The Retrieval

by Lucius Parhelion

  It still served to snap Jake out of his daze. He said, “That’s me, Mr. Mor. This is my pal, Mr. Hunter. He wanted to have a look at the collection, especially the mallard duck.”

  “The teal,” the tweedy man corrected, even as he moved out of the way to let them inside. “A mallard duck wouldn’t be nearly as interesting as a teal. I’m Grayson Burke, Mr. Tildon’s assistant. He had to attend an estate auction today and tenders his apologies. Please follow me.”

  As they trailed after Burke into a living room decorated in the very latest style, Charlie managed to murmur, “A duck. Why will I be looking at a duck?”

  Jake had recovered enough to murmur back with a grin, “A teal,” which nearly earned him another jab to the ribs.

  Charlie’s question answered itself when they halted before the upside-down u-curve of the coffee table. Laid out in careful display were the ancient and battered accoutrements of a duck hunter. There sat a set of duck calls, two neatly stitched game bags, well-worn canvas waders, even a nicely painted, if faded, wooden decoy: Charlie could have been staring at odds and ends foraged from the attics of one of his elderly male relatives. No, these items had an individualism to them that hinted their owner had never shopped the hallowed halls of Abercrombie & Fitch. In fact, the equipment all seemed to be hand-crafted.

  “Folk art?” Charlie hazarded.

  Burke lit up so quickly Charlie might as well have replaced a burnt-out fuse. “Yes, a magnificent set with documented provenance to the 1860s. Some of the whistles are very likely older. As well, we believe the teal decoy was carved by a certain Mr. Lothrop Holmes, which makes it of special interest. His work is becoming collectable. A true master of his self-taught craft.”

  Hearing those words, Charlie braced himself. Sure enough, it took almost an hour, and examining every object on the table in detail as well as watching them all be packed into an also ancient wicker chest, to free himself from Burke’s enthusiasm for authentic expressions of the native artistic genius rising toward fruition within their rustic American ancestors.

  “I may have to consider hurting you,” Charlie told Jake when Mr. Burke had left the room to discretely dispose of Laura’s check. Jake’s initial, wary look gave way to obvious amusement when Charlie continued, “I suppose I earned all that with my homily to you about aesthetics, but his detailed veer into doting on eagle weather vanes was still cruel and unusual punishment.”

  “We’ll get your lunch after this. At least, we will if we don’t have to head across town to--” Jake had glanced at his watch, and his expression was just shifting toward alarmed as Burke entered.

  Young Mr. Burke smiled at them coyly enough to support Charlie’s opinion about Burke’s inclinations. “Now then, as to your other business. There are three candidates here for you to choose between, but if you’d allow a mere acquaintance to suggest…” Burke’s pause was discretion at its finest.

  “Great idea. I need all the help I can get when choosing,” Jake said hastily.

  Burke’s lips twitched but he stilled them before saying, “Really, Mr. Mor. It’s in my best interest to claim you make excellent choices, no matter which of your hobbies you might presently be enjoying. I’ll fetch my idea of your best candidate.” He bustled back out.

  When Charlie looked over for an explanation, Jake’s features were broadcasting a bout between amusement and outrage. After a struggle, outrage won and Jake burst out with “Did he just say that?” He turned to face Charlie and demanded, “Did he really imply what I think he did right in front of you?”

  “Might I point out that I’m not supposed to know enough about your previous acquaintanceship with Mr. Burke to answer your second question?”

  Jake seemed to deflate. “Oh. You bet. We never did have that talk I’d planned on, did we?”

  “We did not.” Taking pity on Jake’s visible chagrin, Charlie asked him, “Is this a talk you’ve been rehearsing with yourself for a while now?”

  “No, with my shaving mirror.”

  “Even better. I’m certain it will go well. What -- or who -- is Mr. Burke fetching now?”

  “That second favor I mentioned? We’re picking up some company for the party tonight, the last of Laura’s gifts.”

  As Jake spoke, Charlie heard footsteps in the hall made by more feet than just Burke’s. “My Lord. What fresh hell is this?”

  Before Jake could answer, Burke came back in accompanied by -- or accompanying -- a dog. The dog was a tall, grey fellow with floppy ears, one who proceeded to sit with the ineffable air of amiable superiority you saw around Westminster Kennel Club shows.

  Bemused, Charlie only stared as Burke held out the leash. Jake, on the other hand, quickly got to his feet and took custody of the dog.

  Burke told them, “This is Uwe von Entejäger Kamp although, in this country, he’ll condescend to answer to Ducky.” Burke may have smiled at his own jest, but the dog was dignified enough that addressing him as Ducky did seem like an imposition.

  “I don’t recognize the breed,” Charlie said.

  “Weimaraners. They’re almost unknown in the United States and quite rare over in Europe. Even the non-breeders like Ducky are very valuable.”

  The dog -- Ducky -- was looking around the room, his ears now alert with energetic interest. He seemed quite prepared to go off adventuring with Jake and Charlie, only restrained from urging their immediate departure by good manners and the lack of proper introductions.

  “Hi, Ducky,” Jake said, and offered a hand. Ducky considered this gesture, sniffed with stately interest, and then thumped his tail a few times on the geometrically patterned carpet. Resigned to his fate, Charlie rose to introduce himself as well.

  ***

  As they packed the car a few minutes later, Charlie stepped aside to speak with Burke. “Will he be all right in the rumble seat?”

  “He’s very well-mannered as long as he’s had his exercise.”

  “So Ducky returns when called?”

  “Oh, yes. He’s been retrained to answer commands in English and knows the voice of authority.”

  Charlie looked over to where Jake was fastening Ducky’s lead to a seat strap behind the wicker basket while explaining something to the dog. The over-expressiveness that made diplomacy hard for Jake often worked well with children or pets. Ducky seemed to listen with the same air of friendly but intent concentration that Charlie would wager Jake got from his fellow mapmakers at Miller and Miller. Even so, Charlie asked Burke, “Then is there some park around here where we can let him run loose if we need to? I don’t believe in keeping anyone so evidently smart and lively on too short a leash.”

  “I can see that, Mr. Hunter. If you don’t mind my saying so, you’re wise.” Although Mr. Burke’s tone was demure, his eyes were amused as he glanced over at Jake and then away. “Although I don’t think the Palace Baths are quite right for Ducky’s days out… You might want to try Silver Lake’s reservoir instead.”

  Charlie suppressed a sigh even as he made a mental note about the name of that Turkish bath. He hadn’t meant to imply-- But Burke was obviously part of whatever served Hollywood for lavender social circles, as opposed to the miscellaneous fellows you met in parks and bars. And he seemed to have mistaken Jake for a young man with a patron’s permission to roam.

  Well. Better that than him thinking Jake was both faithless and feral. Such rumors could cause untoward expectations in a place like Hollywood, untoward expectations might lead to demands rather than requests, and demands rather than requests summoned Jake’s fists as more than one of Laura’s pursuers had learned. Burke’s mistake had its uses.

  “Thank you, Mr. Burke,” Charlie settled for saying, and held out a hand.

  “I hope to see you again soon, Mr. Hunter,” Burke said as they shook.

  “I’d imagine you will, given that I’m moving to Hollywood. Even though I’m sure I disp
layed my limitations when it came to scrimshaw, your modern décor was also intriguing. It’s always pleasant to deal with someone who shares my tastes.” They exchanged knowing smiles.

  When he got into the roadster, Charlie turned around to check on Ducky, who sat tall in the rumble seat next to the upended wicker basket, examining his new surroundings with interest, “You’re doing well. Good boy.”

  Ducky received his due accolade graciously. Charlie turned back to ask Jake, “Where to next?”

  Jake gazed at him silently, all of the wariness returned to his features.

  “Oh, don’t give me that look. You’re the one who just now confirmed you’ve been busy changing teams.” The traffic was light and the sidewalks were empty now that Burke was returning inside. “If you believe I didn’t have my suspicions even without meeting one of your recent playmates, I think I’m insulted.”

  “Really? If you suspected, I wish you’d told me.” Jake glowered even as he started the car. “I could have used the news a lot earlier than I got it, and it’s not like you didn’t have a great chance to say something right after we first met.”

  “What? You mean after that proposition of yours?” On some level, Charlie was amazed to hear himself raise his voice in public. “Are you mad? Jake, you were sixteen!” Then he craned around to check their surroundings again. No, they were driving through a quiet residential neighborhood.

  Jake still had to raise his voice right back, even if it was only to be heard over the engine. “So what? You were, I don’t know, twenty-five?”

  “Twenty-six, as opposed to sixteen. I was too old for you even if you hadn’t been offering up your all merely to keep Laura from having to do likewise with my fellow backer because of his moronic ideas about how to cast that insipid rooftop review.”

  “Trust you to get that said in one breath.” Jake snorted. “And, let me point out here, The Nighttime Chorale not only paid back the stake you inherited from your uncle, it made Laura’s career. Once you forced Kimble and the producers to cast her.”

  “Because she could sing, and because Kimble, the producers, and I had all agreed not to use the casting couch. He deserved any frustration he got after trying to cheat on our deal.”

  “Doesn’t change the fact you made them cast her. I would have come across, you know. Fair’s fair.”

  “Sixteen. Back then your sister would have needed to look up the anatomy to find out where to start, and she still would have gelded me with a dull and rusty tuning fork.”

  “Maybe,” Jake said, although he had winced.

  “Likely. Don’t forget, I know the pair of you. I know you both all too well. And I prefer escorting her to dinner parties while speaking in a baritone, thank you.” Charlie narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you dare tell me you weren’t relieved at the time.”

  “Maybe?”

  “Aroo,” Ducky interjected, his half-bark, half-moan disapproving.

  “No,” Charlie told him. “You do not get an opinion. You weren’t present; believe me, I would have noticed.”

  “I think he saw a cat at that last stop sign. Anyhow, ‘maybe’ is all you get. After you marched me back home to Hell’s Kitchen that night, Laura asked me what I thought I was trying to do, and I couldn’t altogether tell her. I had to wonder. Then, after I moved out here, and female extras were trying hard to cozy up to Laura Moore’s brother, I had to wonder even more. ‘How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable--’”

  “Thank you, Master Shakespeare. Good to know you paid attention to more than maps in those college classes.”

  “I wasn’t going to waste Laura’s money even if I did pay her back.”

  “Oh? You don’t sponge worth a damn, do you? No wonder she’s reduced to sneaking you gloriously ridiculous roadsters on birthdays when you can’t refuse.” Charlie took a deep breath and let it out. He had no right to complain, but since Jake had broached the topic-- “I’ve been in and out of this town for years, you know, if you were so very, very curious.”

  Jake got them turned right onto another hilly street curving off into obscurity. “Because what a suave and sentimental type like you needs is to give a pal a hand and then have him upchuck afterward.”

  That was a show-stopper. “Did you really vomit?”

  “Only because I was drunk as a skunk.” Jake must have seen Charlie’s wince. “Okay, maybe there were some nerves I tried to soothe with booze. I’m past all that now. Be grateful you missed the worst months of drama.”

  “Since, being a suave type, I’ve never assisted you with any other little social difficulty. And although sentimentality is obviously not your cup of tea, as a trait it might seem to suggest I could have helped you with the nerves.” When Jake drew in a deep breath, starting to speak, Charlie raised a hand and said, “Don’t press your luck.”

  “I was going to say sorry.”

  “Fine. You’ve said it. And now I’m taking a break to indulge in the additional traits of being petty, thin-skinned, and morose.”

  After that, for several miles of town and countryside, silence reigned. Even Ducky was quiet in the rumble seat. However, Charlie’s conscience wouldn’t let him wallow too long when more important matters still needed to be discussed.

  Making sure his voice was calm, Charlie broke the silence by saying, “All right, enough sulking. You’re certain?”

  “Now I am.” Jake turned right off of some Hollywood commercial street or other before he added, “I don’t mind, much. This being a Nance, it’s not going to be too bad if I’m careful.”

  “Not if you’re also very lucky, but how did you figure that out on your own?”

  “On my own? I’ve been around Broadway or Hollywood most of my life. Once I’d swallowed hard -- I know, ha-ha -- I already understood I didn’t have to be, what, slimy and evil? I could just be like you and some of the others except with less fa-la-la and more sis-boom-bah.”

  “You rehearsed that.” Charlie twisted around to tell Ducky, “He rehearsed that with his shaving mirror.”

  Ducky’s noise was more of a moan this time.

  Jake bridled. “Did we or did we not settle the question of me being an actor? No reviews accepted. Besides, we’re almost there.”

  “Almost where?”

  “To our noon appointment, to look at a house you might like.”

  Charlie frowned. “What about my lunch?”

  “After we’re done. First we’re going to follow this much of my original plan, come hell or high water.”

  “How about starvation?”

  “Come starvation, too. This particular real estate agent is also my landlady. It’d be safer for me to snub Norma Shearer at the Cocoanut Grove.”

  Having spent most of his adult life in Manhattan, Charlie couldn’t argue against the importance of pacifying landlords. Resigned, he looked around the sparsely-built, hilly street. “And where are we this time?”

  “Not far from my apartment house, west of Hollywood above Sunset Boulevard. Lots of movie people live around here, including some of the Manhattan crowd. It’s not as showy or expensive as Beverly Hills and there’s more of a nightlife.” After vigorously thrusting out his arm to signal one last right turn, Jake pulled up to the curb. “Here’s Mrs. Hurley.”

  A rangy, elderly lady, who had been seated in a folding chair by the front steps of the house, rose to her feet. She extended a long arm to wave with zest. “Yoo-hoo! Jake!”

  “Hi, Mrs. Hurley!” It wasn’t hard to sort out the mixture of affection and trepidation in Jake’s voice. Charlie resolved to be charming.

  As she strode briskly over to the roadster, Mrs. Hurley was already talking. “Now, are you sure you want to view this particular property, Sweetie? The current owner means to sell, not rent. Anyone helping you buy is going to want onto the title. And I don’t know if…” Trailing off, she lifted her tortoiseshell glasses and
peered at the roadster from beneath them. “But who’s this?” She was not addressing Charlie.

  “Oh, that’s Ducky,” Jake told her, already out of and around the auto to her side even as Charlie was still climbing through his door. “Don’t mind him.”

  “I don’t,” she said, and beamed. Then, “Hello, gorgeous,” she continued, not talking to Jake this time. She extended a multi-ringed hand toward the rumble seat.

  For a moment, Charlie had the oddest notion that Ducky would bow and kiss the back of her hand as he clicked both sets of heels. Instead the dog settled for a polite sniff and a soft, approving noise.

  “Aw, look at you,” she said. “What a handsome fellow. Well, now I understand. You can’t keep a big boy like this on a property without some room. Come along, you two, and have a look-see.” Without another word, she turned and strode away just as briskly as she had approached.

  Jake opened his mouth and then, quite sensibly in Charlie’s opinion, closed it without trying to catch Mrs. Hurley’s attention. Instead he shrugged at Charlie and asked, “Could you…?” before racing to catch up with her.

  “It seems you’re coming with us,” Charlie told Ducky.

  Ducky stood up on the rumble seat and Charlie leaned in to unfasten the strap twined through the dog lead. After they had sorted themselves out on the sidewalk, Charlie commanded Ducky, “Heel,” which earned him an intensely interested look as the dog came precisely to position at hip. Then they hurried to join Mrs. Hurley, who was telling Jake something about a detached garage along the alley to the side of the two-story house.

  This place was a little too large for a snug set of bachelor quarters, was Charlie’s first thought. This place was ridiculously attractive, was his second. Oh, no one would ever mistake it for anything authentically Spanish, but all the tile roofing, hardwood floors, iron curlicues, and rounded corners still murmured Mediterranean to Charlie. He had a weakness for balconies. And the rooms were well-designed and well-crafted for the local climate, to boot.