by Bill Bernico
“Yes I am,” Finch said. “You probably don’t know what it’s like to me married, do you Mr. Cooper?”
Then I remembered Amy waiting out in the car. I stood up and stepped over to my window, throwing it open and leaning out. I could see Amy’s elbow sticking out of the passenger side window of my car. I called down to her, but there was too much noise from the traffic. I turned back to Finch.
“I’m sorry,” I told Finch, “but I wasn’t even supposed to be open at this time of day. And my fiancé is waiting out in my car downstairs. I’ll have to make this quick. If you want me to look into this for you, I’ll need a hundred dollar retainer and your signature on a contract. Is this something we can conclude tomorrow, Mr. Finch?”
Finch stood, pulled his wallet out of his coat pocket and plucked two fifty dollar bills from it, laying them on my desk. He withdrew a pen from his pocket and jotted down his wife’s name along with his address. Then he pulled a three by five inch photo out of his pocket and laid it on top of the two fifties. “That’s Cora,” he said. “Can I stop by tomorrow for the paperwork?” Finch said.
I nodded. “Certainly, Mr. Finch.”
“Meanwhile,” Finch said, “Cora says she has a bridge game this evening at eight at one of the neighbor’s houses. Could you just stop by and see if she’s telling the truth?” I jotted down that address as well.
“Sure, Mr. Finch,” I said. “That shouldn’t take me long and then we can finish up here tomorrow at, say, ten o’clock?”
“That’ll be fine, Mr. Cooper,” Finch said. “See you then.”
As soon as Finch was out the door, I pulled my desk drawer open, withdrew the notepad that I’d come here for in the first place, folded the two fifties and put them in my pocket. I locked up and hurried back down to the car, sliding behind the wheel.
Amy looked over at me, somewhat puzzled. “Find what you were looking for?” She asked.
“I’m sorry, Amy,” I said. “On my way up I ran into a fellow in the elevator who was actually on his way to my office. He wanted to hire me, but I gave him the abbreviated version of my standard interview and told him we could finish up tomorrow. Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“No problem,” Amy said. “So you’re on another case? How exciting. What is it this time? Murder, extortion, kidnapping, bank robbery, what?”
“Nothing so exciting,” I said. “The man just wants me to check on his wife to see if she’s cheating on him. That’s all.”
“Ooh,” Amy said. “It sounds like a case where you’ll get to tell a cabbie to follow that car.”
“I might,” I said, “if I took cabs, but I drive myself around.” I patted my steering wheel.
“Oh yeah,” Amy said.
“So,” I said, “you ready to get going?”
“Where?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “You all done with your shopping?”
“For now,” Amy said. “I still have to pick out my wedding dress.”
I turned to her. “You won’t need me for that part, will you?” I said.
Amy laughed. “No, Matt, you’re off the hook. I can take my girlfriends with me for that one.”
“That reminds me,” I said. “We’ve been going out now for, what, four months now? And in all that time you’ve never mentioned any of your girlfriends.”
“I just didn’t want to share you with them,” Amy said.
“But I’ve met Rosie and Lola that time at the grocery store,” I said.
“That doesn’t count,” Amy said.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because, um, I, uh,” Amy stalled, looking for the right words.
“Because you’re not worried about two lesbians stealing me away?” I said. “Is that what you were trying to say?”
“You knew?” Amy said. “How?”
“Wasn’t hard,” I said. “All the telltale signs were there.”
“And you don’t have a problem with them?” Amy said.
“Only if they try to steal YOU,” I said. “Then I’ll have a problem with them, otherwise they’re not bothering me and I say live and let live.”
“Then you don’t mind if they’re bridesmaids in our wedding?” Amy said.
I thought about it for a moment. “They are planning on wearing dresses, aren’t they?” I said.
“What else?” Amy said.
“Well, I don’t know about these things,” I said. “How many bridesmaids were you thinking of having?”
“Four,” Amy said. “And of course my maid of honor.”
“And who will that be?” I said.
“I was thinking of having my cousin as my maid of honor,” Amy said.
I looked at Amy and tilted my head. “You never mentioned any cousin before,” I said.
“Didn’t I?” Amy said. “She lives here in Los Angeles, actually closer to Santa Barbara.”
“Ah, no,” I replied.
“Sorry,” Amy said, smiling the smile that she knew would counter any mood I might get into.
“When were you going to tell me about her?” I said.
“Is now a good time?” Amy said.
I started the car and said, “Can you hold that thought until dinner tonight?” I said. “Don’t want to exhaust our entire conversational material right here at the curb.”
“Works for me,” Amy said as I pulled away from the curb and headed back to Amy’s house.
I carried Amy’s purchases into her house and set them on the bed in her bedroom. Amy hung up her coat and retreated to the living room. I followed her in and we sat on the sofa. She snuggled up beside me and laid her head on my shoulder.
“This has been about the best day of my life, Matt,” Amy said, tilting her head back and waiting for me to kiss her.
“Mine, too,” I said, locking lips with her. We stayed like that for half a minute and then I wrapped my arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. We didn’t have to talk to enjoy each other’s company. We stayed there, holding each other for a few minutes in silent bliss.
After five minutes Amy pulled away and looked up at me, an obvious question playing on her face.
“What is it?” I said.
Amy pursed her lips and breathed in through her nose and let it out. “You never talk about Stella, Matt, and I was just wondering if there was anything you’d like to share with me about the short time you two were married.”
“Like what?” I said.
“I don’t know,” Amy said. “Like some of your common interests, things you talked about, people you knew. You know, the usual stuff.”
I picked up Amy’s chin and turned her face toward me. “Amy,” I said. “You’re very special to me and I’d like to keep what we have separate from what Stella and I had. What we had wasn’t any better or worse than what you and I have, just different and I don’t want to start getting into comparisons here. You understand, don’t you?”
“I guess,” Amy said. “But you did love her,” Amy said, “didn’t you?”
“What kind of question is that?” I said. “Of course I loved her but she’s gone and I love you now. I’ll always have the memories of the time I shared with Stella, but you are my life now, Amy. And that’s all I want to think about now, okay?”
It must have been exactly what Amy wanted to hear because she gave a low, gentle cooing sound and settled back into my chest. I pulled her closer and held on tight. After a few moments Amy sat up straight and said, “Well, then, tell me more about this case you’re going to be on?”
I sat up, leaned back and pulled the two fifties out of my pocket and held them up in front of Amy face. “My client is buying dinner tonight,” I said. “Which reminds me, I told him I’d check up on his wife tonight yet.”
“No,” Amy said. “Tonight?”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “All I have to do is follow her for half an hour and make sure she’s going where she told her husband she was going. That’s it for tonight. Then tomorrow, after I get him to sign my stand
ard contract, I can jump into this case all the way.” I looked at my watch. It was seven-thirty and Cora Finch was supposed to be attending an eight o’clock bridge game at her neighbor’s house. I stood up and helped Amy to her feet.
“Just let me look in on this guy’s wife,” I said, “and I’ll be back here in one hour. Just be ready to go out to the best dinner you’ve ever had.”
“I’ll be ready,” Amy said.
I hurried out the door and back to my car. I checked the address that Finch had written on a small piece of paper. I could be there in twenty minutes. Along the way I’d have to think of some way to get a look inside the neighbor’s house without arousing anyone’s suspicion.
According to the name on the mailbox, Finch’s neighbor’s name was Owen Carver. I checked the mailbox two doors down from Finch’s and made a mental note of the name. At exactly five minutes after eight I rang Carver’s doorbell and waited. I could hear footsteps coming closer and finally the door opened and I found myself looking at a woman in her forties who was wearing a floral print dress and had a new pair of stylish spectacles on her nose.
“Yes?” She said, looking at me and waiting impatiently for my response.
“Is Charles at home?” I asked, remembering Charles Burger’s name on the mailbox two doors away from Finch’s.
“Charles?” Mrs. Carver said. “There’s no Charles here.”
I looked down at a piece of paper I had in my palm. “Charles Burger?” I said.
Exasperated at having to answer a nuisance call like this, Mrs. Carver said, “They live one door down that way.” She pointed to the house to her left. While her eyes were diverted giving me directions, I glanced inside the Carver home and saw three other women seated around a round oak table, each of them with a fist full of cards. The woman on the far end, facing me, was Cora Finch. I quickly turned back to Mrs. Carver and said, “I’m so sorry to have bothered you. Excuse me.” I tipped my hat and stepped off the porch, walking back to my car.
So Cora Finch was playing bridge like she’d told her husband. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t still seeing someone on the side. It just meant that she wasn’t seeing him tonight. I could drive back to Amy’s in plenty of time and still enjoy a leisurely dinner with her.
Amy and I drove to the Trocadero and took a table near the fireplace. This place had all the ambiance I could ever want in a restaurant. And Amy was all I could ever want in a woman. We were two peas in a pod, two bodies with one soul. And the miracle was that we’d found each other completely by accident.
When our drinks came, Amy held her glass up and I did the same. I waited while Amy gathered her thoughts and then said, “To fate. Where would we be without it?” Then she clinked her glass on mine.
“To fate,” I repeated. We both drank and set out glasses down.
Amy leaned closer to me and whispered,” So what did you find out on your gumshoe assignment, dear?” Then she remembered that I didn’t care for that term and rephrased it. “What did your investigation reveal?”
“The wife was where she said she was going,” I told her. “But that doesn’t mean that she’s still not stepping out on her husband. It just wasn’t tonight.”
“You going to follow her again tomorrow?” Amy asked.
“First of all,” I said, “I have to meet with the husband at my office and draw up the contract and find out what else he wants for his retainer. Then I have to decide how to go about trailing the missus and coming up with evidence to give to the husband, assuming there is evidence to be found. If it turns out she is seeing someone, then my part in this dance is done and he can take the evidence I gather and go see his lawyer. That’s usually why these kinds of guys want the evidence, so they can negotiate a better divorce settlement for themselves. You know, leverage.”
“Seems cynical, doesn’t it?” Amy said.
“What’s that?” I said.
“The whole idea that two people take the vows to be true to each other only to end up like this guy and his wife,” Amy said. “I wonder what happened to their magic.”
“I’ll tell you this much about marriage,” I said. “And then that’s all I’ll say about the time Stella and I had. It takes work and commitment to make a good marriage. No matter how good things seems, there will be times when even the best of couples will argue. You just have to remember not to let an argument carry on and spoil an otherwise solid relationship. And after all, the making up part can be the best part of any argument.”
“You really loved her, didn’t you?” Amy said.
I nodded. “Yes I did.”
“You know,” Amy said, “I was thinking some more about this case you’re going to be taking on tomorrow.”
“And?” I said.
“And it occurred to me that in some circumstances a woman can get into places that a man can’t,” Amy said.
“For instance?” I said.
“For instance,” Amy said. “Let’s say you’re tailing this woman and she goes into the ladies room and you suspect she’s meeting the boyfriend in there. You can’t very well follow her in, but a woman could.”
“A woman,” I said. “Meaning you?”
“Me, another woman, it doesn’t matter,” Amy explained. “A woman could follow her in and sit in one of the stalls, listening for clues or voices or plans, or anything. See?”
“And why are you telling me all this?” I said.
“I was thinking maybe I could help you on this case.” Amy said.
I gave her a strange look. “You want to help me with my work?”
“Why not?” Amy said. “I think I’d find it fascinating and you’d get free labor. What do you say? Can I help you on this one? Please?”
This was your run-of-the-mill spouse surveillance job. Not much chance of any real danger and it might actually be fun letting Amy see what it is exactly that I do.
“Why not?” I said. “I’m meeting my client tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. How about if I swing by your place and pick you up around ten-thirty?”
Amy squeezed my hands and smiled. “Do I need my own magnifying glass, or does your company provide those to its operatives?”
“You mean gumshoes?” I said and laughed.
Amy picked up her glass again and was in mid-sip when she set the glass down in a hurry and wiped the spilled wine from her chin.
“What is it, Amy?” I said.
“Don’t turn around,” Amy said, laying her hands on top of mine. “But Victor Mature just walked in. My god, he’s coming this way.” She tightened her grip on my hands. A couple seconds later she released them. “Oh, never mind. It’s Tyrone Power. I always get those two mixed up. They do kind of look alike, don’t you think?”
“Never gave it much thought,” I said, “but now that you mention it, I can see some resemblance.” I looked over Amy shoulder at a booth behind her. Sitting in a position that allowed me a good look at her profile was Susan Hayward, looking just as beautiful as she had in the movies I’d seen her in. I tapped Amy’s hand.
“Did you ever see John Wayne in The Fighting Seabees? I said.
Amy thought for a second and shook her head. “I don’t think I ever saw that one, why?”
“If you haven’t seen it, it wouldn’t matter,” I said.
“What wouldn’t?” Amy said.
“What I have to say,” I explained. “Well then, how about Tulsa, have you ever seen that one?”
“Isn’t that picture about striking oil in Oklahoma?” Amy said.
“That’s the one,” I said. “Did you see it?”
“Yes, I did and not too long ago, either,” Amy said. “It just came out this year.”
“Well,” I explained, do you remember the strong-willed female character, Cherokee Lansing in that movie?”
“Yes,” Amy said. “Susan Hayward played that part. She’s another of my favorites, why?”
“Don’t turn around,” I said, “But she’s sitting behind you two booths back, against the w
all.”
“Really?” Amy said, excited by the prospect of being this close to one of her screen idols.
“Really,” I said. “You do know that the ladies room is back in that corner. Now if you just happened to go to the ladies room and just happened to pass by her table, well…”
“Hold that thought. I’ll be right back,” Amy said, sliding out of her end of the booth and walking back toward the restrooms.
I discreetly watched as Amy slowly walked past Susan Hayward’s table and casually glanced at the movie star before continuing to the ladies room. When she’d gone, I saw Hayward look at her table companion and roll her eyes. I didn’t see any need to share this information with Amy when she returned.
Amy was back in just a couple of minutes, giddy and anxious to tell me all about her close brush with a movie star. “It’s her, all right,” Amy said. “Looks just like she does on the big screen.”
“Well, isn’t that what you’d expect?” I said.
“I suppose,” Amy said. “But imagine sitting just ten feet from her.”
“You know,” I said, “if you keep acting like this, the stars will complain and you won’t be allowed in here anymore. Just act like they’re any other person off the street and don’t stare, okay?”
Amy smiled. “Okay.”
On our way back home after dinner, I drove down Hollywood Boulevard, looking at the marquees in front of all the theaters. I passed one that advertised Tulsa and tapped Amy’s knee. “There she is,” I said, pointing at a large movie poster on the wall alongside the theater entrance. “Susan Hayward, looking just like she did in the restaurant.”
“All right, smarty,” Amy said. “You made your point.”
“Hey,” I said in an exaggerated excited voice, “If we’re lucky, maybe we’ll see Jane Greer at the grocery store. Or perhaps Gabby Hayes will be at the gas station filling up his station wagon. Wouldn’t that be thrilling?”
“All right, Matt,” Amy said. “You made your point.”
I could tell by the tone in her voice that I’d better stop while I was ahead. I’d milked this joke for all it was worth and decided to let it drop. We drove home without another word about movie stars.
