by George Baxt
“If God is good, it’ll all fall into place and all will be right with the world again.”
Inside the house, Malke was in the library with Don Magrew and Nina Valgorski. Magrew held a gun in his right hand. Malke’s hands were at her sides, fists clenched, defiance in her face. “Do not menace me, Feodor Vanoff, you should remember I am impervious to threats.”
‘The papers, Malke. Romanov’s papers. They incriminate us. They are dangerous.”
“Go ahead and search. Look in his desk, in his safe, under the rug—wherever you suspect they are secreted—I do not have any papers.”
“Where are they?” persisted Magrew while Nina wondered where the kitchen was located and, if she could get there, what culinary delimits the refrigerator would yield. But she stood frozen next to Magrew, admiring Malkes courage in facing the prospect of imminent death.
“All of Romanov’s papers are in Morris Snyders office. You know he was Romanov’s lawyer.” Their eyes locked. His were anxious, hers were defiant and unafraid “Go to Snyder’s office. And if you choose not to go there, then go to hell”
“If you lead the way.” said Magrew blithely.
Neither he nor Nina heard the door opening behind them. Malke’s face showed nothing as Villon and Mallory slipped into the room with guns drawn. Villon said smartly, “Magrew, my gun is bigger than yours.” Magrew spun about but before he could pull the trigger of his gun, Villon sent a slug into his shoulder. Nina screamed and backed away from Magrew. hand at her mouth looking like a distressed silent screen heroine. Magrew dropped his gun, staggered back, and fell into Malices sturdy arms. “Nice catch,” said Villon.
Mallory thought he meant the three they had rounded up. Hazel came running into the library followed by Fred and Ginger. Hazel yelled, “Herb! Herb! Are you all right?”
“I’m just dandy.” he said over his shoulder while Mallory was at the phone dialing the precinct for backup. Malke helped Magrew into a chair as Fred said to Ginger triumphantly, “What did I tell you? Magrew is Feodor Vanoff! How about that!” Ginger patted him on the hack and knew he’d be dining off the story for months into the future.
Nina stood over Magrew, holding out a whistle. “Here is slivovitz for you.” Villon grabbed the whistle, which annoyed Nina. She said with a haughty toss of her head, “It is positively slivovitz. Mr. Villon.” Villon had pushed the trick bottom of the whistle and die top popped open. He sniffed. His eyes widened in amazement. “I’ll be damned, its slivovitz.”
Ginger marveled at the womans audacity as Nina slunk over to Villon and patted his cheek. “My dear, dear detective. There is no need to poison Vanoff. He has nothing to fear just as 1 have nothing to fear.” She crossed to Malke and snapped her fingers under the older woman’s nose. “Malke has nothing to fear. All of us involved in this bungled mission have nothing to fear.” Villon, the gun steady and aimed at Magrew, said something to Mallory that Hazel strained to hear but didn’t catch. She suspected Villon was up to something when he backed away from Magrew to speak to Mallory.
Ginger said to Nina, “Honey, you have nothing to fear but fear itself. Now where did 1 hear that one? Roosevelt or Churchill?” Nobody told her because nobody was sure.
Nina faced Ginger. “My dear movie star, Nina Valgorski fears nothing and nobody. Nina Valgorski did not fear the beast Lavrenti Beria and she did not fear the monster Stalin. You have made a great capture, Mr. Detective. You have Feodor Vanoff, who defected from Russia with classified information that he sold along with himself to the highest bidder, in his case, the United States. He has not been forgiven. The Soviets are anxious to have him back.”
Ginger interrupted. “And it was your job to bring him back alive.” She said to Fred. “You know, like ‘Bring Them Back Alive’ Frank Buck who makes those wild animal movies.”
Fred said with a smile. “I like those.”
Nina reclaimed the spotlight, looking at Magrew. “The Soviets shall have him. Unless America thinks he is important enough to be retained and tried as the poisoner of Esther Pincus.”
“Shut up!” cried Magrew.
“Why should I shut up? Speak now and then they won’t have to beat the truth out of you.” She elaborated to the others. “We have seen those brutal films of yours where a suspect sits on a stool under a solitary overhead lamp and the policemen beat the suspect with rubber hoses. Very sadistic.”
Mallory relinquished the phone to Hazel, who was reveling in the glory that she was scooping every newshound in the city. Oh what a tidy sum it would bring her!
Fred was standing next to Villon, anxious to ask him something but there was no quieting Nina Valgorski, who was now zeroing in on Malke Movitz. They heard sirens coming closer. While watching Villons eyes afire with expectation, Fred said to himself, Here comes the grand finale. He’s going to unveil the big surprise. I hope he makes the most of it. He realized Herb was smiling at him. Herb was possibly realizing what Fred was thinking. Ginger was thinking Fred and Herb looked like a pair of gays in a bar making time with each other. In this town, nothing would surprise Ginger.
Nina said, “And now Malke, after fifteen good years in America, it is now back to the salt mines.” She said to the others, “Did you guess Malke was much more than a mere housekeeper?”
“Oh yes we did, Miss Smarty Pants. Malke was Romanov’s partner! She’s as guilty of espionage as he was, right, Malke?”
To Gingers amazement, the womans eyes were misting. “Almost right, Miss Rogers. I gave the orders. I saw that everything that had to be done was carried out. 1 did everything I was instructed to do; and I have no regrets.” She said to Villon. “Sir, my nephew, he is innocent. He had nothing to do with poisoning Romanov or anyone else. He is very gifted. He dances beautifully and he sings like a nightingale. Ask him to sing for you ‘Chickory Chick Chelah Chelah Checklearomy in the Bananaga.’ It will melt your heart.”
I can’t wait, thought Fred. The sirens had reached the house. Villon asked Malke, “Malke? Isn’t there anything else you want to tell me?”
“What else could there be? What else you need to know I’m sure you will learn from Morris Snyder. Vanoff thought that by removing poor Esther Pincus who knew him in Paris he was erasing the threat of his true identity.”
Fred asked her, “Did she know in Paris he was Feodor Vanoff?” Malke said, “I always feared after too much to drink, Vanoff might have given himself away. But you see, he had nothing to fear. Most of us in Paris chose pseudonyms, to protect our families and friends still trapped in the Soviet Union. Esther knew this,”
“No kidding!” exclaimed Ginger, “Well, Malke? What’s your real name?”
Malke laughed. It was the first time they had heard her laugh. The sound was surprising. It wasn’t lusty or booming. It was a mellifluous contralto. “My real name? My real name is Pollyanna, the glad girl,” and she continued laughing.
Villon s additional detectives had arrived. There were four of them and they entered the library followed by two ambulance attendants and Edgar Howe, the coroner.
Ginger gushed, “Oh, here’s the adorable coroner who worships me and Fred!”
“Well, where is the body?” asked Edgar Rowe as Malke’s laughter dwindled away, as though for lack of oxygen. Rowe was staring at Don Magrew. He said sternly, “You are supposed to be dead.” An ambulance attendant was examining Magrew’s shoulder wound.
Ginger said to Fred, “Who’s playing games around here?” She was pointing at Edgar Rowe. “I saw cutey pie here whispering something to him”—she pointed at Magrew—”as he left the rehearsal hall. Sayyyyy… he’s not mixed up in this, is he?”
EIGHTEEN
Edgar Roe smiled at Herb Villon, while whistling through his teeth another Astaire and Rogers oldie, ‘The Way You Look Tonight.’
“Why, Herb Villon, you had me completely fooled. I thought I had covered all my tracks.”
“Edgar, to borrow from Ginger, you were just too cute to be true. Let’s go back to your so-called b
reakdown after your wife’s death.” Hazel had abandoned the phone and now stood mesmerized listening to Herb.
“What do you mean so-called? I was a nervous wreck. I thought there’d be an autopsy revealing I poisoned the bitch. It was either that or suffer arrest. I didn’t relish the thought of jail.” He added softly, “1 still don’t.”
“Your trip to Europe, presumably to visit cemeteries and all that crap. You went to Moscow under an assumed name and a false passport. That was for a refresher course.”
“Yes, Beria thought I was falling down on the job. And I must admit I was. I was unnerved by the HUAC investigations and the fear my beloved wife had turned over some of my papers to the CIA. She hadn’t. But she was leaving me. And since she wanted to go, I thought it best to help her. I was quite wrong about an autopsy. After all, she was the coroners wife. I explained she had suffered a seizure while watching television. It was a Sunday night. We watched Ed Sullivans Toast of the Town religiously. My word was good, so I got away with it.” He smiled again at Villon, of whom he was genuinely fond. “And don’t ask that dreadful cliché. But why are you telling me all this?’“
Ginger said, “I saw you whisper something to him,” pointing at Magrew, “as you left the rehearsal hall. You were instructing him to kill Malke, weren’t you!”
“You clever dancing darling! Not just Malke. He was told to make a clean sweep of the household and then disappear to Mexico with the ballerina.”
“The ballerina has a name,” said Nina ominously.
“Indeed she does,” said Rowe, “but not to be repeated in polite company.”
Villon spoke. “Your biggest mistake was jumping the gun this afternoon at rehearsal. Arriving with the ambulance while Esther Pincus had not yet died.”
“Mother always told me, haste makes waste. But when Magrew a.k.a. Vanoff phoned from the rehearsal to tell me he feared Esther might expose him, I told him to blow the whistle on her. Forgive my poor little joke, but there has been so little laughter in my life since my dear wife Sybil took her leave. She could be a very funny lady when she wasn’t threatening to unmask me.” He said to Villon, “You know. Herb, ever since 1 was a young man in college and was seduced into joining the Young Communists League, I did truly believe that in communism lay the promise of the future.”
Ginger said to the room, “The promise of my future lies in Leland Hayward. He’s my agent,” adding grimly, “and he got me mixed up in this mess.”
“Why just think. Ginger,” said Fred, “if Leland hadn’t, you might never have gotten to meet Edgar Rowe.
With one leg stretched in front of him and his arms raised overhead, Rowe cried, “Ta-da!”
* * *
Half an hour later in the Polo Lounge of the Beverly Hills Hotel, one of Hollywood’s most popular watering holes, Fred and Ginger sat with Villon, Hazel, and Jim Mallory.
Ginger asked Villon, “What happens to this bunch? A trial? Firing squad? Jail? What?”
“Why, Ginger, don’t you read magazines like Time?” asked Herb.
“I can never find the time.” Fred’s eyes rolled up in his head and then returned while he reached for his glass of red wine. Herb said to Ginger, ‘They’ll be swapped.”
“Swapped? What do you mean swapped?”
Fred said, “Swapped, sweetheart, like baseball cards.”
She was astonished. “You mean they’ll be traded?”
‘That’s right,” said Herb, “We’ll give them back their spies and they’ll give us back ours.”
‘You mean the Russkies have some of our guys behind bars?” Ginger couldn’t believe it.
Fred said, “Ginger, they take as many of our people prisoner as possible. They hold them in reserve, just for emergencies like this. We do the same thing with their guys. But like Nina says, someone like Magrew isn’t looking forward to going back. I kind of feel sorry for Varonsky and his wife. They wanted so badly to stay here once Varonsky defected.”
‘They’ll be all right,” Villon assured Fred. “Varonsky will defect successfully. He has a lot to tell the boys in Washington and he’ll make a deal that includes getting Alida free of the charges against her, aiding and abetting in poisoning Romanov.”
“Oh Romanov,” wailed Ginger.
Fred patted her hand, “He’s probably quite content in that great Psychiatric Clinic in the Sky.”
“Or playing piano on cloud nine,” said Hazel.
“Well, folks. I’m going to phone Sol Hurok. He’s probably having a series of fits.” Fred asked a waiter for a phone, which was brought promptly. A few minutes later he was hearing Hurok cry, “Where did you and Ginger disappear to? You left me historical!”
“Hysterical,” corrected Mae.
* * *
The show, of course, went on. Sol Hurok would not have it any other way. There was no Rasputin ballet; instead Fred substituted a reprise of several numbers identified with him and Ginger and it proved to be much more satisfying than Fred tapping with a matted beard covering his face and Ginger coping with castanets and flamenco foot stomping. Luba Nafka was elevated for the night to Nina’s former position as prima ballerina and convinced Hurok to let Mikhail Pfenov partner her in a pas de deux which they performed quite satisfactorily. The guest viewing room at NBC was filled with VIPs, including Hurok, Mae Frohman, Villon, Jim Mallory, Hazel Dickson, and Lela Rogers, who was entranced by her daughter in the closing number with Fred. There were four television screens and Fred and Ginger dominated all of them.
The number opened with Ginger singing “‘They all warned me not to spy on, Mr. and Mrs. Backbumer’s charming scion. Now I’ve got a table to eat my humble pie on…’” and then Fred sang, “‘But what you really need. Is a shoulder to cry on …’”
“Oh, it’s adorable,” said Lela Rogers while trying to figure out what percentage of the company were “commies.” Hazel shushed her and immediately became suspect in Lela’s eyes.
Ginger sang, “‘So I’m singing a very sad medley, The consequences have turned quite deadly, Because I let all the things he said be, As dangerous as a lion …’”
“‘You need a shoulder to cry on!’” sang Fred.
Mae Frohman was glad she and Hurok were returning to New York the next afternoon. She needed the peace and quiet of her apartment on West End Avenue to settle her nerves. Imagine the coroner being a master spy! Incredible! And he committed suicide by drinking poison from a trick hollow whistle! A whistle!
Ginger was twirling in a spin guided by Fred, who was trying to fight off the multicolored feathers living from Gingers gown as she sang, “‘Ohhhh! Why can’t I ever trust, A member of the upper crust!’”
Herb Villon was sneaking looks at a happy Hurok who three weeks ago was in despair at the scandal embroiling the Baronovitch Ballet, but now was singing with joy at the realization that nothing boosted a show’s ratings like the scandal the company was involved in.
Fred was singing, “‘Now I guess she’ll go get high on, Some dry martinis that she’ll fly on…’”
Ginger sang, “‘And lots of makeup I’ll apply on…’”
Fred added with feeling, “‘Your beautiful face…’”
He ad-libbed the lyric and saw Ginger was beginning to choke up she was so touched, so he joined her, singing “‘But what I really need to do. Is find a shoulder to cry on!’”
Despite misting eyes. Ginger fell into Freds arms and didn’t miss a beat as they tapped before a simple white back curtain that featured twinkling stars of all colors. They danced splendidly, realizing this might be the last time they would ever appear together.
Hurok said to Mae Frohman, ‘There will never be a pair like them ever again.”
Mae agreed. And she didn’t have to correct Hurok.
on Archive.