“Sure,” said Josie, as she watched him fill a quarter of a tumbler with soda then the rest with whiskey.
“Here you are,” he said, as he handed her the drink, then sat inches away from her purse. “Cin cin!” He clinked her glass, then drained his in one swallow. “You’re not drinking.”
“I really just wanted the soda. But what I’ve come here to talk about…”
“Just take a drink. Then we can get down to business.”
Josie took the smallest sip humanly possible, then immediately began coughing. She put her drink on the coffee table in front of them. “That’s a strong soda.”
“That’s because it’s mostly whiskey.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that.”
“Lawrence says you’re a writer.”
“I am.”
“Women’s pictures are big business. Anita Loos has certainly had a great career. Dorothy Parker is working on the new Janet Gaynor movie about a washed-up actor who marries an ingenue. Sounds like a real stinker, but Parker could give it some pizzazz. You’re not drinking.”
He leaned back on the couch and toward her, over the purse.
“My husband is a bit of a teetotaler. He prefers that I don’t drink.” Josie hated using her husband as an excuse for anything, but she was looking for a language Harris would understand.
“You must be so bored at home.” He leaned closer to her.
Josie managed to get up from the couch. But barely. “Mr. Harris…”
“Please call me Ralph, Josie.”
“Please call me Mrs. Matthews. I was thinking of writing something about Germany.”
Ralph Harris frowned. “That doesn’t sound like a woman’s picture.”
“It’s not. I was thinking of doing a thriller but need to do some research.”
“Perhaps I can help,” said Harris, as he walked toward Josie, coming between her and the door.
She stood her ground and put her hand out, which slowed him. “I’m a very happily married woman.”
“And I am a happily married man.” He continued his march toward her. He reached out for her, which is when Josie jabbed his arm with the hatpin. “Ow!” he said, finally coming to halt.
“How should I research my movie?” she asked, as if nothing had happened.
“Well, I suppose you could go to the library.” He pushed up his jacket sleeve to see if there was a blood stain on the shirt.
“And if I wanted to talk to someone?”
He shrugged, clearly tiring of the conversation. “There’s the German American League.” He brightened at that. “I could make some introductions if you’re nice enough.” He leaned in for a kiss and she stuck him with the pin again. “Ow! That really hurts.”
“Yes, that’s why I’m doing it. What do you know about the German American League?”
“They’ve got good beer,” he said as he refilled his glass at the bar.
“Surely you can find good beer elsewhere. Why do you spend time there?”
“The German market is wide open for American films. It could be big business for us,” he said as he took a sip of his drink.
“It’s wide open because other countries want to stay out.”
“Which creates more opportunities for us. Right now, Herr Hitler is looking for all the friends he can get.”
“And you think Hollywood should be his friend.”
“I don’t see why not,” he said as he threw back his drink in one swallow. “Adversity leads to big box office. Americans have gone to the movies in record numbers since the dawn of the Depression. I don’t see why we can’t tap into the German market, as well.”
“As long as it’s good for business,” said Josie wryly.
“Now you’re catching on,” said Harris sincerely. “Unfortunately, I need to run to a meeting, though I can postpone it if you’ve changed your mind about the drink or anything else.”
“I haven’t changed my mind about anything. But thank you. This has been most illuminating.”
* * *
Since it had only taken Josie fifteen minutes and two stabs with her pin to conclude her business with Ralph Harris, she still had forty-five minutes to wait before meeting up with Dora and Lawrence. Not wanting to waste a moment of her trip back to the Golden Age of Hollywood, she started wandering the lot, keeping an eye out for stars.
Unfortunately, half an hour later, she hadn’t seen any stars but had encountered plenty of reminders of how the good old days weren’t always that great. She’d seen three actors in blackface, watched countless people litter, and heard the punchline of a joke about a gay man.
Then she turned the corner and saw something she wasn’t expecting. In her day, numerous trips to this lot had taught her the location of the stairs where Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy had first met. But today, those stairs were occupied by a most surprising couple – Ralph Harris and Caroline Armitage.
Josie stayed in the shadows as she watched them talking. For two people who should’ve been on the opposite sides of any labor dispute they seemed to be on friendly terms. Then Ralph put his arm around Caroline’s waist, which shouldn’t have been too surprising given the fact she was female and he had arms. But the remarkable thing was she let it stay there. They continued talking for a moment and it looked much too cozy to be a business discussion. Josie wanted to get closer to overhear, but there was no way she could do that without being seen.
“Coming through!”
Josie turned to see several women pushing racks of costumes toward her. She moved back to let them pass, then looked out again only to see that both Ralph and Caroline were gone. A glance at the clock tower showed Josie she was due to meet Lawrence and Dora, so she made her way across the lot.
She found them near Lawrence’s car.
“There you are!” said Dora. “We were about to storm Harris’s office looking for you.”
“The meeting didn’t last long,” said Josie, wondering if she should tell her friends what she’d just seen.
“Was it productive?” asked Lawrence, as they got into the car.
“Sort of. Harris claims he’s hanging out with the Germans to get them to open the market to American films, which would give him a legitimate reason to visit the League. Do he and Caroline Armitage get along?”
“They hate each other,” said Dora. “Ralph is everything that’s wrong with the studio system, putting profits over people. Whenever someone tries to challenge the studio system, he makes sure they don’t get cast again. Why?”
“Just trying to get a feel for the man.” That wasn’t exactly true since Josie had met many men like Ralph Harris in her day, and they were pretty easy to figure out. However, Caroline Armitage was something else altogether. She had to think about this before confiding in her friends. But one thing was certain. Figuring out how to correct history was getting increasingly complicated.
* * *
“Who do you want me to look into?” Grant asked that night by the pool at Lawrence’s house. Dora and Lawrence were nearby telling the story of their first collaboration in Hollywood, while Blake and David took it all in. Josie had waited until Grant had come back from calling Lydia to pull him aside.
“Caroline Armitage. She’s supposedly the leader of one of the Hollywood communist cells, but I saw her cozying up to one of the studio guys, her natural enemy.”
Grant was unconvinced. “Maybe she’s in love with the guy. Broads can do crazy things when they’re in love. I would say ‘no offense,’ but I think we both know I’m talking about you.”
“But something’s not right. I’m sure the Bureau must have a file on her.”
“What makes you say that?”
“She’s a communist.”
“What makes you think we have files on communists?”
“About a hundred years of history.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. Why didn’t you bring this up earlier?”
“I didn’t want to say anything in front of Dora, B
lake and Lawrence. I don’t want to risk changing things, so the fewer people who know about my suspicions at this point the better.”
“Suspicions about what?” asked Blake, as he joined them. “You’ll have to excuse my big ears. I’ve been told I’m a terrible eavesdropper.”
“Actually, you seem like you’re pretty skilled at it,” said Grant, as he took a cigar from Blake, then lit it.
Josie smiled at the handsome actor. “I was just asking Grant to keep an ear out if he thinks there’s going to be trouble at the dinner this weekend. I imagine communists and fascists will be a volatile mix.”
“That’s why I’ve decided to go to the dinner instead of staying outside with the protesters,” said Blake. “I don’t want to take the chance of trouble jumping off with Dora being unprotected.”
“We’ll be glad to have you with us. I’ve never walked into a room with wall-to-wall Nazis before, and I’m not looking forward to it.”
“You don’t know that they’re all Nazis,” said Grant.
“One Nazi is one too many,” said Josie. “And it’s our job to make sure they don’t multiply.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
As Lawrence’s car drove up to the German American League building on Broadway in downtown Los Angeles Saturday night, Josie had a rare sense of foreboding. It wasn’t like she’d never been around danger before. After all, she’d attended a house party where four of the guests had ended up dead, all while she was falling in love with the number one murder suspect. But this was danger of a different kind. This wasn’t the madness of one deranged man. It was the evil of an empire which was about to bring on World War II.
Nazi flags were flying from the building as silver-shirted young men entered the building with their smiling dates. To add to the surreal atmosphere, pedestrians passed by without any alarm whatsoever. A few cast curious glances at the revelry, but there was nothing to indicate they knew this was evil in their midst. Some may have known but didn’t care.
“Where are the protesters?” asked Dora from the backseat, where she was next to Blake.
“Caroline said they’re lying low until the guests have all arrived,” said Blake. “But they’re taking pictures of everyone who enters.”
“Then I guess it’s time for our close-up,” said Lawrence, before turning to Eduardo, who was driving. “I don’t know how long we’ll be. It could be a very short evening. But I don’t want you hanging around with this crowd because things could get hairy. Return to the house and we’ll find our way home later.”
“Are you certain, sir?”
“Yes,” he said with a smile for his loyal servant. “We’ll see you later. Well, boys and girls? I think we should make our appearance.”
As Josie got out of the car, she watched the other guests enter the building. While the Silver Shirts left little doubt as to their political beliefs, most of the people entering looked like everyday Americans, people who might be going to a Rotary Club luncheon. Yet they were all passing under a dozen Nazi flags.
“If I don’t rip at least one of those damn flags down by the end of the night, I won’t able to live with myself,” said Josie quietly when it was their turn to walk under them. “I also know what I’d like to do with the flagpoles.”
“Spear Kurt Franklin’s girlfriend?” asked Dora.
“I’d start with cracking it over her head and go from there.”
There were several security guards at the entrance, including one heavily-muscled man holding a clipboard, who was checking a guest list. It was hard to tell if he was armed, but the Silver Shirts flanking the door had holstered guns.
“David Remington and friends,” said David, as he indicated their small group. “We’re guests of Greta Schatz.”
The man with the clipboard checked his list, counted Josie and the others, then looked particularly dubiously at Lawrence and Dora, who both held the man’s gaze with admirable determination. Finally, the man grunted his assent and admitted them.
They entered the large foyer of the building, which looked a bit like a very fancy Elks Lodge. The long hall led to a ballroom at the end, while a wide stone staircase to the right led to the upper floors. It had the feel of an old school, but tonight it smelled like the beer hall it was, along with the wafting smoke of bratwursts.
“I hate to admit how good evil smells,” said Lawrence.
Blake nodded. “I’m going to make it my personal goal to drink enough of that great German beer to put a dent in their recruiting budget. And I’ll probably have a few bratwursts, as well.”
Men were in suits and the ladies were in dresses and heels, while a few had fox stoles. There was a simple elegance to the clothing which was striking to someone with a Twenty-First Century sensibility. Josie had seen Lawrence’s neighbor wear a dress, heels and pearls to pick up the milk from her front porch. There was a slight chance people in 1936 dressed up for middle-of-the night bathroom breaks.
“David Remington,” said a man who approached them with a beautiful blonde on his arm, who might’ve been mistaken for Greta, though she was an inch or two shorter. “I’m Finn O’Donnell, Kennedy’s man. I couldn’t believe it when he said he’d run into you at the Cocoanut Grove. Just where have you been keeping yourself?” O’Donnell was loud and slightly drunk and was attracting the attention of the people around them.
“Perhaps we should talk somewhere a bit quieter,” said David, not wanting more people to know who he was.
“Good idea.” O’Donnell turned to his date. “Why don’t you go get us a drink, Renate?” Then he sent her on her way with a pat to her bottom. “Now, Remington, where should we go?”
David looked around. “What about that alcove over there?” he said, indicating a quiet spot. He took Josie’s hand and walked toward it.
“Why are you bringing your wife? Or is she your wife?” The look O’Donnell gave Josie was definitely one where he hoped she was available.
“She’s definitely my wife and I’m bringing her because she’s my partner in everything.”
“That’s an interesting way to look at marriage.”
“We think so,” said Josie, as they reached the alcove, out of the way of anyone who might overhear.
“So, where have you been, Remington?” asked O’Donnell.
“I don’t think that’s nearly as important as where we are now. What business does Joe Kennedy have with Nazis?”
“Joe’s interest in Germany isn’t political in the least.”
“A Kennedy not being political?” asked Josie. “That’s hard to believe.”
“His interest is in business. Now that Germany is finally recovering from the reparations, they’re in the market to buy foreign goods. The old man wants to facilitate that.”
“What kind of goods?” asked David.
O’Donnell looked in Josie’s direction. “Are you sure you want to talk about this in front of your wife?”
“Anything you say to me you can say to her.”
“Well, given you were in business with one of Chicago’s biggest bootleggers, Joe thought you might be open to a similar enterprise.”
“Mikey Corrigan is a friend and his alleged bootlegging activities were never proven.”
“Pull my other leg, won’t you?” O’Donnell pulled out a cigar and offered it to David. “Cigar?”
“No, thank you.”
“Prohibition is over,” said Josie. “What similar enterprise does Mr. Kennedy have in mind?”
“One that could be very profitable here at home. In fact…”
They were interrupted by someone at the podium. “Could everyone please take your seats? Dinner is about to begin.”
“Why don’t we continue this later?” said O’Donnell, as they made their way toward the tables.
“We can talk again,” said David. “But I’m not interested in doing any business with the Third Reich.”
“You haven’t heard our offer yet.”
“I don’t need to.”
O’Donnell grasped David’s forearm, then pulled him close. “I think you’ll want to hear our offer, Remington, if you care about that wife of yours.”
David was about to punch O’Donnell when Lawrence approached, and O’Donnell took that opportunity to walk away while he still could.
“Where are we supposed to meet Kurt and Greta?” asked Lawrence.
“Her note said to wait here, and she’d meet us at seven.” David checked his watch. “So, I’d say we’ll see her in just a few…”
“You’ve come!” said Greta, as she and Kurt approached. They both looked like movie stars and Greta had an innate grace which had her gliding toward them, oblivious of the appreciative glances of the men she passed. “And I see Blake Williams is with you. I have so wanted to make your acquaintance. I thought you were wonderful in the Edward G. Robinson picture.”
“Thank you,” said Blake, as he slid his arm around Dora’s waist. “But I can’t claim to have wanted to make your acquaintance. Your family connection to the Third Reich isn’t one I admire.”
Greta’s smile faltered only the slightest. “We can only pick our friends, and not our relatives. Have you heard the latest rumor about Kurt? I hear he is the odds-on favorite to play Rhett Butler.”
“Oh, God, no,” said a horrified Josie, who then quickly added, “it’d probably take ages to film and poor Kurt would miss out on so many other possibilities.”
“I hadn’t thought of playing Rhett Butler until you mentioned it, Greta,” said Kurt. “But I should look into it.”
Josie would never forgive herself if, in addition to prolonging World War II, her time travel excursions resulted in Kurt Franklin playing Rhett Butler. She really did need to stay home once this was all fixed.
“Why don’t we find your table?” said Greta. “I believe dinner is about to begin.”
They made their way into the large ballroom filled with dozens of round tables. The crowd happily mingled as they found their seats and alcohol flowed freely. Josie heard two women discussing Gary Cooper in Mr. Deeds Goes to Town, while a group of men argued about baseball. They could’ve been in a Frank Capra movie, if not for the giant Nazi flag hanging over the dais.
The Tinseltown Murderer Page 8
