Before I could answer, Carter leaned in and said, "Because Nick Williams is in town." He looked around the room dramatically. "Waiters speak of him over cigarette breaks. Hat-check girls whisper his name and sigh, knowing that no matter how handsome he is and how prominently they display their bazooms, they haven't got a chance. Elevator operators pass resolutions honoring him at their union hall. And hostesses, having been slipped a twenty the day before, know a mark when they see one."
As Walter and Howie both giggled, I rolled my eyes and said, "Oh, brother."
. . .
"What did you two do today?" asked Carter.
Walter said, "I got to see the computer down at U.C.L.A. It was thrilling." His eyes were as wide as I'd ever seen them. The two of them were holding hands under the table. "Howard let me help him run a program."
"A program?" I asked, having no idea what that meant.
While Howie looked proud, for some reason, Walter nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, Mr. Williams, I got to help him tell the SWAC to calculate the value of pi out to twenty decimal places."
"That many?" I asked, still having no idea what he was talking about.
Walter nodded. His eyes widened even more as a tall, angular woman in her late 40s made her way to our table. She had blonde hair pulled back off her face and was wearing a light green dress.
"Good evening, gentlemen, may I join you for a moment?" She was standing closest to Walter.
We all stood as much as we could, considering we were in a booth.
She waved at us and said, "I really do think there should be a rule about gentlemen having to stand for a lady when they're seated at a booth, don't you?"
I smiled and said, "Will you have a seat, Miss Arden?" My high hat voice was on in full force.
She nodded, gathered the skirt of her dress, and sat where Walter had been sitting before he and Howie had slid closer to me.
"So, what brings the four of you here tonight?"
Carter said, "Actually, our friend Walter hasn't been here before."
Turning in her seat slightly, Miss Arden looked at Walter and said, "Well, hello there, Walter. I hope the Brown Derby is everything you hoped it would be."
He nodded, looking more owl-like than ever.
Howie said, "He's just a little star-struck, Miss Arden. I think he may be one of your most enthusiastic fans."
Walter nodded but didn't speak.
"What a pleasure to meet you, Walter. You do look a little bit like Dick Crenna, who plays my Walter on TV." She looked at Howie and asked, "Don't you think so?"
Howie nodded, "Yes, ma'am. I don't have a television, but I've seen your show many times. The woman I used to work for was a fan."
She smiled. "If I'm not mistaken, we've met before, haven't we?"
He nodded. "About a year ago. You and Miss Russell and Miss Allyson were at Mrs. DaCosta's house for a volunteer lunch for the March of Dimes."
She snapped her fingers. "That's it. You helped out in the kitchen. Were you related to Mrs. DaCosta? She was such a lovely lady."
He shook his head. "I rented the garage apartment behind her house."
"I was so very sorry when she passed away."
Howie nodded. "Yes, ma'am. So was I. She was very kind. Like a grandmother to me."
I looked at Walter who seemed to be in heaven, seated in between Miss Eve Arden and his new love, Howard. I suddenly realized I hadn't made introductions.
"Miss Arden, this is Walter Marcello and Howard Paulsen."
She nodded and smiled. "A pleasure."
Carter piped up and said, "We didn't meet on Tuesday night but I'm Carter Jones and this is Nick Williams."
She smiled at me. "Neither of you need an introduction, of course. Thank you, so much, for sponsoring the fundraiser on Tuesday night. It really does mean a lot to so many."
I nodded. "Well, we didn't do much. It was all handled by Miss Russell and Carter's mother. And, of course, Miss Hopper."
Miss Arden's face made a wry sort of look as she said, "Yes," in a way that left no doubt how she felt about Hedda Hopper.
After a couple of beats, Miss Arden leaned in and said, "I just stopped by to thank you for Tuesday night but to also thank you for taking care of this Juan Zane business. I'm sorry that he's gone but I had a dear friend who became addicted to pills thanks to him and I, for one, am glad that part of the story is over and done with."
I wasn't sure what to say. Fortunately, Carter said, "Thank you, Miss Arden."
She stood and we all tried to stand. She smiled. "New rule, gentlemen, new rule." Turning to Walter, she offered her hand which he shook. "A real pleasure to meet you, Walter. Someday you'll have to come by Desilu and watch us film an episode. I think you might enjoy seeing how it all works." She looked at all of us. "Again, a pleasure, gentlemen. Enjoy your dinner." And, with that, she was gone.
. . .
We were about halfway into our meal when Carter said to Howie, "We're gonna be here until Tuesday afternoon. John Gilbraith, who was Carlo's first lawyer, his funeral will be at 10 a.m. Kenneth and Benjamin Ross will be coming down for it. We have a meeting after that and then we'll fly home."
Howie nodded as he took a bite of his salad.
I asked, "Will you be able to stay at the house for the time being?"
He nodded as he swallowed. "Sure, Nick. What do you need me to do while I'm there?"
"Nothing, really. Oscar is working for us now and he'll manage the house. I just wanna make sure you stick around." I looked over at Walter, who was watching Howie.
Nodding, Howie said, "You mentioned something about a job."
"Yeah," I replied. "When do you finish your Ph.D.?"
"December, probably. I have to wait for I.B.M. to install their new computer. The SWAC is too limited for what I want to do."
I nodded and had an idea. "How much do one of those big brains cost?"
Howie, who immediately saw where I was going, grinned and said, "I don't know, but it's a lot. And it can take months to build one out."
"What if we bought one and put it in our office building in San Francisco?"
He shook his head. "Unless you put it in the basement, I doubt most floors of an office building could hold one. They're heavy. And they use a lot of juice."
I nodded. "Fine." I looked at Walter. "You and Robert figure this out. But I think we need one."
"For what?" asked Carter.
I looked at him and frowned slightly. "Because we gotta find a way to get Howie up to San Francisco."
Carter looked at Walter and winked. Walter blushed hard and looked at his plate. "Right," said Carter. "Right."
Chapter 46
Echo Park Methodist Church
1226 North Alvarado Street
Los Angeles, Cal.
Tuesday, July 19, 1955
10 in the morning
"We're here, today, to mourn the untimely passing of John J. Gilbraith." The minister, a man of about 55 dressed in a black suit, looked out at the packed sanctuary. He frowned slightly. I wondered if he was beginning to figure out who, precisely, was seated in the pews and standing along the walls.
Gilbraith's mother was seated in the front pew on the left. Next to her was his sister, a woman by the name of Ethel, and her husband who looked very uncomfortable in a black suit that appeared to be new. Kenneth had talked to them before the services. They had driven in from Phoenix where Mrs. Gilbraith had moved a few years ago from Akron, Ohio. His sister and her husband, Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Sirko, still lived in Akron where Mr. Sirko worked at one of the Goodyear plants. Kenneth said they had two children whom they'd left at the hotel with a babysitter.
Sitting right behind the family was Alexander Frankfurter, the District Attorney along with Judge Mosk and two other men and a woman who Kenneth had told us were also Superior Court judges.
Everyone else in the church was someone who had been helped by Gilbraith in his nearly twenty years of practicing law in Los Angeles. And most of those folks
were homosexual men and women. There was a small crowd of what looked like hardened criminal types huddled around Joe of Joe's Diner. But, otherwise, it was the largest gathering of homosexuals I'd ever seen.
After the religious part of the funeral was over, the minister said, "And, now, I would like to invite Mr. Richard Lissner, Mr. Gilbraith's law partner, to come forward and share some of his memories of the deceased." The minister moved over to a plain wood chair to the right of the simple altar that sported a single bouquet of lilies.
Lissner was sitting on the front pew on the right, next to Kenneth and Benjamin, along with the two secretaries who worked in Gilbraith's office, both dressed in perfectly-tailored suits. We were in the pew behind them. Carter was on the aisle and I was next to him. Ben White was to my right, followed by Martinelli, Tom, and Micky. We'd invited Howie, but he had a class to teach.
Lissner was just south of 50, had graying blond hair, and stood about 5'9". He was dressed in a dark navy suit and had very intense green eyes that seemed to catch the light and sparkle. He stood and walked up to the podium where the minister had been leading the service. Clearing his throat, he said, "John J. Gilbraith was born in Akron, Ohio, on February 12th in 1908. He attended Ohio State University in Columbus and graduated cum laude with a degree in history in 1928. After working for Goodyear in Akron for a year, he saved up enough to take the train west to Hollywood, where he worked for a year at Paramount Studios as a runner and delivery boy. He once alleged that he could be seen in a walk-in role in The Battle of Paris, a 1929 talkie starring Gertrude Lawrence, but no one has ever been able to confirm this."
Several people in the room chuckled at that.
"Finally figuring out that Paramount was not looking to cast a walking tree,"—more chuckles and a scandalized look on the minister's face—"John decided to try his hand at the law. So, on one dark day in the fall of 1930, John J. Gilbraith entered the then-named School of Jurisprudence at the University of California up in Berkeley. His contract law professor is reported to have asked when, exactly, had the redwood trees down at Stanford in Palo Alto learned to walk and talk and why was one of them in his classroom."
More chuckles and a couple of guffaws.
"Somewhat reluctantly, the regents of that school awarded him a degree in 1933 and our fates were then sealed."
Lissner was looking right at the row behind Gilbraith's parents when he said that. That got some laughs from Frankfurter and the judges.
"I met John J. Gilbraith in the fall of 1933." He looked around the room. "I don't think I need mention the circumstances." More chuckles. I saw Gilbraith's mother shift uncomfortably in her seat.
"After a couple of months of intermittent friendship, we decided to form a law partnership and I've regretted it every day since then."
More laughter.
Lissner, who'd been smiling up until that moment, seemed to be struck by the seriousness of what he was there to talk about. His expression grew somber. "For the last twenty-one years, it was my great honor to work with one of the most intelligent, most thoughtful, and most compassionate lawyers I've ever met. He was tough. He worked hard. He was ferocious in the courtroom, in the just defense of his clients. There are many here who can attest to that." He paused as several people applauded. "I could talk about the many cases we worked on together and the ways that John stood firmly on the side of justice. But, I'd rather talk about his very last case." Lissner paused.
I looked around Carter and saw that Frankfurter was squirming a little in his seat.
"In the last few days, we've been reading in the papers about how a massive narcotics ring in this city has, at long last, collapsed. One of the lesser-known aspects of this story was the murder of an up-and-coming film actor. John was asked to defend the man who was falsely and unjustly accused of that murder. The police had no evidence, only a hunch. But John knew that the law doesn't work on hunches. It works on evidence, solid evidence." Lissner was looking straight ahead, not looking down at Frankfurter. "While he didn't live to see his client freed by one of our most honorable judges, I think John would be very pleased to know that he played a role in not only making sure that justice was done for his client but in the collapse, at long last, of a scourge and plight that had insinuated itself into very dark places in this, our city of dreams."
There was a loud round of applause at that.
Lissner, who knew how to work a room, smiled modestly for a moment and then continued, "So, today, let us remember all the men and women who are free because of John J. Gilbraith and all that he stood for."
With that, Lissner took out his handkerchief, wiped his eyes, and left the podium to take his seat in the pew in front of Carter. The room burst into applause that lasted for a while.
Chapter 47
Monumental Studios
11000 Culver Boulevard
Culver City, Cal.
Tuesday, July 19, 1955
Half past 2 in the afternoon
"So, is it a deal?" That was Jessup. He was sitting on one side of a long piece of plywood that was propped up on two sawhorses. Next to him sat Wayne Growder, his attorney. On our side of the table, Ben was across from Jessup. I was to Ben's left. Kenneth Dixon was to Ben's right. Carter and Benjamin Ross were standing behind us while Martinelli was leaning against the wall by the door.
We were in what had once been the Monumental commissary and cafeteria. The tables and chairs were long gone but the food line and an ancient bronze cash register were still in place. The walls had been painted green at some point, but most of the paint was faded and flaking and, in some places, parts of the walls were missing. The floor was covered with dust and plaster and bits and pieces of trash. Underneath all that were blue ceramic tiles that reminded me of the ones I'd seen in Juan Zane's house.
"No, Mr. Jessup, we do not have a deal." That was Kenneth and he was exasperated. Somehow Jessup, and his lawyer, had decided that he was going in on Monumental with a significant percentage. I didn't mind giving him a quarter or a third, but half was too much. And, usually, I didn't care about those things too much.
"To repeat," continued Kenneth, "this is how we're structuring this package. Monumental Studios will be a privately-held corporation. There will be three owners: Nick Williams, Ben White, and yourself. Mr. Williams will own forty percent. Mr. White will own thirty percent. Same as yourself. This is not negotiable. These are the terms. If you want to walk away from this deal, you can stay on as a unit director at a generous salary or Mr. Williams is prepared to buy you out for half a million. That will amply pay you for your creative suggestions. Those are your choices. Take them or leave them." Kenneth crossed his arms and leaned back in his rusted metal folding chair.
"So, that means Williams can make millions off my ideas and he only pays only half a mil for them?" Jessup shook his head. "No, thank you. I want fifty percent." He banged his fist on the piece of plywood. "That's what I'm owed. That's what's due me."
Kenneth tilted his head to the left and didn't say anything. He was a damn fine lawyer. There was no doubt about it.
Mr. Growder cleared his throat and asked, "Perhaps Mr. White would be willing to take twenty-five percent while Mr. Jessup could take thirty-five percent? Seems reasonable since Mr. White is quite young and inexperienced."
I shook my head. "Nope."
Kenneth shrugged. "What will it be, Mr. Jessup?" He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a piece of paper. "Mr. Williams is prepared to write you a check right now for fifty thousand dollars that you can take to the bank. The balance of four hundred and fifty thousand will be sent to your bank within three business days." He handed the document to Mr. Growder.
Growder frowned as he looked at the document. It obviously wasn't what he was expecting. As he scanned it, his eyes widened and then he took a deep breath and sighed. He folded the page and stuffed it in his briefcase. "I'd take the thirty percent, Mr. Jessup."
"Why?"
Growder leaned over and whispered some
thing into Jessup's ears. After a few seconds, Jessup's face turned red. He looked at me accusingly. I had no idea what was on that document. I wondered if Kenneth had dug up some dirt on the man.
After several tense moments of him glaring at me, Jessup's entire demeanor suddenly changed. He broke into a smile and laughed. "Who has a pen?"
Growder pulled one out of his jacket, unscrewed the cap, and handed it to his client.
Picking up the ownership contract, Jessup signed his name to it with a flare and then looked at me. "I guess you faggots really aren't such sissies after all, are you?"
. . .
We stood on Culver Boulevard under the crumbling arch of Monumental Studios, waiting for a cab to arrive. Kenneth and Benjamin were taking a P.S.A. flight home. Carter and I still had a few things to do before we left and Kenneth didn't want to wait to leave with us on the Lumberjack.
Benjamin looked at me. "Any news on what happened to John Taylor?"
I smiled. "He's living high on the hog in Mexico City. Or that's what Mike says. The F.B.I. seems to think he made off with somewhere in the neighborhood of three million in cash and bearer bonds."
Benjamin frowned. "Did he get that out of the bank?"
"Nope. All the cash in Juan Zane's account is still there."
"Who gets it all?" That was Martinelli.
"Mike said he heard it all goes to the March of Dimes."
"What?" asked Ben.
I nodded. "Seems like he was a very charitable man."
Kenneth asked, "Any idea who that up-and-coming star was that you overheard in their backyard? Did he die in the fire?"
Carter said, "I talked to the Beverly Hills fire chief. He said they recovered only one body. He also told me that the sheriff is doing the investigation and that they're trying to match dental records to make sure it was the butler, Humphries. They won't know for a couple of days."
Kenneth nodded thoughtfully.
"OK, Counselor, what was on that document?" That was Carter.
The Pitiful Player (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 14) Page 34