesse said, “when you’re out of the office.”

  Cronjager smiled.

  “Or when I’m not,” he said.

  The driver laughed. He was a large, pleasant-looking black man with a neat mustache.

  Cronjager said, “No need to be laughing at your commanding officer, Clyde.”

  “Laughing with you, Captain,” Clyde said. “Laughing with you.”

  We parked in front of Gerard’s huge house. Clyde opened the door for Cronjager and came around in time to hold the door for me.

  “Want I should come in, Captain,” Clyde said.

  “Nope,” Cronjager said. “Wait for us here. Unless you hear me scream. Then you come running.”

  “Yessir,” Clyde said and leaned his considerable self against the car.

  The same fat guy with a similar flowered shirt opened the front door and gave us the same fish-eyed stare.

  “I know you, Blondie,” he said to me. “Who are these guys.”

  “Cronjager,” the Captain said and held up his badge.

  “A freakin’ captain,” the fat guy said. “First fucking class.”

  We sat in the same room that Sol and I had sat in on my last visit. Cronjager sat a little to the side. Gerard was all in white today, looking clean and polished.

  “My name’s Cronjager,” the captain said. “Sunny you know. He’s Jesse Stone.”

  Gerard nodded and didn’t say anything.

  “I’m the chief of police in Paradise, Massachusetts,” Jesse said.

  Gerard said, “I’m glad for you, Jesse.”

  “We like you for Misty Taylor,” Jesse said.

  “You what?”

  “We like you for the murder,” Jesse said. “We think you did her.”

  “Why do you think that?” Gerard said.

  “Your name keeps coming up,” Jesse said.

  Gerard smiled.

  “Popular guy,” he said.

  “We’re checking transportation,” Jesse said. “If you were in Boston any time that matters, we’re going to know it.”

  “How many cops you got in Paradise, Massachusetts?” Gerard said.

  “Counting school crossing guards?” Jesse said. “Fifteen.”

  “Be taking you some time to do that checking, won’t it? What with all them tickets to write,” Gerard said. “All them kids to bust for smoking mary-ju-wanna.”

  “We’re getting some help from the state police,” Jesse said.

  Gerard nodded.

  “Good for you,” Gerard said.

  Cronjager was silent. He was watching Jesse. He wanted to see if Jesse was all right. I smiled a little to myself, thinking of how, in at least one area, I could reassure him.

  “Here’s how we figure,” Jesse said. “It’s hard to buy a pimp falling for one of his whores, but say you did. Erin wanted to be something more than an upscale hooker. You wanted to help her. So you talked to Perry Kramer, and he put you in touch with Arlo Delaney, who by now was running a film-financing operation. Arlo brings in his cousin, guy named Moon Monaghan, who’s looking for something to do with a lot of cash, and wants to be a movie mogul. And one way or another, Arlo, or you, or both of you find Buddy Bollen, and use the financing you already got to sell Erin to him.”

  I was quiet. This was Jesse’s show. With Cronjager in the audience.

  “Erin might have even helped persuade somebody,” Jesse said.

  Gerard looked thoughtfully at Jesse for a time without speaking.

  Then he said, “She fucked all of them. So did Misty.”

  “All of them being?”

  “Arlo, Buddy, Moon. She’s still fucking Buddy.”

  I couldn’t contain myself.

  “Moon?” I said.

  “Yep. She and Misty. A twosome. Like with Buddy.”

  I was struggling with the concept of anyone sleeping with Moon.r />
  “Misty and Erin?” Jesse said. “Both sleeping with Buddy.”

  “Yeah,” Gerard said.

  “Even after the movies got made.”

  “Part of the deal,” Gerard said.

  The fat guy leaned on the wall near the French doors. Off to the side, Cronjager sat with his legs crossed. He appeared to be looking at the backs of his hands.

  “Talk about the deal,” Jesse said.

  Gerard glanced over at the fat man by the French doors.

  “Packy,” he said. “Take a walk.”

  The fat man nodded and left the room.

  “Buddy would take the money from Arlo’s cousin,” Gerard said, “and he’d make the movie and put Erin in it. But they both had to stay with him, and do him whenever he wanted.”

  “Both…?”

  “Erin and Misty.”

  “What if they stopped doing him?” Jesse said.

  “End of career,” Gerard said.

  “I’m not sure she needs him anymore,” I said.

  “Maybe not, but she thinks she does,” Gerard said. “Besides, there’s that baseball thing.”

  “She cares about that?” Jesse said.

  “She wants to be important,” Gerard said, “for more than tits and ass. She wants to be a female Jackie Robinson.”

  Jesse looked at me. I nodded.

  “What did Misty get out of it?”

  “Money. Erin shared the wealth.”

  “Did Misty want to be a contendah?” I said.

  “I don’t know,” Gerard said.

  “Is Erin straight?” I said.

  Gerard looked at me for a moment.

  “I ain’t been renting her out to women,” he said.

  “You know as well as I do,” I said to Gerard, “that some whores are lesbians.”

  “For them it’s strictly business,” Gerard said. “For Erin and Misty it was business and pleasure.”

  “They liked the work,” I said.

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re sure?” I said.

  Gerard smiled at me. It was a nasty smile.

  “I’m sure,” Gerard said.

  “Both of them.”