“Shh! Okay, jeez, Lulu, you win. I’ll tell you. Niederman thinks I’m getting hot tips on the horses from a jockey I know. But really, Joe’s been feeding me names of horses that look great but are bound to lose. He’s hoping to push Niederman into bankruptcy so he can buy out Lux. Everyone knows Niederman’s a sucker for the horses. A few more big losses and he’ll have to sell Lux for sure.”
“You dirty, no good . . . ,” Lulu said. “How could you?”
“Hey, I don’t make him bet on the ponies. He’s digging his own grave. Joe promised me a job at the new conglomerate as soon as it happens. Twice the pay.”
“See,” Lulu said over her shoulder to Freddie. “Everyone does it for the money.” She turned back to Roger. “If I ever hear about you doing this again, I’ll make sure Niederman fires you. Got it?” She gave him a little shake.
“Okay, okay! Man, you’re one tough broad. Not like that sweet little Ruby.”
Lulu clapped her hand to her forehead. “Good grief! Are you joking? Sweet?”
“So you really had nothing to do with that?” Freddie asked.
“Heck no. That girl’s a peach. I wouldn’t ever risk hurting her. You, on the other hand . . .” But he saw Freddie step forward with a cocked fist and stopped. Lulu, who didn’t notice Freddie’s menace behind her, was quite pleased when Roger changed his tune and said with exaggerated politeness, “Thank you for being so understanding, Miss Lulu, and if there’s anything I can do to help you, just let me know.”
“There is, in fact,” Freddie chimed in. “You can let us see the gun.”
“I can’t. The police have it as evidence.”
Lulu’s heart sank.
“I do have one of the bullets, though. I thought I should make the gun safe until the police arrived, so I unloaded the revolver and slipped the bullets and casing into my pocket. But I had a hole in the lining and one fell through and got wedged inside my jacket. I meant to return it. . . .”
“But you were too busy scheming to destroy Niederman,” Freddie finished.
“It’s in my desk drawer. I’ll leave a door unlocked for you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some serious drinking to do.”
Before he could escape, Lolly materialized out of the shadows. Her ears were as keen as a fox . . . and she wore the pelts of two of the glassy-eyed beasts tossed carelessly over her shoulders, making her look like a sequined barbarian. “Did I hear my name?”
“You did,” Lulu said. “Roger here was dying to give you his recipe for homemade lemon squash.”
She took Freddie’s arm and sailed back into the mansion.
TWENTY-FIVE
I believe him,” Lulu mused with a furrowed brow. “Niederman has every actor and every shoot heavily insured. Maybe a payout from a tragedy would be enough to clear his debts.”
“So that’s two names off the list,” Freddie said as they walked back into the cacophony of the party. “Cross off Ruby and Roger and add Niederman.”
“Aren’t you going to cross your own name off?” Lulu asked.
“Nah. I’m pretty suspicious.”
“You sure are. A man with no past.”
“But what a future,” he said, looking down at Lulu in a way that made her flush. “Can you think of any other suspects?”
“Well, there’s Vasily, who looked a tad suspicious. What did he mean, ‘You don’t have any idea what I’ve done’?”
“Could be anything,” Freddie said. “Or he could have really been demonstrating a scene.”
“He’s the studio’s acting coach,” Lulu went on, “and Ruby certainly knows his secret. But then, so does nearly everyone else in Hollywood.” She filled him in on Ruby’s disastrous attempt to seduce Vasily. “It wouldn’t matter so much if that got out. They only care if it’s a handsome leading man. No one outside of this town knows who Vasily is, so it wouldn’t hurt his reputation at all. And yes, though he is quite literally a queen of drama, I seriously doubt he’s dramatic enough to kill. It can’t be Vasily. That’s just too absurd.”
“She really tried to seduce him, too?” Freddie asked. “That Ruby sure has a lot of cracks in her plaster.”
“I feel sorry for her. She’s a good actress, and she’s so determined. Too determined, I guess, and in the wrong ways. She thinks if she gives away enough of herself, then someone—directors or the world—will want more.”
“She might pull through,” Freddie said. “Last we heard, the doctors said she seemed to be stabilizing.”
“I hope so.”
“In the meantime, we have to get you in the clear. Now think: Who else might have reason to hate Niederman, or Lux, or Ruby?”
“Or me,” Lulu said. “I shot the gun. I think I must have been the target. No one could guarantee Ruby would get hit. There were so many last-minute changes to the script. I wasn’t even supposed to aim for her.”
“Let’s focus on finding Blake. He’s the only other one who handled the gun.”
“Except for Sal,” she said morosely.
“I know, I know, but before we start unraveling him, let’s tie up all the other loose ends.” Freddie stopped suddenly and turned so they were very close. “Hey, beautiful, don’t catch the glooms again. We’ll figure this out. Together.”
“That word alone is enough to make me feel a thousand times better,” Lulu said, leaning against him.
“Which word? ‘Beautiful’?”
“No,” she said with a little sigh. “ ‘Together.’ ”
What have I gotten myself into? Freddie wondered as they wandered around the party, looking for Blake. But it felt so right that he didn’t want to question it. Not right as Violet had been right—a girl everyone would approve of, someone of his education and social standing. Violet had been a perfect match . . . in theory. He and Lulu had nothing in common on the surface. But deeper down he knew their hearts were in accord. They fit.
All this time I thought I was running away, he mused, looking down at the pale silver-gold of her hair, the dark blue eyes, the mouth that curled in happiness in spite of all her travails. I was wrong, he realized. I was running toward something. Her.
He could stay in her world, or they could leave together to begin a life in a new world. Either one would make him happy. With her, he could travel the rails and still feel like a king. But no, Lulu wasn’t cut out for poverty. He’d work—honest work—to provide for her. He’d . . .
All at once he saw a pair of smoldering dark eyes regarding him from across the room. A woman with dark hair and a painted rosebud mouth held his gaze, then slithered out from the pack of men who surrounded her with expressions of devoted fascination. “Yoo-hoo!” she called, and wiggled a little paw at him.
“Come on, Lulu. We have to get out of here.”
“Why? What’s the matter?”
Freddie’s heart began to race. How could he tell her that after a year on the road he’d finally been recognized by none other than Clara Bow, the silent film star who was still a major box-office draw? Rumor had it that she was going to quit movies and move to a ranch with her new husband. Why hadn’t she moved a month ago, instead of popping up here to pick Freddie out of a crowd?
Clara Bow, a New York native, never shed her lower-class accent but was happy to rub shoulders with the people who would have despised her in her days of poverty. She visited her hometown often, and whenever she did, Jacob van der Waals was eager to secure her presence. Some of the classier stars might shun that kind of fawning, but Clara knew the importance of rich friends and always showed up at his parties.
She’d taken a particular shine to Freddie ever since, as a starstruck fifteen-year-old in the grip of his first real crush, he’d presented her with an astonishingly rare orchid—growing in a pot of dirt. Clara, to his mingled horror and delight, had immediately snipped the priceless flower from its stem and stuck in into her hair. “Silly boy,” she’d said. “You only give a woman cut flowers.” Then, to make sure only the delight remained, she’d kissed him
lingeringly on the cheek.
If Clara saw him, she’d be sure to tell his father. He immediately averted his eyes and hoped she would think she’d been mistaken.
“Come this way,” Freddie urged, pulling Lulu with him. “I thought I saw Blake.”
It was all a fiction, of course, but when they were safely down a corridor, they found someone else they knew. First, a woman at that awkward age—too old to be young, too young to be old—came out of a room discreetly fixing her lipstick. Her cheeks and throat were flushed. She greeted them absently and walked down the hall, fanning herself with her handkerchief.
A moment later the door opened again, and a familiar face emerged.
“Rocco!” Lulu squealed.
He was a new man, clean and clear-eyed. He wore a light gray lounge suit that fit his big frame perfectly. His cuff links had that muted shine that might be steel . . . or might be platinum. He was recently barbered, and he smelled fashionably of bay rum.
His manner wasn’t as suave as his clothes. “Oh, it’s . . . um . . . you,” was about all he managed before Lulu said sweetly, “Glad to see you looking so well. Are you a friend of Mary’s?”
He looked down the corridor after the older woman. “Er, I don’t actually know the broad’s name,” he said, watching the retreating backside.
“Not her. Your hostess, Mary Pickford.”
“Look, lady, I don’t want any trouble. . . .”
“And I’ve got enough of it already.”
“Yeah, I heard. Listen, about the other day in the alleyway . . .”
“Consider it forgotten.”
“Yeah, thing is, it is forgotten. I mean, I woke up and I had a bracelet in my pocket and I think it might be yours. I was pretty stewed and all. You know how it is.” He rubbed his jaw, where the stubble was already starting to show through his shave. “I hope you won’t be calling the police, but I can’t give it back to you. I already sold it.” He gestured to himself, from top to bottom.
“You don’t remember what happened?”
“He thinks maybe he stole it,” Freddie said.
Rocco shifted uneasily from foot to foot.
“I thought it might look good on you,” Lulu quipped. “If my style sense was off, I’m glad you traded it in for something more to your taste.”
“It’s just that I hadn’t had anything to eat for a while, and I’d been tootin’ up for a couple of days. My last job fell through. I was an, um, assistant to an elderly lady.”
“Assistant,” Freddie repeated with heavy emphasis.
“Hey, old ladies need love too,” Rocco insisted. “Most guys won’t give them the time of day.” With an air of pride he added, “I appreciate their finer qualities.”
“Yeah, like their bankbooks,” Lulu said. “So who are you here with?”
“A Mrs. Daniels brought me. She’s an old friend.”
“How old?”
“About ninety, but her hips are in good shape.”
Freddie suppressed a snort, and Lulu pinched him. “And you ditched her for Mrs. What’s-Her-Name?”
“She got talking to Douglas Fairbanks and told me to toddle off and enjoy myself. So I did,” he added with a self-satisfied smile.
Lulu noticed something sticking out of Rocco’s pocket. She snatched it, and the rope of pearls snaked through the air. “Rocco!” she said, dangling them reproachfully in front of his strong Roman nose. “From Mrs. What’s-Her-Name?”
Rocco hung his head. “Aw, nuts. You know how it is. Old habits die hard. Are you going to turn me in?”
Lulu considered, then shook her head. “I don’t want to be interviewed by one more policeman—even to put away a crook like you.” She couldn’t quite condemn Rocco. It was like being mad at a puppy for chewing up your purse. Well, maybe more a full-grown bull terrier than a puppy. In this case, it was the leathery old bag’s responsibility to keep safely away from him.
“You’re A-OK, Lulu Kelly,” Rocco said. “If there’s ever anything I can do for you, just ask. I get around. I know a lot of people. You need a piece, I got a friend unloads trucks at Bighorn Sporting Goods.” He lowered his voice. “You need someone roughed up, terminally or otherwise, I got pals who can do that, too. For a price, of course.”
“Thanks, Rocco,” she said, “but I don’t think there’s anything you can do for me. I seem to be in too deep.”
“Don’t you know who set you up?” Rocco asked.
She could have kissed him—almost—for not voicing any doubt about her innocence. “We can think of a few possibilities,” she began.
“Oh, it’s ‘we’ now?” Rocco said with a twitch of his brows, eyeing Freddie. “That’s okay, I guess. I do better with broads over sixty, anyway. Still, Lulu, if you ever—”
“She won’t,” Freddie said firmly, taking Lulu’s arm again. “Ever.”
Rocco held up his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I saw you talking with that gossipy dame. The one with half an ostrich on her hat. Be careful of that one. She ain’t on the up-and-up.”
Everyone had to be careful with Lolly; that was nothing new. Still, coming from Rocco . . .
“Why?” Lulu asked.
“Well, I was taking this hothouse tomato out on the town, a real looker, great drumsticks for seventy-five. She had a couple of cocktails and started telling me all these stories about Hollywood scandals. This actress was caught with her boyfriend by her husband. She thought he was out of town, see. So I said some chumps have all the bad luck. This lady, she just laughed and said it was no accident that the husband came home when he did. She said your friend in the hat actually called him and told him when to drop in, then perched by the front door to catch every detail of the fight and get a photo of the wife’s black eye, the boyfriend hanging out the second-story window with his trousers around his ankles.”
“You mean, she set up a scandal just so she could report on it?” Lulu was aghast . . . but knowing Lolly, not all that surprised.
“That’s not the half of it,” Rocco said. “While I was finishing helpin’ her get comfortable, the dame keeps squawking. Tells me at least that time the cheating was really happening. This lady told me that a few years ago Lolly forged a purple letter addressed to John Gilbert and slipped it to Greta Garbo. That’s why she stood him up at the altar.”
“No!”
Rocco shrugged. “So she told me. Just be careful. I wouldn’t put it past her to have set you up, just for the sake of a story. She’s a hyena, and you starry types are all just meat to her.”
TWENTY-SIX
After Lulu returned the woman’s pearls, they searched all over Pickfair but couldn’t find Blake Tanner. When Freddie suggested they go to his home, Lulu agreed. After all, it was only midnight, still early by Hollywood standards.
Blake lived in the Hollywood Hills. As the taxi wended its way up the winding roads, Lulu and Freddie fell silent, losing themselves in the spectacular view and the not-so-secret pleasure of sitting so closely knitted together as they hurtled through the night.
When they pulled up to a large Mediterranean-style home, Lulu told the taxi to wait in the street and they stepped out into the fragrant night air. All the lights were out, but there was a wine-colored Model A Ford roadster in the driveway with Iowa plates, and she caught a flicker from the back of the house.
“That’s definitely not Blake’s car. He drives an obscenely garish Rolls that I’m positive he can’t afford.”
Freddie shot her a look. “You’re a rather pretty pot to be talking about his kettle.”
“Oh, everyone lives above their means out here. Don’t give me that look. You and those eyebrows! They’ll be the death of me. There, did you hear voices? Let’s check the back. Maybe he has a private party going on.”
As they passed through a break in a thick wall of privet shrubs, Lulu caught voices, low and intense, arguing. She put a hand on Freddie’s chest to stop him.
“This can’t go on forever,” she heard a female voice say. “I’m
telling you, I can’t take it!”
“It won’t be forever, darling, but I’m still establishing my career. The studio . . . well, they expect certain things from me.” That was Blake’s voice.
“Sure, for you to have a new floozy on your arm every night.” The woman’s voice was bitter and deeply sad. “What about me? How can you leave your own wife in Des Moines while you gad about with every starlet in town?”
“Baby, listen to me. They want a playboy, so I have to be one. If I’m nothing but a drab husband with an ordinary wife . . .”
“Ordinary!” Her voice rose to a hysterical pitch. “Who worked her fingers to the bone while you went to acting school? Who gives your mother a bath every damn day? Who has to sit alone with the laundry and the cat reading stories in Photoplay about your latest conquest? Ordinary? I’ll give you ordinary.”
Lulu heard the sound of a smart slap.
“Darling, I’m begging you. Just give me one more year. I promise after that we’ll stage a meeting. Picture it: small-town girl on her first trip to California wins the heart of dashing screen star. It will make all the headlines. We’ll get married again with a thousand camera lenses focused on us. Ethel, wait!”
A petite woman in slacks bumped into Lulu and gave her a glare. “Are you his latest girlfriend? Good luck, honey.” She stormed away and got into the car, driving off with a screech of tires, almost hitting the parked taxi.
Blake followed, hangdog. When he saw Lulu, he whispered a coarse word Lulu hadn’t heard since she’d left the slums.
“I guess you heard all that? My career’s over.” His shoulders slumped under their carefully constructed shoulder pads.
“You’re married ?” Lulu asked. Blake was one of the most dashing young male stars and had—or had been given—the reputation of a dangerous ladies’ man. Lux set him up with a new girl every few months, and the magazines claimed he left a trail of broken hearts in his wake.
“For five years now. Ethel and I agreed I would come out here alone and give it a go, just for three months. If nothing happened by then, I’d go home to Iowa and take over my father’s refrigerator-repair business. When Lux picked me up, it was like a reprieve from up above. But when they wanted to set me up with one of the starlets, I never let on that I was married.” He rubbed his forehead. “You know how it is. They make up a story for you, and you have to play along. You can’t buck the system if you want to be a success.”
Girl About Town Page 18