The brink of fame, p.16
The Brink of Fame, page 16
As the sweet old words flowed from the minister’s mouth Emily found herself thinking back to her own wedding in the Philadelphia City Hall. Myrtle Stirrup served as her bridesmaid, her good friend from the chorus of Monkey Days. Adam was saddened and perhaps offended that the press of Howie Kazanow’s business engagements prevented him from coming and acting as his best man. Myrtle Stirrup’s boyfriend did the honors instead. Emily could no longer remember his name. As for Myrtle, they lost track of each other years ago.
Emily and Adam’s wedding party, like Etta’s, was very small. No one from the family in Eastport came, not Emily’s mother, who objected to the marriage, nor her brother, who was away at sea, nor any of her uncles, aunts, and cousins. Her mother had never really forgiven her for running off with Ricky. For Emily to marry Adam, a Jew, was the last straw for poor old Mrs. Daggett.
Adam’s people didn’t come to the wedding either. He never told her why, whether it was because she was a chorus girl, or because she was a Gentile, or because of some quarrel they had with Adam himself. No family came. They married with a surprisingly delicious feeling of being together beyond the pale. It was snowing. Emily wore the sable coat.
And they promised, as Etta and Boris were now promising, to forsake all others.
I hope I’m not going to cry, Emily thought. Crying at weddings is so trite. She was groping for a handkerchief when everyone suddenly began hugging and shaking hands. Boris and Etta were man and wife now. Wanda was helping herself to Carl Laemmle’s carnations, grabbing handfuls from the white-painted baskets.
“Let’s go, folks,” Chicago Eddie Green said, taking the couple each by an elbow. “Train leaves in half an hour.”
“You’re leaving?” Emily was surprised. The wedding seemed unfinished. No reception? No cake? No ham, no caviar, no champagne?
“We’ll be back next Monday when begins the filming,” Boris said. “Not to fear.” He kissed all the women and followed Eddie to the limousine.
“They’re leaving?” Wanda said. “What about the wedding supper?”
“I guess they’ll have it on the train,” Gertrude said.
“I mean our wedding supper.”
“We’ll have to arrange it for ourselves,” Emily said. “Feeny’s serves food, don’t they?”
“Feeny’s hasn’t reopened since the WCTU shut them down,” Wanda said.
“How about that roadhouse on Vine Street, the one near Krotona?” Gertrude said.
“The one where Hester Mink likes to go?” Emily said.
“Right. The Red House.”
“I don’t know about food. They have pickled eggs and pig’s knuckles,” Wanda said. “And maybe the odd pretzel.”
“That’s good enough for me,” Gertrude said. “Come on. The streetcar will take us straight there.”
“Hope we don’t meet Hester,” Emily said.
NINETEEN
The Red House had a bar, a dance floor, a piano, and a cigar-smoking piano player with arm garters. It did not have a ladies’ entrance. Hester Mink was nowhere to be seen. There were, as far as Emily could tell, no ladies present, and no gentlemen either. Five or six hard drinkers hunched over the bar in buffalo plaid shirts that came just short of their Levis, displaying the clefts of their bottoms all in a row. In the corner a poker game was going on. The scene looked for all the world like something out of one of Melpomene’s Westerns, except for the clefts, which wouldn’t have passed the censors. Eyebrows went up when the Irregulars came in, mostly the tweezed eyebrows of the girls at the end of the bar (clearly not ladies), but also the furry eyebrows of the barman.
“Here’s a table,” Wanda said. They occupied it. The barman came over, scowling. Emily thought he meant to throw them out until Wanda put money on the table. “Bring us a pitcher of beer, my good man.”
“Oh, it’s you, Miss Rose,” the barman said. “You going to sing for us again?”
“After I have a drink, Jimmie,” Wanda said.
“Your friends sing?”
“They dance,” Wanda said.
“Swell!” A sort of smile appeared on Jimmie’s battered face. He brought them glasses and a pitcher; they emptied the pitcher, he brought them another.
They got up and sang “Tell Me Pretty Maiden,” “Shine On, Harvest Moon,” “Smiles,” and “Captain Jinks of the Horse Marines.” After another round of drinks they danced the scandalous turkey trot while the piano player banged out a rag. Then they waltzed with the more attractive of the locals, and fended off the attentions of the rest. About suppertime, when things were getting really mellow, Emily thought it was time for her to leave, and she would have done it, too, the next time the door came around, if the floor hadn’t risen up and hit her in the face first. Brown linoleum. An interesting pattern of squiggles.
The Irregulars picked her up and put her in a chair. She began to weep.
Gertrude was horrified. “Emily, what’s wrong?”
“I’m going to kill Adam Weiss, the great love of my life. He betrayed me with a worthless trollop and I have to shoot him to death the next time I see him. It’s so sad.”
“I believe she’s having a crying jag,” Gertrude said. “Emily, have you eaten anything today?”
“Did I ever tell you how handsome he was? When he was rich he gave me a sable coat.”
Gertrude said, “Supper, that’s what we need. I almost forgot. Alma Kazanow is having a séance about now.”
Wanda said, “Is she serving food?”
“How can she have a séance?” Emily said.
“She just is, and food as well, and I have an invitation. We’re great friends, you know.”
“Chacun à son gout,” Emily said.
“What?” Wanda said.
“Fledermaus, right?” Gertrude said. “I have a little culture, too. Would you like to come?” She brandished an engraved invitation at them.
“Sure, we wanna come,” Wanda said. “Where is it? And what about supper?”
“She said there would be supper. It’s at her house. About four blocks that way, I think.” Gertrude waved in the direction of the door, narrowly missing Jimmie the barman as he passed with a tray of glasses.
The plan did not recommend itself to Emily. She said so, very slowly and clearly. “Gertrude, I believe we’re all … stinko. Those people in the Krotona community don’t approve of strong drink.”
“Piss on ’em,” Wanda said. “I wanna see a ghost.”
* * *
And so off they went to the séance. The dry, cool air cleared their heads to a certain extent, to the point where Wanda stopped saying bad words and Emily was able to stand up straight. The event was already under way as they approached. Alma Kazanow, in full gypsy regalia, glided out of her front door.
“Where’s she going?” Emily said.
“The actual séance is at Ross McHenry’s house,” Gertrude said. “They’re going to try to contact the poor man’s astral body.”
Alma Kazanow crossed the street to Ross McHenry’s front door, surrounded by twittering women, and let herself in. The Irregulars caught up with a handful of stragglers.
“Are you here for the séance?” one of the stragglers said.
“Why, yes,” Gertrude said. “Marvelous, isn’t it?”
“Yes, wonderful. And to think Mrs. Kazanow almost wouldn’t do it. We had to bully her unmercifully, didn’t we, Gladys?”
Gladys snickered. “Threatened to pull her membership. But who better to raise the astral body of Ross McHenry?”
“Who indeed?” Gertrude said.
“Dear Ross. You know, it was Alma who brought him into the community. We have so much to thank her for.” The stragglers directed worshipful gazes in the general direction of McHenry’s front door.
Emily thought of the scene in the bedroom. What about the smell? The bloodstains? “Why is it, again, that we’re having the séance in Ross McHenry’s house?”
They all began to babble. “He lived there. He lived there, my dear—”
“Everywhere you look, little things he saw every day—”
“Things he touched—”
“Still holding traces of his energy—”
“And, of course, dear Mrs. Kazanow is the only one among us who has any experience or skill in mediumship—”
“Theosophists don’t normally do séances,” Gertrude said. Clever girl, she must have been studying Mrs. Kazanow’s books.
The women babbled on. “An oversight, I think. They add so much to the spiritual tone—”
“Before she joined our group, Mrs. Kazanow raised many spirits—”
“And of course she has the key to his house—”
“She’s a house agent, you know—”
“Do let’s hurry—”
“Wait. Did we miss the dinner?” Wanda said.
“There’s some food left in Mrs. Kazanow’s dining room. Watch out for the dog,” the last straggler said, as she rushed into McHenry’s house. So the Krotona ladies threatened to pull her membership. Could it be that Alma Kazanow was not in control of this event?
Wanda poked Gertrude in the ribs. “What did the soul say to the spirit?”
“I dunno. What?”
“Ah, Spirit,” Wanda said. “And what did the spirit say to the soul?”
“Ah, Soul. Oh. I get it. Ha-ha.”
“Ha-ha. I made you say asshole. ’Scuse me, I’m going to go find something to eat.”
While Wanda drifted away into Alma Kazanow’s unlocked house in search of food, Emily followed the stragglers into the house of Ross McHenry. Indeed Mrs. Kazanow was having to struggle mightily to dominate this gaggle of women.
“No, no, no, no, don’t go upstairs. That will break the Kamic link. We must gather around the dining-room table and hold Brother Ross in our minds, all together.” The table was round, a massive piece of mission oak. There were almost enough benches and chairs for everyone. Gertrude pushed in among the Krotona ladies, taking up little space because of her slim bottom and the modest brim of her hat. Emily elected to stand in the shadowy corner, out of Alma Kazanow’s line of sight.
While Mrs. Kazanow placed eight candles in the middle of the table, someone pressed the light switch and the room became totally dark. “A candle for each planet,” Mrs. Kazanow murmured. She lit them, casting a flickering glow on the faces of the circle of women. “Spirits are attracted to light and heat. Now we all take hands and close our eyes.”
For a long time no one spoke. Emily became aware of a presence at her side. Her hand drifted into her bag, feeling for the reassuring shape of the pearl-handled revolver, but it was only Wanda standing next to her in the dark. She was chewing something. Smelled like chicken. But no, it wouldn’t be chicken; these people didn’t eat meat.
“Brother Ross,” Alma Kazanow said. “Are you with us? Knock once for yes, twice for no.”
Wanda knocked twice.
“I sense a malign presence. Begone.”
Knock, knock.
Emily dug her elbow into Wanda’s corseted ribs. Wanda dug back.
“We seek the astral body of Ross McHenry. Brother Ross, if you are with us, signify.”
Knock. Muffled. Not Wanda this time.
“Brother Ross. I bring you the benison of your friends, the women of Krotona. We wish you rest in the afterworld.”
Knock, knock.
Emily’s hand closed around the beads lying at the bottom of her purse.
“Your spirit must move on to the next plane, Brother Ross. Let your being merge with the atma.”
Knock, knock.
“Is your soul troubled?”
Knock.
“Ladies, let us all send a spirit of peace to Brother Ross that he may achieve the radiant glories of the heavenly world. Breathe in … breathe out…”
None of this seemed to Emily to be to the point. If it were Brother Ross knocking, clearly it was because he had something to communicate about the cause of his unrest, possibly even the name of his murderer.
“Send us a sign, Brother Ross, that you accept our blessings…”
No sign came; this was a cheat; Brother Ross would never accept such hypocritical blessings. Disgusted, Emily threw her handful of amethyst beads at the table. How they clattered.
“Lights!” Alma Kazanow screamed. The lights came on. Mrs. Kazanow picked up the beads, looked at them, her face twisted with rage, turned and saw Emily standing behind her. Wanda must have gone for more of the chickenlike substance.
“You threw those beads. Where did you get them?”
“I don’t know. I found them.”
“You found them in Carl Laemmle’s limousine, didn’t you?”
“I really couldn’t say.”
“I knew it. That man.”
“What man?”
“Cover up for him all you like, I know who my enemies are. And my friends, as well. Come, ladies.” She rose and swept out of the house, her followers swirling after her, Gertrude among them. Key in hand, Alma Kazanow waited by the door. When Emily didn’t move fast enough to suit her she shouted, “Come out!” Emily came out.
Mrs. Kazanow locked the door behind her. “In two minutes I will release the dog. Don’t be here.”
TWENTY
Good to know that she hadn’t killed the dog, Emily reflected, leaping for the streetcar. Maybe the creature would return the favor some day. As she rode along in the nearly deserted car, sobriety began to creep over her, starting with her toes and fingers and proceeding upward to her throbbing head. By the time the car reached Hollywood Boulevard she had gathered enough of her wits to change to the line that would take her home to the Hotel Hollywood.
If she found Holbert Bruns waiting for her in the hotel she could explain to him face-to-face about Mrs. Swaine, about Chicago Eddie, maybe even about Mrs. Kazanow, to the extent that she knew anything about that strange woman. She could even take her courage in her hands and talk to Bruns about Adam, about her fear of murdering him the next time she saw him, maybe even ask his advice on whether under the circumstances she should actually be carrying a loaded gun around with her.
But he wasn’t there. In a way that was good; Emily was spared the immediate necessity of trying to sober up and behave like a professional detective. Instead she could take deep breaths, think of herself on a rock by the ocean in Eastport, Maine, soaking up the rays of an August sun, twelve years old again and free of all worldly cares. Five or ten minutes of this exercise should certainly—
“Miss Daggett?” The clerk waved her over to the desk.
“Yes?”
“There’s a telephone message for you from Mr. Bruns.”
“What was the message?”
“He left word for you to go and meet him in Bryce Canyon, at the Union Rock Company quarry.”
“Where’s that?”
“It’s in Griffith Park. There’s a cave. Everybody knows where it is.”
“I don’t.”
“His message says that Mr. Eddie Green will pick you up and drive you there. He knows how to find it.”
“Mr. Bruns said that? Eddie would drive me?”
“That’s what it says here. It says he wants you up there right away.”
“Who took the message?”
“I don’t know, miss. It was here when I came on duty.”
The clerk seemed to expect a tip, so she tipped him, even though it didn’t feel right, Bruns telling her to go off god-knows-where all alone with Chicago Eddie Green. Emily couldn’t think of any reason not to, other than that Eddie probably murdered Ross McHenry. (So he murdered Ross McHenry. Did that mean he necessarily had anything against Emily? Certainly not. He had never treated her with anything other than respect and friendliness.) And yet it seemed so unlikely that Holbert Bruns would tell her to drive to some remote cave with him. Bruns must have discovered something new about Eddie’s trustworthiness. That he was an Eagle Scout, perhaps. Or maybe Bruns was setting some sort of trap for Eddie. In that case it was up to Emily to do her part.
“Call me when Mr. Green arrives,” she said, and went up to her room to take a bromide and change her hat.
After the bellboy announced the arrival of Eddie Green, Emily found him waiting for her under the streetlight outside, polishing the windshield of the Cadillac with that same rag, the one that looked like an old torn pant’s leg, the mate to the one with the tooth holes and bloodstains. Ripped from the same pair of pants, surely. Emily wondered whether she could decorously get a look at Eddie’s leg, to check for dog bites. Probably not.
Seen fleeing from the murder scene, pursued by a dog. Clearly Eddie was the killer. Equally clearly, Bruns had something in mind for Eddie that was to take place at this quarry. Whatever it might be, he expected Emily to get him there.
“Hi, Eddie.” She jumped in the front seat.
“Hiya, sweetheart. Where to?”
“Mr. Bruns wants me to meet him at the Union Rock Company quarry in Bryce Canyon. He says you know the way.”
“The cave?”
“I guess. Of course, if you’re afraid to go up there this late—”
“Eddie Green ain’t afraid of nothing.”
“Nothing except dogs.”
“Oh, yeah. Dogs.” He pushed the ignition switch and the engine turned over.
“I’m afraid of heights myself. Is it very far up in the hills, this quarry?”
“Not too far. It’s kind of out of the way, is all. No kidding, are you afraid of heights? I saw you in Massacre at Bitter Wash, the way you hung off that cliff. You wasn’t acting?”
“I’m not really much of an actress. What I want to do is direct.”
He laughed. “Good luck to you, sweetheart.” It was a nice evening for a drive, soft and warm. As they passed through a shadowy orange grove Eddie pretended to mistake Emily’s knee for the gearshift. She removed his hand, and he switched from being a fresh guy to being the tour guide.
