by William Poe
“Love you, dearest.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Simon knew that if he worked on a painting, he would never hear the phone ring, even if he stretched the cord to its limit out the back door; the deafening natural chorus of the insects, amphibians, and random bobcat howls would overwhelm the pitiful ringer. Simon picked up a book to read, but his eyes fell over the same page without comprehending a single word. He finally set a vinyl recording of Wagner’s Siegfried Idyll on the parlor’s turntable, having failed to locate Twilight of the Gods, which seemed a better fit to his mood, sitting alone in the Sibley Valhalla, musing about Brünnhilde on her steed, charging into flames to meet her death.
“The gods are no more,” came a soothing voice as Simon dozed, only to be started awake by urgent ringing.
“Hello, darling.” A muffled rock-and-roll beat told Simon that Sandra was calling from her bedroom. “I weaseled my best but didn’t learn much, dearest.” Sandra, thick tongued, could barely articulate her words. “Howard mentioned his next project and then asked Lyle to audition as a voice-over artist. I wanted to get him talking, so I asked, ‘Is that a thing?’ and Howard said, ‘Sure,’ and that he had an opening because his last guy ‘up and left.’ When he heard Lyle trying to make erotic sounds, he said that maybe it wasn’t the best use of Lyle’s talent, and then he asked if Lyle wanted to perform. Lyle didn’t say no, but I don’t think he would do gay porn—and then we did lines, and I saw the clock and realized I needed to call you.”
“Don’t push it any harder, Sandra. It sounds as though Howard doesn’t know anything about what happened, only that Thad disappeared.”
“Be careful, Simon. Howard looks harmless, but Maury has told me stories, and so has Scott. I hope Thad is okay.”
“Me too.”
Simon mulled over recent events and could only conclude that sharp-eyed David, wily Emilio, or astute businesswoman Irene had figured out Thad’s identify. Had they threatened to hurt Simon if Thad didn’t make a movie for them? Confronted, Thad might have divulged what he knew: that Simon was now broke, that their money had been stolen by his assistant, Charlotte, and that no one knew where she had gone. A shudder ran up his spine as he realized that Thad must have been forced to provide the address of the mansion.
The Spotlight would soon announce last call. Simon hesitatingly dialed the number, hoping that Don or Twiggy might have learned more about why Rudy wanted Simon to contact Wally. Twiggy answered, sounding exhausted, granting but a few moments to chat as he closed out bar tabs. “Such handsome men in here tonight,” Twiggy giggled. “You should’ve seen them…”
“Better than usual?” Simon asked. “The Spotlight is a meat market, after all.”
“Grade-A prime tonight, honey.” Then, “Oh, I just realized, I know what was different about tonight. The Pub got raided the other day when the cops found a fake ID on one of the customers, and they shut it down for a week; all those customers came here tonight.”
“How is Sweet Peter?”
“That queen? Gossip is that he’s the one who called the police on the customer, pissed off because the owner wouldn’t give him a raise. That lovely man isn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer. Didn’t he know the police would close the bar? A bartender’s money comes from tips—salary’s nothing. Don doesn’t pay me jack shit.”
“Sweet Peter has other sources of income,” Simon reminded. “Doesn’t he supply coke to half the boys on the boulevard?”
“Well, that’s true,” Twiggy mused. “More than half, really.”
“Say, Twig, I’m calling because when I spoke to Don after you sent the telegram, he told me that Rudy wanted me to contact one of my business contacts, and that I should ask the contact about Charlotte.”
“Rudy’s standing by Don right now if you want to ask him directly.”
Simon felt as if someone had stepped on his grave.
“Rudy’s been coming in for a while,” Twiggy informed him. “He claims he had nothing to do with ripping you off. Anyway, Rudy isn’t eighty-sixed anymore.”
“Don probably missed his liar’s poker buddy,” Simon suggested.
“They’re playing right now, but I think it’s about to end—Don always wins.”
Rudy knew everything there was to know about Hollywood’s darker byways. If Simon wanted to get information from him, he needed to remain calm.
“Get Rudy to the phone, Twiggy, but don’t say who it is.”
“Okay, but I have to hear to this,” Twiggy giggled.
Rudy complained that he and Don were just starting a new game, but Twiggy insisted. A disgruntled Rudy came to the phone.
“You never were very good at liar’s poker, Rudy. You’re just not a good liar.”
Rudy breathed heavily into the phone.
“You know who it is, Rudy, so don’t go silent on me.”
“I’m just glad you aren’t here in the bar,” Rudy sighed.
“Why did you do it, Rudy? When we first met, I gave you money so you wouldn’t be evicted from your apartment, and then you steal from me in the end? It hurt, Rudy. Your betrayal hurt.”
The jukebox blasted out “Life is a cabaret, old chum,” inspiring the few remaining customers to sing along.
“I hear that things haven’t gone so well,” Simon continued. “Did Charlotte toss you aside once she was done with you?”
“Things are more complicated than that,” Rudy protested. “What am I supposed to say, Simon, especially on the phone? People are listening.”
“By people you mean Twiggy?”
“Well, yeah—hang up the other phone, you fucking queen. This isn’t about you.”
The phone on the other end of the bar crashed with a loud bang.
“Charlotte can be convincing, Simon. She thought you’d burn through the money, even if she didn’t take it.”
“That doesn’t justify anything. She was wrong, and you had no right to go along.”
“Did you get my message? Did you make the call?”
“Remind me,” Simon said.
“You were supposed to contact Wally Freeze. Haven’t you called him?”
“I tried to reach him, but he wasn’t in his office. Anyway, Rudy, I’ve been in touch with Wally for months. He’s allowing me to continue representing his old videos, just none of the new ones.”
“Are you in Hollywood?”
“No, I’m far away.”
“If you were here, I’d meet up with you.”
“You probably wouldn’t want to do that, Rudy.”
“Come on, Simon. Yeah, I was a jerk, but I couldn’t have stopped Charlotte from doing what she did, so I just tagged along.”
Simon marveled at the impeccable Hollywood logic.
“I am a queen!” Rudy said, as absolution for his bad behavior.
“I don’t know what you’ve heard, Rudy, but the people whose money Charlotte took have made off with Thad. I think they’re coercing him to make porn for them, maybe as a way of recouping their loss. They are dangerous people, and no matter what the motive, Thad’s in danger. Tell me if you have information. I promise I won’t take off your crown and feed it to you the next time we meet.”
“Well, if you’re going to threaten me,” Rudy pouted, “I’m not sayin’ nothin’.”
“Rudy, this is about Thad. Please help me.”
“That’s better. I just can’t believe you don’t know what happened, what with all the blabbermouths around here.”
“Like Twiggy?”
“And Don. Why’d you think he tried to reach you? Anyway, I don’t know anything about Thad. What I do know is that after the money arrived, Charlotte sent a message to Spain asking if the people who sent it would work with her. She said that you had disappeared or something—I’m not sure exactly what she said about your absence when she sent off the telex.”
Simon’s heart stopped at the idea of Charlotte communicating with the Spaniards.
“No telling what my clients thought. And this was after she to
ok the money?”
“Yeah, but they didn’t know about that, obviously. She didn’t expect there to be as much money as there was. I remember her saying that you must have gotten an advance on a new contract. That’s why she contacted them. She wanted to make sure they got whatever new films they were expecting.”
“The money wasn’t for any films I had in hand. It was capital to look for new ones.”
Rudy didn’t say anything for a moment. “I don’t know if Charlotte heard back from them. I don’t think so. Not long after she sent the message, she contacted Wally and some of your other clients. Charlotte was sure you’d never come back—that the drugs would kill you.”
“She wasn’t far off the mark, Rudy, but still.”
“Charlotte told Wally that she was taking over the business. She thought he’d ask questions, but he said he’d rather work with her anyway.”
A bolt of déjà vu struck Simon as he thought about Nicolò’s clients saying they’d rather do business with him after he started his own company.
“Simon?”
“I’m still here. I’m just flabbergasted. Don said you and Charlotte went to Vegas, that she kicked you out or something, and that’s when you wanted to get a message to me about contacting Wally. What changed?”
“I made Charlotte mad because I took money from her suitcase and lost it at a blackjack table. She blew up and said that I’d clung to her long enough. I came back to Hollywood.
“Don hadn’t let me into the Spotlight since he found out what Charlotte did and that I was a part of it, but I showed up with a fresh young hunk. As soon as Don saw the kid, he forgave me. I’m not even sure he remembered why he eighty-sixed me.”
“That’s our Don.”
“I wanted to get Charlotte in trouble for tossing me aside, so I gave Don the message that you should ask Wally about her, about where she’s living.”
“Where is Charlotte?” Simon asked.
“At your Silverlake house.”
Simon dropped the phone, catching it by the cord and pulling it back to his ear.
“Charlotte started her own business: Chanteuse Film Distributors.”
“You mean this whole time, Wally’s been working with her?”
“They agreed not to tell you about it but to honor your old contract with him.”
Simon felt bamboozled. Now he understood why Wally would never talk about the company representing his new product, and why Clarice had wanted to avoid the subject.
“Rudy, I’m shocked.”
Twiggy announced last call.
“I have to go, Simon.”
“You’re serious. Charlotte is in Silverlake, at my house.”
“She might be in Italy for that film festival or whatever it is. She talked about going when we were in Las Vegas.”
“MIFED?”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
Rudy was no innocent, but it was clear he had little to do with Charlotte’s scheme. “I’m glad you told me all of this, Rudy.”
“Don’t kill me when you come to Hollywood. That’s all I ask.”
“Don would never let me.”
Simon heard “Last call for alcohol!” as he set the receiver back in its cradle.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The evening had begun with bats pouring from their rafter sanctuary in search of food; the morning started with the camp of satiated creatures streaming to their home, a black line drawn against a crimson sunrise. Simon watched as he spread Vivian’s plum jam on a toasted muffin. His course of action was decided: he would contact his professors and submit his term papers early, and he’d have his final paintings completed, though perhaps with less deliberation than he had planned.
Connie, concerned when Simon announced he was leaving for California, accepted the excuse that Simon needed to meet face to face with his suppliers if he were to keep his business afloat.
“I know your business isn’t what it once was,” Connie said, “but at least you were able to cover tuition. I’ve never really understood what you do, but Vivian was impressed with the way you talked on the phone. She said you knew what you were doing.”
“I won’t be in Los Angeles longer than I have to,” Simon promised.
“What’s going to happen with your schoolwork?”
“I’ve made arrangements with my professors.”
“Going out there is that urgent?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re taking the Pontiac?”
“I can’t afford to fly, and I need a car when I get there. I hope the old rattletrap makes it there and back.”
Connie had taken Cicero to her house when Simon mentioned how lonely he had become without Vivian, and with Simon being around so infrequently because of his class schedule. During Connie’s visit before Simon’s departure, Cicero rushed through the downstairs rooms, toenail castanets clicking on the hardwood floor.
“He’s looking for Vivian,” Connie sighed.
Simon laughed. “He doesn’t even see that I’m here.”
Disappointed in his search, Cicero burst across the room and launched into Simon’s lap.
“You were saying?” Connie smiled.
“I’ve missed you too, little fellow.” Cicero licked Simon’s face, snorting with glee.
“He’s been happy with Derek and me. Cheryl wants to take him, but he’s become part of the household. Derek spoils him with treats.”
“That’s where those extra pounds came from.” Simon felt his shoulders. “He’s still got muscle.”
“Running around our backyard keeps him fit—wish I could do that.” Connie drew in her stomach, shifting in her seat to assume a more upright posture.
“You’re not fat, Connie. If you are, then so am I, and…”
Connie poked Simon in the ribs. “You’re fat compared to that skeleton of a person who arrived here from California. Thank God you were able to get help.”
“I was skin and bones, wasn’t I? Let’s not talk about that right now. I hope the mansion will be safe while I’m gone. I’ll leave a few lights burning so it doesn’t look empty. Someone will need to care for Ferdinand.”
“I’ll ask Cheryl to drop by. It would be hard for me to do it, what with visiting Vivian every day.”
“I know I should go more often.”
“It hurts me to see her,” Connie admitted. “She’s going down fast. We won’t have our mother for much longer.”
“I hate to think about it.”
“Be sure to rest along the way to California. I remember how tired you used to get when you drove home for Christmas.”
“I’ll be careful. Don’t worry.”
Connie scooped Cicero from Simon’s lap, his ears pricking up at the mention of Vivian’s name. Connie promised to take him with her on the next visit. Cicero seemed to understand, opening his wide mouth into a slobbery smile.
Simon’s plan included an overnight stay in Gallup, New Mexico, giving him enough time to be rested and alert when he showed up at the Silverlake house to confront Charlotte. He filled a thermos with coffee, placed a bag of Granny Smith apples and five large navel oranges in a box, and made pimento loaf sandwiches, secured in zipper-lock bags that he placed into a Styrofoam cooler with enough ice to keep them until he made it to Gallup. Simon shelled peanuts to eat as a snack to help keep him awake along the dreary plains of west Texas. He stood before an unfinished painting that was propped against a wall on a wooden table that served as an easel, and gestured as if with a paintbrush, an act that helped calm feelings of apprehension—of dread.
Thad, Simon’s heart cried out, I will always love you.
Simon stopped at the local Gulf station, the last one in the area still providing a full range of services, and asked the attendant to check the transmission fluid and to add a quart of oil. He hoped, after paying the bill, that he would have enough cash to make it to Los Angeles. He was determined to get there. If the car broke down, he’d hitchhike the rest of the way.
Simon
felt a fearful tug as he drove through cities where he had stopped to do drugs during his failed attempt to outrun Hollywood. He kept going, passing through Amarillo and then Albuquerque, finally reaching Gallup as the last hints of twilight disappeared from an alizarin sky and he pulled into a motel parking lot. Simon opened the door and paused to breathe in the fragrant desert air, such a contrast with the swamps of Sibley. He approached the bulletproof window of the manager’s office, paid for a night, and fell asleep as soon as he collapsed, fully clothed, on the foamy bed, awakening throughout the night, disturbed by troubling dreams. Expecting it to be near morning, he checked the dim glow of the room’s digital clock, shocked that so little time had passed. An hour before dawn, he showered under a lukewarm trickle of water, threw his suitcase in the trunk of the car, forced himself to eat a pimento sandwich, and then went to the motel cafeteria, where the waitress agreed to fill his thermos at half-price. Simon braced for the final leg of his journey, the Pontiac’s hood ornament a riflescope targeting Hollywood.
Simon tried to prepare himself for the impending encounter. After Thad had loaded his belongings into the rental truck and left for Sibley, Charlotte must have contacted the landlords, a gay couple who’d bought the house when they first entered into a committed relationship. They would not have thought it strange for Charlotte to assume the lease if she’d told them Simon had moved to Arkansas; they were as familiar with her as they were with Simon, and they’d be grateful that after she began working for him, the rent checks continued to arrive on time. After leaving Hollywood, and after Thad brought his belongings to Sibley, Simon had never thought about the house or his obligations under the lease he had signed. He’d simply disappeared.
For months, Charlotte ran Simon’s business, a better negotiator than he, in fact, able to utilize her glamorous looks when necessary. Charlotte’s pixie face and thick red hair, a look reminiscent of the ingenues who posed for 1920s Coca-Cola ads, were irresistible. Charlotte managed flashes of passionate temper, controlled with precision, directing those flairs sometimes at Simon when he missed appointments with clients, other times at lab technicians if they failed to provide quality videotape masters. A heterosexual man stood little chance against Charlotte’s wiles if she batted her eyes and thrust forward her ample breasts, highlighted by cleavage-revealing blouses.