If I Can't Have You

by Patti Berg

  “Can you do that?”

  “I want a life with you, Adriana. I want to forget the past and move on. As long as you’re by my side, I think I can do anything.”

  Chapter 25

  “I’m so glad you’ve joined me. You’ll enjoy Janet’s roses. She’s responsible for most every plant here. Of course, she’s been here a long time,” Charlie reflected. “Come, walk along the path with me. There’s a gazebo at the far corner of the property. We can sit there and talk.”

  Trevor wrapped his arm around his wife’s waist, and they followed Charlie slowly along the flower lined path.

  “I’d never paid much attention to roses until I met Janet,” Charlie said. “I was just barely nineteen the first time I saw her. I don’t think I ever looked at another woman after that. She was so pretty, all that thick, wavy brown hair and those big blue eyes. I asked her out over and over, but she was in love with your dad. She had no interest in me at all.”

  They stopped beside a rosebush, abundant with long-stemmed red flowers, and Charlie leaned down slowly to sniff one of the wide-open blossoms. “She planted this Mr. Lincoln the first time she stayed here at Magnolia Acres. She had two breakdowns, you know. She recovered from the first. The second, well, that was a long time ago.”

  He reached into his coat pocket, took out a pair of clippers, and snipped off a rose. “This was just a scrawny, ugly plant in 1937. I didn’t have much money, but I remembered the way her eyes always lit up when someone gave her a rose. I figured giving her an entire plant was better than one little bud. She kissed me when I gave it to her. Of course, she had no idea who I was. She thought I was the college boy she’d had a crush on in her very first movie. She still mistakes me for others at times, but I don’t mind.”

  Charlie wiped a tear from his eye and started to walk again.

  Trevor glanced at Adriana and saw the redness in her eyes and the pools of tears at their corners. It took all his power to keep from having to wipe tears from his eyes, too. He didn’t think anyone could love a woman the way he loved Adriana. He’d never known love like that existed. But Charlie Beck knew how to love. He hoped Janet knew how fortunate and blessed she was.

  “Your dad used to visit her here,” Charlie continued. “No one else from the studios ever came, and she felt abandoned. Jack Warner sent her flowers once, but no one else, just Trevor, me, and her parents. She didn’t deserve that.”

  Charlie stopped at another rosebush, picked off a few dead flowers, and tucked them into his coat pocket. “Did you know that she’d been asked to star alongside your dad in One More Tomorrow?” he asked, looking directly at Trevor.

  “No.” Trevor shook his head. “I... my father never thought Carole Sinclair was right for the part of the wife,” he said, not seeing even a flicker of concern in Charlie’s eyes over the instant correction of his mistake. “My father thought they should have cast a sweeter woman.”

  “They did—originally. When Carole got wind of it she went screaming to Jack Warner. I have no idea what happened, but one of Jack’s assistants told Janet she was out of the picture. Shortly after that, she came here. She used to recite the lines to me. She would have been perfect for the part. She might have even gotten an Oscar—like your father did.”

  If he had only known, Trevor thought, maybe he could have done something. He hadn’t wanted Carole to play his wife. God, if he’d just made his feelings known, maybe things would have been different. Maybe Janet wouldn’t have had that first breakdown, or the second, which had left her a permanent guest at Magnolia Acres.

  Trevor looked at Charlie. The old man was studying his eyes, looking deep down, as if he could read his mind, as if he knew the truth of who Trevor really was. Then he frowned, turned away, and walked farther along the path.

  “I never talk about those things with Janet. It’s all in the past. We try to remember only the good things—like the gardens.”

  He stopped again. “Ah, here we are. This is Janet’s favorite. The Ingrid Bergman. She planted it twenty, maybe thirty years ago. Gardening and remembering her past—those are her favorite pastimes. She never was cut out for-the stress of Hollywood. She should have been a housewife with half a dozen children. That would have made her happier.”

  “What about you, Charlie?” Adriana asked. “What would have made you happier?”

  “I try not to think of what could have been. All I’ve ever wanted since I was nineteen years old was to be with Janet and make her happy.” He sighed deeply. “All my efforts haven’t been successful, but I’ve tried.”

  They reached the gazebo, and Charlie labored up the two steps and sat inside on one of the benches circling the white wooden structure woven with vines of pink and yellow roses.

  “I built this gazebo right after the war. I was away from Janet for a few years. She didn’t remember me at all when I came home from Europe, but one day I brought her a climber and she said she thought it would be nice to have a gazebo covered with vines. She helped me hammer and nail when she was able to, but mostly she just sat and talked to me about the roses she wanted to plant.” Charlie looked at Adriana and smiled. “We’ve planted at least one rosebush a year ever since.”

  Charlie leaned over and rubbed his knees with knotted fingers, then looked across the gazebo at Trevor, who was leaning against one of the uprights, holding Adriana close.

  “I suppose you’ve been told quite often that you look just like your father.”

  “It’s been mentioned a time or two,” Trevor quipped. “Did you know him well?”

  “I was a cub reporter with the desire to be a photographer, and hanging out at the studios and at the parties was one of my favorite pastimes. I took a lot of photos of your dad. I didn’t know him well, but he always had a friendly word for me. Some of the others snubbed me, but not Trevor Montgomery. Everyone liked him. It was hard not to.”

  “The press didn’t say much of anything good about him after Carole Sinclair was killed,” Adriana said. “They said he was a murderer, even though the police never found any evidence.”

  Trevor watched Charlie’s brow furrow while Adriana spoke, he listened to the depth of his sigh, and watched him hang his head and stare down at the wood plank floor.

  “I always felt bad about that,” Charlie said. “Trevor didn’t deserve it.”

  “You don’t think he was guilty, then?” Adriana asked.

  “No, I never thought he was guilty.”

  Holding on to his cane, Charlie pushed himself up from the bench and walked to the edge of the gazebo. He cupped a rose in his palm, inhaled the fragrance, then stared off toward the magnolias and deodora pines lining the property.

  “I wrote several books about Trevor Montgomery,” Charlie said. “I included the best photos I had, ones that would show his charm and friendliness. I wanted people to know what he was really like.”

  “I have every one of your books,” Adriana told him. “They’re some of my favorites. It’s nice that you’ve included so many photos of Janet and Mr. Montgomery’s other friends.”

  “I wanted to do a book just about Janet, but the publishers weren’t interested in her story,” Charlie related sadly. “I wanted people to remember her, though. She was so beautiful. So sweet.” He turned, balancing himself on his cane. ‘I made sure there were no pictures of Carole Sinclair in my books. I could never forgive her for the things she’d done to Janet, and I wanted people to remember the good things about Trevor. There were enough books written about him that glamorized Carole and sensationalized Trevor’s part in her death.”

  “My father’s been dead for a long time,” Trevor said, noting the sadness in Charlie’s eyes when Trevor said the words. “All the rumors, all the books claiming that my father killed Carole can’t hurt him any longer, but they still hurt me. He was a good man. I don’t think he killed Carole, and now I’d like to prove that he didn’t.”

  “I don’t know if that’s possible. No prints were ever found. No one saw him there. No
one saw anyone else there, either. The only evidence the police had against your father was that he was the one who’d taken Carole home. Your father’s guilt was mere speculation by the police and the newsmen.”

  “Pretty flimsy evidence,” Trevor said sarcastically. “If he hadn’t disappeared...” Charlie began, then stopped. He looked into Trevor’s face. “If he hadn’t disappeared, maybe someone would have come forth and confessed.”

  “My father’s disappearance was the perfect cover for the real murderer,” Trevor said. “Do you honestly think Carole’s killer would have told the truth to protect my father?”

  Trevor watched Charlie’s hands squeezing the knob at the top of his cane until his knuckles were nearly white. What was troubling him?

  “Yes. I honestly believe the real killer would have done something to save your father—if it hadn’t been too late.”

  “Why do you feel that way?” Adriana asked.

  “Because Trevor Montgomery was a good man. He cared for people, like Janet. He helped her rehearse her lines and gave her the confidence she needed to be a good actress. He made sure there was an acting job for her when she got out of the hospital. She got to play his wife in Break the Night.” Charlie looked up, and Trevor saw the tears in his eyes. “She’d always wanted to play the part of Trevor’s wife. She might have been through in Hollywood if it hadn’t been for your father.”

  “Most people have forgotten how generous he was,” Adriana said, “how much joy he brought into people's lives—on-screen and off. He tried to live a normal life after Carole’s death, but he couldn’t. He loved being an actor, he loved being with his friends—but he lost the things that meant most to him after Carole died.”

  “I’m so sorry your father had to suffer. He didn’t deserve it,” Charlie whispered, glancing at Trevor. “I wish there was something I could do to make things better for you.”

  “We’ve read the police accounts and studied the photos,” Trevor said. “I doubt that you could help, unless you have a clue who might have killed Carole. Of course, if you knew anything at all about the truth, I’m sure you would have helped my father sixty years ago.”

  “I wish I could help him now,” Charlie said. “But it’s too late. He’s dead.”

  “If you know anything at all, Charlie,” Adriana pleaded, “you could help my husband; that would be almost the same thing as helping his father. Please. Help us. My husband doesn’t believe his father was a murderer, but he has no proof.”

  “I wish I could help,” Charlie repeated. “But I can’t.”

  “It happened a long time ago, Charlie. I don’t want the public to know the truth. I just want to know for my own peace of mind. My father and I were very close. If you know anything at all, anything that might help me, it will be almost the same as helping him.”

  “Yes, I can understand the need to protect the one you love.” Charlie walked slowly back to the bench and sat down. His fingers trembled as he rubbed his knees, his voice was barely a whisper when he spoke. “If I tell you...” His words trailed off, and then he began again. “It’s not fair of me to ask for forgiveness.”

  “The only thing I want is to know in my heart that my father didn’t murder Carole. Nothing else matters to me anymore,” Trevor said. “Please, Charlie. Tell us what happened.”

  Charlie stared at the floor for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, he spoke. “You have to know everything, right from the beginning.”

  Adriana sat at Charlie’s side, and Trevor leaned against one of the uprights, waiting to hear what he hoped would be the truth.

  “We were at the Trocadero,” Charlie began. “Janet looked beautiful. She was smiling and laughing with everyone, no one ever would have known that Jack had fired her that morning. I knew, of course. I’d run into her shortly after she left Jack Warner’s office, and she told me everything. ‘It’s not fair,’ she’d cried. ‘Carole told him she’d quit if he didn’t get rid of me. She hates me, Charlie. She’s always hated me.’”

  Charlie looked up at Trevor, all his concern, all his love for Janet showing in his eyes.

  “She was so upset. That night, I knew she was close to another breakdown. She kept slipping in and out of her old roles. I don’t know if anyone else realized it, but I’d seen each of her movies so many times that I knew her parts by heart.

  “I wanted to take Janet home,” Charlie continued, “but she told me that Trevor was going home with her. She had it all planned, she told me. ‘I’ve got champagne chilling, some caviar. We’re going to have a party. Just the two of us. Carole might have stolen one of my roles. She might have made Jack Warner get rid of me, but she’s not going to have Trevor Montgomery tonight.’ God, I was such a fool. She wanted Trevor, not me, but I kept hanging on in the background, waiting for my chance. I knew Trevor wasn’t interested in her as anything other than a friend, but she couldn’t see that as clearly as everyone else.

  “Later on, I found her sitting all by herself, crying. She told me that Trevor didn’t want her. He wanted Carole instead. ‘I hate her,’ she said. ‘I wish she were dead.’ Again, I begged her to let me take her home, but she said she didn’t want to spoil my evening the way hers had been spoiled—and then she left. I thought about following her, but I had a job to do. Pictures to take. I waited until the last of the stars had left the Troc, and then I drove to Janet’s. I was going to ask her to marry me. I knew she’d laugh, but I didn’t care. I wanted her to know how much I loved her, and that it didn’t matter to me if she was a star or not.

  “Her car was gone when I got to her house. It must have been close to four in the morning. I waited for a long time, hoping she’d come back. When she didn’t, I started to worry. She was so upset when she left the party, I was afraid she might have tried to kill herself. And then I thought about what she’d said—that she wished Carole was dead. I didn’t think she could do it, but I got worried.

  “I sped to Santa Monica. Trevor’s Duesenberg was in front of Carole’s house. I could see Janet’s car parked about a block away. I remember running up to the house, knocking, then just letting myself in when no one came to the door. There was blood everywhere. I gagged on the smell, willing myself not to get sick.”

  Charlie’s lips trembled as he turned toward Trevor.

  “I went into the bedroom. Janet was kneeling beside the bed, holding Trevor’s hand and crying. The knife was lying on his chest and there was blood everywhere. Oh, God. It was awful. I knew he was dead. He had to be. And Carole was lying there with her eyes wide open—just staring at the ceiling.”

  Charlie hung his head and took several deep breaths.

  “She was dead.” He looked at Trevor, at Adriana. “You’ve seen the pictures. She couldn’t possibly have been alive. I had to get Janet out of there. I knew what she’d done. She’d gone crazy, she’d done something horrible, and I didn’t want the police or the press to find out. She’d suffered enough already.”

  Charlie took another deep breath. “I was sure that Trevor was dead, so I put the knife in his hands, making sure my fingerprints weren’t on it, then I picked up Janet and got out of the place.”

  Charlie leaned against the wooden slats of the gazebo and closed his eyes.

  For one short moment, Trevor thought about comforting him. Charlie loved Janet. It was easy to feel the pain he had gone through then and was going through now. But Charlie had let Trevor—a man who he’d thought was dead—take the blame for a murder. He felt no sympathy for that.

  He looked at Adriana, at the tears streaming down her cheeks. She was trying to smile at him, but in spite of the revelation, happiness wouldn’t come.

  “What did you do then?” Trevor asked, needing to know everything.

  “I took her to my house. I carried her into the shower with me and got the blood off of both of us, and then I put her to bed. She didn’t know why she was in my house. I told her she’d gone home with me after the party, and she seemed to believe it. When she fell asleep, I ca
lled a cab and paid a fortune to be driven to Santa Monica. I got Janet’s car and took it back to my house. She was still asleep, and I just sat there on the edge of the bed praying that she’d never remember what happened.”

  Charlie swept a hand through his hair. “It all seemed like the right thing to do at the time. Carole was dead. Trevor was dead. It didn’t matter to me that he’d be blamed for the murder. He couldn’t be hurt anymore.”

  “But he was hurt,” Adriana blurted out. “He thought he’d killed Carole Sinclair.”

  “I didn’t know he was alive,” Charlie stressed, his anguish clear in the redness of his eyes, the deep creases between his brows. “I didn’t know until I went back to Carole’s later that day.

  “It must have been close to noon when I got a call that her body had been found. Janet was sleeping soundly, so I grabbed my camera, jumped in my car, and sped to Santa Monica. There were no other photographers there, and I pretended I was with the police and sneaked inside. It was my chance to make sure I hadn’t left anything behind that might implicate Janet.

  “Carole was on the bed, but Trevor was gone. I didn’t see a knife anywhere. I didn’t see any signs that Trevor had been there, either. I was beginning to think I’d lost my mind. I knew Trevor was dead when I put the knife in his hands. He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t breathing. I didn’t know what had happened, but I tried to stay calm, tried to pretend that this was just another murder case. No one seemed to care that I was snapping pictures of Carole. I was popping out flashbulbs right and left, and one rolled under the bed. I got down on my knees to get it, and I saw something sparkle just under the bedspread. I grabbed the bulb and pulled at the shiny thing. It was a diamond choker, and I knew immediately it was Janet’s. I’d seen her in it dozens of times.

  “I put the choker in my pocket and got out of there. Janet’s car was gone when I got home. She hadn’t left a note. Nothing. I went to her place, but she was gone from there, too. It was the Fourth of July, and I remembered Janet saying something about going to one of Harrison Stafford’s parties at Sparta. I hoped she’d be there, that she wouldn’t do anything crazy. I was afraid, too, that Trevor would be there, that he’d know what Janet had done and confront her, or turn her in to the police.