The Pitiful Player (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 14)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  I nodded and thought for a moment. "So, you wanna make what?"

  "I wanna exploit this country's goddam id. I wanna have teenagers standing in line to get into the next Monumental picture. And not just in New York or Chicago or L.A. I wanna see 'em lined up in Topeka and Baton Rouge. Oh yeah," he tore off a piece of bread and swallowed it without chewing. "And we're gonna hire Negroes. I don't care if we have to cut special edits for those goddam lily-white movie houses in the South. We're gonna hire Negroes and Mexicans and fuckin' Chinese. It's gonna be a goddam soup in there. And these kids, they're gonna stand in line and put down their weekly allowance for a Monumental picture and keep coming back for more and more of them. You follow me here, Mr. Williams?"

  I nodded. Before I could say anything, someone we knew walked up to the table. We all tried to stand as Rosalind Russell said, "I just knew it was you, Nick. How are you?"

  I smiled. "Good. Great to see you, Ros. How are you? And Freddie and Lance?"

  "Oh, they're both over there eating. I don't want to interrupt what looks like a business meeting"—she nodded frostily at Jessup, who smiled in return—"but I did hope you'd be able to stop by tonight and let me make you four boys some dinner. Don't say no."

  I laughed. "I'm sure we'd all love that. What time?"

  "Oh, say about half past seven. Lance is heading out to camp this afternoon for the week, so it'll just be Freddie and me."

  I nodded. "That's fine. We'll see you then."

  She smiled and looked around the table. "Well, ta-ta." And, with that, she was gone.

  We all sat back down and I cleared my throat. "I like your idea, Mr. Jessup, but let Carter, Ben, and me talk it over this afternoon."

  He nodded with a grin. "That's fine. I guess you'll be here tonight, then, right?"

  "Yeah. We'll probably head home tomorrow."

  "Fine." He looked over at Ben. "I'd suggest we shut down production on the film tomorrow."

  Ben nodded, looking shocked and stunned, but he didn't say anything.

  Jessup stood. "Well, kids, I'll let you eat your dinner. I'm sure the waiter can have the kitchen re-heat everything. Also, Mr. Williams, a word of advice." His tone changed in the last sentence.

  "What's that, Mr. Jessup?"

  "Don't tell that Russell broad about this idea. She's an awful gossip and Louella and Hedda and Winchell will know about everything by the time the papers come out in the morning."

  My face turned to stone. "I'll keep that in mind, Mr. Jessup."

  He winked at me, turned, and made a beeline for the door.

  . . .

  The waiter brought us all new versions of our meals. As we ate, I thought about what Jessup had said.

  Carter, who seemed to be building a head of steam, finally put his fork down on his plate and folded his arms on the table. He looked over at Ben and asked, "Where were you two last night?"

  Ben started at Carter's direct question and looked mildly panicked.

  Martinelli sighed and put his fork down. He leaned in and hissed, "We were trying to find that goddam William Fraser." William Fraser was the new break-out star of It Was Raining Then. After failing his first read, he'd begged Ben and Jessup for another chance. But not before coming up to San Francisco and trying to blackmail me. It turned out he'd been in the employ of some rogue F.B.I. agents who'd been murdered by an old friend of mine who had gone off the deep end. We'd taken William to meet the U.S. Attorney and then a clean F.B.I. agent. Once he'd told what he knew about the rogue agents, I'd hired him, as the U.S. Attorney had asked me to do. After a few days of not doing much, he'd driven down to L.A. to beg to be in the movie. He'd really wowed Ben and Jessup and they'd agreed to take him on. I was happy to be rid of the kid. And the U.S. Attorney didn't put up much of a fight, so he was set to be the newest Hollywood beefcake star. And he had the look, that was for sure. Even in the terrible rushes we'd watched, he'd stood out.

  "What's going on?" I asked.

  Ben pursed his lips. "He's a drug addict."

  "What? Mary Jane, horse, coke?"

  "Mary Jane," whispered Ben, looking around furtively.

  I rolled my eyes. "So is Robert Mitchum. No big deal. Why were you trying to find him?"

  "Because he didn't show for a call on Saturday afternoon."

  I nodded. "OK. Did you find him?"

  Martinelli laughed. "Yeah. We found him down in Santa Monica at 4 this morning. He was hooked up with two guys and we interrupted them smoking and doing other things."

  I looked at Ben. "You can fire him now, if you want. That's in his contract, right? That if the movie stops filming, or whatever you call it, then the contract ends. Or something like that."

  Ben nodded. I saw a wave of something I didn't recognize pass over his face. He looked up at the ceiling and didn't talk for a moment. I looked over at Martinelli, who put his finger to his lips so I wouldn't say anything. He mouthed, "Wait for it."

  I nodded and waited.

  Ben sighed and looked at me. "I can't fire him. He's got it. He's hot."

  Carter laughed. "Well, he is handsome enough."

  Ben frowned and shook his head. "That's not what I mean. He sizzles on the screen. And he'd be perfect in one of those movies that Jessup mentioned. I can see it."

  I sat back, stunned, and realized what I was seeing. It was exactly what I knew Ben could do. He really understood movies like no one I'd ever met. He knew how they worked. I wondered about how to get him to stop running after his star in the middle of the night. It was as if he needed to stop managing all the details. He could hire people for that. But, then again, what did I know? And maybe Ben needed to have his fingers in all the pies.

  Carter leaned forward and said, "I'm sorry for what I said back in the screening room, Ben. It's obvious that you know what you're doing."

  Ben smiled wanly. "Thanks, Carter." He leaned back against the booth. Looking around the room, he said, "All these people are going to hate our movies."

  I asked, "Why?"

  "Because they won't be art. And, if Jessup is right, most of them won't understand them."

  Carter said, "I don't understand them. I get the feeling that he was talking about something really big, but I don't know why someone would want to see a movie about, I don't know, a drag race."

  Ben tilted his head to the side and leaned in. "You'll get a chance to in a few months. I know where Jessup is getting all of this. We went to a preview for a new movie, can't tell you the name, but it stars James Dean and there's a drag race involved and a lot of teenagers. But..." Ben paused and looked up at the ceiling again. "But there were adults in the movie. Karl Malden, for one. If you take the adults out of the movie and remove the, I don't know, the moral, that would be something else."

  Carter frowned. "Remove the moral?"

  Ben nodded. "Sure. That was the problem with the movie we saw. It had a message. But"—he grinned—"there are a couple of scenes which are just like what Jessup said. The one guy, Sal Mineo, he's crushing on James Dean so hard. It was obvious to both of us." He pointed to Martinelli who nodded. "But we had to point it out to Jessup." Ben started grinning. "That movie is going to do great and make lots of money. But it's a movie the whole family can see together. Jessup wants to make movies that no one over 20 would want to see. And I'm beginning to agree." He smiled at me. "I'm in."

  I sat back and looked at him for a moment. I knew something big was starting. I had no idea what it might be or where it was going, but I was having the same feeling that I'd had when we started Consolidated Security, our private investigation firm, back in May of '53. I had no idea what was going to happen but I wanted to be part of whatever it was.

  I looked over at Carter, who nodded slightly. "We're in, too." I leaned in and said, "But, I have one condition."

  Ben's face took on a wary expression. "What?"

  "You do what you want to do, not what Jessup tells you."

  Carter leaned in. "Yeah, Ben. This is just like Nick and Mike. Nick
had the idea for our company but Mike has made it work." Mike Robertson, my first lover and best friend, was an ex-cop who was the President of Consolidated Security and was making it successful beyond anything I could have imagined. We'd had to rope him in a bit after he started doing things which affected us without telling us, but that was peanuts compared to how things had grown in two years.

  Ben nodded. "I get it. I remember Mike telling you to stop hiring people."

  "Yeah," I said. "That was one part of it. This is a little different. You let Jessup direct and consult but the buck stops with you."

  Martinelli piped up. "The buck really stops with you, Nick."

  I shook my head. "Nope. I learned my lesson with Mike. I know Ben knows what he's doing, even if he still thinks he has to run around and do everything himself and it hasn't occurred to him to hire an assistant or two or three."

  Martinelli laughed at that while Ben blushed. "Oh, he's thought about it. Because I've been trying to convince him to do it but he didn't want to spend your money."

  I shrugged. "Maybe we should start having weekly calls, but don't not do something because you don't think I'll pay for it. Just ask me and tell me why. I trust you, Ben."

  Those must have been the magic words, because Ben smiled at me in the same way I'd seen him do with Martinelli when they first met at the Top of the Mark back in '53. I put my hand on his shoulder and said, "You're gonna do just fine, kid."

  Chapter 5

  The Beverly Hills Hotel

  9641 Sunset Boulevard

  Beverly Hills, Cal.

  Sunday, July 10, 1955

  Half past 4 in the afternoon

  Although our bungalow had an air conditioner, we decided to opt for some time by the pool. It was not as warm as it had been in Ensenada, but it was warm enough to be stretched out in our Speedos. Carter's pair, of course, was getting a lot of side-eye attention by other guests and employees, both male and female.

  After another woman gawked as she walked by the two chaise lounges that we were stretched out on, Carter grabbed one of the striped pool towels and laid it across his waist.

  I smiled at him as he did that and he smiled back. Right then, a man in a hotel uniform walked up to us.

  "Excuse me, gentlemen."

  "Yeah?" I replied.

  "May I ask what room you are occupying here at the hotel?"

  "We're in Bungalow #8."

  Keeping his eyes on me and not looking at Carter, who had folded his muscular arms behind his head, the man asked, "And your name?"

  "Williams."

  He gave me a thin smile and nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Williams."

  With that, he walked away.

  Carter stood, throwing the towel on the chair. "I'm going for a swim. I need to cool off."

  I nodded. "I'll be right here. Want anything?"

  "Some of that dark beer from Mexico sounds good. You remember the name?"

  I shook my head. "No."

  "Something to do with a medal I think."

  I smiled and nodded. "I'll see what I can do." I watched him as he walked towards the deep end of the pool. He made his way up the steps of the high diving board and then dove off the end and into the water. I'd never seen him swim before, not like that, and it was impressive. I'd also enjoyed all the looks that he got as he'd walked over to and up the stairs. Pretty much everyone around the pool was staring at him.

  Right then, our waiter walked over. His name was Lawrence. He leaned over and asked, "Is there anything you would like, Mr. Williams?"

  I sat up and said, "Do you have any Mexican beer?"

  "We try to cater to all of our guests, so we have several. We bring them across ourselves from Tijuana and Mexicali. Which one would you like?"

  "I don't know the name. It's dark and the name has something to do with a medal or maybe a model."

  Lawrence smiled. "Modelo Negra is what you're thinking of, I believe."

  "That's it. We'd both like one."

  Lawrence nodded and raised his eyebrows as he looked at the pool for a split-second. "Mr. Williams, I'll be right back with both of those. And, if I may be so bold, I would suggest it might be time for a swim." He stood and moved away quickly.

  I looked over and laughed. Carter was talking to two rather attractive brunettes. I suddenly realized he was talking to both Ava Gardner and Jane Russell. I watched, grinning the whole time, as they both tried to appear to be casually chatting with him but were, in fact, openly flirting with him. I knew they were both married. Gardner was married to Frank Sinatra and Russell was married to a football player whose name escaped me. I looked around the pool. Everyone else was watching, too. Some of them seemed to be a little jealous. I couldn't blame them. Carter was definitely the most handsome man on at least five continents.

  . . .

  As we were getting dressed after a long shower, I asked Carter, "What did Ava and Jane have to say?"

  He pulled his shirt over his head. I smoothed it out for him. It was one of the tighter ones that we'd picked up in Sydney. He was wearing the tight trousers that went with it. I was matching him, more or less. Since we didn't bring coats, we'd decided to just wear the best we had and hope Ros would forgive us.

  Carter replied, "They were asking me about you and the new studio. Seems like someone has been talking already. Miss Jane Russell was wondering what kind of distribution deals Monumental was signing up for and Miss Ava Gardner wondered if there were any parts she might be interested in looking at."

  I laughed. "You're making that up, right?"

  He shook his head with a grin as he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled his shoes on. "No, I'm not."

  "Who could have talked?" I asked.

  He shrugged and leaned over to tie his left shoe. "Could have been anyone sitting near us at the restaurant. Maybe it was J.K. or Rock Hudson. Or maybe it's Jessup himself. I don't see any harm in it."

  I nodded. "I guess not. What do you think? Should we do it?"

  Carter nodded. "Yeah. I don't trust Jessup—"

  "Me, neither."

  "—but he's got a plan and Ben..." He paused for a moment, looking up from his right shoe. "I think I finally saw in him what you've been saying all along. Once he finds his way, he'll do fine."

  "Yeah. And I think he's found it. He's just gotta trust himself."

  Right then, there was a knock on the door. I walked over and opened it. A kid in a red uniform was holding a silver tray with a telegram on it. "Mr. Williams?"

  "Yeah."

  "Telegram." He pushed the tray forward.

  I took the yellow envelope and said, "Hold on." I walked back into the living area and grabbed my wallet. Walking back, I pulled out a five and handed it to the kid.

  He smiled and said, "I hope it's OK for me to ask, but I was wondering if you're hiring yet at your new studio."

  I grinned and shook my head. "Not yet, kid. And it's not me you'll wanna talk to. It's Ben White. He's the head of the studio. I'm just the money guy."

  The kid nodded and said, "Thanks."

  I replied, "Don't mention it," and closed the door as he walked off.

  Carter walked up. "Damn, son."

  "I know." I opened the envelope and pulled out the telegram.

  NICK WILLIAMS C/O BEVERLY HILLS HOTEL. CALL ASAP. MIKE.

  . . .

  "Mike?"

  "You ready for all this?"

  "I guess. What's up?"

  "Your leading man is dead."

  "William Fraser?"

  "Yep. I guess what they say about that movie is true. It's cursed. So far, that's two leading men."

  Before I could stop myself, I laughed wryly. The whole thing was too absurd. "What happened?"

  "He was found stabbed in the backyard of a house in Beverly Hills. Police think it was a burglary gone wrong."

  "Burglary?"

  "Yeah. They think William was trying to break into the house."

  "Why?"

  "The story is that the owner was a noto
rious pot distributor."

  "That fits."

  "How's that?"

  "Ben told us this afternoon that William was missing yesterday and that they'd tracked him down early this morning. Ben claims he was a drug addict."

  Mike made a dismissive sound. "I don't care what anyone says, I've never seen a pot drug addict."

  "Yeah." I tended to agree with him although I didn't have much first-hand experience.

  Mike said, "I wanted to tell you first so you could be the one to tell Ben."

  "How'd you find out?"

  "The police chief in Beverly Hills tracked me down. Once he figured out who William was and who he worked for, he called to let me know to tell you to stay away."

  I shook my head. "Fine. Will do. Anything else?"

  "No."

  "Well then, we'll see—"

  Talking over me, Mike said, "Actually, Nick, there is one more thing."

  "What?"

  "What's going on down there?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Why did this police chief know who you were?"

  I grinned. "I'm Notorious Nick, haven't you heard?" That was the moniker the Hearst papers had saddled me with over the previous year or so.

  "No. It's not that. Are you going to open a movie studio?"

  I sighed. "Yeah. I'm thinking about it." I explained about our conversation with Jessup.

  Mike laughed. "But you hate Hollywood."

  "Yeah, I do. But you should see Ben. He gets it. Just like you did when I first suggested the idea of Consolidated Security."

  "Oh." For once, that stopped Mike in his tracks. After a moment, he said, "Yeah. This could be big, then."