“Oh, for chrissake, you know what I mean. Did you happen to read Rountree’s book, by the way?”
“No.”
“It’s worth reading. There’s this brother and sister. He’s straight animal. She’s very sensual, y’understand, but innocent. When they’re kids there’s always electricity between them. Then he marries himself a very young girl who’s crazy about him, sort of a duplicate of his sister. But it’s no use. He and the sister are drawn together like a couple of mink sniffing each other out. Then there are circumstances one weekend—”
“Let’s omit the circumstances.”
“All right, so the brother and sister wind up in bed together. It sets off an affair they keep fighting against and losing. The young wife feels something’s wrong, but can’t believe her own suspicions. When the showdown comes it’s too much for her. She kills herself. And the finish is her burial, the brother and sister standing together at her grave while the dirt is being dumped into it. And what do we see close up? He tries to put an arm around her, she resists, he wins. And, baby, when she leans against him it’s plain to one and all that they now have exactly what they really wanted from the start.” Kightlinger’s eyes were bright with enthusiasm. “Well, what do you think?”
“Not bad. Except from what I heard, Daskalos ruled that your sinners can’t live happily ever after. Which means some big changes in the script. Did I hear wrong?”
Kightlinger said bitterly, “No, you did not hear wrong. That fucking Daskalos is a disease.”
“How does Rountree feel about making those changes?”
“Well, he kind of goes for Daskalos’ line, so he’s being smart about it. It’s his big-mouth wife who’s making the trouble.”
“She his artistic conscience?”
“Whatever you want to call it. Anyhow, she ought to know by now that if it ain’t Freitag and Corinthian, it’s nobody.”
I said, “How did it get to be Freitag in the first place?”
Kightlinger almost smiled. “You wouldn’t believe how that happened. First time around he turned the story down flat. But I had a feeling he was kind of hooked by it. So I kept coming back to him until all of a sudden he says—maybe it was supposed to be a gag, but what the hell—anyhow, he says, ‘You get Mike Calderon and Sharon Bauer together again for this one, and Corinthian’ll go for fifty percent. And a release.’ And, God damn it, I went out and got him Mike Calderon just like that.”
“How? I read somewhere he gets at least a million off the top. On your kind of budget—”
Kightlinger said, “He gets a million from somebody else. From me it’ll be deferred money and a big chunk of the gross. Why? Because Bauer is the one piece he made a picture with he couldn’t get into. The one and only where she didn’t lay down and spread her legs when he told her to. It really eats him, not scoring with her. And here’s one more chance to do it.”
I said, “You sold him the deal on that basis?” and Kightlinger answered reproachfully, “Do I look like another Frankie Kurtz? I gave him the script, that’s all. And I kind of convinced him that Bauer was set to play the sister. And when I finally got through to her she didn’t seem to mind at all it would be Mike.”
“I see. And how did Lou Hoffman get himself picked as director?”
“He’s Mike’s pick. He worked with Mike, he knows how Mike likes things done. And Holly Lee is Lou’s pick.”
I said, “There seems to be a lot of incest going on outside of that script,” and Kightlinger gave me a wise smile. “In my position, Milano, that’s how you do it. If you know how.” The smile faded. “Except that I am mortgaged up to the fucking eyeballs. And just when I’m ready to strike oil, along comes this craziness with those notes and that mutt getting killed. My only hope is that it all turns out to be a big nothing.”
“Suppose it turns out to be a big something?”
“Then it has got to be Frankie Kurtz. Vendetta stuff, know what I mean? So if you could wrap him up until I’m all set here—”
I cut in: “Even if I could, I wouldn’t. I know Kurtz. Money is his game, not three-year-old vendettas. If one of those notes was an extortion note, that might earmark him. None of them was.”
Kightlinger once more attacked the hangnail with his teeth. Finally he said, “If it’s not him—”
“Yes?”
“Nothing. Talking to myself.”
“It sounded like you were getting around to something interesting.”
“Ah, look. You have got to be reasonable, Milano. I come out with the wrong name, next thing on top of all my other troubles I get hit with a libel suit.”
“Slander.”
“Huh?”
I said, “Libel is when you put it in writing. Slander is when you say it. And I’m the only one around to hear you say it.”
“I already said enough. Anyhow, if I were you I’d take it easy on this job. If it’s not Frankie Kurtz, then it’s someone right here. And just having you around, you know what I mean, should cool off whoever it is.”
“There’s always that,” I said.
This time when I phoned the garage it was a Mercedes 280 that was brought around. I hadn’t allowed for the going-home traffic that would start clogging the roads at five o’clock, so I was in the phone booth at the shopping center about fifteen minutes behind schedule.
Shirley simply called this to my attention. Then she said, “Sometimes I honest-to-God sympathize with Angie. I don’t know what’s going on down there, and when you don’t call on time—”
She sounded so upset that I put aside the impulse to tell her that an Italian big sister, an Italian mother, and a self-elected Jewish mother were too much of a load altogether. I said, “Nothing’s happening down here. It’s a gas.”
“Oh? Still in bed with Mrs. Quist?”
“No, I wore her out. I’m taking a turn with her husband’s secretary now. A real doll. Come on, Shirl, were you able to reach what’s-his-name?”
“Owen McNulty. Yes.”
“Did he know of any connection between Calderon and Daskalos?”
“He did. And it must be good too, because it’s costing us five hundred. McNulty says, please, no agency check. It has to be a cashier’s check.”
“Any way he wants it. What’s his story?”
“Well, this Daskalos runs some kind of weird little religious organization—you know, California style—with mostly film and TV people in it. About a hundred of them. But he used to be—”
“I know that part. Just stick to the connection between him and Calderon.”
“All right. Calderon’s wife is really the one with the connection. His present wife. Now I have to give you some background, whether you like it or not.”
“Mrs. Calderon’s?”
“Just listen. Calderon’s first three wives were all glamour girls who had no children. McNulty says this number four is a pretty little nobody who was always being kept out of sight while Calderon went his merry way. But she did have a child by him. Michael Junior. Now six years old. Are you with me?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now here’s where McNulty says he doesn’t have all he needs to break the story, but enough to make his theory about it look very strong. From what he’s put together, he believes Mrs. Calderon came under the influence of this Daskalos. And Daskalos convinced her that she couldn’t go on living with a totally adulterous husband. So a couple of months ago she went off with the child to her parents’ home in Seattle and hasn’t come back to Calderon since.”
I said, “How far did McNulty push this?”
“He went up to the Seattle house, he saw the child playing in the yard, but he says the place is guarded like Fort Apache by some real goons. Then he hunted up Daskalos, who told him that he was under an evil spell and to go get lost. He finally put the question right to Calderon, and he feels he was close to getting murdered on the spot. He says he didn’t push it any further because it’s not that big a story, especially since this is wife number f
our and a nobody. I think he convinced himself it’s not that big a story.”
I said, “But he believes Daskalos did bust up Calderon’s marriage.”
“Well, the marriage seems to be the least part of it. McNulty says it’s possible Calderon doesn’t even remember his wife’s name. But losing his one and only child—a son at that—might hurt bad. It’s hard to tell with somebody like Calderon. And that’s your five-hundred-dollar’s worth, Johnny. Say, are you still there?”
“Yes.”
“Nice to know. I thought I put you to sleep with all this.”
“Far from it,” I said.
The sky to the east was just starting to darken when I got back to the garage. I went upstairs to security headquarters, where Araujo’s second-in-command greeted me respectfully, and in answer to my query, explained that, no, there was no going home for any staff or security people this week; everyone on duty understood he had signed on for full-time residence here until Saturday. Mr. Araujo had insisted on that.
I said, “So there’s no chance any of them could make personal contact with someone on the outside?”
“By phone, yes. Otherwise no.”
“How about deliveries coming in?”
“I supervise them myself. The driver isn’t permitted to leave the truck.”
I said, “It’s almost like combat duty, isn’t it?” and he said cheerfully, “Yes, it is. But much more comfortable.”
A mechanic dropped me off at the entrance to the main building. As he pulled away, Sharon and Maggie came outside all done up for cool weather. I said to them, “Time for sunset services?”
Sharon nodded. Her eyes, making contact with mine, were wide with appeal. Maggie said, “Did you talk to Sid?”
“I did. I wouldn’t swear to it, but he seemed ready to finger somebody here. Then he suddenly clammed up. Which is understandable. Send any of his package away in disgrace, and the game is all over for him.”
“But didn’t Andrew tell you that if whoever it is admits it, he’s ready to forgive and forget? If Sid knew that—”
“He wouldn’t believe it. For that matter, neither do I.”
“Because you don’t know Andrew.” She looked disappointed. “So that’s all it came to with Sid.”
“Well, he’s sorry he hit you, if you want to buy that. On the other hand, he thinks you cracked some of his caps.”
“Good.”
“I knew that would brighten your day.” Then, honestly curious, I asked, “Why do you attend these services? Working up to a conversion?”
“Hardly. But no matter how you feel about it, Milano, they do help ease the troubled spirit.” She seemed embarrassed by the confession. “Maybe any ritual like that would.”
“Maybe. I’ll leave you two ladies to it, then.”
I was poised for departure, but Sharon suddenly brought me to heel. “Johnny, wait.” She turned to Maggie. “You go on alone.”
Maggie hesitated. Then gave me a warning look which did everything but shout “You be nice to this child, hear?” and with a flip of the hand went her way beachward. She cut a fine figure with that full-legged stride.
Sharon said to me, “You like her, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“A lot?”
I said, “If what’s on your mind is how I feel about Miss Riley—”
“No. Let’s go inside.”
One of the rooms off the transverse corridor beside the elevator was a mini-theater with a pitched floor and rows of armchairs descending from the projectionist’s booth to the screen down front. Sharon seated herself against the back wall and huddled into her coat. I took the chair beside hers. She sat staring at the blank screen, and then her hand found mine and gripped it tightly. She said to the screen: “When you go back to New York I want to go with you.”
I said, “We can talk about anything but that. Like, for instance, this handsome little showplace. What kind of film does Andrew go for? Regular showings of Patton?”
“No. Just mine. He likes to be here with me and watch them. They turn him on.”
“And so to bed?”
“Yes.”
“But there’s nothing porno about those films.”
“I know.”
I said, “Well, that’s another one for the sex instruction books. On the other hand, I can’t fault him. He’s managed to achieve what a large part of our male population can only dream of.”
Now she looked at me. “I wish you wouldn’t talk like that. I said it turns him on. It doesn’t turn me on. It makes me sick.”
“His loving attentions?”
“No, not that. The whole scene. I mean, he gets himself all horny watching me up there, but it’s not really me. And I’m watching myself and I hate it. I always hated to even look at the rushes when I was making the pictures.”
“Why? The way you come across on the screen—”
“But I’m not an actress, don’t you understand? An actress actress. I don’t know how to do it, I just do it. So I was scared all the time on the set. And when I sit here watching I’m scared all over again, remembering how it felt.”
I said, “It doesn’t mean anything to you that you always manage to do it right? That even someone as tough as Pauline Kael wrote that you were one of the great screen naturals?”
“I know all that. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“In that case, why the hell did you decide to go back into pictures?”
“Because it got so that I had to do something. What else could I do except go back into pictures? But if you would only—”
“No. You could do what other women in your position do.”
Sharon said bitterly, “Shopping. And backgammon. And tennis. And traveling. And screwing around with the local studs. And more shopping. I don’t give a fuck about any of that.”
I said in resignation, “All right, I can see we’ll have to settle for your choice of subject. You plan to make a movie. What happens to the movie if you go back to New York with me?”
“Who cares? That’s Sid’s problem.”
“I guess it is. But there’s something else. What about your guru’s high moral standards? I hear he’s already got Lou Hoffman and his girl operating on some kind of weird separate-beds basis. Is that what you see for us until the divorce comes through?”
Sharon said huskily, “Oh, no. Not a chance.”
“Then you agree with me about Daskalos?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t say that. I just can’t be a Believer any more, that’s all. It doesn’t work for me.”
“Moving in with me wouldn’t work either.”
“Yes, it would. You already found out it would.”
“Because of those two weeks we had? Under what might be called highly unreal conditions? No. I’ve had plenty of time to consider those two weeks and what they really came to. You had twenty-three years of talk bottled up in you, and you finally had a chance to let it all out. And probably for the first time in your life you were with someone who didn’t want to exploit you in any way. Who only wanted you to enjoy life, because when you did he did. Therapy, that’s what it was. And when you’d gotten all you could out of the treatment you signed on with another specialist.”
“No. That part of it isn’t true. Why didn’t you read those letters I sent you? It’s all there.” She tugged my hand. “If I gave them to you now, would you read them?”
I said, “You keep them around here? Let me tell you out of professional experience, lady, that is extremely foolish of you.”
“You don’t have to be a detective all the time. Maggie’s got them locked up with her own personal things. Will you read them?”
“There’s no point to it. It won’t change anything.”
“Please.”
That magical, murderous please. I struck my colors but refused to scuttle the ship. “All right, I’ll read them. On one condition. We drop the subject now and stick to cases. Notably the case your husband’s paying me to handle f
or him.”
She squeezed my hand hard. “Yes. What about the case?”
“A question. And there’d better be a truthful answer. Has Frankie Kurtz been in touch with you since London?”
“No.”
“Do you know where he is right now?”
“I suppose on the Coast.”
I said, “Right here. Miami Beach for the past year. Probably gotten himself into the papers too, now and then. And you had no idea of that?”
“I don’t read the papers much.” Her voice became apprehensive. “Johnny, do you think he’s the one?”
“Not if he hasn’t sent you any threats or demands. Just remember that if he does, you let Quist know about it right away. Never fall for that line about keeping it quiet or else.”
“Yes. But I’d rather tell you about it if it happens.”
I said pointedly, “Except that I won’t be here to tell.”
That silenced her for a short count. Then she said, “What do you think’s going to happen tomorrow night?”
“I’m not sure. Odds are nothing’ll happen. Not under the conditions that prevail.”
“Because you’re here?”
“No, because Araujo is taking this thing very seriously, and God help anybody who doesn’t take him seriously. So far I haven’t even earned bed and board. Which reminds me. When we gather for dinner will everyone be there?”
“Except Kalos.”
“That figures. Anyhow, when you arrange the seatings for dinner—”
“Maggie does that.”
“Whoever. Just make sure I’m next to Belle Rountree. For business reasons.” I stood up and pointed at the blank screen. “And since this seems to be where we came in—”
Pablo was as good as his word. My two shirts handed over to his custody were neatly hung away in my closet ready for wear. I put one on, adorned myself with a necktie, fitted myself into the more subdued of my jackets, and made my way to the dining room well ahead of the eight o’clock dinner hour. If I was to be planted next to Belle Rountree, now was the time to make sure of it.
Maggie was alone in the dining room dealing out place cards. The table, not quite the length of a bowling alley, was already set. That is, half of it was set—one service at the head, five on either side. The rest of it, highly polished and naked, just glimmered off into the distance.
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