“You think you’re so mysterious that you’re impossible to track down?”
The shock on Oliver’s thin face melted away. “And you drove straight up here?”
Marcus felt his smile start to quiver. “I’ve known where you were since May, but I figured I’d give you time.”
“To recover?”
“Have you?”
Oliver cast his gaze across his stark rosebushes. “Yuh-huh.”
Marcus took a step. “So why are you still here?”
Oliver dropped onto the grass and drew his knees to his chest. He motioned for Marcus to do the same.
Marcus desperately wanted to throw his arms around Oliver and let a hundred questions burst out of him, but this moment was delicate as a snowflake. He parked his butt on the soft grass and waited.
Oliver kept his eyes on the horizon. “Places like these, they don’t come free. Or cheap. Breen wanted to pay, but he didn’t realize how long it took to get well.”
“Neither did I.”
“It doesn’t help when you’ve got pushers lurking just beyond the perimeter.”
“They actually do that?”
Oliver threw him a look that said, Don’t be so naïve. “If you’ve got a product to sell, you go where the market is. Dope fiends stuck in a place like this are sitting ducks.”
“Didn’t you report them to the authorities?”
“When all you want in the world is another fix, and there’s someone dangling it in front of you, trust me, you’re not going to tell them to take a hike.”
And I thought being listed in Red Channels was the worst thing that could happen.
“Rock bottom isn’t a pretty place. I hope you never have to see it.” The late afternoon light caught a spider as it jumped from one branch to another, connecting them with a silver thread. Oliver dropped onto his elbows, and then his back, and stared up at the cloudless sky. “Then you arrive at the point where you want to get better.”
Marcus lay back too. “But when you do?”
“Then you tell the bigwigs about the pushers. That’s when you start the hard slog of getting clean.”
“That must have been hell.”
“Let’s just skip to the part when you realize that you’ve slept through the night without waking in a cold sweat wishing you could die. You can think clearly for the first time in you don’t know how long. And that is when you realize how much you owe the people who have clothed and washed and fed you for months, to say nothing of mopping up your vomit and taking you to a doctor when you punch a brick wall so hard you break a bone in your wrist.”
Marcus heard the whir of a hummingbird several seconds before it appeared, hovering several feet above their heads. It stayed suspended in the air for a while, then zipped out of view.
Marcus rolled onto his side to face Oliver. “It breaks my heart to hear—”
“So I’m working off my debt.” He indicated the naked rosebushes. “I’m quite the gardener now. You should have seen these babies a few months ago. The fragrance was enough to make you woozy.”
“I wish I had.”
“Why are you here?” Oliver asked. “I mean, why now?”
“MGM is doing Quo Vadis, but the script needs work. Mervyn LeRoy wants me to go with him to Rome so we can punch it into shape.”
“That’s a heck of a break.”
“Come with me.”
Oliver let out a soft gasp. “Why?”
“Because no matter how hard I’ve tried, I can’t unlove you.” Marcus reached out and gingerly took Oliver by the hand. He expected him to pull back, but instead, he let Marcus’ fingers intertwine with his. “Because you pursued me once, now I’m pursuing you.”
A single tear seeped out of the corner of Oliver’s eye and trickled down his temple.
Marcus moved closer so that he was only inches away. “We each need a fresh start. Where better than the land that invented spaghetti?” Marcus’ heart just about burst when Oliver let out a laugh. “Come with me?”
Oliver turned his head, his hazel eyes roiling with emotion. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Marcus’ and kissed them three times.
CHAPTER 44
As Kathryn walked out of the Roosevelt Hotel with Gwendolyn, she realized her nerves had already burned through the two whiskey sours she’d just downed in the bar. She surveyed the throng on both sides of Hollywood Boulevard and wished they had time to run back inside for a third.
“Heavens!” Gwendolyn exclaimed. “And this isn’t even the world premiere!” She adjusted her tangerine scarf so that it sat more squarely around her neck.
Kathryn thought it was cute that Gwennie considered it her lucky scarf, but it wasn’t luck they needed tonight—it was pluck.
As they jostled their way to the north side of Hollywood Boulevard toward Grauman’s Chinese Theatre, everybody looked back at the Roosevelt. The hotel had dimmed out all but three of the letters in its sign on top of the building, leaving just E V E.
An usher handed Kathryn the special program.
Presenting the Hollywood Premiere of
“ALL ABOUT EVE”
Grauman’s Chinese Theatre
November 9, 1950
Kathryn loved that it was the size of a Saturday Evening Post, making it an effective fan. They were running behind schedule, and that made for sweaty armpits.
The tumult outside subsided as they walked into the theater’s foyer, where guests gathered in groups awaiting the star’s grand arrival.
Since the night Bette’s movie celebrated its debut in New York, superlatives like “sensational” and “whip-smart” had been bandied from coast to coast. Earlier that day, over the phone, Bette had confided to Kathryn, “This picture is so good that I’ll be shocked if tonight doesn’t prove to be my comeback moment.”
Bette hadn’t been away from the screen long enough to need a comeback, but Kathryn knew that actresses measured their careers in terms of successful pictures. She’d promised to be there in time for Bette’s arrival, but she made sure to be there well before.
Gwendolyn pointed to a life-sized cardboard cutout of the movie’s six stars in the center of the foyer; Leo was standing next to it.
Despite how well things went that night at Nickodell, Kathryn hadn’t been able to summon the courage to tell Leo about her father. But a few weeks later, she knew the time was right after a particularly delicious dinner at Romanoff’s followed by a session of moonlight parking and smooching in a leafy alcove on Mulholland Drive.
She felt so comfortable and safe with him that she blurted out everything. To his credit, he hadn’t even blinked when she mentioned Sing Sing. Instead, he’d confided that his own father was a violent drunk whose only selfless act was to fall into the town quarry and fatally split open his head the night of Leo’s fourteenth birthday. And when Kathryn recruited him as a decoy tonight, he agreed without hesitation.
“He sure fills out a tux well, doesn’t he?” Gwendolyn commented.
“He gives Gary Merrill a run for his money.”
When Kathryn had asked Bette if she was happy now that she and Merrill were married, Bette let out a guttural shriek. “At forty-two, I should’ve known better than to equate sex with love. We don’t have a marriage. We have a battleground with cessation of hostilities conducted in a demilitarized no-man’s-land that normal people call the bedroom.”
Kathryn caught Leo’s eye just as Ruby walked through the front doors with a white fox stole draped around her shoulders. She was alone.
She couldn’t even drum up an escort?
Kathryn and Gwendolyn retreated behind a wax mannequin in traditional Chinese armor. They watched Leo approach Ruby, who shook his hand like it was last month’s lettuce. Kathryn could tell which part of the spiel he was up to by the changes in Ruby’s face.
Hello, I’m Leo Presnell, head of marketing for Sunbeam.
I know.
May we have a word?
What about?
We sp
onsor Kathryn Massey’s show, but we’re not happy with her stance on the issue of stamping out Communists.
You and me both, pal.
We’re a conservative company with traditional American values, and Miss Massey’s views do not align with ours. We are thinking of pressuring NBC into replacing her.
Even from halfway across the foyer, Kathryn could see the hunger in Ruby’s eyes.
A couple of weeks ago, Kathryn and Marcus had been at Grauman’s to see a Fox picture called No Way Out. Kathryn wasn’t terribly interested in noir crime dramas, but this one featured a black actor from the Bahamas called Sidney Poitier, and she was keen to see what all the fuss was about. As they were exiting the theater, Marcus gently prodded her up a flight of stairs she’d never noticed before. They led to a balcony four rows deep and eight seats across. It was perfect.
Leo pointed to the stairwell. Ruby blinked rapidly.
Kathryn muttered, “Go on, go on.”
Whatever Leo said next was enough to quell Ruby’s hesitation, and she trailed him up the stairs.
Kathryn counted to ten, then followed with Gwendolyn at her back. By the time Kathryn arrived at the top of the stairs, Leo and Ruby were standing at the balcony’s edge, looking across the auditorium. The low hum of the crowd filtered up from the main floor, anticipation thickening the air.
A dull thud echoed up the stairs. Kathryn peered behind her. Walter Winchell stared back. She told Gwendolyn to stay put, then shot down the steps to meet him halfway.
“What’s going on up there?” he asked.
“Just a last-minute gown snafu.” She hated the way her voice shook. “I didn’t know you were in town for tonight.”
“I’m not.” He rotated a black homburg in his fingertips. “I already saw it in New York. I was supposed to head out today, but some information fell into my hands and I thought I’d stick around. Figured you’d be here tonight.”
Kathryn held up her purse. “I’m the one with the emergency safety pins, so maybe I can call you—”
His eyes hardened. “Thomas Danford.”
Danford? And you want to have this conversation RIGHT NOW? “Bette’s about to arrive any moment. Perhaps later—”
“He’s your father, isn’t he?” She could only gape at him. “Are you aware he’s in Sing Sing? I just wanted to be sure you knew.”
Be sure that I know where my father is? Or that YOU know where he is?
“It took quite some digging,” he said. “I’ve had my man working it for months.”
“Digging? For what? Dirt on me?”
He took another step up so that their faces were level. “I like to know who my competition is.”
“You did all that for radio ratings? You’re Walter Winchell. You have no competition.” He eyeballed her, sly as a cobra. “Sorry to disappoint you,” she said, “but I’ve known about my father for years. The question is, what do you intend to do with this information?”
“I have no specific plans. For now.”
Kathryn faced him squarely, her arms folded and her mouth turned down into a pout. “It’s like that, is it? Hide it away in your file marked ‘In Case of Emergencies’ until—what? My show is number five? Number three? At what point am I considered a menace?”
Thankfully, Winchell said nothing in reply—she was all out of smart retorts. He gave her a jaundiced once-over, then headed back down the stairs as Kathryn returned to the balcony.
“Leo’s been improvising for the last couple of minutes,” Gwendolyn told her. “You’re on.”
Ruby didn’t see her approach until Kathryn joined Leo at the balustrade. “Say, what is this?”
“We want to have a little chat,” Kathryn said.
“Then why do I feel cornered?”
“Ruby, it’s time you left.”
“Left what?”
“California.”
“I’m not leaving this theater, let alone the state.”
Kathryn pointed to Leo. “Do you remember him?”
Ruby took her time studying him from head to foot. “Should I?”
Leo jutted out his chin. “I’m sure you’ve attended more than one stag party in your time, but you might recall one at the Waldorf.”
Ruby didn’t even need time to think about it. “Right at the end of the war? The guy whose dad was some Ivy League mucky-muck?”
“Chancellor of Cornell. I was there that night, and had to endure the sight of you dragging him off to the bedroom.”
“So?”
“You gave my pal a dose of the clap, which he passed on to his bride, who then sued him for divorce. The scandal nearly ended the mucky-muck’s chancellorship.”
“Nobody forced your buddy into that bedroom. If you ask me, it’s a case of bachelor beware.”
Leo looked at Kathryn. Over to you.
“Ever heard of the Truman Committee?” she asked Ruby.
Slow blink. “Vaguely.”
“More formally known as the Senate Special Committee to Investigate the National Defense Program.”
“Sounds dull.”
“The original one disbanded a couple of years ago, but there’s been a fresh round of allegations that some military contractors manipulated wartime resources to bring about an artificial monopoly. And guess what?”
The cords on Ruby’s neck strained as she swallowed hard.
“The guy you infected with gonorrhea is now the senator heading the reformed committee.”
When Gwendolyn told Kathryn about Otis Courtland’s wartime shenanigans, she told Leo, who in turn told his buddy. Technically, his pal wasn’t a senator yet, but he was planning to run in the next election and was looking for a way to make his mark. So the story they were spinning was at least partly true.
“I don’t believe a word of it.”
“I took the precaution of writing out his name and telephone number.” Leo produced a slip of paper from his pocket. “He’ll be very happy to accept your call.”
“Oh, we’re all very clever, aren’t we?” Ruby’s face burned with resentment. “You think you’ve got it all figured—Jesus Christ! Who else you got back there? Jack the goddamned Ripper?”
Winchell stepped into Kathryn’s peripheral vision; she could hear him breathing deep and fast.
“Hello, Ruby,” he said evenly. “I’d say it’s nice to see you again, but we both know that would be a whopper.”
“Yeah, because the sight of you brings up only the cheeriest of memories. Like for instance that last time in New York. Remember? I did all the work while you just lay there.”
Kathryn nearly yelped. These two sharks are made for each other.
Winchell lunged forward. “Thanks for all your hard work, you little tramp! I had to endure all kinds of hell to be rid of what you gave me that night.”
“I’m sorry, Walter. Did I forget to mention I had gonorrhea? Must have slipped my mind while you were plying me with enough whiskey to sink the Bismarck.”
“Again with the gonorrhea?” Kathryn said. “That’s quite a pattern, Ruby.”
She wondered if Winchell had heard about the fabricated Truman Committee and prayed that Gwendolyn had distracted him long enough for him to miss it.
Ruby looked at the paper in Leo’s hand. “I’ll be making a phone call all right, but it won’t be to some stick-up-his-ass senator from Connecticut. I’ll be calling Mickey Cohen.”
Is this little chiseler bluffing our bluff? “You don’t know Mickey Cohen.”
“I didn’t . . . until he called me.”
“Mickey Cohen? Called you?”
Kathryn was reassured that Winchell didn’t believe Ruby any more than she did.
“Who do you think convinced me to come to the West Coast?”
“Did you give him the pox, too?” The quiver in Winchell’s sneer told Kathryn he knew Ruby was telling the truth now. “I doubt he’ll take too kindly to that.” It was well known around LA that Cohen was a hypochondriac who washed his hands dozens of times a day.
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“My dad and Mickey go way back.” She turned her marbled eyes on Winchell. “Prohibition in New York, it was quite a time, huh?”
“Cohen has his hands full with the Kefauver Commission. I doubt he’ll want to get tangled up in a whole other senatorial investigation.”
The Kefauver Commission had recently been making inroads into the world of organized crime. Many people believed it spelled the beginning of the end for the mob, but Kathryn wasn’t so sure. People like Mickey Cohen and Ruby Courtland always knew how to squeeze out of a thorny situation.
“If that’s all you people have,” Ruby had taken on a haughty Queen of Sheba tone, “then I’m afraid it’s game over.”
“Not so fast.”
Gwendolyn emerged from the shadows and took the stairs one by one. She reached into her purse and pulled out a stack of cards tied together with a white ribbon.
Kathryn tried to smother her panic. Why would Gwennie bring Leilah’s cards with her?
Gwendolyn wiggled her hand. “Every mover and shaker, how frequently they visited Leilah’s fleshpots, and what they liked to do when they got there.”
Ruby had her beady little eyes fixed on the cards. Leilah had been sentenced to twenty months at a women’s prison in northern California, but her cards were still a potential flashpoint, and everybody there knew it.
“You were right,” Gwendolyn teased, “they’ve got little astrological signs on the back.”
Ruby’s mouth dropped open. “I’m listening.”
“Your father is on one of these cards.”
“My father’s never been west of the Mississippi.”
“Apparently, Otis Courtland doesn’t share everything with his daughter.”
Kathryn looked across at Leo, who raised his eyebrows. You didn’t tell me about this. Kathryn shot back, Plan B? The chatter downstairs ratcheted up a notch as people poured into the auditorium. Kathryn touched Gwendolyn’s elbow. “Honey,” she murmured, “we didn’t talk about this—”
Ruby stuck her hand out. “My dad’s card. I want to see it for myself.”
“I’ll go you one better, Ruby, and give it to you—if you’re on the next train heading east. Whatever it takes to get you out of town. That’s all I want.”
Twisted Boulevard: A Novel of Golden-Era Hollywood (Hollywood's Garden of Allah novels Book 6) Page 31