Sylvia Selfman - Rushmore Oshansky 01 - Murder Never Retires

by Sylvia Selfman

  Chapter 13

  “Oshansky,” Francine called out, running up to him. “I’m so glad you came,” she smiled seductively.

  If he’d known the Regency dining room was transformed into a night club on the last Wednesdays of the month, he’d have gone to Burger King for a hamburger. Too late now. But before he could offer any resistance, Francine grabbed his arm and pulled him onto the dance floor.

  Beauty parlor-coiffed women emboldened by push-up bras, were cha-cha-ing along with equally well-maintained men sporting polished loafers and freshly pressed chinos. The more conservative men were in sherbet colored button downs while the more adventurous wore jungle print shirts.

  Despite the high volume of the music, no doubt in deference to those who were hard of hearing (though it was quite possibly too loud even for them), it was obvious the band was made up of professionals. No doubt they were refugees from famous bands or orchestras in their younger years. Now they were retirees, seeking to live out their remaining years like everyone else in Palm Springs. The Boca of the West. God’s waiting room.

  Tonight God’s waiting room was a hub of activity.

  “You can do it, Oshansky. Move those hips,” Francine yelled in order to be heard above the music. “Come on now, follow along. Cha-cha-cha.”

  “Hey, Oshansky.” Marv and his partner cha-cha-ed up. “Good to see you enjoying yourself. By the way, have you met Cindi?”

  Oshansky, absorbed in attempting to learn the dance steps, turned to find himself staring at a pair of awesome breasts. “Hello, Cindi,” he nodded to them.

  “Heard quite a lot of nice things about you, Rush,” Cindi said, looking down at him.

  Reluctantly he tore his eyes away from her breasts. “Oh, don’t believe everything you heard,” Oshansky said in a show of modesty.

  Cindi smiled at him. “I heard you’re quite the ladies man.”

  Was it possible Amazon Cindi with her fabulous breasts and large blue eyes was flirting with him? What, he wondered, was the likes of Cindi doing with Marv Aronson. Whatever Marv’s secret, he’d make a fortune if he bottled it.

  “Heard you had a great birthday party the other day, Cindi,” Francine interrupted. “How’s it feel to be getting social security?”

  “You tell me, darling, since you’ve been getting it for years,” Cindi countered.

  “I see you got yourself another facelift as a birthday present,” Francine persisted.

  “Perhaps you should look into getting one, darling. On the other hand, it’s probably too late.”

  Oshansky took hold of Francine’s arm and nodded to Marv and Cindy, “I’m winded,” he explained, quickly steering Francine off the dance floor before there was an outbreak of fireworks.

  “Don’t be such an old fart, Rushmore. How can you possibly be winded? I heard you weren’t so winded when you were with Brenda the other night. Not according to what she said at bridge yesterday.” For a split second Francine’s face darkened with anger. But then her cheerful expression returned. “Oh, but Brenda always makes up stories like that. She’s so competitive with me.”

  “Al Fortino!” she called out as they approached his table. “Where have you been? Don’t bother getting up,” she said though there was little evidence that he had intended to. “Haven’t seen you in quite a while, Al. Where’s the little woman?”

  “Velma’s visiting up north with her sister in Duluth.”

  “Oh? she paused. “And you’re taking advantage of her absence, I see.” Francine nodded toward the woman sitting next to him.

  “Nah, Bea and I just happened to be sitting at the same table. You guys know each other?”

  “I think we met at the club’s ChanuChristmas party a couple of December’s ago. Bea doesn’t often grace us with her presence,” Francine said coolly.

  “Oh, that’s not true. In fact I…,” Bea began.

  “This is Rushmore. Rushmore Oshansky.” Francine interrupted. “And,” she said, digging her fingernails into Oshansky’s arm, “he’s taken. Good lover. Bad dancer,” she added with a humorless laugh.

  “Say, Francine, what say we take a spin around the dance floor and show Rush and Bea a thing or two,” Al interjected. “I’m sure they won’t mind.”

  Oshansky watched as Al and Francine cha cha’d their way around the tables to the dance floor. “I guess we’re the designated wall flowers,” he said turning to Bea.

  “I’m not sure why I come to these things. I hate to dance. Probably because I’m lousy at it,” she responded.

  “That makes two of us. Could be we’re meant for each other.”

  “If you’re offering yourself up, forget it. I’ve given up meeting anyone of interest around here. Besides, there’s no sense flirting with me. You’re with the Miss Hot to Trot of Sun Villas. And if there’s one thing Francine can’t stand, it’s a guy two-timing her. A warning to the wise.”

  “Hot to Trot. Haven’t heard that one since the late fifties or sixties. You’re dating yourself.”

  “Then at least I know I’m in good company,” she said, sipping her cocktail.

  “Touche,” he said, lifting an imaginary glass in toast.

  “What’d Francine say your first name was?”

  “Rushmore. Care to make something of it?”

  “Crazy name but I guess you had nothing to do with it. I heard you bought Harry Hermann’s condo. Why don’t you get yourself a real drink, Rushmore? Or do you prefer Oshansky?”

  “Either.”

  “Are you up for some gossip, Rushmore Oshansky?” Bea leaned in closer, allowing Oshansky to catch a whiff of her perfume which set off a familiar stirring in his loins. “All hell will break lose if Al’s wife finds out he was dancing with Francine.”

  “Sounds like you’re telling me I’m not the only one Francine’s dug her nails into.”

  “You are smarter than you look, Oshansky. What did you say you did?”

  “Actually I didn’t. I was a New York detective. Retired.”

  “Is that tired or retired.”

  “Actually both.”

  “That’s an interesting career choice for a Jewish guy. I thought Jewish detectives were found only in mystery books. I’ll let you in on something. Murder has always interested me.”

  “I wouldn’t advertise that too loudly, if I were you.”

  “I’ve always been intrigued by why people do it,” she continued, ignoring his attempt at humor. “Like what circumstances can drive otherwise normal people to such extreme behavior. Or is normal not the right word to use in that context?” Bea appeared lost in thought. “Do you ever think about what your breaking point is, Oshansky? Everyone has one, I figure. Sometimes I think about what mine would be.”

  Rushmore feigned a look of horror. “Maybe I should find another table to sit at.”

  “Oh, stay put, Rushmore or Oshansky. Let’s just talk and pretend we’re interested in each other. That’ll drive Frannie crazy.”

  “I gather you’re not married,” he said, glancing at her left hand.

  “Tried it once. Disastrous. Taught me marriage isn’t for me.”

  “I also get the feeling, Bea, that you’re not as innocent as you look.” Perhaps defensive or self-protective might be a better description.

  Bea tucked an errant lock of auburn hair behind her ear. “I like that. Innocent. First time that adjective’s been ascribed to me. You know,” Bea said studying him, “in some weird way, you remind me of Harry.”

  “The Harry Hermann? Of the recently deceased?” Oshansky asked.

  “The recently deceased. Great title,” she smiled. “If I were a writer I’d name my novel that.”

  “So how am I like HH? ”

  “Did you ever read that book with a character called Humbert Humbert or HH for short? No, I’m sure you haven’t.”

  “Lolita. By Vladimir Nabokov,” Oshansky interrupted.

  Bea raised her eyebrows in surprise. “You surprise me, Oshansky. I’m impressed you read it.”
>
  “Nah, saw the movie. James Mason. Wasn’t bad. In fact, I kind of liked it. So how am I like HH? Harry Hermann, that is.”

  “I’m not really sure.” She tilted her head, studying him. “There was something about Harry. An innocence, perhaps. And sexy. He wasn’t like the other guys around here with ‘God’s gift to women’ etched on their penises. Or is it penii?”

  A psychiatrist Oshansky had worked with on cases early in his career taught him that a person’s unconscious sooner or later will manifest itself. Oshansky had taken that advice to heart. He allowed nothing to escape his notice. Everything became fair game –– expression, hair, clothes, posture. It became second nature to search for a ‘tell,’ a key giveaway.

  In Bea’s case, despite her perfect page boy hair, neat figure, and expertly applied make-up, it was her nails. They were not just unpainted but unmanicured and bitten. In Oshansky’s book, that meant she was either a nail biter or worked in construction. He’d put his money on the former. He’d also bet she didn’t have as much self control as she tried to appear.

  “So how well did you know Harry?” he asked.

  “I knew what everybody else knew. He was a fixture around the place. Everybody seemed to look up to him like he was some kind of god.”

  “And you didn’t see him that way?”

  “Of course not. But I thought he was a great guy. Unfortunately he died. It was so weird.”

  “Weird?” Rushmore looked at her. “Since when is a heart attack weird? From what I heard, it’s not like Harry was a spring chicken.”

  “It’s just that one day he’s here,” she shrugged, “healthy, virile. The next day, dead as a doornail.”

  “Very poetically stated, I might add,” Oshansky said.

  Francine, Al in tow, appeared suddenly at Oshansky’s side. “I notice you two have become acquainted.” She put her hand down hard on Oshansky’s sore shoulder. The huntress claiming her prey. “He’s a dear, isn’t he, Bea? I feel so lucky that Oshansky and I found each other.”

  Francine and Bea’s eyes locked onto each other.

  “Time to leave,” Oshansky said, abruptly pushing back his chair and standing up.

  “Yes, Rushmore needs his beauty sleep.” Francine took hold of his arm, “Come, darling,” she said pulling at him. Come, before the Viagra wears off.”

  Oshansky glanced at Bea. He’d have to get her phone number from the condo directory later. The more important issue now was how to extricate himself from Francine.

  Francine started in as soon as they were out of earshot. “I don’t appreciate your flirting with that woman. We’re a couple and I find it demeaning.”

  “By that woman, I guess you mean Bea. And in spite of your telling everyone we’re a couple, I think I’ve made it clear that we’re not.”

  “What do you mean, not a couple? Let me make something perfectly clear to you, Oshansky. Everyone knows to keep their hands off you. I’m warning you, your flirting with all these women will have to stop.” Then in a swift about-face, she hooked her arm through his, “I didn’t bring my car, darling. And you know I don’t like walking home alone in the dark. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind giving me a lift.”

  Oshansky walked Francine to her door. He gave her a swift kiss good-night, then turned to leave.

  “Wait, Rushmore,” she said, grabbing his arm. “Let’s forget that little tiff we just had. Come in for a nightcap then I’ll let you go home.”

  He hesitated a moment.

  “Come,” she said, leading him into the house.

  Oshansky shrugged and allowed himself to be led in.

  Chapter 14

  After the second scotch, Oshansky found himself out of his clothes and standing in the shower, his skin glistening with soap, his organ swelling to Francine’s expert touch and ecstatic squeals. As the water poured over them, Francine fell to her knees. It was his turn to, if not squeal in ecstasy, at least grunt with pleasure as he was transported to the Garden of Eden during a heavy downpour.

  Forty five minutes later as they lay side by side on Francine’s bed, she snuggled up to him. “Now tell me what a good time you had.”

  The faux fur throw covering them had the unfortunate effect of reminding Oshansky of his ex, Marsha, who was no doubt at this very moment lying next to Mermelstein and covered with real fur.

  “Oshansky, are you listening to me?” Francine poked him in the ribs. “What are you thinking? I said, tell me how much you enjoyed it.”

  “I have no complaints. It was good.”

  “No complaints? Good? That’s all you have to say? You tell me when you had better.” She grabbed his limp organ.

  “Be gentle there, Francine.”

  “It’s settled then. I want you to stop dating others. It’s agreed, there’s no one better than me, Big O.”

  “Listen, Francine,” he said sitting up and looking directly at her. “I am not ready to settle down. Not now. Who knows, maybe never.”

  “Not ready to settle down? Are you nuts?” She gave his dick a sharp tug.

  He winced. “Easy there!”

  “What are you? Eighteen? Get over it, Oshansky. You’re no young chicken. We’re a couple.”

  Oshansky was ready for her this time and shoved her hand away just in time. “I agree, we’re not young chickens, and the sex was good, also the scotch.”

  “Then we’re on the same page,” she said with a satisfied smile.

  ‘That’s not what I was saying. I may want to play the field for the rest of my life. However long or short that may be,” he added.

  “Play the field! Go then,” she screamed. She scrambled out of bed, gathered up his clothes and threw them at him. Oshansky ducked to avoid the shoes. “Go. Go play with those amateurs. You’ll tire of them. You’ll come back begging for more. You have no idea the extent of my repertoire!”

  Rushmore quickly pulled on his teddy bear boxers. He gathered up his shoes and the rest of his clothes and hurriedly made an exit.

  Francine was still yelling from the doorway as he pulled out of the driveway. The patrons of the Hot Coffee Cafe were in store for more Oshansky gossip in the morning. And for once he didn’t care.

  Driving back to his condo he had the thought that Francine might have been involved with Harry Hermann. It would certainly explain Harry’s sudden heart attack.

  Oshansky was sure of one thing. He would protect his heart, no matter what. He was too young to die. Actually though he knew that wasn’t true. He knew plenty of guys who’d expired from heart attacks at much younger ages.

  Pulling into his driveway, he vowed that this would be the last time he’d get together with Francine. She wasn’t worth the trouble.

  By the time he opened the door to his condo, however, he wondered if he’d made too rash a decision. Was he ready to forego what other erotic pleasures Francine might pull out of her bag. Painful as they might be.

  Chapter 15

  Oshansky checked his watch. He had just enough time before Harry Hermann’s memorial service to stop by the Hot Coffee Cafe for lunch. He’d order something off the lite menu since he’d been putting on weight lately, thanks to all the dinner invitations from the Sun Villas widows and divorcees.

  “Darling! Where’ve you been?”

  Oshansky tried to place the good-looking young man standing before him. In his white tennis outfit, he was straight off the cover of Town and Country magazine

  “Roberto from the dining room,” Roberto said, extending his hand.

  “Of course. Roberto,” Oshansky nodded. “I recognized you immediately.” Oshansky knew Roberto wasn’t fooled.

  “You haven’t been coming to the dining room lately. Where’ve you been?” Roberto asked.

  “I’ve been kind of busy lately,” Rushmore answered lamely, “but I’m planning to eat there soon.”

  “I’ll bet the ladies are keeping you occupied, you old rake. Listen, I’d love to sit and schmooze over coffee, darling, but my tennis buddies are eager to get
going.” Roberto motioned toward two older GQ men and a stunning young woman with long red hair standing by the door. “Hope to see you soon and don’t forget to ask for me when you come.” Roberto blew him a kiss and walked out.

  *********************

  “Rushmore, what a surprise to see you at Harry’s service,” Brenda said, rushing up to him. “I had no idea you knew Harry Hermann.”

  “Actually I didn’t. I just thought I’d pay him my last respects. Also my first,” he added.

  “I need to get a seat before they’re all taken. But I’ll be expecting to hear from you, Oshansky, so don’t forget to give me a call.”

  “Call her about what?” Francine asked, appearing suddenly at his side. “Are you aware, Oshansky, how ridiculous you looked last night when you ran out in those silly boxer shorts of yours?”

  “Actually you threw me out.”

  “You deserved it. I’m a one man woman and I want nothing less from a man. When are you coming over?”

  “You said it was over.”

  “Wrong, Oshansky. That was said in anger. It’s never over. Remember that. Not until I say it is.” Francine said as she stormed off.

  Oshansky scanned the room looking for an empty seat. It seemed even in death Harry Hermann could pull in the fans.

  He finally spotted a few seats in the last row and hurried to take it before someone else grabbed it.

  So this was the great Harry Hermann, he mused as he studied the photograph on the cover of the memorial pamphlet. It was obvious why women would fall for him. Full head of silver white hair, strong features. Strong chin. Hollywood material. A female magnet. He would be any divorcee or widow’s dream. Especially if he could still drive a car.

  “Not a bad picture of Harry.”

  “Bea,” he said looking up. “Good to see you again.”

  “Harry was actually better looking than that picture,” she said as she settled into the seat next to him. “But what are you doing here, Oshansky?” Bea looked at him quizzically. “You didn’t know Harry. I hope you’re not one of those morbid freaks who enjoy this kind of thing. Maybe do horrible things to corpses?”