The Sharpest Needle

by Renee Patrick

  ‘I hope for Marion’s sake more people than him and us are there. She’s breaking the bank on food.’ As I took a seat, a sigh escaped me. ‘We still don’t know who’s behind the letters. If it’s not Kaspar Biel, whoever grabs the painting will have to deal with him, and I wish them luck.’

  ‘No thoughts on who it might be?’

  ‘That’s what I was about to ask you.’ I hesitated to voice my suspicions. ‘My guess would be Anthony Selden. He’s been tracking Otto Haas’s paintings all over Europe. And Timothy and Vera – or whatever their names are – have pegged him for it.’

  ‘Surely that might be to deflect attention from themselves? They’re the reason the painting is in the United States to begin with.’

  ‘They’re number two on my list. I believe they’d do anything to keep their friend’s work out of the hands of the Nazis.’

  ‘Or Il Duce, the fate it would meet should Mr Kehoe acquire it. You haven’t mentioned him.’

  ‘That’s only because he’s the one person in this scenario who doesn’t know the Montsalvo is really a Haas. Unless I’m wrong about that.’ I massaged my temples. ‘I could be wrong about everything. It’s happened before. Do you have any brainwaves you’d care to share?’

  ‘Only that Argus, whoever it is, enlisted Carter Muncy in this effort. If we could find some link to Mr Muncy, it—’

  A soft knock derailed her train of thought. A secretary opened the door, only to have Mitchell Leisen bull past her and into the office. ‘Thank God, there’s no radio on in here. I can hear myself think. I tell you, my nerves are being done in by all this chatter. And no one’s getting any work done.’ He paused his monologue to give me an unforgiving once-over. ‘Perhaps I should invite my friends to the lot to keep me company as well, given the circumstances. Edith, do you have those sketches?’

  Naturally, she did. Leisen flipped through them, his expression neutral. ‘There may be something usable here. I suppose they give us a place to start, at least.’

  Edith didn’t blanch at his words. In fact, she half-smiled. ‘Funny you should say that, Mitch. Just the other day I was thinking about where you started. As a director.’

  ‘Cradle Song? When we were both young.’

  ‘Even before that. The Eagle and the Hawk. Earlier in 1933. I came across some of Travis’s costumes for it in storage.’

  Leisen chuckled grimly. ‘Travis was a terror on that picture. He and Lombard squared off against everyone. Giving us headaches even then.’

  Edith wouldn’t utter a word against Travis Banton, the designer who’d been her predecessor and mentor at Paramount. Instead, she turned to me, her words almost furiously upbeat. ‘Lillian, you must have seen that film.’

  ‘Of course.’ I trusted what Edith wanted from me was the truth, served sunny side up. ‘Both times, when it first came out and again when it was reissued this year.’

  ‘Back when all the war talk started. The timing was wrong. April was too early.’ Leisen seemed authentically put out that Germany hadn’t coordinated the invasion with him. ‘If the film were going into theaters today … who am I kidding? I’d rather see The Women myself.’

  ‘At least your name was on the picture the second time around,’ Edith said. ‘By then no one could deny your contribution.’

  ‘I wasn’t under contract in 1933. Whereas now, I like to think my name means a little something. They recut the picture when they reissued it, you know. The Production Code demanded it. Cheapened the whole thing. It figures that’s the version my name is on.’

  ‘Still, it’s a testament to your skill. Directing the likes of Carole Lombard, Fredric March and Cary Grant, when you’d never done that kind of work before. Stepping into the breach the way you did.’

  ‘We did save that one, didn’t we? No matter what this new ragged version looks like. I recall the work you did with Travis then, too, when he’d get in his cups.’

  ‘And look where we are now,’ Edith said solemnly. ‘Holding the fort while the world collapses.’

  As Leisen nodded with satisfaction, I tumbled to Edith’s plan. She was putting Bill Ihnen’s advice into practice, reassuring the fussy filmmaker by reminding him how far he – and she – had come. I decided to gild the lily. ‘I noticed in this morning’s paper that The Eagle and the Hawk is still in a few theaters,’ I said. ‘That might be just the thing to see this weekend.’

  ‘I’ll be happy to tell you exactly what the Breen Office made us cut out.’ Leisen shifted the sketches on Edith’s desk and tapped one of them. ‘I like this dress quite a bit. Needs to be a bit fuller, but the shape is right. I should find Sturges. We’re dropping the party at the farm and we need new lines to cover the gaps. No doubt Preston’s turning the air blue about my cuts, but he’s the one who wrote the lawyer as an urbane type, a New Yorker, a talker. MacMurray’s not glib. Fred’s more the Indiana boy, the Hoosier who says fewer words but makes them count. Sturges needs to think of the picture and tailor his material to our actors.’ He nodded at the sketch one final time and showed himself out.

  Edith spoke as soon as the door shut behind him. ‘I’m sorry about that display, but I was not in the mood for any of his nonsense today. Now. About your costume.’

  ‘Yes. I want to be a pirate.’

  Edith lowered her glasses, the better to peer at me in confusion. ‘What?’

  ‘Specifically, I want to be Anne Bonny.’

  ‘I see. And who is Miss Bonny?’

  ‘She’s Irish, for one thing. Her father was no good and her mother was dealt a bad hand in life. She raised hell and did whatever she wanted. Most importantly, she wore men’s clothes.’

  Suppressing a grin, Edith said, ‘And that’s what you want.’

  ‘Tonight, I want to be ready for anything. I’d also like a fantastic hat.’

  ‘That I believe I can provide. Let’s consult the research library and see what we can find.’ As she got to her feet, she asked, ‘You haven’t told me who will be escorting you to Miss Davies’s affair this evening.’

  ‘I’m going on my own.’

  Edith paused, her hand on the door. ‘I’m not sure if I like that.’

  ‘Anne Bonny requires no escort,’ I said with all the braggadocio I could muster. From Edith’s wan reaction, I doubted I’d shivered any timbers.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Outside the Wardrobe building, the atmosphere hadn’t changed; the air, scented with honeysuckle, continued to feel tentative, as if in hope the perils we faced would blow over provided we managed to keep still. Disastrous news, it seemed, reduced us all to children.

  I wanted to play hide-and-don’t-bother-to-seek when I spotted Gene striding toward me. He was the last person I expected to see on the Paramount lot. Instead of running I shouldered my burden of boxes and bags, then showcased my best accessory: what I hoped was a confident smile. ‘Hey, stranger,’ I said in halest, heartiest fashion. ‘What brings you here?’

  ‘What do you think? Costumes.’ Agony was evident in his voice. ‘I’m picking them up for the boys attending this party tonight. Honestly, what is it with show-business people? Always playing dress-up. Can’t they have bridge parties like everyone else?’

  ‘You’d better tell me what you’re going as, so I’ll recognize you.’

  ‘I have no idea. Whatever fits, I suppose. Edith will have final say. May she be gentle with me. How about you? You going as a pirate?’

  I gasped. ‘Who told you that?’

  He pointed. ‘The hat poking out of that bag is a giveaway. It’s either pirate or town crier, which doesn’t seem your style. Although Lord knows you love to talk.’

  ‘That’s me. Blessed with the blarney.’

  ‘As your uncle Danny likes to say.’ Gene smiled. ‘On whose arm will you be this evening?’

  ‘Addison’s.’

  ‘You don’t say. No date, then?’ The question sounded nonchalant, but I flattered myself into thinking I detected a low-key enthusiasm in it.

  ‘I
t’s a work night. Edith will explain our latest discovery regarding the Montsalvo painting. You can see it for yourself. It’s stashed in her office for the time being.’

  ‘Never a dull moment with you, is there?’

  ‘I could use a few of them right now.’ I shifted the packages in my hands. ‘Thank you for everything you’ve done.’

  ‘Thank me later. After we’ve apprehended Argus tonight.’

  ‘You’ve been kind to Marion. Kept her name out of the spotlight.’

  ‘The poor woman hasn’t done anything wrong. And that’s about the only way she can be described as “poor”.’ We both chuckled automatically, then stood in silence a moment. ‘Any war news?’ Gene asked. ‘I’ve been running around most of the day.’

  ‘So have I.’ A thought flashed through my mind so quickly I couldn’t keep it from my face. Gene stepped closer, showing concern. ‘You won’t have to go to war, will you?’

  ‘We’re not in it yet.’ Another lapse; he didn’t want to reassure me any more than that. ‘I shouldn’t keep Edith waiting.’

  ‘OK, but give me some idea of how I’ll find you tonight.’

  ‘Let me find you. I won’t be able to miss that hat.’ He seemed ready to say more, but instead flashed a wry grin and went on his way.

  At home, I laid out the night’s attire on my bed, all of it courtesy of Paramount Pictures. Edith had found a pair of striped slacks, the fit comfortable, the colors bold flashes of maroon and green. She had opted not to sew up the gash at the knee: ‘Tell anyone who asks it’s from a swordfight.’ She had added a brown leather vest and a man’s shirt with puffy sleeves. ‘Take this jacket,’ she’d said, handing me a tightly tailored purple frock coat. ‘It’s historically accurate, but you may not want to bother with it in this heat. As for weapons, that’s not my department. You’ll have to befriend someone in props.’ The hat she’d provided, a tricorne with a vivid crimson plume, would not only catch the eye but hold it.

  Downstairs, the telephone rang several times, then Mrs Quigley called my name. As I aspirated the ‘h’ in ‘hello’, Kay Dambach’s voice boomed out of the receiver. ‘Guess who’ll be joining you at tonight’s beachfront bash?’ she crowed.

  I congratulated her, wondering what dark alchemy on her part had netted her an invitation. ‘You’ll be giving Lorna Whitcomb and Louella Parsons a run for their money in no time,’ I said.

  ‘W.R.’s no fool. He knows this racket needs new blood. Now tell me what’s going on at this little barbecue. Why are you and Marion thicker than thieves these days?’

  ‘No reason. Honest,’ I lied with conviction. ‘She and Addison have known each other for years. I introduced Edith because Marion loves show people. That’s it.’

  Kay grunted dubiously. ‘You know I’m still smarting over you not telling me about your trip to Hearst’s ranch.’

  ‘Like I told you, the whole thing was last minute. I couldn’t have given you much gossip anyway. Too busy working for Addison.’ A stray thought occurred to me. ‘I did meet one interesting person. Anthony Selden?’

  ‘Did His Nibs get fresh? There are stories.’

  ‘Any worth repeating?’

  ‘Only that he’s knocking on the door of a knighthood but won’t get one because he’s a complete bounder. Not only with the ladies. For a fellow who fashions himself as art dealer to the stars in Los Angeles, New York, and points Continental, he’s done dodgy deals aplenty. Inflated prices, trucking with unsavory partners. Whatever he cons Addison into buying, have him bite it to make sure it’s real. A posh accent and a black heart. But my readers don’t care about art. Now tell me who I should keep the peepers peeled for tonight.’

  I got her off the line as quickly as I could. Then, after a few moments’ deliberation, I dialed another number. One I’d been meaning to ring for several days.

  The crew at Cavanaugh’s had chosen the lull between lunch and dinner to scrub down the café. The heavy scent of Dutch cleanser had knocked the aroma of burnt hamburger into submission. Even my glass of water tasted of the stuff.

  Simon set aside his menu. ‘We could have met somewhere else. Anywhere else.’

  ‘I have a party to get ready for soon.’

  ‘About that.’ He picked up his napkin and wrapped it around his hand, as if preparing to step into the ring. ‘My night’s free. Can you bring a date to this function? I’m concerned about you going to a party when the world’s falling apart.’

  ‘And about that,’ I said. ‘I’ve been thinking of you today. A lot of this news must seem familiar.’

  ‘It’s nowhere near as stupid as the last war. I never understood how that one got started. I was still trying to figure it out on the boat over. It’s a lot of the same players with the same grievances. I expect the same result.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Plenty of weeping mothers and men with wounds they can’t hide. It’s not my war, at least. I fought mine, and I’m too broken down for them to send me back. Right now, we have to figure out who you’ll be dancing with at this party.’

  ‘No dancing tonight. I’ll be otherwise occupied.’

  ‘That’ll look obvious, a woman like you not on the floor. You need a fella. Let me take you. I’ve already got my costume. I can go as the ghost of Lon Chaney.’ He angled his lanky frame toward me, brandishing the scarred flesh at his temple like a little boy frightening his sister with a set of novelty teeth.

  His blasé attitude made me shiver. To cover it up, I swatted him. ‘Don’t say things like that.’

  ‘Fine. I won’t. If you don’t go to this party alone.’

  ‘I won’t be alone.’

  Now he spun the napkin between both hands, pulling it taut. ‘Who’s taking you? Morrow?’

  ‘He’ll be there, but he’s not taking me.’

  ‘And you don’t want me to.’

  ‘No, Simon. I don’t.’ The words came out too soft. If I was going to say my piece, better I do so definitively, even defiantly. ‘We’re friends. I’ll always be here to listen to you. But what happened between us was …’

  I faltered, the irresistible undertow of Irish Catholic guilt snagging me, pulling me down. Simon smirked. ‘Go ahead. Finish the thought. You were going to say, “a mistake”.’

  ‘No. It absolutely was not a mistake.’ Now I spoke too loudly, the few late-afternoon customers in Cavanaugh’s turning my way. ‘It was what I wanted.’

  Simon leaned back to appraise me. ‘But it’s not what you want anymore.’

  There it was, the verdict rendered far more simply than I could ever manage it. But it sounded so cold that I couldn’t bring myself to agree with it. ‘What do you want, exactly? Do you see some great romantic future between us?’

  Simon said nothing, wheels turning behind his eyes. Like a chess player, he was thinking multiple moves ahead. I had visions of him abruptly saying ‘Yes’ and dropping to a knee on the polished floor of Cavanaugh’s to propose in an audacious bid to reach checkmate. A remote prospect, but one I had to ward off at once.

  ‘I don’t know what I want,’ I said flatly. ‘I only know what I don’t want.’

  ‘And that’s me.’ He flung his napkin away, the cloth leaving bone-white welts on his hands. His head bobbed closer; now he used the blanched skin on his face to bully me. ‘You’ve made it clear you want nothing to do with me.’

  ‘That’s not what I said. I want you to be—’

  ‘To be your lackey. Your driver when you need to go to Agoura. A person you keep company with only when the mood strikes you. Is that about the size of it?’

  I felt the urge to slump in despair. Instead, I sat up straighter. ‘You’ve always treated me as a very worldly person. It’s one of the things I’ve always liked about you. But when I act worldly, you don’t seem to care for it.’

  That brought Simon up short. He stared at me, confused. ‘That doesn’t sound like you. So much so I’m not sure who I’m talking to.’

  I am the fierce pirate Anne Bonny
. I live and love as I please. Woe betide all who deny me liberty.

  ‘You know who I am,’ I said. ‘Your friend. You can always talk to me.’

  ‘And wanting to do more than talk to you makes me the villain of the piece. No thank you. I can keep my own counsel from now on.’ Simon pushed himself up from the counter. ‘Is it the war? Is that what’s making you do this?’

  No, I thought. The prospect of war would have driven me straight into your arms. Then I realized that Simon was right, and the war was to blame. It cast everything in stark relief, forcing me to choose, possibly for the first time, what – and who – mattered to me. Plus, the news of my father’s death had only compounded my confusion, the tumult of emotions it stirred up leaving me unmoored. Who had used that word with me?

  Right. Gene.

  Simon didn’t wait for my response. ‘If you make up your mind, let me know. I might still be around. Enjoy your party. Fiddle while Rome and every place else burn.’

  He stormed out of the café. After a suitable interval, a waitress approached to retrieve our menus. I held onto mine and ordered a late lunch of a toasted cheese sandwich with a vegetable salad. The fierce pirate Anne Bonny would require every ounce of her strength this evening.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Night had not yet fallen when the taxi dropped me off, but Ocean House was already aglow. Again, I could hear but not see the Pacific lapping at its side. I pictured the house in the inky darkness a few hours’ hence, its luminance giving way to the fathomless black over the water. Squadrons of planes could descend from those skies, homing in on those garish lights. Periscopes could rise from those waters. All at once the house didn’t seem impregnable but vulnerable, a foolhardy vanity that invited catastrophe.

  Get a hold of yourself, Frost. Nobody’s storming California’s beaches tonight. It’s the weekend.

  I cinched up my borrowed trousers, regretting that toasted cheese sandwich, then tucked a prop flintlock pistol into my waistband. With that, Anne Bonny set sail.

  As I entered the house, several retainers turned to me expectantly, their trays poised. First-guest status had been my intent, but having achieved it I came over all tongue-tied. Before I could ask for my hostess, Marion appeared, done up as Joan of Arc. She hadn’t donned a suit of armor, simply the breastplate, woolen tights and a fetching bowl-cut wig. She spun on her toe with the fluid grace of a dancer, giving me a full look at her ensemble.