by Cathy Ace
He looked around the room and grinned. “Carl’s mother and Miss Shirley always cracked up when I said that. Asked me if it hurt to walk in them . . .” No one smiled. Svetlana looked even more puzzled.
Art shrugged. “Anyway, I did that for almost ten years for a company out of Boston, but it was frustrating work. The people who made the shoes I was trying to sell didn’t listen to the feedback I was giving them from the customers. I knew I could do better, but I had to work out how. I took off for a couple of years to visit family in Israel. When I got back here, I had a plan, a new focus, and I put all my money into a small production facility. It took some time, but I guess you all know that Art of Shoes became a real US success story.”
Until that point I hadn’t connected Art Sauber with Art of Shoes. I’ve only been in Canada for ten years or so, but even I’ve heard of them. Apparently Art was the man who’d shod Middle America for decades. He must be very rich!
I didn’t try to hide my surprise, and Art spotted it. “Yes, that was me. Luckily for me I listened to Miss Shirley and Carl when they came to me with the idea to invest in Tsar! I sold Art of Shoes in 1997. I was lucky. None of us saw it coming, but, as it turned out, sales of women’s shoes from US manufacturers pretty much halved from 1997 to 2000. Can you believe that for timing? Foreign imports wrecked the market for us. But I was out, and I put all my money into this place. Didn’t want to run it, mind you. Never interested in that. But I knew, I believed, I’d make a mint by backing Carl and Miss Shirley. And I wasn’t wrong. My right-hand man at Art of Shoes was my chief financial officer, Stephen Feldblum, and he agreed with me. Now there’s a man I’ve trusted with my life, and I’ve also trusted him with all my financial decisions. He came on board here during the demo of the old Sunrise and the build of this place, and stayed. You worked with him a lot, didn’t you, Julie? Great guy, right? I love him like a brother, like I loved your father, Carl.”
Julie smiled. “How’s Stephen doing?” she asked. “Living the dream of retirement life?”
“Sure is,” replied Art. “Got a nice setup in Florida now, where he works on his tan beside the pool and sees how fast he can smoke his way through his boxes of cigars, while reading book after book on those little electronic things. Deserves it. He’s seventy-eight now, but still does a month of volunteering on different projects in Israel every year. Amazing energy for a little whippet of a man. Puts me to shame.”
He smiled indulgently. “And that’s me, folks. As for me and Miss Shirley? Well, of course I was upset when your mom and dad divorced, Carl, but not really surprised. By then they’d grown into entirely different people. When your father introduced me to Miss Shirley, I knew they were right for each other. By that time I was back east running Art of Shoes and only visited Vegas, and my old friend Carl Sr., on an irregular basis. He was tied up with business here all the time, as was I on the other side of the country. Neither of us had any idea that we’d end up as business partners. Life throws us curveballs when we least expect it. Anyway, when I saw them together, there was no doubt in my mind that they’d make a go of it. I was proud to be ‘second-best man,’ as your dad called me, on their wedding day. You made a good best man, Carl.”
“Yeah, they were real happy that day,” recalled Carl. He shook his head wistfully. “Although it was 1984, Miss Shirley still wore a dress that looked as though it was from 1964. All the brides at that time were wearing those giant poufy things, like Princess Di had done a few years earlier, but not Miss Shirley. Looked more like a cross between Marilyn and Jackie O than Princess Di. That pillbox hat with a veil sitting on her big, blond hair, remember?”
Art smiled. “Yes, it was a good day,” he replied, “and it allowed me to see that a couple could live together, play together, and work together. What Miss Shirley and your father achieved with the old Sunrise was a real phenomenon, Carl. And I can tell you that I had no doubt I was making the right move by investing in their dream for this place. As I said earlier, it was good timing too. I remember I met you for the first time at their wedding, Clemence, and I seem to recall that you cried that day too.” Art smiled warmly at the man, who, throughout everyone’s explanations, had remained motionless, except to sip his water.
Clemence nodded now, looking as though he was about to burst into tears again.
“By the way, Clemence,” added Art, “there’s something I can add to your tale about Miss Shirley’s early life. When I bought a house here and began to spend more time in Vegas with Carl and Miss Shirley, we all talked a great deal, as you do over cocktails. You said she left Vegas in 1960, but you didn’t know where she went?”
Clemence nodded.
“Well, I can tell you: it was Hollywood. That’s when she went blond. Apparently, she’d had a role as an extra in Ocean’s Eleven, which was shot here in Vegas during January and February 1960. She got the movie bug, it seems, and she took herself off to try to get some roles in Hollywood itself. She never did say who it was she got mixed up with when she was there, but she did mention he had a thing for blondes, and that was why she changed her hair. I have my own ideas about who she meant. So I know where she went, but I was never sure why she went exactly then. Maybe it was seeing all those big movie stars here in Vegas, and seeing how glamorous their lives were. Or maybe someone offered her some sort of starlet dream. I don’t know.”
“Hollywood?” said Clemence. “Really? I wonder why she told you and not me.” He sounded hurt.
Art spoke quickly. “Well she didn’t tell me. She told her husband, and he told me. That’s the only reason I know.” He smiled reassuringly at Clemence. “Did you know she was in that movie?”
Clemence nodded slowly.
“Have you ever spotted her in it?” continued Art.
Again Clemence nodded and smiled.
“I’d love you to point her out to me someday,” said Art. “I must have watched it a dozen times or more, but I can’t see anyone who looks anything like her, even allowing for the fact that she had dark hair at the time, which she told me herself.”
Clemence nodded. “Sure will, Mr. Art, I knows exactly when she’s in it. Though you’re right, you wouldn’t have recognized her. Dark hair, a hat, and a big old coat, covering her babies. It was the next month she gave birth, so she was pretty big then.”
Two long seconds of silence followed.
“Miss Shirley was pregnant?” asked an astonished Art Sauber.
Clemence nodded again. “Can’t hurt to say now,” he said slowly. “I promised not to say, but now she’s gone. Twins. Two boys. Ugly as sin itself they was.”
Chorus
THE ROOM WAS IMMEDIATELY FILLED with exclamations of surprise.
“You’re kidding, surely?” Art voiced the general amazement in the room.
“When did she have them? What happened to them? She never said anything about them to anyone, as far as I know.” Carl was up on his feet again and getting red around the neck. Art pulled at his sleeve and encouraged him to sit.
“Why don’t you tell us what you know, Clemence,” I said calmly. Nodding heads bobbed at each table.
Clemence shook his head sadly. “Come to me in the fall of ’59, she did. Cried like a baby herself. Just a girl. She never told me who the father was. But she’d walked out with a gentleman from the Desert Inn a few times. Married. Older. Cash in every pocket. One of them tough guys,” he said, squashing his nose sideways with his thumb, making it look as though it was broken. “Don’t know what she saw in him. Anyhow, he up and leaves. She’s on her own. Says she’s just like her own ma. Kept it all hid under her work clothes at the diner for a long time. When she finally showed, she was about two months away. I remember the filming you mentioned, Mr. Art, for the Rat Pack movie. Borrowed a coat and walked across in front of a camera in the crowd, she did. So pleased with herself. Then her final month come, and she was bad. Couldn’t stand. Had to rest up proper. Wouldn’t let me tell a doctor, nothing. I’m the oldest of nine, so I’d helped with babi
es afore. My mama had them all at home, with her women friends helping. And that’s what we done. I supervised. A girl from the diner helped. Only problem was, there was two of ’em. Didn’t expect that. She was such a small woman I don’t know how them babies fit in there. Tiny, they was. All screwed up like wet red paper. Baby monkeys. Ugly. Next month she up and left Vegas. Didn’t see her again till late that year when, like I said earlier, she’d lost all the baby weight, had her hair changed, and was dressed real fancy. I never knew where she went, don’t know why she never told me. Didn’t ask. But I knew why. Had to find homes for them babies somewhere. Never talked about it after. Never.” He let out a rattling sigh, then tears started to flow down his creased cheeks.
Julie Pool was very emotional when she spoke, though she tried to contain herself. “Clemence, are you absolutely sure about this?” Clemence didn’t respond. “I’m not sure it would have been possible for her to just spirit away babies, even in those days. There must have been a record of their birth. She’d have had to register them, surely? If she had children it would mean . . .” She looked around, bit her lip thoughtfully, and stopped speaking.
“I guess if they were born small she could have taken them elsewhere and registered them there, under a false name,” said Art, thinking aloud. “Joan and I have never been blessed with children, but a friend of hers had a baby at full term and it was so small that it didn’t reach normal weight for its age until it was six months old. If Miss Shirley’s babies were tiny, as you say Clemence, she could have said they’d been born later, wherever she was. Hollywood, certainly Los Angeles, would fit the bill.”
“Why didn’t she ever tell Dad?” asked Carl, still looking astonished.
“Maybe she did, Carl,” replied Art. “All I can say for sure is it’s not something they ever discussed with me.”
“But Dad would have told me,” squealed Carl.
Art reached over and patted the man on the shoulder. “Not necessarily, Carl. Remember, when they got together, you were a grown man with your own wife, your own life. You and your dad weren’t exactly close, on a personal level . . .”
“That wasn’t my fault,” whimpered Carl, boylike. “He sent me away to school. He wanted me to have the best of everything, and then when I wanted to work with cars, the only thing I ever really wanted to do, he said no, I had to use my fancy education. I’d have done anything for my father. I loved him, admired him. But he made me do things I wasn’t any good at—it was his fault that I messed up that first business. His fault that my marriage fell apart. At least Miss Shirley talked him into letting me try to make a go of it in the car restoration world. You said I’m good at it, and I am. I could have been good at it when I was twenty, not have had to wait forever to finally be good at something.”
It seemed that Carl Petrosian was carrying a certain amount of animosity toward his father. But he was yet another person who saw Miss Shirley as a savior—someone who had allowed him a chance to flourish.
When Julie Pool spoke, her voice was calm, but I could tell she was working at it. Her fists were clenched, her knuckles white. She looked betrayed. I suspected that her mind was racing through the possible legal ramifications of Miss Shirley having two secret children. “Clemence, I hate to say this, but if what you say is going to hold any water, you’ll need to prove it. Can you?”
Once again our eyes turned toward Clemence, who nodded. “Look in her purse. Photo of her, me, and the two boys. The friend of hers from the diner took it. Borrowed a camera to do it. Miss Shirley was never without that photograph. And I mean never. All you gotta do is look in her purse. Over the years she’s had a bunch of copies of that photo, so her boys could always be with her. Just look.”
Even as he was speaking, I could see eyes darting about, searching out Miss Shirley’s purse.
“It wasn’t on the table when we moved it,” said Ian.
“She had it with her, beside her, when we dined,” said Julie. “It was the Tsar! purse—one of her collection of Judith Leiber purses. You know, it’s got crystals set in the logo design. Red, with a big gold Tsar! across it?” Julie began to get annoyed with the blank faces. “You all know our logo, right?” She was losing her patience.
“I don’t think they know who Judith Leiber is—they don’t know that she designs purses,” I suggested.
Julie sighed and shook her head. “Oh, right. Don’t worry about that. As Cait said, she’s a purse designer. The purse designer. All it means is that it’s not a little thing made of fabric; it’s solid, a metal box with a clip at the top. Opens like a clamshell. About so big.” She gestured to indicate a large purse, about ten inches square. I began to work out what such an item must have cost and came up with a huge amount. But I don’t own a Vegas casino, so I suppose it’s all relative.
“Don’t interfere with the body,” called Bud, as people began to rise from their chairs and move about.
“Do you think she put it on the floor next to her?” asked Tom, a question largely directed toward me and Bud. “That’s what Tanya does with her purse when we’re eating.”
“It’s hardly likely, Tom,” I replied. “A custom-made Judith Leiber purse of that size has to be worth about ten thousand dollars. It’s the sort of purse you’d have on the table, or at least hanging on a purse hook.”
Given the way that everyone’s eyes were scanning the room, it was clear that the whereabouts of Miss Shirley’s purse was now the main concern, given its possible contents.
“I know where is,” said Svetlana Kharlamova, very quietly for her.
Everyone stopped fussing and looked at the Diva.
Jimmy Green shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Madame found it, tripped over it almost, when Miss Shirley was first discovered to be dead. She’s been holding onto it for safekeeping, haven’t you, Madame?”
“Yes,” replied Svetlana, nodding graciously. “Is here.” She waved toward the floor, and Jimmy bent to retrieve the purse from beneath the folds of linen surrounding the table. He reemerged, holding the glittering purse aloft.
“I’ll take that, thank you,” said Julie Pool quickly, as several hands moved toward Jimmy’s prize. “If it contains a photograph of Miss Shirley and her offspring, it’ll be a matter for me to deal with.” We all knew what she meant, none more so that Carl Petrosian. The contents of that purse could rob him of a lot of money.
Julie stood between the Diva and her assistant as she opened the purse. Her nose wrinkled as she did so, and I could see her give a little sniff and then flinch. Odd.
The silence was intense. Julie nodded. “Yes. A blurry photograph of a woman sitting on a bed, holding a baby. It’s . . . well, I can’t say she looks anything like the Miss Shirley I knew, but I’m sure there are some other photographs of her as a young woman that will allow an identification to be made. She has Miss Shirley’s bearing. Beside the bed is a young man holding another baby.” She looked over at Clemence. “You?” He nodded. “And you say these are two boys?” Again, Clemence nodded.
“I want to see it,” called Carl angrily. “I want to see if it’s really her.”
Julie shrugged, closed the purse, laid it on the bar, and handed the photograph to Carl. His entire body deflated when he peered at the photo. He passed it to Art, who squinted at it, let out a low whistle, then held it out for everyone to see.
Tanya managed to peer at the photo. “Wow, Clemence. That’s Miss Shirley with her son, and you’re next to her holding another baby,” she said quietly.
Art spoke heavily. “You’re right, Clemence. That’s definitely Miss Shirley. When were the boys born?”
“Finally saw the light on the last day of March 1960. Noisy, they was.” He held out his hand for the photograph.
Art looked thoughtful as he passed the photograph to Clemence and said, “So they’d be fifty-two years old. Interesting. Of course, they could have had children themselves by now.”
I gazed around the room and did the math.
Art was doing
the same thing it seemed. “That means that quite a few people in this room could be either Miss Shirley’s offspring or her grandchild. And set to inherit. Sorry, Carl, it looks like you might have to stand in line,” he said, without any obvious glee.
“I need to pee, so you’ll have to excuse me,” said Tanya flatly as she stood. So inappropriate. Tom looked shocked, but Tanya’s comment hadn’t registered with everyone in the room. Most people seemed to be in their own little worlds, thinking through what Clemence had said, and what the photograph meant to them. It was certainly food for thought.
First Intermission
WITH NOT EVEN TANYA’S INCONGRUOUS announcement making it into some personal worlds, I thought I’d take a chance to stand and stretch. I find I have to move every so often or I seize up, and it didn’t appear that anyone would mind.
“I can’t imagine there’s any coffee, Ian,” I said, looking at the young man, “but I could do with some more water, and maybe some of that fruit? I can help myself to the fruit, but I don’t know where you keep the bottled water. Could you help me out?”