The Pitiful Player (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 14)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  "Apparently everyone thinks so. The kid who delivered your telegram hit me up for a job."

  "Notorious Nick is now Movie Mogul Nick."

  "Not sure I like that name, but yeah, I guess so. How's Greg?" Greg Holland was a former police lieutenant and Mike's lover. He also worked for us.

  "Fine. I sent him down there on Friday to help Micky and Carlo with a case." Michael "Micky" Bailey was our other employee in the L.A. office, which was really just a one-room affair in Hollywood. He was friends with Martinelli and had been in the Military Police in Korea. He was a native Angeleno and knew the area like the back of his hand.

  "Anything interesting?"

  "Funny you should ask. Divorce in Beverly Hills. The wife wants the goods on the husband. Micky seems to think the husband might be in the narcotics biz himself."

  "Any connection?"

  "Not that I know of. My next call is to check in with Greg and bring him up to speed."

  "Why didn't you call here? Why the telegram?"

  "I called three times and was told you weren't to be disturbed. That you and Mr. Jones were at the pool."

  "You're kidding."

  "Nope."

  I looked over at Carter who had been sitting on the sofa listening to my end of the conversation. He tilted his head with a question on his face. I rolled my eyes. He winked. I grinned and said, "Well, keep me posted. We're going over to have dinner with Ros and Freddie here in a few minutes. Ben and Martinelli are picking us up. I'll let them both know about William." It suddenly hit me that he was gone. "Poor kid."

  "Yeah." He paused. "One last question for you."

  "Shoot."

  "Why did you and Carter suddenly leave on Friday?"

  I paused for a long moment and looked at Carter again.

  "Nick? You still there?"

  "Yeah. Let's just say we needed to get out of town."

  "Fair enough. Love you, Nick."

  "Love you, too."

  . . .

  As Carter and I slid into the backseat of Ben's Imperial, I said, "I have some really bad news."

  Martinelli was behind the wheel. Ben turned in his seat and asked, "What?"

  "William Fraser is dead."

  Ben's mouth dropped open. "Oh my God. No." He blinked a couple of times. "You're kidding, right?"

  I shook my head. "Afraid not."

  We were still sitting under the striped ceiling above the drive-up entrance to the hotel. Carter said, "Come on, Carlo, let's go."

  As we pulled out, I said, "His body was found outside a house in Beverly Hills. He'd been stabbed."

  "When did it happen?"

  "Dunno. Mike called and told me."

  Ben frowned. "How did he know?"

  "Beverly Hills Chief of Police called him. Warned him to keep me out of it."

  Ben nodded. "Yeah. He's got a reputation."

  "For what?"

  "For being tough on crime and keeping an eye on things. Supposedly, you can't even walk down the street there without being stopped and asked for identification."

  Martinelli added, "They have a clean town and wanna keep it that way. And the residents pay through the nose for it, or so I've heard."

  Ben nodded. "Less a police force and more a large private security set-up. Almost every house has a silent alarm and it only takes five minutes or less for a patrol officer to show up. And the pay is good." He looked down at the seat back for a moment. "That's where I was thinking of applying, as a matter of fact."

  Carter asked, "Would they have hired you?" He was referring to the fact that Ben and Martinelli had been with us in May of '53 when I'd told off George Hearst at the Top of the Mark in San Francisco. Ben had been fired from the police force and Martinelli from the fire department. It was all because they were with me that night when I'd announced to the world that I was a homosexual and I had kissed Carter right in front of George Hearst and everyone.

  Ben sighed. "I know one patrol officer who's one of us. He seemed to think that Chief Anderson wouldn't mind."

  I said, "I'm glad you didn't. I wanna make this Monumental thing a going concern and I know you can do it."

  Ben turned around in his seat and looked out the window. "I don't know, Nick. I already had a story in mind but William was going to be the star. He had exactly what Jessup was talking about."

  Carter said, "Not to make light of the poor kid's death, Ben, but there's a hundred more where William came from."

  I sighed and looked out the window. Carter was right. And I could hear the trepidation in his own voice as he'd said what he'd said. But, I didn't like hearing it. I was once again reminded how much I didn't like Hollywood.

  Chapter 6

  706 N. Beverly Drive

  Beverly Hills, Cal.

  Sunday, July 10, 1955

  Half past 7 in the evening

  "Do come in, boys. Freddie is on the phone in his office."

  As we walked in, Ros took turns with kisses on the cheek. She looked out into the courtyard and said, "You're staying at the Beverly Hills Hotel?"

  Carter said, "Yes, ma'am."

  "I'm surprised you didn't walk. Freddie and I try to whenever we want to have lunch or dinner over there."

  Ben said, "Don't you think the police would stop us?"

  Ros laughed. "They would at that. They've stopped us at least twice that I can remember." With that, she closed the door behind us.

  Whatever she was cooking smelled really good. I suddenly realized how hungry I was.

  Slipping her left arm into my right as we walked into their living room, she asked, "So how does it feel to be known far and wide as a movie mogul?" She spread her right hand out dramatically.

  I laughed and said, "It's odd, that's for sure, particularly since it hasn't happened yet."

  She walked over to the bar and asked, "Drinks?"

  We all wanted beer, so she brought out four bottles of Burgie and four glasses from the kitchen on a tray. Right about then, Freddie, her husband, walked into the room. He had a somber expression on his face. After shaking hands with everyone, he looked at Ben and said, "I suppose you heard the news about William Fraser?"

  Ben nodded and glanced at me.

  Freddie looked at me and shook his head. In his light Danish accent, he said, "Stay away from this one, Nick. No one messes with the Beverly Hills police. They're what you might call a closed shop."

  Looking at her husband, Ros asked, "The usual, dear?"

  He nodded. Freddie was Frederick Brisson. He was a producer and had grown up in Denmark. The story was that he fell in love with Ros when he was on a ship crossing the Atlantic back in '39 and they played her movie, The Women, over and over again. He'd vowed he was either going to kill or marry the woman whose screeching voice he kept hearing. They were a couple very much in love with each other. We'd met them the previous summer on an ocean liner going from San Francisco to Honolulu.

  Ros walked over to him with a tumbler of bourbon, neat. He sat down in a wide armchair and she sat next to him on the arm. Freddie looked at me. "So, what's this about resurrecting Monumental Studios?"

  Ben and I gave him an overview of the conversation that we'd had with Jessup. As we talked, Freddie nodded thoughtfully but didn't say anything. Once we were done, I asked, "What do you think?"

  Freddie took a long sip of his bourbon and didn't say anything for a moment. He stood, looked at me, and said, "It's nothing but trash and it's going to make you rich. I want in on the deal."

  I sat back in my chair, somewhat surprised by what he'd said. But I also had a sudden realization that maybe we shouldn't have said anything to him. I could tell he'd had no idea what the plan was. Apparently, that part wasn't being broadcast. It made me think Jessup must have been the one who'd been talking.

  As if he was reading my mind, Freddie drank the last of his bourbon and then pointed the tumbler at me. "And don't tell anyone else about what you're planning. You shouldn't have told me." Walking over to the bar, he said, "It's a fantast
ic idea. It really is. And it's disgusting and depraved and immoral."

  I looked at Freddie to see if he was kidding, or not. I couldn't tell. I turned and looked at Ros. She was frowning. We all sat in silence as Freddie poured another glass of bourbon. Finally, Ros said, "I think what Freddie means, Nick, is that it's what the kids want these days and I wonder if you should think twice about giving it to them. I certainly wouldn't want Lance seeing one of those movies, I can tell you that." She put her left hand under her chin and narrowed her eyes at me. "I just don't know."

  Carter said, "I don't think any of us would want to see these pictures."

  Ros stood and walked over to the picture window. "No, of course not. I know you haven't asked me, and I'm much too old to do so, but I wouldn't audition for a part, even if you begged me to do so."

  Ben said, "Well, the part I like—"

  He stopped when I shook my head at him.

  Ros turned and looked down at Ben, who was sitting near where she was standing. "The part you like, Mr. White, is where you get to get your hands dirty and finally make some movies. Right?"

  Ben nodded, looking flushed.

  "Well, it's tempting, I can see." She looked over at me. "I wonder. If Mr. Mayer were here—"

  Much to my surprise, Martinelli piped up and said, "What about Jack Warner?"

  Ros turned and looked at him. I knew she had a real soft spot for him. I watched as he blushed under her gaze. She sighed and nodded. "He'd love this idea. To a point. So would Harry Cohn, bless his pointy little head. But you're talking about going against the Hays Code."

  Ben shook his head. "Not at all. It's all suggested, never pronounced."

  Ros shook her head. "That may be the case. But it's all just so tawdry." She paused for a moment and then said, "I wish you all the luck, Ben, but I just can't get behind this idea. I really can't."

  Before Ben could reply, I stood and said, "Ros, it's fine. I hope you know how much we value your opinion. And I know none of this is your cup of tea."

  She nodded, walked over, and put her hand on my arm. "It's not. But I wish you both the greatest of success with your endeavors." I could feel a slight cooling off coming from her. I hoped it would pass, but I wasn't sure it would.

  . . .

  "Tell us about the location shoot for Picnic. How'd it go?" That was Ben. We were all seated at their dining room table enjoying a dinner of chicken casserole, roasted potatoes, and green peas.

  Ros smiled and looked at Freddie, who grinned in reply. "It was swell. Everyone in Kansas was wonderful. So friendly and inviting. We moved around a lot and we had some of the usual location antics. And you've never seen so many mosquitoes!" She laughed. "And Bill Holden enjoyed himself a little too much. He thinks he's quite the acrobat is all I'll say."

  Freddie leaned in and said, "But, the state of Kansas sent her a nice welcome gift. Her very own tornado."

  Ros laughed as Martinelli asked, "Were you OK?"

  "Oh, yes, dear. Perfectly fine. For me, that is. However, for the town, it was awful, really. And so much destruction. Seventy-seven people died, don't you know."

  I said, "I read where you helped raise a lot of money for the town."

  Ros blushed and Freddie came to her rescue. He said, "Yes, she did and I'm proud of her."

  . . .

  After dinner, we had our dessert and coffee in the living room and talked for a while. It was mostly about what projects Freddie had going on and how Lance was doing over summer vacation. Everything seemed fine on the surface, but I could tell that Ros was still thinking about what we'd talked about before dinner.

  At one point, she stood and began to gather dessert plates and coffee cups. I stood and said, "Let me help."

  She shook her head. "No, no. That's fine, Nick."

  "But I never get to clean up at home anymore."

  She stopped and looked at me for a moment. "Poor little rich kid, is that it?"

  I shrugged. "Something like that."

  "Fine," she said flatly. "And grab the ashtrays while you're at it."

  I did as she asked and followed her into the kitchen.

  After we'd stacked all the china on the counter, I said, "We don't know each other very well, but you can say anything you want to me, Ros."

  She was just turning on the tap when I said that. She stood there for a moment, looking down at the sink, while letting it fill up and checking the water temperature every few seconds. Once the sink was about half full, she poured some soap flakes into the water and stirred them quickly with her right hand. Finally, she turned off the water and looked at me. "OK, buster, here it is."

  She grabbed a towel and began to dry her hands. "I'm sorry, but you just don't need the money. I read the business pages and I know what they say about you. By the way, I hit your foundation up for a donation for Kansas and they came through, so thank you very much."

  I nodded and waited. I was good at waiting and listening.

  "What I don't get is why you're even in on this deal. Is it for Ben?"

  "Yeah. He's good."

  "He is good. I agree. Why not farm him out somewhere?"

  "You know why, Ros. No one will hire him."

  She waved her hand at me dismissively. "Not from what I've seen. That casting couch holds both females and males. Believe me, I've seen it. And those are producers not directors."

  I shrugged. "Metro has it out for both of us. You know that, too."

  She shook her head. "Not Metro. Eddie Mannix." He was the infamous fixer at Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer and really didn't like me. He'd arranged for Metro to sell me the rights to It Was Raining Then, but he'd been making it hard for Ben to do business in town. "And he's not going to live forever. Mayer is already gone. Dore Schary's not gonna be there much longer." She threw the towel on the counter. "The studio system is dead. And, if you ask me, that's a good thing. That's why Freddie and I do what we do. Right now, I've got a deal with Columbia but that's not like the contracts in the old days. Can you believe what Harry Cohn said about me when he saw the first rushes for Picnic? He said I was too pretty. Can you believe that? But I gave him what he wanted. And that role is good. It's better than good. It's great." She was riled up. I wondered what it was really about. She sighed and leaned against the counter. "I wish I could tell you about what I've got cooking right now. The whole thing is a doozy." She folded her arms and laughed. "Listen to me. I never talk shop like this." She laughed and looked at me sideways. "I never talk like this, period. Going on as if I were Crawford. That's a laugh."

  I laughed and said, "She can't hold a candle to you, Ros."

  Her eyes lit up in amusement. She blinked several times coquettishly and said, "Oh my, Mr. Williams, how you do go on."

  I grinned. "What I mean is that you know the business. Which is why I wanna tell you something you're not going to like. Even if it makes you angry at me."

  She narrowed her eyes and lifted her chin. "What?"

  "You've convinced me we're doing the right thing."

  She frowned when I said that.

  "Maybe not the right thing, but Jessup is on to something and I think Ben is perfect to do it."

  She shook her head and asked, "But why?"

  "Why what?"

  "Why is Ben right for it?"

  I took a deep breath and tried to collect my thoughts. I wasn't really sure I could answer her question. It was as if I was thinking about something that didn't have a name. Finally, I gave it a shot. "He's like me, Ros. Everyone knows about us."

  "What? That you're loaded?"

  I laughed. "No. That we're, you know, who we are. What we are. And then there's Carter and Martinelli. They were with us that night at the Top of the Mark. That's where the two of them met. Did you know that?"

  Ros nodded. Her face was a cross between confusion and disapproval. I wondered if I'd just stepped across a line that was too far to return from.

  "Ben's a blank slate. He can't hide who he is, even if he wanted. And, believe me, of all of
us in this strange place we're in, he wants to hide more than anyone."

  "What about that Klein? Your lawyer?"

  I raised my eyebrows in surprise. "Jeffery? How do you know about him?"

  She looked away. "Oh, I don't know. Someone told me, I guess."

  "Well, yeah, last year he decided to get married and they have a pretty baby girl. But, he's in the middle of all this. When Carter and I went to jail—"

  Ros raised her hand as if to cover my mouth. "Oh, I just can't."

  I didn't say anything.

  She walked over to the refrigerator and opened it. She looked inside and just stood there. She finally closed the door and turned to me. "I think you're a marvelous kid, Nick, I really do. But I'm just not cut out for knowing all the little details about a life I can't possibly understand."

  I nodded. I could feel myself cooling off. I wondered if she was doing what she was doing on purpose or whether it was just bubbling up. I didn't blame her, not really. But I didn't want to lose a friend.

  "When we first met, I told you that Freddie and I were more like theater people than movie people and that's true. But," she looked around the kitchen as if whatever she was trying to say might be spelled out on the wallpaper. She sighed. "But, what we're good at—" She stopped and put her hand on her chest and said, "What I'm good at is being friendly and charming and cultivating friends. I suppose you could say that I've been cultivating your friendship because you're so wealthy and so charitable." She put her left hand on her forehead and her right hand on her hip. "I know that's awful—"

  "And it isn't true. I don't believe you." I said that very quietly.

  She turned to me and nodded sheepishly. "You're right. I like all four of you. And, I don't care a bit about the money. But, I don't know how to say it." She looked at me pleadingly.

  "We make you uncomfortable."

  She nodded and put the pinkie of her left hand up to her lips as if she was going to bite the nail. "I'm sorry, Nick."

  I smiled. "There's nothing to apologize for, Ros."

  I was surprised to see tears run down her face. I knew she wasn't acting because she looked surprised that they were happening. She brushed them away and laughed. "Oh, I'm really making such a fool of myself."