Searchlights and Shadows (Hollywood's Garden of Allah novels Book 4)

by Martin Turnbull

  This was the first time Kathryn had seen Howard Hughes up close. With his dark hair parted neatly to one side of his long face, and his intense dark eyes, Kathryn could see why he had such success with the ladies. The fact that he was worth a fortune that would make King Solomon blush probably helped. He did a double take when he spotted Kathryn and squatted down in front of her.

  “Your boss tells me this is your first time up in the wild blue yonder.”

  Kathryn could barely hear him over the roar of the engines. “You’ll keep it smooth, won’t you?” She really wanted to ask him what happened on the tarmac.

  “Perhaps once we’re airborne, you might like to come forward and see the cockpit.”

  “I’d love that.”

  “It’s a date, then.” He shook Bogart’s hand and disappeared behind the cockpit door.

  The aircraft heaved forward and Kathryn felt every vibration and shock as they sped along the runway. She gripped the armrests as the plane heaved itself into the air, and didn’t open her eyes until she heard Bogart’s voice.

  “I’ll wager next month’s pay you’ve never seen Los Angeles like this before.”

  She peered out the window and gasped. At ground level, the San Fernando Valley was so vast it was difficult to tell it was a valley at all. But at this altitude, the hills shaped the landscape clearly. As they climbed higher, the orange and lemon trees began to merge into a sea of green orchards flecked with tiny dots of color.

  “Is it any wonder Hughes has a God complex?” Bogie said. Kathryn kept her eyes glued to the square porthole. “I can see why Ty joined the Marines. If I was only ten years younger.”

  “My friend Marcus tried to sign up even before Pearl Harbor, but they knocked him back on account of his eyesight. So he joined the Hollywood Writers Mobilization.”

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  She clamped a hand on his. “My point is, we’re all doing our bit.”

  “Gable’s only a couple of years younger than me, and he joined up. Jimmy Stewart, too.”

  “Jimmy Stewart is ten years younger than you,” Kathryn pointed out. “And as for Gable, yes, he signed up, and went to England and flew his five combat missions. But then what happened? Mayer pulled his strings and now he’s back here with the Army Motion Picture Unit. And you’re here with the USO to give our boys a much-needed respite. Seeing you in person will mean a lot to them. They’ll be talking about it forever.”

  The stewardess appeared. “Mr. Hughes has asked if you’d like to come visit.”

  The cockpit was more cramped than she expected. There were two seats behind an incomprehensible console of gauges, dials, buttons, and levers. Hughes’ copilot climbed out of his seat and offered it to Kathryn, then disappeared through the door as she climbed in beside Hughes. It wasn’t until she was settled that she was able to fully take in the astounding panorama in front of her.

  Her eyes followed Sunset Boulevard along the foothills until she caught sight of the stark white Los Angeles City Hall, its pyramid-shaped roof pointing into the clear January sky. She pressed her hands to her chest. “Everything’s so tiny! It’s like the world is just made of doll furniture. Look at those people at Sunset and Doheny! What are they, ants? Is it always this clear?”

  “You’ve caught LA on a good day.”

  Far off in the distance, the blue Pacific sparkled in the sunlight. Kathryn pressed a finger against the windscreen. She could feel the thrum of the engines vibrate up her arm. “Is that Catalina?”

  “Yep.”

  Hughes steered a wide curve to the right. Directly below them lay the Hollywood Hills dotted with the odd mansion, the sapphire of swimming pools scattered among the foliage. One pool in particular at the base of the hills caught her eye. “That’s the Garden of Allah!” She couldn’t see who was laying around the pool, but its grand-piano shape was unmistakable. From this vantage point, the rooftops’ apple-red Spanish tile looked more vibrant than she had ever pictured. “This is astonishing!”

  Hughes grunted. “Remember in Casablanca when Bogie said how the problems of people don’t amount to a hill of beans?”

  “Is the Hollywood Reporter building—OH!” She squealed like a six-year-old. “There it is! And look at Paramount. You’d swear it’s the size of my dining table!” She wished she could share all this with Marcus and Gwendolyn. How can a city I know so well look so foreign?

  “Miss Massey, I brought you up here for a reason.”

  “Yes?”

  “There’s something I feel I ought to share with you.”

  Hughes’ change in tone arrested Kathryn’s attention.

  He straightened his steering wheel and pulled at a lever. “I understand that you and your boss enjoy a close relationship.”

  “I’m not sleeping with him, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  “I only meant that he trusts you a great deal.”

  Kathryn shifted in the copilot seat so that she could face him more squarely. The glint of a smile had dropped away, leaving his mouth set in a line. “I’d say that’s true.”

  “Miss Massey—”

  “Please call me Kathryn.”

  “Kathryn, you need to know that your boss and I were part of a poker game at Zukor’s house last night.”

  This didn’t sound good. “Is that what your little tarmac tiff was about?”

  “Last night, your boss won ninety-seven thousand.”

  Kathryn slumped back in her seat. Large gambling debts were part of life in Hollywood society. They showed that if you could afford to bet high, you were a major player and it garnered you great prestige. How these guys found the nerve to gamble such mind-boggling amounts was beyond Kathryn’s comprehension, but at least this meant Wilkerson had started the year ahead of the game.

  “Unfortunately,” Hughes continued, “he went on to lose two hundred and fifteen grand.”

  Kathryn stared out the window, but she no longer saw the City of Angels spread out before her like a picnic blanket. It now looked like a pit of quicksand. “From what I understand, those kinds of numbers are fairly routine.”

  “They are. But last night was the third time in a row your boss has lost more than a hundred grand in one sitting.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Kathryn kept her eyes on the horizon. “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the tip-off. But it’s not like I can cover his debts.”

  Hughes swung the plane toward the coastline. As Malibu came into view, turbulence started to shake them around. “I wanted you to see what the world looks like from up here. We get so caught up in the triviality of life. How am I going to seduce her? Who’s making more money than me? How come her dress is prettier than mine? It’s easy to forget what really matters.”

  “What really matters to you?”

  “I like Bill. I like the way he thinks, and I admire what he’s achieved. But he’s getting himself deeper and deeper in the hole.” A pocket of air jolted the cockpit. Carole Lombard’s face flashed before Kathryn. “He can’t see how badly he’s risking everything he’s built up. I’ve asked around and the consensus seems to be that you’re the one he’s most likely to listen to.”

  “We’ve already had one of those discussions,” Kathryn told him. “It didn’t go well.”

  “Then you need to try harder.”

  The Pacific coastline stretched before them as far as Kathryn could see. It was a gorgeous sight, but the turbulence was starting to punch at her stomach.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I appreciate you sharing this with me.”

  Hughes pulled back on his steering wheel, lifting the airplane higher. The jolting abated a little. “In return, I have a favor to ask.”

  Why do guys like you always have a motive? “Ask away.”

  “You’re good friends with Melody Hope, aren’t you?”

  And why do your motives nearly always involve a girl? “I’d like to think we’re friends.”

  “It seems I’ve gotten
her in the family way.”

  Kathryn sighed. This guy has more money than the Federal Reserve, but he can’t spend a couple of bucks on some French letters for protection? “Surely you have some sympathetic doctor on call who can take care of that problem?”

  “Melody isn’t listening to reason right now. It’s not like I can shoot her with elephant tranquilizer, but I need her to see straight. I like the girl, but I’m not going to marry her. Will you talk to her for me?”

  Kathryn watched the coastline unfurl like a giant zipper. “I’ll give it a go. But I’d like a favor in return.”

  “I thought the information on your boss was the favor in return.”

  The turbulence started up again, this time heavier; the shudders piled up, one after the other. Kathryn started wishing she was back in her seat, Bogart holding one hand, a brandy in the other.

  She was about to concede when Hughes asked, “What do you want?”

  She gripped the armrests. “You have an in with the military brass, don’t you? I have a friend. My roommate, actually.”

  “Gwendolyn, the blonde.”

  “She’s got a brother in the navy. I was hoping maybe you could find out where he is. Just a general location, so that she knows. Can you do that?”

  The aircraft pitched into a stomach-churning lurch; something on the other side of the cockpit door crashed to the floor. “You’d better return to your seat. Looks like we’re in for a rough ride.”

  Kathryn waited for a few moments, hoping for a more definitive answer. When she didn’t get one, she climbed out of the copilot’s seat. Hughes waited until she had her hand on the door handle.

  “I’ll try.”

  She thanked him and staggered back to her seat. “Is it going to be like this all the way up to Seattle?” she asked Bogie.

  “Hard to say.”

  Outside her window, the Channel Islands off Santa Barbara jiggled and wobbled. She closed her eyes. Why did Wilkerson have to mention Carole Lombard? “Tell me something nice to take my mind off all this.”

  “The Sluggy,” Bogart replied.

  “What’s that?”

  “My boat. Nothing relaxes me more than to take her out to sea.”

  “Does your wife like it?”

  “Mayo don’t like nothing that gives me pleasure.”

  “So you don’t go sailing with her?”

  “Not if I can help it. Betty likes it, though.”

  Kathryn pressed her hands against her stomach. “Betty? Who’s that?”

  “This picture I’m just finishing, To Have And Have Not. She’s my costar. Real young, real raw, but she’s got something, that’s for sure.”

  “And her name is Betty?”

  “Her real name, yeah, but Howard Hawks decided to change it.”

  Kathryn forced a swallow. “What did he come up with?”

  “Lauren Bacall.”

  CHAPTER 28

  The bus depot was a one-story building squatting on the east side of downtown LA amid a maze of nondescript offices and warehouses. The side wall featured a fifteen-foot greyhound sprinting against a dusty pink background, coated with exhaust fumes and peeling so badly it looked like it had measles.

  Marcus got out of Bertie’s DeSoto. In ten minutes, Doris’ bus would roll around the corner, and he wondered if it was enough time for him to shake off his nerves.

  “Thanks for volunteering,” he told Bertie. With gas rationing, it was no small thing for her to drive them all the way into downtown.

  “Don’t you think twice about it, hon.” Bertie swiped at the air dismissively.

  They crossed Sixth Street and walked inside. Gray linoleum, dull cream walls, flat fluorescent lighting. They found an empty bench and sat down.

  “Nervous?” Gwendolyn asked.

  “I don’t know that nervous is the right word,” he replied.

  Of course it’s the right word! It’s exactly the right word! So are anxious and apprehensive and tense.

  “It’s been a while since you’ve seen your sister, huh?” Bertie asked. “You know what she looks like?”

  The passage of seventeen years had faded Marcus’ memory like a photograph left in the sun, leaving him with frail vestiges of a once-happy time. Freckles. A high-pitched giggle. The knack of seeing the funny side of everything. But no, he could no longer picture her face. She said that she’d be wearing a silver brooch in the shape of an airplane on her jacket, but that was the only clue he had.

  They felt the rumble before they saw it. An interstate bus with gray metal siding and a blue-and-white paint job momentarily filled the window before disappearing around the north side. Marcus stood up, wishing he’d snuck in a cigarette. In his peripheral vision, he saw Bertie get to her feet and then Gwendolyn pull her back down.

  Disheveled travelers started to emerge. Rumpled clothes. Bleary eyes. Food stains. And suddenly she was standing there, ten feet from him, recognition filling her eyes. She dropped her brown valise and pressed her gloved hands to her mouth, straining to hold back tears. By the time he reached her, she’d lost the battle and he realized he had, too. They wrapped their arms around each other, and Marcus let himself dissolve.

  Long-buried details of the life he’d left behind engulfed him. The tang of burning autumn leaves, January snow crunching against winter boots, chocolate birthday cake, his mother’s clam chowder and his grandma’s sweet potato pie, his father’s custom-blended pipe tobacco, and the high-pitched crow of the neighbor’s rooster. Marcus hadn’t thought of these things in nearly twenty years, but the sight of his baby sister triggered a landslide of memories.

  He wasn’t sure how long they stood weeping onto each other’s shoulders. Ten seconds? Twenty, maybe? When they resurfaced, he pushed his glasses back onto his nose. Doris had his broad face and apple-dumpling cheeks, and the freckles were still there, spraying her skin like tiny cherry blossoms. But it was her eyes, olive green, flecked with blue and quick as a flashbulb, that shot him back seventeen years.

  “I’d have known you anywhere,” she said.

  He could see a swell of emotion cresting in her eyes. “I never thought I’d see you again.” The words clogged his throat.

  “I have so much to tell you!”

  Marcus spotted a poster on the wall opposite them. It featured an army officer gabbing to a starry-eyed blonde while a Hitler-like man eavesdropped from behind his newspaper. The poster warned, Loose LIPS SINK SHIPS! Marcus became aware that they had plenty of time to talk, and standing in the middle of a busy bus depot was not the place to do it.

  He sensed Gwendolyn and Bertie approach and introduced them as he picked up Doris’ suitcase. “Bertie was kind enough to drive us downtown and drop you off at your hotel.”

  Outside, the sunshine caught Doris’ hair, revealing it to be a Greer Garson shade of auburn. “I’m not staying with you?”

  “Accommodation is hard to come by,” Gwendolyn said. “This city’s been packed to the rafters since the start of the war.”

  “But we found you a room at the Chapman Park Hotel,” Marcus said.

  In truth, there was a room available in the main building of the Garden of Allah, but as Marcus told Gwendolyn, it “was too close to too many people who were too drunk too often and therefore too likely to spill too many personal details that would be too embarrassing and too hard to explain away.”

  “It’s right opposite the Brown Derby,” he said, “and the Ambassador Hotel where the Cocoanut Grove is.” Bertie turned her DeSoto onto Wilshire from Sixth Street and headed toward MacArthur Park. “Gwendolyn used to be the cigarette girl there, so I’m sure she can get us a good table.”

  “Absolutely,” Gwendolyn said. “And your hotel is right near Elizabeth Arden. Kathryn and I plan to treat you to a facial. You’ll adore it.”

  “Kathryn?” Doris asked. “She’s the one on Kraft Music Hall, right? I can’t believe you know somebody who knows somebody who works with Bing Crosby. That sure is something.”

  “She
would have been here to meet you, but she had a Sunday brunch date with Judy Garland—”

  Doris’ eyes flew open. “You say it like it’s an everyday thing.”

  “Kathryn went on a USO tour along the whole West Coast. Judy was part of the lineup and they hit it off. Kathryn’s looking forward to meeting you.”

  “So we’ll get you checked in and settled—”

  “Ummm,” Gwendolyn cut in. “Check-in isn’t until four o’clock.”

  Marcus looked at his watch. It was only a quarter after eleven.

  “We’ve got seventeen years to catch up on,” Doris said. “I want to go everywhere, see everything, meet everyone. I want to see where you work, where you eat, where you go to the movies.” She placed her hand on top of his. “But most of all, I want to see where you live. I want to see the Garden of Allah.”

  * * *

  The fluid notes of someone banging out boogie-woogie on a piano down by the pool floated in the air while someone else encouraged a couple to dance faster. There were a few people sitting around the pool, but the February sun was still too chilly to tempt anyone into the water.

  As Marcus led Doris through the Garden, he pointed out various spots: the window of the room he stayed in when he first arrived, the bar area, Errol Flynn’s villa. Then Kathryn emerged from her door and flew down the steps.

  “What happened to the Chapman?” she asked.

  “Check-in’s not until four,” Marcus said.

  “So I insisted we come here,” Doris finished. “How was brunch with Judy Garland? Is she good company? She seems like she’d be fun to be around. Oh, listen to me! I sound like such a rube from the sticks, don’t I?” She paused for a moment. “I guess I am, when you think of it.” She turned to Marcus. “I’ll try my best not to embarrass you. Can I see your place now?”

  Kathryn looked at him. Her eyes said, Chatty little thing, isn’t she?