‘This Joe guy know you live there? You know you’ll never get free of that poison long as he’s around. You realize that, right?’
‘Sure, but what can I do? Move? I got no money to go anywhere else. I already owe three weeks.’
‘What about if I find you somewhere to stay?’
She stared at him, her lips parted, unsure of what he was suggesting.
‘Not here,’ he said, strangling that possibility. ‘I have friends who could maybe help. Until you’re back on your feet again, I mean. But you’d have to stay away from Joe, and from that stuff. You’d have to make me that promise.’
He wasn’t sure why he was saying any of this. He might not even be able to produce the little he was offering. But he wanted to help.
‘I can ask around about some work for you, too, if you do OK,’ he added. ‘Might not be acting, but it’d get you started. Would you quit it for that?’
Her eyes lit up and she threw her arms around his neck. ‘Oh Lord, I knew you were—’ The rest was lost in his coat. He pushed her off, embarrassed.
‘Hang on. All I said is I’ll try. Let’s wait and see how it goes, yeah?’ He raised her chin with his balled fist, fixed his eyes on hers. ‘It might take a day or two to organize. And you have to do it proper. No second chances. Meantime, you can stay here. Anybody asks, say you’re my niece, visiting.’
She flashed an uncertain smile at him. ‘Actually, you know. Somebody did ask. Earlier.’
He stared at her, puzzled. ‘Someone called?’
‘On the telephone.’ She grabbed the note on the table, unfolded it, held it out to him. ‘I wrote it down here and forgot to say. Mr Sennett called, wants you to go see him at the studio.’
‘Did he remember you from last night?’
Her bottom lip trembled as she tried to force a smile. ‘Sure he did. Said something mean about having a feeling I’d be here. Said I could hand in his clothes any time at the studio front office. Just as soon as I got them laundered.’
NINE
Tom gunned the roadster over the crest of the hill and took in the movie-making sprawl spread across the vale beyond. Seen from the high ground to the south-west, Mack Sennett’s studio in Edendale looked as ramshackle and chaotic as any of his pie-throwing Keystone Kops two-reelers. But as so often with Sennett, reality was the opposite of how it seemed. Over ten years the studio had grown steadily from two acres to well over twenty and now it was a dense warren of offices, workshops, open sets and canvas-covered stages, packed on to three blocks either side of Glendale Boulevard. On one flank, a collection of sagging timber shacks, storehouses and barns, torn-down scenery flats propped against every surface. On the other side, a scattering of concrete buildings had sprung up, testament to the fact that Sennett aimed not so much for permanence as permanent expansion. Yet it all ran as efficiently as a well-maintained machine.
Finding a space amid the ranks of autos parked nose-in along the street, Tom jumped down and walked back to the main gate. A dust-smothered truck drew up out front and discharged a gang of chattering actors and actresses back from a shoot. Within a minute they’d disappeared noisily beneath the mission-style arch that spanned the entrance, pausing only to collect a pass from the hands of a man in a tweed suit standing in a sentry box, a cast-off prop from some long-forgotten actioner. By the time Tom reached the gate, the man was sitting back inside. All that could be seen was a pair of gnarled hands poking out, clutching the sports pages of the Herald.
‘Hey, Al,’ Tom said, rapping hard on the side of the box.
A small, grizzled head in a brown derby turtle-necked out above the newspaper, the deep-lined face bearing a smile of recognition.
‘Evening, Mr Collins,’ the gateman replied. ‘You see Young Brown give that Coffey guy a pummeling at the Stadium last night?’ He pointed towards Fane Norton’s Fighting Words column in the paper. ‘Sounds like a real doozie.’
‘I’m too busy for any kind a pleasure these days, Al.’
The gateman liked that. He smiled wider and tipped his forehead with a finger. ‘Sure, sure, know what you mean,’ he said. ‘You in to see the old man?’
‘For my sins.’
‘Proceed, sir.’ The gateman swept a hand out and down, a mocking courtly gesture. Tom smiled, took the pass and made his way along the lot’s main strip towards the four-floor tower from which Sennett controlled his empire.
Despite the failing daylight, all around the air still rang with hoots of mirth, shrieks of surprise and occasional bursts of rollicking mood music. Clutches of actors and actresses loitered in costume, gossiping and smoking: a buccaneer swapping gags with a turbaned potentate, a mustachioed villain in top hat and tails sweet-talking a princess in high-piled wig and billowing gown. As he passed the commissary, a waft of warm and aromatic stew caressed Tom’s nostrils. Thick, meaty goulash bubbled like a mirage in his mind. Studio commissaries invariably reflected the people who used them. Lasky’s had pretentions to refinement, Metro’s to austerity. Sennett’s excelled in hearty, belly-filling fare. Tom peered in at the crowds of crewmen and players waiting in line to be served, or seated at bench tables chowing down on bowlfuls of steaming stew, and became aware of the chill air of the dying day and a yawning cavern in his stomach. He checked his watch, licked his lips and succumbed.
TEN
The elevator bell clanged and the doors opened directly into the top-floor office. Straight ahead, a wall of glass flared with the gaudy drama of sunset. In the center of the room, Sennett was perched on the edge of a long table listening, if it could be called that, to a clamoring band of gagmen, directors and players. Bug-eyes, buck teeth, bugle beaks, every one had a face born for comedy. And all shouting across each other. Sennett alone looked up and registered Tom’s arrival. He glanced at the gold pocket watch he held open in his hand, and back at Tom again.
‘Good, you’re here. About time, too,’ he shouted, and waved him in. The racket subsided and all eyes turned towards Tom, though with one or two the optics were so skewed it was difficult to tell.
‘Gentlemen, take a lesson from Mr Collins here,’ Sennett drawled. ‘Punctuality will always buy you a seat at my table. Now get your sad asses out of here and wrap things up for today. Anyone still desperate to see me, make it tub-side, in forty minutes.’
The clamor broke out again as Sennett rose and began herding them towards the elevator. Tom crossed the plush red carpet to the wall of window and stared out at the studio below. The pulse of activity along its arteries was slowing now as evening triumphed and production was at as much of a standstill as it ever reached. A faint rhythm of hammering and sawing drifted up as sets were struck and preparations made for the next day’s early start. Electric lamps flickered on here and there, glowing beneath the long lengths of muslin stretched across the tops of open stages. It was all so peaceful he hardly noticed Sennett come stand beside him.
‘Beautiful, isn’t it? And people wonder at me because I gaze down on it from my tower. Don’t you think they would, too, if they had a tenth of it?’
‘I guess so.’ Tom knew for certain he would. ‘But maybe it’s not the gazing that they wonder at, Mack. Maybe it’s that you do it while you’re scrubbing your back.’
Tom nodded back towards the doorway in the wall beside the elevator. Beyond was another room, identical to this but for a fold-back roof, containing the huge tin bath in which Sennett spent a substantial part of every day and from which he conducted much of his business.
Sennett boomed out a short deep laugh. ‘Well, maybe so, maybe so. But I always said the tub’s where I do my best thinking. And if that’s what it takes to keep this show on the road, then let ’em wonder all they damn well like. Hell, half of ’em wouldn’t do any wonderin’ at all if we didn’t stick it up on a screen for them.’
Sennett put a hand on Tom’s shoulder and gave it an unusually amiable squeeze. ‘Come, sit down and have a drink. What’ve you got for me? Is Mabel in the clear yet?’
T
he telephone rang and Sennett snatched up the instrument, turning his back on Tom. He listened a moment, barked orders into the mouthpiece, then hung up and slammed it back down on the abused leather surface of the desk.
‘Hank goddamn Swann again. Heaven send me patience. Like he didn’t cause enough trouble last night. They just found him curled up round a bottle of laudanum over by the cyclorama. Out for the count.’
‘Sounds to me like the man could do with some time off.’
‘What, and give him the chance to kill himself properly? It would save me the trouble of sacking him, I suppose.’ Sennett pondered the consequences of that, then headed straight for the drinks cabinet, rattling the cover as he unlocked it. ‘What’ll it be? Whiskey? Bourbon?’
‘Irish, if you’ve got it.’
Sennett plucked two bottles from the many. He poured and pushed a glass across the desk, waiting for Tom to sit before he eased himself into his broad leather desk chair, a balloon of French brandy in his hand. Whereupon he fixed Tom with a sharp stare.
‘Speaking of Hank, what the heck was the matter with you last night? I didn’t think you were fool enough to have a soft spot for whores.’
The hair prickled on the back of Tom’s neck. ‘She’s not a whore.’
‘That’s why she was running around Hollywood after midnight wearing nothing but a car coat, right?’
‘Look, she’s a good kid, just lost her way a bit. Could do with some help. I was going to ask if you could maybe fix her up with something?’
‘Oh, Tommy boy, what she do? Ride your brains out? You know the rules.’
‘I thought you might push something her way.’
‘Nothing I don’t want getting the pox, I won’t.’
Tom breathed deep, knowing Sennett was deliberately riling him. ‘There’s no need for that, Mack. I’m telling you, she’s not a whore.’
‘Well, if she’s not, she must be a damn good actress then.’ Sennett boomed a salty blast of laughter at him. ‘Maybe I should take her on after all.’
‘Maybe you should. All I’m asking is you give her a chance. After she’s cleaned up. As a favor to me. But what do I get in return? Cheap goddamn shots.’
‘Hey, calm down there, Tom. I was only having a joke. It’s what we do around here, in case you didn’t notice.’ Sennett patted the desktop hard with the palm of his hand, the frown slowly loosening on his brow. ‘If the little floozie means so much to you, give Waldron a call and tell him I said try her out somewhere. But if she so much as—’
‘She won’t.’
‘Any bills from the pox doc go straight to you,’ Sennett muttered. ‘Now, for heaven’s sake, let’s get on with what matters. How’s Mabel doing?’
Tom took a breath. ‘I have no idea. I tried her at the apartment a couple of times but she wasn’t home and her maid wasn’t helping any. Said she was out and wasn’t expected back. Guess you can’t blame her with all those newspaper hounds sniffing about.’
‘You mean you don’t know where she is?’
Tom shook his head. ‘Haven’t a clue. From what you said last night, I took it you wanted me to concentrate on looking into what happened to Taylor. On that, I’ve come up with some interesting stuff. I spoke to that chauffeur of hers – Davis – and he said—’
Sennett broke in. ‘Forget that streak of misery. I only pay his wage because Mabel feels sorry for him and wouldn’t let me hire her a proper driver. I want you to get out there and find her, for Chrissakes.’
‘That’s not what you said last night, Mack. And, anyway, what does it matter where she is? You don’t think she’s run off, do you?’
‘Why would she?’ Sennett shook his head. ‘She’s got nothing to hide. Anyway, you don’t know her like I do. That wouldn’t be Mabel’s style.’
‘So what’s the problem? She’ll be fine. She’s probably holed up somewhere with some pals, keeping away from all the fuss.’
Sennett wagged a finger across the desk at him. ‘No. It’s getting serious for her now, Tom.’
‘But it’s no different from yesterday, Mack.’ He tried to mask the irritation in his voice. ‘I spoke to my guy in the detective squad and it’s all looking peachy for her. He was confident she wouldn’t be in the frame.’
Sennett was not impressed. ‘So, if the cops don’t think she’s involved, why in hell won’t they say that? Why’s all this muck still being raked over the front pages?’
‘You know the cops won’t do that, Mack. They’re not ruling anything, or anyone, out at this stage. No way is Miss Normand in the clear yet. I’m just telling you what my guy reckons.’
‘Did you see what they’re saying in the Herald?’
Sennett pulled a copy from his desk drawer and showed Tom the headline: Beauty Hired Slayer in Murder.
‘I’ve already read it, Mack. It’s garbage, right? You know they make it up.’
Sennett didn’t want to hear. ‘’Course they don’t come right out and accuse Mabel by name. Cowardly bastards. But that’s not all. Look, look …’
Sennett wrenched the newspaper open and pored over an inside page. ‘Here it is. Just listen to this: “Jealousy is believed by police to have been the motive for the slaying.” And it goes on: “Taylor may have been shot by the discarded suitor of a woman friend.” That’s me they’re talking about. You know it. They want to have it both ways. They’re accusing me now, too!’
‘Oh, come on, Mack. Get a grip. We said last night this was bound to happen. And I don’t see your actual name anywhere in there.’
‘More’s the pity,’ Sennett snorted. ‘Or it’d be my lawyers I’d have up here now, not you.’
Distracted by some activity on the ground, Sennett’s expression changed to intense concentration as he strode over to the glass wall, opened a section and bellowed a string of imprecations at some underling below. He was still tutting when he returned his glare to Tom.
‘Did your cop pal say anything about me?’
‘Nope, and I wasn’t encouraging him to think that way.’
Sennett sat down again and had another nip at the brandy. ‘Look, Tom, let’s be honest here. It’s not entirely like I said last night. It’s not only money that I’m concerned about. Word is coming in that theaters are starting to pull Molly O already. Which is bad enough. But it’s the effect on Mabel, too. I’m not sure she can take it. If she’s gone off somewhere to drown her sorrows over Taylor, she could do herself real harm. I know I pretend not to notice, but she’s been fragile of late, not her old self at all. Everyone says so. And that bunch of derelicts she’s been hanging around with – Lew Cody and his gang – they don’t give a goddamn about her. They just see her as a ticket to another night’s partying. I’m telling you, you have to go out there and find her for me.’
This time Tom didn’t bother covering his exasperation. ‘Look, Mack, before I came out here, I telephoned everyone I know – everyone we know – and nobody’s seen her. She could be anywhere.’
‘Don’t argue with me on this, Tom.’ Sennett put his big paddle hands up to his face and rubbed his eyes. ‘Think on what you said to me just now about favors. You’re going to have to do the rounds of all the joints tonight. She’s bound to be out there in one of them. Try the Cocoanut Grove, Joey’s, the Turnpike …’
He rattled off the names of more clubs, dance joints and fashionable eating places. Tom knew them all, and more. He could check them out, but he knew she wouldn’t be in any of them, not if she was blasted off her noodle on dope. She was too well known. Far more likely she would be lying low somewhere quiet, away from gossiping acquaintances, away from prying cameras and, most of all, away from her intolerably easy life. Finding her would make no difference at all.
‘OK, Mack, if that’s what you want. I’ll do what I can.’
‘Good.’ Sennett drained his glass. Then he was up on his feet again, pulling the bulbous bottle from the cabinet. ‘I should’ve married her ten years ago when I had the chance, Tom. That way, at least I�
��d know why she was causing me all this misery.’ Sennett gave a hearty laugh but Tom saw his anxiety, heard the brandy bottle rattle on the rim of the glass as he poured. ‘You’ll have another whiskey?’
Tom held his glass out. ‘You always did have the best bar in town.’
Sennett smiled as he freshened Tom’s drink. ‘Well, this rum-runner of mine is the bee’s knees. He can get me pretty much anything I want – at a price, of course. Case of Haig last week, the only one on the Pacific coast, so he said.’
‘His name’s not Shorty Madden, by any chance?’
‘No.’ Sennett shook his head. ‘Why?’
‘Oh, you know, this Madden guy – his name came up.’
‘In connection with Mabel?’
‘Yeah.’
Sennett frowned again and made his way back behind the desk. ‘Never heard of him. He a bootlegger?’
‘Among other things.’
Midway through lowering himself into his chair, Sennett gripped the armrests hard. ‘What do you mean, “other things”?’
‘You know, dope. Hop, powder, those sorts of other things.’
‘What the hell are you trying to say?’
‘Nothing. You’re the one asked me. I’m saying this guy sells dope as well as booze.’
‘And to my Mabel, in particular – is that it?’
‘Well, that’s what I was trying to tell you earlier. I spoke to her driver this morning. He said there was trouble a few weeks back over this Madden guy delivering dope to her.’
Sennett was on his feet again, his face flushing from pink to plum, his voice leaping up an octave or two. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. How in hell would he know anything about it, eh?’
‘Well, for starters he’s an A-class dope fiend himself.’ An image of Davis lying, guts out, screaming, in a foxhole in France, flashed through Tom’s mind, followed by a pinprick of guilt.
‘Don’t be crazy. Mabel’d never employ anyone like that. Even if he is, it’s obvious he’s lying. Trying to take advantage of the situation. Type like that’ll do anything for money. I’ll soon put a stop to that.’
The Long Silence Page 6
