5 The Boy Who Never Grew Up

by David Handler

  I heard Lulu. Barking ferociously. She was up there. She was actually up there on the catwalk with Pennyroyal and Georgie. No more than ten feet from them. Barking ferociously. And then charging. Charging Pennyroyal Brim like a wild beast, teeth bared, a basset hound possessed. Pennyroyal whirled to fire at her. When she did her own body became a human shield between Georgie and us. For an instant. In that instant Mrs. Shelley Selden, the Annie Oakley of the Canyon Pistol Range, snatched Shadow’s Glock from his hand and swiftly and surely drilled a nine-millimeter slug through her sister-in-law’s right ear. Dead center. Pennyroyal never got off a shot. Slowly, she crumpled to her knees, still holding on to her baby.

  Lamp was the first one up the stairway. I was right behind him, bad knee or not. The others stayed where they were.

  Pennyroyal Brim lay there on the narrow catwalk, stone dead, hugging Georgie to her chest protectively with both arms. I guess she had some maternal instinct for him after all, deep down inside. Lulu stood over them, tail thumping as she licked Georgie’s face. Georgie was giggling with delight. Evidently he hadn’t developed a keen sense of smell yet.

  Lamp pulled him from out of his mother’s death clutch and held him. “Cheese and crackers, Lulu,” he exclaimed, looking down at her with awe. “You’re a genuine hero.”

  She was indeed. It was the most fearless display of animal behavior I’d ever seen from her. In fact, it was the only fearless display of animal behavior I’d ever seen from her.

  She came over to me a bit shyly. I knelt and patted her and said a few things I won’t bother to repeat here, though the words caviar for life did come up. “And to think she actually fooled me into believing she was over it.”

  “Over what, Hoagy?” asked Lamp, as Georgie wriggled around in his arms.

  “The bug,” I replied.

  “Bug? What bug?”

  “The acting bug. This was vintage Rin Tin Tin, Lieutenant. Pure hamming. She was strictly angling for a part in the picture, the little vamp.”

  “What picture?”

  “The one she thinks is being made right now. Don’t you see, Lieutenant? This is a movie set. The cameras are rolling. The director and a bunch of studio bigwigs are standing down there. Pennyroyal is, or I should say, was an actress. Lulu thinks this has all been fake. She doesn’t realize those were real bullets. And that Pennyroyal is really dead. And that she herself just about was, too. Believe me, I know her well. It’ll all sink in in a moment. And when it does, well, I can tell you exactly what will happen. …”

  She was starting to notice that Pennyroyal wasn’t getting up. She ambled over and peered at her. Then peered up at me. Then back down at Pennyroyal. Then back up at me. Then her eyes rolled back in her head and she let out a low moan and slowly tumbled over onto the catwalk. She landed with a thud.

  “See, Lieutenant? That’s my girl.”

  “Son of a gun. I’ve never seen a dog faint before.”

  “It’s one of the things she does best.”

  I picked her up and squeezed her large black nose between my thumb and forefinger. She snuffled and began to stir. I stood there with her, looking down at Pennyroyal. Her eyes were closed. There wasn’t much blood. She was even a cute corpse, if you can believe it. The world’s cutest. Lamp looked down at her, too, Georgie gurgling contentedly in his arms.

  “So pretty and sweet,” he said softly. “And such a monster.”

  “Straight out of a horror film,” I said. “The kind that keeps you awake, night after night.”

  “I still can’t believe it. I was so wrong about her.”

  “So was I, Lieutenant.”

  He looked at me. “You were?”

  “I was.” I yanked the carnation out of my lapel and placed it gently in her hand, its petals fluttering in the breeze. “She was the next victim.”

  We went down the staircase. Matthew immediately took his son from Lamp and went and sat on the town green bench with him, hugging him tightly. Mr. Shelley stood with his arms around Mrs. Shelley, who couldn’t seem to stop shaking.

  “That, Mrs. Selden, took a lot of nerve,” I said to her.

  “I—I didn’t even think,” she mumbled, her lips quivering. “I just did it. It was like an impulse. I—I can’t explain it. I don’t even know why I did it.”

  “To save Georgie, Cookie,” Mr. Shelley said, smiling at her. “You did it to save Georgie. They’re the strong ones, Hoagy. Women are the strong ones. They run this world.”

  “And it’s high time you found out.”

  Shadow Williams was still staring up at the bell tower in shock and disbelief. He continued to stare for a long time.

  I sat on the bench next to Matthew. He was so preoccupied with his son he didn’t notice me for a while.

  “I think I’ve figured it out, Matthew,” I said, when he did.

  “What, Meat?” he asked hoarsely.

  “What makes them so special.”

  “Who?”

  “Actresses.”

  “Tell me, Meat. I want to know.”

  “Guys like you and me, we go off in our own little worlds. Worlds we invent. Actresses know how to go there with us. They even know how to go one step farther than we do. Deeper into it. Beyond anything we can possibly imagine.”

  Matthew’s hand reached for his scalp, then dropped. “This … this was never part of my world.”

  “It was. You just didn’t know it. Now you do. And for that I’m sorry, Matthew. Very sorry.”

  Later, after she’d been taken away, we sat in the front seat of Lamp’s car looking up at the Homewood Congregational Church. Everyone else was gone. Sarge was going to be fine, the emergency medical people said. The bullet didn’t strike a bone. They were keeping her in the hospital overnight.

  Lulu lay on my lap, still woozy. She usually is after a fainting spell.

  Lamp sat stiffly, hands gripping the wheel tight enough to make his knuckles white. “I wish you had told me.”

  “Told you what, Lieutenant?”

  “That you knew it was her.”

  “I didn’t.”

  He drew his breath in. Then he said, very slowly, “You were bluffing?”

  “I figured it was her. It had to be. That was the only way it made any sense. But I had no proof. She was too smart for that. Confronting her in front of the others seemed like the only way to play it.”

  “I wish you had told me,” he repeated. “I would have been armed, gosh darn it. I would have stationed someone outside the office to grab her when she ran. There are ways professionals do these things, Hoagy. Procedures we follow. Safeguards we employ so as to avoid this sort of high-risk situation. Wowie, zowie, if a cop had pulled such a reckless play he’d be torn limb from—”

  “I’m not a cop, Lieutenant. I keep trying to tell you.”

  “Well, you’ll have to start thinking like one,” he said sternly.

  “I can’t. Something to do with my brain synapses.”

  “Succotash, Hoagy! You boxed me into a no-win situation. I couldn’t have made that shot in a million years. I’m not that good with a gun. If Mrs. Selden hadn’t been standing there, Georgie would be dead right now. And so would Lulu. And it would be your fault.”

  Lulu stirred, a low moan coming from her throat.

  “And I’m not happy about that, Lieutenant. I don’t enjoy getting caught in the middle of any of this. Believe me, I don’t. Maybe what I did was reckless. But you would never have gotten that confession out of her. Never have put her behind bars. Your procedures and safeguards would have done you no good. She’d be a free woman, instead of a dead one. And I don’t see how that makes you right and me wrong.”

  “Because you took the law into your own hands.”

  “It was the only way.”

  “I wish you had warned me,” he said stubbornly.

  “Next time I will, okay?”

  He sat there in brittle silence a moment. “Next time I don’t think I’ll be happy to see you coming, Hoagy.”
<
br />   “Not even a little bit happy?”

  “Nope.”

  “Not even a teeny, weeny bit happy?”

  He scowled at me. Then he sighed and reached over and opened up the glove compartment. A copy of the second novel was inside. “I’ve been carrying this darned thing around for days,” he muttered. “Was hoping you’d autograph it.”

  “My pleasure, Lieutenant.” I uncapped my Waterman and signed it: “To Emil Lamp—When are you going to find a nice girl and settle down?”

  We sat there looking at the church a while longer. Until Lamp started up the car and said, “Let’s head down to the beach and drink some beer, okay?”

  “It’s a deal, provided we take the Vette. You drive.”

  His eyes widened. “Jeepers, can I?!”

  “You most certainly can.” I tossed him the keys. “Let’s ride, Buz.”

  Chapter 12

  THE HEAT WAVE RETURNED IN THE NIGHT. THAT morning’s Times was chock full of dire pronouncements about global warming and drought and the death of The California Dream as we all know and love it. It was almost enough to crowd Pennyroyal Brim’s death off page one. But not quite. There was so much to tell. How she had murdered her way to the top. How she had held her own infant son hostage at gunpoint. How little Georgie had been so dramatically rescued. The reports were somewhat fuzzy as to who actually fired the fatal shot. The shooter was merely identified by police as a “sharpshooter.” That was how the Seldens wanted it. As a result, most of the attention went elsewhere. To Lulu the Wonder Dog, if you must know. That’s what everyone started calling her. It seems the network news people got hold of the film Matthew’s crew had shot of the rescue. Lulu’s brave deed was all over the air waves, coast to coast. This was it—her fifteen minutes of fame. She got pretty hot, too. My phone rang constantly that morning. Arsenio Hall wanted her to come on and get busy. A dog chow company wanted her to give them her paw on an endorsement deal. CBS called about her doing a Lassie-type Saturday morning thing. ABC wanted to do a rescue docudrama. Disney wanted to sign her to an exclusive three-picture deal. Joey Bam Bam called, saying he would consider it an ultra-ultra privilege to represent her. Everyone called. Everyone except Merilee Nash. Merilee did not call. That much didn’t change.

  I told Lulu I wouldn’t stand in her way if she wanted to cash in. But she wasn’t interested. In any of it. All she wanted to do was forget the whole ugly business and go home. She even started tugging my empty suitcase out the closet with her teeth.

  But I couldn’t go. Not yet. I wasn’t done.

  Bunny was on her Nordic Track when I knocked on her door.

  “I’m taking Matthew for a drive, Bunny,” I announced. “You can come or not come. It’s up to you. But I’m taking him.”

  “Wait, Hoagy,” she begged. “Please.” She climbed down off the machine and wiped her forehead with a Dennis the Dinosaur towel, then heaved a sigh of resignation. “Give me a minute, okay?

  I could hear her dialing the phone as I went out the door. I waited for her on a bench in the courtyard. She emerged a few minutes later dressed in a short-sleeved blouse and shorts, her bunny rabbit charm bracelet clanging on her wrist. She looked meek. She looked scared.

  Matthew was sprawled on the sofa in his office, furiously scribbling on a yellow legal pad. A vacant office next to Sarge’s had been converted to a nursery. Georgie was in there swatting gleefully at toys in his playpen, his own full-time nurse and two secretaries cooing over him. Sarge hobbled around in gym shorts on a pair of crutches, her thigh heavily bandaged. She refused to stay home.

  “Let’s go, Matthew,” I commanded him from the doorway.

  “Where, Meat?” he wondered, still far away in his thoughts.

  “Something Bunny wants to show you.”

  He frowned. “What is it, Ma?”

  Bunny said nothing.

  “I’m kind of busy right now,” he said, tapping at the pad with his pen. “Can we do this later?”

  “No, we can’t.”

  We took Bunny’s Jaguar, air conditioner blasting. Lulu the Wonder Dog and I sat in back. Bunny drove, gripping the wheel firmly with her small, brown hands.

  Matthew was talkative. And full of plans. “I’m selling the house first thing,” he revealed. “It’s from the past—my old life. I’m buying a new one for me and Georgie. And I’m gonna strike the Badger sets on Stage One. That whole thing is over. History. It’s time to move on.” He turned and glanced at Bunny. “What’s this all about, Ma?”

  Bunny said nothing. Just drove. Over the hill into the valley. She got off at Roscoe Boulevard and steered us through the dried, searing flats of Northridge to Reseda Boulevard. She took that for a few blocks before turning off onto a side street of faded, two-story apartment houses. She pulled up in front of a pumpkin-colored, eight-unit building and parked there. Then she got out and started inside.

  “What is this, Ma?” Matthew called after her. “Where are we going?”

  We were going upstairs. There were two doors at the top of the stairs. Bunny used a key on one of them and opened it. Inside was a plainly furnished living room cooled by a window air conditioner. A white-haired man in his seventies sat on the sofa watching a soap opera on TV. He was a big man, paunchy. Wore a knit shirt buttoned to the neck, dark brown slacks, and Hush Puppies. He and Bunny stared at each other. He got up and turned off the TV, nervously rubbing his hands together. He stood there in awkward silence. We all did.

  Matthew’s face broke out into a grin. “Sure, sure,” he exclaimed, shaking a finger at him. “I remember you—you’re Mr. Ferraro, Ma’s old boss at the accounting firm. You came to Dad’s funeral.”

  “Nice to see you again, Matthew,” he said, his voice quavering slightly as they shook hands. “And it’s Carlo.”

  “So what’s this all about, Ma?” asked Matthew.

  Bunny eyed the carpet. Carlo cleared his throat but said nothing. That left it up to me.

  So I was the one who broke it to him. I said, “Matthew, Carlo is your father.”

  “The love had gone out of our marriage by the time your sister was born, Matty. If you can even call it love.”

  Bunny spoke in a soft, halting voice. She was seated on the sofa, Carlo beside her with his arm around her. Matthew and I were in chairs across the coffee table from them. Matthew clutched the arms of his tightly, as if he were afraid it might throw him.

  “I don’t believe I ever loved Joe Wax,” she went on. “Joe was a cold, selfish, bitter man. Whatever I felt for him, it wasn’t love. Because I didn’t know what love was. Not until I met this dear, lovely man here. This man who I spent eight hours with every day. And who I have loved for forty years, just as he loves me. It wasn’t something either of us wanted. We both resisted. It way shameful. But when we were together, it wasn’t shameful, Matty. It was pure and wonderful. It was love. Our secret love. Carlo is a devout Catholic. A man with a wife and four healthy, beautiful daughters. Divorce has always been out of the question. I could never come between a man and his faith. … We felt shame. But we swallowed our shame. We didn’t want to keep meeting in some cheap motel, so Carlo rented us a small, furnished apartment in Encino. We saw each other there after work. Mostly when Joe was out of town. And then I—I got pregnant, Matthew. With you. I didn’t know what to do. Carlo didn’t believe in abortion. Neither did I. But Joe would know it wasn’t his. He hadn’t laid a hand on me in years. I was so sick about it I even considered suicide. Carlo had to talk me out of it. Finally, I told Joe. I had no other choice. I thought he’d kill both of us. But he didn’t. He merely accepted my unfaithfulness as his miserable lot in life. It fed his bitterness. The three of us decided that for the good of the baby, and of both our families, that Joe and I would simply raise you as our own. And that’s what we did. Carlo, Joe, and I are the only ones who have ever known that Joe wasn’t your real dad. Shelley doesn’t know. Carlo’s wife, Mary, doesn’t know. Joe tried at first to treat you the same as Shelley. But he just coul
dn’t. You were a constant reminder to him of his own failure as a husband. So he took it out on you. Treated you with nothing but hate, no matter how much I begged him not to. It was never you, sweetheart. He never hated you. It was what you represented.”

  Matthew stared at her in amazement. “All these years, Ma,” he cried. “All these years of thinking there was something wrong with me. Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

  “When you were little I was afraid you wouldn’t understand. …”

  “But what about after he died?” Matthew protested. “I was in college, for chrissakes!”

  “I wanted to, Matty. So many times. But I was ashamed, don’t you see? I didn’t want you thinking I was … I didn’t want you thinking less of me. Maybe it was wrong of me to keep silent. But I did what I thought was best.” She glanced uneasily at Carlo. He took her hand and held it. “That’s all a person can do, sweetheart. What they think is best. Gradually, Carlo and I grew accustomed to our little snatches of life together. We rented a number of apartments together through the years. We’ve had this one for about ten. Carlo was always there for you, even though you never knew it. He helped us out when Joe was having business trouble. A little something extra in my paycheck. And when you needed money for college, he provided it. We called it a loan. After you became such a big success, you wondered why I kept working for him. You wanted me to relax and enjoy myself. I was enjoying myself. I was with the man I loved all day long. I stayed with him until the day he retired.”

  “I have a good, steady income from my investments,” Carlo said. “I’m not rich, but I’m comfortable. My house is paid off. My girls are all married. Would you like to see their pictures?” He pulled out his wallet and handed it over to Matthew, who leafed slowly through a collection of color snapshots, his eyes glazing over.

  “We still spend as much of our time together as we can,” Bunny said. “We talk, eat, watch television. Every time I told you I was out playing golf I was here. I’ve never been on a golf course in my life. I put the clubs in the car. I take them out of the car. I was here when Mr. Zorch was shot. I—I couldn’t tell the police that, for fear it would get back to you. So I was vague with them. They got suspicious. I was afraid I would have to tell them the truth. But I didn’t. Your friend Hoagy, he insisted I tell you. He was going to do it if I didn’t.” She patted Carlo’s knee. “I feel as if a huge burden has been lifted from my shoulders.”