Chuckling, Ernie said, “I guess that takes care of that. We can go back to work now, kiddo.”
“I thought that’s what we’d been doing since lunchtime.” By then I was totally confused and my tone of voice was rather sharp.
“Aw, this was nothing. You oughta see me when I’m really working.”
If this was nothing, why was it I was about to fall into a heap from being run off my feet? Before I moved here, I’d been led to believe that people in Los Angeles weren’t big walkers, which once again showed how much I knew about anything. I’d never walked so much in my life. I regret to say I borrowed from Mr. Templeton himself when I said, “Huh.”
He chuckled merrily. By that time, it was approximately 2:30 p.m., and I’d been on my feet since shortly after noon. I was tired and thirsty and feeling abused and mistreated. I hadn’t realized how much physical endurance the private investigative business took. If I hadn’t wanted to cling to my job, even though I’d begun to wonder about the real merits of regular employment, I’d have struck him with my handbag for laughing at me.
I guess he sensed my mood because he said in a conciliatory tone, “Say, kiddo, I didn’t mean to wear you out. Let me make it up to you. How’s about an ice cream soda?”
Oh, my, that sounded good! Since I didn’t want to admit how exhausted I was, I said, “Well, if you’re sure we don’t need to get back to the office right away.”
“Hell, what for?” His expression altered slightly, and he looked glum. “There’s not that much work to do.”
The offer of an ice cream soda had perked me up a little, and I was sorry that Mr. Templeton didn’t consider his business a thriving one. This was especially true since he was my employer, and if he didn’t have enough work, I wouldn’t have any work at all. “What about Mr. Godfrey’s missing fiancée?”
“I think I found her.”
“Really! Why, that’s wonderful, Mr. … er … Ernie! Where is she?”
“According to a source I consulted, she’s in Pasadena.”
“Pasadena,” I repeated, the word conjuring up images of roses and big mansions and lots of money. I’d heard a lot about Pasadena, even before I moved to Los Angeles. It’s where the rich people lived—not new-money rich people like those in the motion-picture industry, particularly, but rich people from back East who wanted a warm place to spend their winters. Pasadena hosted a Tournament of Roses Parade every year, on January first, of all unlikely times of year to find roses blooming. “I’d love to go to Pasadena someday,” I murmured.
As we talked, Ernie had been guiding me through Chinatown. We crossed Hill and went through the arch on its other side, which looked pretty much like the one we’d just left, except that this side had Hop Luey’s in a red pagoda. My mother would have called the architecture tacky, but I thought it was swell. It looked really Chinese. Evidently Ernie knew Chinatown inside and out because his footsteps didn’t waver as he marched along.
“Hell, you can go there with me tomorrow, if you want to.”
“To Pasadena?” My attention swerved from my dry mouth and sore feet and landed in a bed of roses. “Really?”
“Sure. In fact, I wish you would. The lady might be more comfortable if you came along. You know, another woman’s presence, and all that.”
“I’d be helping you with another case?” The word assistant did a pirouette in my head. He was actually using me as his assistant! After only two days at work!
“Yeah, I guess you could say that.”
“I would,” I said firmly.
He chuckled again. “I figured you would. Here we are.”
Opening the door to another hole-in-the-wall place, I saw that it was in reality an ice cream parlor. It looked just like an ice cream parlor in Boston might have, except it was occupied solely by people of Chinese descent. That didn’t bother me any. Ernie guided me to a little white wrought-iron table for two and held a chair for me. He was being quite the gentleman all of a sudden. I sank wearily into the chair and murmured, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
A young woman with bobbed hair, a short skirt and lots of makeup came up with a pad to take our orders. I don’t know why I should have been surprised to see a Chinese flapper, but I was. She flirted shamelessly with Ernie, too, who lapped it up, the dog.
Still and all, it had been an interesting, if exhausting, day, and I was well on my way to becoming a P.I.’s assistant!
Eight
“You’re doing what?” Chloe looked at me through bleary blue eyes and blinked several times. She wasn’t usually up at this early hour, but she and Harvey were hosting a dinner party that night, and I guess she wanted to make sure the arrangements were up to her standards. I was looking forward to the party, because Mr. Easthope would be there along with a few motion-picture actors and actresses. I’d never met anyone who worked as an actor in the pictures, although I’d met plenty of behind-the-scenes folks, starting with Harvey.
I adjusted my hat. “Mr. Templeton is taking me to Pasadena to meet a woman a client hired him to find.”
“Hmm. I like Pasadena.”
“I’m glad we’re going there. I’ve always wanted to see it.”
“Pretty place. One of Francis’s best friends lives there.”
“Francis Easthope?”
“Yeah.” She yawned hugely and frowned at me. “I’m glad tomorrow’s Saturday. I’m going to take you to the barbershop and get your hair bobbed if I have to tie you up and have Harvey carry you there.”
“Tomorrow’s Friday, Chloe.”
“Oh. Well, day after tomorrow, then.”
I laughed. “You won’t have to do anything so drastic as tie me up. I’ll be happy to get rid of all this. It’s too darned hot here to have long hair.”
“We’re going to get you some clothes, too,” Chloe said, eyeing my knee-length green skirt and plain white shirtwaist and man-style green tie with what looked like mighty close to loathing.
“I don’t know why you’re picking on my clothes. I think a working woman should dress soberly.”
“There’s sober and then there’s sober,” Chloe said wryly. “You’d look right at home in a Salvation Army band.”
That was slightly daunting, mainly because I couldn’t feature Ernie Templeton anywhere near a woman in a Salvation Army uniform. It occurred to me that he might actually prefer a rather more casually attired secretary. Perhaps I’d work up the courage to ask him as we drove to Pasadena. I presumed we’d drive, since even he wouldn’t try to walk twenty-odd miles. I hoped.
I scowled at my reflection in the hall mirror. “I think I look suitably attired for a professional working woman.” My voice echoed my doubts.
“Professional working woman, my foot,” said Chloe. “I need coffee.” And she wandered off toward the kitchen where poor Mrs. Biddle was undoubtedly well under way with her daily chores. When I’d asked to borrow cleaning supplies earlier in the week, I got the impression Mrs. Biddle didn’t care for interruptions to her working schedule.
But that was nothing to me. Giving my hat a brisk pat, putting on the green jacket that matched my skirt—and that had a fashionably lowered waist, turned cuffs, and a jaunty belt, curse it—and picking up my handbag, I hurried out of the house and strode briskly to Angel’s Flight. There I handed the engineer my nickel and sat myself in one of the little seats. I just loved that little railroad.
For a fleeting second, I thought I saw a familiar face, but when I whipped my head around, it was gone. I’d probably been mistaken. There was no reason I could think of why Mr. Godfrey would be standing on the Angel’s Flight platform. Then again, there was no reason I could think of why he shouldn’t be there. I reminded myself that just because my first impression of him hadn’t been favorable, he still had every right to go any old place he wanted to go in the Los Angeles area. And out of it, for that matter.
I felt particularly perky that day because Ernie was taking me to Pasadena to help him on a case. And h
e’d already asked me to help him with another case, that of whatever Mrs. Von Schilling’s lost property turned out to be. He hadn’t told me yet. It bothered me a little that Chloe thought I looked dowdy. Peering at my tidy but fashionable green skirt and my black-gloved hands folded over my black handbag, I thought I looked quite nice.
When I entered the Figueroa Building and saw Lulu LaBelle filing her fingernails, my self-judgment suffered a slight check. Lulu, who was also a professional working woman, had that morning decided to appear at her job in a frilly dress with short cap sleeves, a V-neck, a dropped waistline and a very short skirt, in a vivid fuchsia color that clashed violently with her blood-red fingernails. The combination was truly eye-popping, especially when you added in her white hair. I blinked, thinking it was fairly early in the morning to encounter that particular color combination.
Nevertheless, I greeted her with my usual enthusiasm. “Good morning, Lulu!”
“Morning.” She yawned. I guess she was no more of a morning person than Chloe, but Chloe didn’t have to keep a job. My sympathies were stirred, and I hoped Lulu would find stardom—or at least a nice husband who would support her so she didn’t have to arise so early in the morning. “Ned was looking for you.”
“He was?”
“Yeah.” She grinned like an imp. “I think he’s sweet on you, honey. Watch out. Ned’s a strange one.”
“He’s sweet on me?” For some reason, my innards went “Ew.”
“Yeah. Until you showed up here to work for Ernie, I wouldn’t see Ned for days at a time. Now he’s out of his closet all the time.” Lulu patted her mouth to stifle another yawn. “Gawd, I hate mornings.”
“Really? I thought this one was kind of pretty.” In truth, I thought it was spectacular, although I have to admit that the view from the top of Angel’s Flight might have something to do with my opinion. I had no idea where Lulu lived, but if it was in an apartment akin to those Ernie and I visited yesterday, I could understand her point of view.
“Ned fixed the elevator,” Lulu informed me.
“Really?” Now this was good news. Even though I wasn’t thrilled with the prospect of Ned favoring me, I was pleased not to have to walk up three flights of stairs since my calf muscles still hurt from all the walking Ernie and I had done the day before.
“Yeah. We don’t have an operator, so you’ll have to open and shut it yourself. It’s not hard to do. Want me to show you how to do it?”
“Thank you, Lulu. That would be very kind of you.”
She squinted at me as she slid out of her chair. “You talk classy, you know that?”
“Do I?” The information did not come as good news. I was trying to blend in.
“Yeah. I like it. You’d be great in a play or something.”
I would? Somehow I doubted it, but I appreciated Lulu’s endorsement. At least I think I did.
Following her to the elevator, I marveled at her exaggerated strut. Whether she’d ever achieve stardom or not, I couldn’t say, but she’d certainly adopted most of the outer trappings of a motion-picture actress. Because I was curious, I said, “What steps have you taken to achieve your goals, Lulu?”
She glanced at me over her shoulder. “Huh?”
“Well, I mean, have you auditioned for roles?”
“Oh, sure. Lots of times. There’s lots of competition, though. A girl’s gotta put herself forward, if you know what I mean.”
“Um … actually, I don’t know what you mean. I’ve never thought about it.”
She waited for me to catch up with her, which took a couple of steps. Then she lowered her voice and spoke in a confidential tone. “Well, for one thing, lots of girls are willing to do anything to get parts. You know.”
Again, she had me over a barrel. “Um …”
“Geez, kid, are you that innocent?”
I hated to believe it of myself, but I guess I was. “Um …”
She rolled her eyes. “I guess you are. Well …” She stopped walking, took my arm, and leaned close. “You know, some girls will actually even go all the way with a producer or a director in order to get into a picture.”
All the way? Suddenly, I understood, and gasped in horror. “You don’t mean it!”
She nodded. “I do mean it. It’s a crime, the way some girls fling themselves around. Like that girl they say Fatty Arbuckle murdered. She was one of the ones who’d do anything—and I do mean anything—to get a part.”
“That’s … that’s pathetic.”
“It’s worse than pathetic. It’s stupid. It never works. A girl might get cast in one movie, but then the director might not want her anymore. He’s prolly moved on to another girl who’s desperate to get cast.”
“I’m glad you don’t do that, Lulu.”
“Well, I seen what happened to a friend of mine, and I decided it wasn’t worth it. I’ll make it one of these days, but I’ll do it ’cause I’m good on screen, not because I’m good in bed.”
The notion that Harvey Nash, my very own brother-in-law, might be participating in such low tactics entered my mind only to be thrust aside with vigor. Not Harvey. Never Harvey. He was too loyal. Too much in love with Chloe.
Wasn’t he?
Good Lord, I hoped so!
There was more to Los Angeles than met the eye, and some of it had best remain hidden, if you asked me. Not that anyone did.
We’d reached the elevator, and Lulu showed me how to open the door and close the door. She rode up with me to the third floor, and instructed me on how to use the lever so that the car was more or less level with the floor. “That part’s important, because you don’t want to trip and fall on your butt,” said she.
“Right.” I’d heard that Mabel Normand used language like that. Perhaps Lulu was aiming to become the next big comic sensation of the big screen. I exited the elevator without mishap, and was pleased with the appearance of the hallway since my interview several days earlier.
Not only had Ned put in new light bulbs, so that one could see where one was headed, but he’d also repainted not only the sign on Ernie’s office, but on a couple of other offices. As I paused to take my key out of my handbag, I was pleased that no longer was there room for doubt that this was the office of Ernest Templeton, and that his vocation was that of P.I. The glass was clean, too, although I was the one responsible for that. Well, Bon Ami and I. It looked and smelled as if Ned had been painting the hallway’s walls, too. I tell you, things were moving right along. I was proud of myself for instigating Ned’s renewed sense of pride in his work.
A surprise awaited me when I unlocked the office door. A little bouquet of flowers, daisies and anemones, resided in what looked like a rinsed-out jelly jar on my desk. Ned, I thought, and wondered whose garden he’d stolen them from.
But perhaps I’d wronged him. Or perhaps it had been Ernie who’d brought the flowers, which perked me up for a second or two before I realized that was unlikely, since he’d left the office before I had the day before and he hadn’t arrived yet this morning.
Well, it didn’t matter. The flowers, for all their inelegant container, were pretty, and I resolved to thank whomever had been kind enough to leave them for me.
“Hello, Miss Allcutt.”
I glanced up from putting my handbag and hat in my drawer to find Ned, clutching the front door and peering in at me as if he were afraid I’d bite. I smiled graciously. “Good morning, Ned. Beautiful morning, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. You want me to do anything for you, Miss Allcutt?”
This, from the man I’d had to pry out of his closet when we’d first met. “Um … I can’t think of anything right now, Ned. Thank you.”
He nodded, but he looked disappointed. “I been painting the hall. Did you see that?”
“Yes, I did.”
“And I brought those flowers.” He gestured at the jelly glass.
“Thank you very much. They’re lovely.”
“Picked ’em in the park. Pershing Square.”
“You’re welcome.” He stood there, swaying with the door, which had decided to open wider, then said, “Well, you let me know if there’s anything you want me to do, okay?”
“Okay.” I do believe that was the first time I’d ever used that word, although it was quite popular at the time.
I have a feeling Ned would have lingered, mooning and swaying in the doorway, if Ernie hadn’t arrived just then. As soon as Ned spotted him, he leaped sideways.
“ ’Lo, Ned.” Ernie’s voice was friendly and he nodded to Ned as he passed.
“Hello, Mr. Templeton.” Ned didn’t sound as if he was pleased to see Ernie, but I certainly was.
As ever, Ernie’s stride was long and effortless, and he nodded at me, too, as he passed my desk. “Morning, Miss Allcutt.”
“Good morning, Mr. Templeton. I mean Ernie.”
He grinned as he stopped in the doorway to his office, reached up and lifted his hat from his head, and flung it across his office at the coat tree. “Ha! Made it.” And he went into his office and shut the door behind him.
I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do at that point, so I remained seated behind my desk, opened my top middle drawer, and withdrew my pad. Ned was still in the doorway when I glanced up. “Did you want something, Ned?”
“You call him Ernie?” His frown made him look puzzled, and reinforced my opinion that Ned wasn’t the brightest candle in the box.
“Why, yes. He told me to call him Ernie.”
“Huh.” And Ned disappeared from my sight.
I wished Ernie hadn’t shut his door, because I’d wanted to chat with him about Pasadena, and Barbara-Ann Houser, and all sorts of things. Since I was his secretary—his confidential secretary (I’d seen that description in an advertisement in the Times)—I concluded it was all right for me to interrupt him. Therefore, I rose from my chair and was about to interrupt his newspaper reading, when the front door opened, and another visitor appeared. While I hadn’t been thrilled and delighted to see Ned this early in the morning, I was even less so to see Mr. Godfrey.
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