Ghost in the Polka Dot Bikini

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  Emma shrugged and picked up a piece of bread laced with fresh rosemary. “I always thought she was just one of his many playmates.”

  “And I’m sure so did my son. But while you and Grant were playing marital tug-of-war, Carolyn was playing her own game. And she was playing to win, my dear.”

  “Excuse me, Celeste, if I don’t find my failed marriage a suitable topic of sport and entertainment, although the tabloids certainly did.” Emma took a small bite of bread, chewed, and swallowed. “If it was a game, it was one I didn’t wish to play any longer, nor did I think Grant a prize worth keeping.”

  With her water glass held close to her face, Celeste watched Emma over the rim before taking a drink. When she put the glass down, a dainty lipstick smudge was left behind. “I hope you’re not so naïve to think you were the first Hollywood wife to be cheated on. No-talent actresses like Carolyn are like barnacles. They find a sturdy ship, fasten themselves to it, and hang on. If they get knocked off, they’ll find another ship.” Celeste’s voice was thick with amusement.

  “I know it happens all the time. But if you’ll recall, when Carolyn became pregnant, Grant made the choice for all of us.” This was not how Emma wanted to spend lunch with Celeste, and she hated that she felt the need to add one last jab. “And quite frankly, if it was a game, I think I emerged the grand prize winner in the end.”

  “Son or no son, Emma, you might be right about that. Is that darling little bauble on your sweater an indication of something serious?”

  Emma fingered the diamond ghost and smiled. “Phil and I are enjoying each other’s company, but we’re not rushing into anything.”

  “That’s nice to hear.” Celeste smiled at her briefly before dropping her head to dab the corners of her mouth with her napkin. When she leveled her gray eyes at Emma again, they were dark, like side-by-side caves. “I don’t think Grant is happy with his choice.”

  “That’s not my concern, Celeste. The only thing I have in common with him any longer is Kelly and my love for you and George.”

  The waiter came with their soup. The two women took their first spoonfuls in silence. The soup was the color of fine lace, with a delicate flavor.

  “Speaking of actresses,” Emma began, deciding to forge ahead. “Forty or so years ago, did you ever come across or hear of a young actress by the name of Tessa North?”

  Upon hearing the name, Celeste Whitecastle’s spoon hovered over her cauliflower soup like a hummingbird over a flower. It was a slight hesitation, no longer than the beat of Emma’s surprised heart, but unmistakable nonetheless.

  Celeste skimmed her spoon across the top of the soup. “Forty years ago, I was already retired from acting.”

  “That’s true, but maybe you heard the name. She was in one of George’s films back then. The beach party one—Beach Party Prom.”

  Celeste brought the spoon to her mouth but did not take the soup. Instead, she dribbled the creamy liquid back into the bowl and placed her spoon on the edge of the plate under it. Immediately, the young waiter appeared at their table and gestured if he should remove it. In silence, Celeste commanded him to take it away. Emma indicated for her own plate to be removed. Like magic, their salads appeared and were placed in front of them. Celeste pulled her coat over her shoulders. Emma didn’t feel any change in the temperature but looked around just in case Granny or some other spirit had decided to drop in. She saw no ghosts except Edmund, and he was nowhere near them.

  “Are you cold, Celeste? Should we ask them to turn on the heater?”

  “I’m cold, Emma, but not with the temperature.”

  The elderly woman picked up her fork and started pushing pear and chicken chunks around like chess pieces. Emma took a bite of perfectly grilled tuna and waited.

  Without taking a bite, Celeste put down her fork. The stately Peter floated to her side like an attentive courtesan. “Is the food not to your satisfaction, Mrs. Whitecastle?”

  “It’s fine. My appetite simply isn’t with me today.”

  “Shall I remove the plate?”

  “Not just yet, Peter.”

  Peter bowed and started to take his leave when Celeste stopped him.

  “Peter, could you please bring me a martini. You know how I like them.”

  “With pleasure, Mrs. Whitecastle.” He turned to Emma, awaiting her instructions.

  “I’d like some herbal tea, Peter. Your special blend, if you have it.”

  As soon as they were alone again, Emma leaned forward. She could see Celeste was disturbed. “Are you all right, Celeste? Perhaps we should go?”

  With a delicate hand, Celeste waved off the suggestion. “No, dear, I’ll be fine. It’s just…well….” Celeste lifted her shoulders, then dropped them. “How can I put this?”

  “Take your time.”

  Their drinks arrived. While Emma let her tea steep, Celeste swirled the olives in her delicate glass a few times before taking a taste. She followed up with a second sip, this one longer.

  After putting down her glass, the older woman looked around, making sure no curious ears were tuned their way. Then she turned her eyes on Emma. “The truth is, I never met Tessa North, but I know who she is…or was at one time.”

  Emma had just taken another bite of her salad. She paused mid-chew and stared at Celeste while sorting through her thoughts and matching them with Celeste’s words. She didn’t know if George had said anything to his wife about their conversation the day before or not. She swallowed her half-chewed food with a big gulp. Celeste answered the unasked question.

  “George told me you were asking him about Tessa—something about her being a ghost on Catalina Island. Is that correct?” The cocktail seemed to be steadying Celeste.

  Emma nodded while she washed her food down with some hot tea. She watched Celeste with eagle eyes. It was obvious the subject of Tessa North meant something to the woman. “Yes. I came across her name during some research. I just wondered if you and George knew her.”

  Celeste took a long drink of her martini. One more gulp and she’d be done with it. “I never met the girl in person, but I knew all about her.”

  She waved to Peter to prep another drink.

  “Why don’t you eat a little, Celeste,” Emma coaxed.

  Like a child following orders, Celeste took a small bite of chicken and greens, chewed, and swallowed. With effort, she took another small bite. She drained her martini just as Peter appeared with her second. She swirled it around but didn’t drink. Instead, she stared straight into Emma’s eyes.

  “Tessa North was almost my Carolyn Bryant.”

  “What?” Emma heard Phil say through her cell phone earpiece, his voice full of disbelief.

  “That’s what Celeste said. Seems that not only did George know Tessa, but the two were hot and heavy, almost to the point of breaking up his marriage.”

  “So George lied to you. Didn’t it occur to him you might ask his wife?”

  “Hard to say. Or maybe he thought she’d never say anything. After all, to the world they are the gold standard of Hollywood marriages, and image is very important to Celeste. He might have thought she’d be too proud to admit she’d almost lost him to a younger woman.” Emma checked her watch, making sure of the time.

  “Then again,” added Phil, “George is dying. Maybe he didn’t care.”

  “Another good possibility.”

  Emma was sitting in her car in the parking structure next to the building that housed Hyland Staffing, Fran Hyland’s company. She was a little early for her appointment, so she returned the voicemail Phil had left her while she was with Celeste.

  Celeste’s comment about Tessa had landed on the linen-covered table with all the crash and drama of plane debris falling from the sky. Emma’s mouth hung open so far and for so long, she’d started to cough. Celeste took a sip of her fresh martini while she waited for Emma to find her voice.

  Pushing aside her salad, Emma leaned across the table. “What exactly do you mean by that, Celest
e?”

  The waiter came toward them to whisk the salad plate away, but Emma held up a hand that stopped him and turned him around.

  Celeste popped an olive in her mouth and chewed it slowly, weighing what she was about to say now that she’d opened a can of worms.

  “Just what it sounded like, Emma. If George told you he didn’t know Tessa North, he was lying. I never met the little tramp, but I knew all about her. She was carrying on with George, and he was totally smitten. Friends of mine saw them out together quite often. Fortunately, the paparazzi wasn’t relentless like it is today, so photos of them didn’t show up all over the newsstand like Grant and Carolyn’s affair.”

  “It obviously ended. Do you remember when?”

  “Not exactly. But one night, George came home and announced that he’d gotten his mistress pregnant.” Celeste fixed her eyes on Emma. “Sound familiar?”

  Emma was so stunned she went temporarily brain dead. Finally, she forced out the next question she wanted to ask. “So George was going to leave you and marry Tessa?”

  “No. I decided to leave, but he pleaded with me not to. He said he would take care of the bastard child when it was born, but that the affair was over. He said it had been a big mistake and begged for my forgiveness.”

  “So you did—forgive him, I mean?”

  “Not fully, but in time we found our way again. We had built a life together and with our children. And the public was less forgiving of a straying husband back then. It could have hurt George’s career.”

  Emma played with her teaspoon as she gathered more scattered thoughts and glued them together. “Celeste, I don’t mean to be indelicate, but over the years there’s always been rumors about George and…”

  “And other women?”

  “Yes. Grant used to tell me about some of George’s activities.”

  Celeste pushed her martini glass away without finishing her drink. “Yes, there were others—many others. George was always falling into bed with one actress or another. But those were just flings, Emma, and for the sake of our family and for the sake of my own comfortable lifestyle, I kept my mouth shut. I knew he’d come back to me after each one. But Tessa was different. George was mesmerized by her, and the baby almost cinched the deal.” Celeste leaned forward. “Tessa was playing her game, the same game Carolyn Bryant played. But I played it better.”

  Celeste leaned back in her chair. “Did you know that George was married when he met me?”

  Emma shook her head in disbelief, wondering when the revelations were going to stop. She was getting dizzy from mental whiplash. “No, I didn’t.”

  “Yes, I stole him right out from under his mousy wife’s nose. They didn’t have children and hadn’t been married long, but as soon as I met George Whitecastle on the set of a movie, I knew I wanted him. Quite frankly, had it not been me, it would have been someone else. His first wife wasn’t cut out to handle his future success. He needed someone who knew the business—not just the glamorous side but the hard work and ugly politics that come along with being on top in Hollywood.” Celeste bobbed her head, a rueful smile stretched across her face. “Tessa North was trying to play a game I had already mastered.”

  “So you never knew what became of Tessa or of her baby?”

  “No, and I didn’t care. For all I know, she had the bastard, and George has been supporting them all these years. Or maybe she found another sorry sucker and was more successful with him.”

  After waving the waiter back over to clear their dishes, Celeste pulled her martini glass back toward her. “You said Tessa’s a ghost on Catalina. Tell me what that means exactly.”

  “In my research for a future show about the ghosts of Catalina Island, I came across her name, but not much else. Further research connected her to one of George’s movies.”

  “If she’s a ghost, then she’s dead. Correct?”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what it means.”

  “Do you have any idea when she died?”

  This time Emma fudged the truth. “No, not exactly.”

  Celeste narrowed her eyes at Emma. “Don’t toy with me, Emma. I’m old, but I’m not stupid. Your show, that brooch, the way you knew Edmund was dead—if there is such a thing as ghosts, then I’m thinking you’ve met Tessa’s.”

  After a long pause, Emma nodded. “I have. She’s called the bikini ghost. She died quite young on or near Catalina Island.”

  Celeste scoffed. “Catalina. Might as well have been called Sodom and Gomorrah in those days.”

  “And I’m pretty sure Tessa died a few days after Robert Kennedy was shot.”

  That got Celeste’s attention. “Really?” Celeste toyed with her remaining martini olive. “Are you sure Tessa died shortly after the Kennedy assassination?”

  “Pretty sure. Why?”

  “Did you actually see her? Tessa’s ghost?”

  Emma fixed her eyes on her ex-mother-in-law, leaving no doubt to what she was about to say. “Yes, Celeste, I saw Tessa North’s ghost with my own eyes.”

  Celeste looked around before leaning forward. “How did she look? I mean, if she’d been pregnant when she died, would her ghost look pregnant?”

  The significance of what Celeste was asking alerted Emma. “I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I think so. Ghosts tend to look like they were when or just before they died. Tessa’s ghost wears a polka dotted bikini and has a terrific figure.”

  When Celeste didn’t say anything more, Emma pushed. “How long before the assassination did George tell you she was pregnant?”

  Celeste’s mind pushed through the booze to do the calculations. “She would have been eight or nine months pregnant around the time Kennedy was killed. Unless, of course, she was already several months along before George told me. Then she would have recently had the baby.”

  Emma let herself slump against the back of her chair. She needed time to let the information meld like flavors in a stew, but instead found herself cooking on her feet. If Tessa had a child, why hadn’t she mentioned it? Emma recalled the ghost’s figure. Even though hazy, it didn’t look anything like one that had just had a child.

  Peter came by and asked if they cared for dessert. After declining, he had the young waiter bring them the check. Emma put down a credit card, and it was swept away for payment.

  After the waiter left, Emma decided to do more digging. “Weren’t you and George at the Ambassador the night Robert Kennedy was killed? I’m sure I’ve heard George talk about it a few times over the years.”

  Celeste nodded, her eyes sad. “Yes, we were, along with many of our friends.”

  “I imagine the Feldmans and Mannings were with you.”

  “Yes, of course. We even stayed at the hotel that night. All of us were very involved in Kennedy’s campaign, especially Worth and his son, Stuart.”

  Emma wanted to know George’s whereabouts after the shooting, but knew she had to ask carefully. His name wasn’t Curtis, but she wanted to make sure George Whitecastle wasn’t in Catalina during the time Tessa died. “That must have been very traumatic—that night and the days that followed.”

  “It was.” Celeste fingered the rim of her glass. “I don’t think George or I left the house for nearly a week afterwards, we were so devastated. The TV was on nonstop. I cried for days.”

  If Celeste was telling the truth, then George hadn’t been in Catalina. While it didn’t mean he knew nothing about it, at least he wasn’t there. And he wasn’t the one Tessa was waiting for.

  “Another name came up during my research, Celeste. Tessa was connected somehow to a man named Curtis—not sure if that’s a last name or a first. Do you remember anyone by that name hanging out with George or his friends?”

  Celeste took a final sip of her martini as she mulled over the name. “I don’t recall anyone by that name. Maybe he was another married lover. Maybe he killed Tessa because she’d become a liability.”

  “Wow,” said Phil when Emma finished telling him the details. �
�That was quite a lunch.”

  “Tell me about it. I’m not even sure Grant knows his dad was married before.”

  “But you know, Celeste might be on to something. Maybe this Curtis fellow dumped Tessa, hurt and dying, on the island to get rid of her. Didn’t she say there was a loud noise and blood? Maybe he shot her and left her to die.”

  “Hmm, and maybe Celeste had her bumped off. I hate to say this, Phil, but with all the lies being bantered about, anything’s possible, even the most unlikely.”

  Century City isn’t a real city at all but an area on the west side of Los Angeles known for being the entertainment business district. Besides housing Fox Studios, Century City is also home to a mall, luxury hotels, and several well-known restaurants, and its high-rise office buildings accommodate many businesses that cater to show business in all its forms.

  After finishing her call to Phil, Emma checked in with Jackie. Sandwiching calls in between her duties for the travel show, she’d been working her way through the Nowicki listings she’d found, but so far had not had any luck reaching many people. Those she did, didn’t remember anyone by the name of Theresa Nowicki or Tessa North.

  Hyland Staffing was located on the twenty-third floor. From a search on the Internet, Emma had discovered that it was an employment agency specializing in providing temporary and permanent staffing of all kinds, from assistants to chefs to drivers, to businesses and individuals that required a higher level of professionalism and discretion from employees.

  When Emma presented herself to the receptionist in the lobby, the young woman promptly handed her a clipboard with an application. “Do you have a résumé with you?” she asked Emma.

  Before Emma could answer, a very stylish older woman came out into the lobby. “I’m afraid Mrs. Whitecastle isn’t here for a job, Cassie.” The woman held out her hand to Emma. “I’m Fran Hyland.”

  After the two women shook hands, Fran Hyland led Emma down a short corridor and into a large and beautifully appointed corner office with a spectacular view of the Hollywood sign.