Willow Pond

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Willow Pond Page 12

by Carol Tibaldi


  They stepped into the room and all three gasped. The place was in shambles. The bedspread was soaked with blood and ripped into pieces. The mattress had been dragged onto the floor and cut open, the stuffing strewn around the room. One of the bedside table lamps had been broken and lay next to the radiator. The other one had been smeared by a bloody handprint.

  “I have to get the manager.” The clerk said quickly and slipped out of the room.

  “He looked scared to death,” Mike commented.

  They checked the bathroom. “Rudy’s not here,” said Virginia. “Damn!”

  Mike shook his head. “I don’t understand how he could have gotten out of here. They must have come back and finished the job.”

  She glanced at him, then opened the top dresser drawer to see if Rudy had left anything behind. She didn’t find anything until she looked under the bed. There she saw the gleam of a gold card. She recognized it as one folks used to gain entrance to Bacchanal until she’d discontinued them at the end of last year. Had someone gotten word to Rudy that she was looking for him?

  “Hey! There he is!” Mike cried, banging on the window while he struggled to open it. “He’s getting into a taxi.”

  She spun around. “What? Stay here and keep trying to get his attention.” She threw off her heels and dashed out of the room in her stocking feet. The cab had just pulled away when she got down to the lobby.

  Mike met her at the front desk, carrying her shoes. The manager didn’t look happy. “What do you know about the man in suite 221?” he demanded.

  “He just left in a taxi,” said Virginia. “I need to know where he’s going.”

  The manager snapped. “Yeah? Well, I need to know who’s going to pay his bill.”

  He pushed a stack of papers toward Virginia. She picked them up, inspected them, then tore them into pieces and flung them in the manager’s face. “I don’t give a damn who pays them. You can pay them for all I care.” She turned to Mike. “We should have followed him in your car.”

  “I doubt that would have done much good. He took off pretty quick.”

  They left the building, ignoring the manager’s ranting. He followed them outside, waving wildly at them, but Mike had already started the car. She couldn’t have cared less about Rudy’s hotel bill. She had other priorities.

  There had been no sign of a child in that room.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Phillip was sitting in his trailer trying to cool off, but perspiration dripped off his face. That morning the temperature had reached ninety-seven degrees in Washington D.C., making it the hottest May 26th in the city’s history. Phillip was certain that by now it was over a hundred degrees. The bustling capital moved languidly amidst the waves of heat.

  He removed his shirt and went back to reading the script, which had already gone through at least a dozen rewrites. It still needed work. The screenwriters he’d worked with on his last two films had no idea how to write good dialogue, and he’d rewritten many of his own lines. What disgusted him more than anything was the fact that this was only the second day of filming. He saw nothing but problems ahead until the filming was completed.

  A couple of hours later Phillip received word that Louis B. Mayer wanted to see him. It didn’t take him long to figure out why. Ever since Phillip had separated from Laura, Mayer had been warning him his philandering was getting out of hand. He’d told Phillip if the studio had to pay for one more abortion, they wouldn’t renew his contract. Phillip hadn’t paid attention to such foolishness. He had the right to live his life they way he chose. The studio also claimed his last three movies had lost money, which he didn’t believe. He figured that was just a ploy to get him to behave. Women loved him. They dragged their husbands and boyfriend to all his movies. As far as he was concerned, MGM owed him money, and when it came time to renew his contract he’d ask for twice as much as he was getting now.

  Today’s message from Mayer was curt and to the point: Phillip was to come to the old man’s office during lunch break. No ifs, ands, or buts.

  ***

  Phillip arrived ahead of schedule and waited half an hour before being called into the office. Old L.B. was nowhere in sight. All Phillip saw was some kid trying to look important.

  “Mr. Austin, thank you for coming.”

  “I thought I’d see the man himself.”

  The upstart grinned. “Mr. Mayer is too busy to attend to minor details. That’s what he hired me for.”

  Louis B. Mayer was busy counting his money. That’s what this was all about. He was afraid one of his pictures might not make enough to keep his wife and mistress in diamonds. Phillip struggled between relief and irritation. If the old man hadn’t come to the meeting himself, it couldn’t be that important. But he hated to have to sit and listen to this kid.

  “Let’s get this out of the way so I can go back to learning my lines.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Austin. It’s not quite that simple. Mr. Mayer is quite upset with you.”

  “Why?”

  “The fact is, your reputation has gotten out of hand. Mr. Mayer says something has to be done about it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  The kid smiled blandly and held out his hands, palms up. “Too many allegations about you and this starlet,” he said, lowering one palm then the other as if using a scale, “or that model. A few rumors can be squelched, but when they’re in the dozens there isn’t much we can do.”

  Phillip laughed companionably. “What would you do in my position? They throw themselves at me.”

  “This has to do with your fans, the people who go to your movies and pay for the opulent lifestyle to which you’re accustomed.” He opened the top desk drawer and took out a sheet of paper. “Your last two movies lost money.”

  He held out the sheet, and Phillip took it from him. “Numbers don’t mean anything,” Phillip spat. He tossed the paper onto the desk. “How do I know these haven’t been tampered with? I’m still the biggest star in Hollywood.”

  “Not any longer. Your popularity has been dropping since you separated from your wife.”

  “What’s Laura got to do with all this?”

  “There was a lot of sympathy toward you when your son was first kidnapped, but that stopped when you and your wife didn’t reconcile. There’s a rumor some people may picket the opening of your next film.”

  “Bunch of crackpots.”

  “The public likes unblemished heroes, not ones who cheat on the young, beautiful mothers of their kidnapped children. They don’t expect you to find your son by yourself, most of them anyway, but our information suggests they’d feel a whole lot better about you if you went back to his mother.”

  Phillip frowned at him. “So ... so I go back to Laura and everything’s fine?”

  He could think of worse things. Give the people what they want. Laura was beautiful and looked great on his arm, and though she pretended to be hurt by his affairs, he didn’t think she cared much about what he did anymore. Besides, she had Erich Muller to keep her happy now. It could work out fine for both of them.

  The young man pulled the papers back and tapped them into a neat stack. “That’s about it. Otherwise we may have to release you from your contract after you fulfill the three picture deal you have with us.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Laura and Erich were enjoying a spaghetti dinner at his apartment a few nights later, when she asked him if he would like to go with her to Washington, DC the following weekend.

  “What’s the occasion?” he asked.

  She chuckled. “Occasion? Let’s see. First off, I want to ask Phillip for a divorce. Other than that, well, I’d also like to see my sister. It’s been months since I’ve spent any time with her.”

  “I’m in,” Erich said.

  Before they left, Laura called Phillip and told him she was going to be coming to visit her sister for a couple of days and she wanted to see him. When they spoke she noticed some hesitancy in his voice, but wou
ldn’t be dissuaded.

  When she and Erich arrived, they checked into the Jefferson Hotel. Not wanting to put it off any longer, Laura left immediately to see Phillip. An hour later she arrived on the set. Phillip was in the middle of a scene where he played a senator. He and the actress portraying his secretary were handling a phone call from the president.

  Laura caught his eye but knew to keep out of the way. Even though she’d visited him on many sets over the years, she was always amazed by the number of people and the amount of time it took to film even a simple scene like this one. When they completed the scene he ushered her into his trailer. They sat side by side on a small sofa and though it wasn’t even noon yet she could smell liquor on his breath. For several moments, they sat and stared at each other, not knowing what to say.

  After a what seemed like an eternity to Laura, he broke the silence. “I’m not happy with that Detective Wilson and his haphazard investigation.”

  She shook her head. “Neither am I.”

  “I think we should hire a private investigator. What do you think?”

  She was surprised at his enthusiasm. “Yes, definitely.”

  “Good. I’ll take care of that.”

  They stared at their hands without speaking for a few minutes. Then he cleared his throat and started up again. “So. You’re staying with your sister? How is she?”

  “She’s three months pregnant. She didn’t tell me when she first found out, but Erich says she was probably just thinking of me and what happened to Todd.”

  Phillip frowned. “That reporter is with you? I didn’t know you and he were that close.”

  She hadn’t expected him to be jealous. “It happened suddenly.”

  He dropped ice into a glass and filled it with scotch. When he offered her a drink she shook her head. She didn’t remember him drinking this early in the day. What was troubling him? Whatever it was, it made her uncomfortable. She couldn’t wait to leave. Had it always been this way and she just hadn’t noticed? The only connection they had to each other was Todd. Without him, they had nothing to say to each other.

  “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  “No. I’ve already stayed longer than I meant to. I’m meeting Erich at Old Ebbitt Grill for lunch.”

  He raised an expressive eyebrow. “After what he wrote about Virginia, I never thought you’d have anything to do with him.”

  She swallowed hard and summoned all the courage she could muster. “I want a divorce. It’s what’s best for both of us.”

  “Not me.”

  That wasn’t what she’d expected. She stared at him, mouth slightly open.

  “I love you more than ever,” Phillip declared. He took both her hands in his. “Muller can never understand what we’ve been through.”

  She was confused, and her frown said so. “I love Erich in a way I’ve never loved you.”

  “You’ll fight about Virginia until it destroys what you feel for each other.”

  She stared at him, shaking her head. “I don’t believe this, Phillip. How can you believe things will ever be right between you and me?”

  His gaze was so intense she couldn’t take her eyes off him. “I want to try. We were happy once, remember? It can be that way again. I know it can. We need to be together for Todd when he comes home.”

  “Don’t say any more.”

  “Laura—”

  “No more. I mean it.” She got to her feet, shaking her head. Then she lied. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The Pavilion Royale was one of the most popular speakeasies on Long Island, though Laura thought it lacked Bacchanal’s elegance. The clientele it attracted were a rowdy bunch, and they’d given the place a dangerous reputation. Laura and Erich were there was to see Louis Armstrong and his band perform, and they’d invited Peter Bergen and his wife, Dorothy, as their guests.

  This was the second time the two couples had double-dated. They had a fair amount in common, and got along well. Peter and Dorothy had a little boy named David, who was six weeks older than Todd.

  Like Virginia’s place in Hampton Bays and Texas Guinan’s in Jericho, the Pavilion Royale was packed every night. Competition was fierce, but in reality there was enough business for everyone.

  “If your aunt finds out you were here, won’t she be angry?” Peter asked.

  “No. She’s not like that.” Laura laughed. “Besides, she doesn’t run my life.”

  Two hostesses came to the table. One carried a basket filled with dolls dressed like French schoolgirls, and the other held a basket of fresh tulips. Erich asked Laura which she wanted. She and Dorothy looked at each other and giggled, then said they wanted both.

  “Don’t spend every dime I have tonight,” Peter said. “We need to save.”

  “You? Save?” Erich laughed. “I find that hard to believe. Hang on a minute. Why are the two of you grinning like Cheshire cats?”

  Peter took his wife’s hand and beamed. “She’s pregnant.”

  Erich shook his friend’s hand. He got up and hugged Dorothy. “I knew something was up. Are you happy?”

  “I guess we could have waited another year or two,” Peter said, “but now that I’ve gotten used to the idea I can’t wait. I’ll have a soccer team one of these days.”

  “I hope this one’s a girl,” Dorothy said. She turned to Laura, her expression stricken. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be so selfish.”

  “I’m fine,” she said, but felt better when Erich took her hand under the table. “There’s no reason for you to feel uncomfortable because I’m here. I’m happy for you both.”

  Laura got up and walked around the table and the two women embraced, then started crying. Dorothy drew back, wiping away tears. “Oh Laura. I’m sorry. I can’t help it. It’s just that I look at David and I think of—”

  “No. You shouldn’t do that,” Laura said. “Your little boy is wonderful. Now there are two babies I have to look forward to: yours and my sister’s.”

  “A little girl would be nice,” Erich said, agreeing with Dorothy. He glanced at Laura. “Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever have children.”

  Laura turned away from him. “I wish you hadn’t said that.”

  He shrugged, apparently not prepared to drop the subject. “I’m just saying it would be nice if you made up your mind about the divorce so we could get on with our lives.”

  Dorothy turned to Peter. “Let’s go dance.”

  “But I—”

  “Let’s go dance,” she insisted and dragged him away from the table.

  Laura watched them go, then turned back to glare at Erich. “I can’t believe you said that.”

  “Why not? You need to make up your mind.”

  “It’s not an easy decision to make.”

  The hostess brought their drinks and appetizers to the table, then headed toward the next table. “I know it’s not,” said Erich, “though I can’t understand why you’re even considering going back to Austin after what you told me.”

  She picked up her drink and swirled it gently, staring into its contents. “Maybe I don’t want to be with either one of you.”

  “Maybe not, I guess. I mean, compared to Austin, what do I have to offer you? Could you get used to living on a reporter’s salary? And, of course, you and Austin have something else that ties you together. I think that’s the reason you can’t decide.”

  “I don’t want to listen to any more of this.”

  “Fine.” His attention focused on a man who’d come in and sat at a back table. “Hey, I’ll be right back, okay?”

  “What is it?”

  “Sergeant Law.”

  Laura frowned. “Who’s he?”

  “One of my sources.” Erich said. “I have to talk to him. I’ll be right back.”

  ***

  The cop glanced furtively around when Erich sat next to him. He jerked his chin toward Laura, who was watching them from the other side of the noisy speakeasy. “I didn’t
know you were seeing her.”

  “Yeah, well, you don’t know everything. What’s up?”

  The bartender placed a drink in front of Law, who nodded a quick thanks then frowned at Erich. “Two things came into the department today and I don’t know what to make of either one of them.” He glanced at Laura. “Christ, I wish you’d told me you’d be here with her.”

  “Don’t worry about her. Do you have news about the kidnapping?”

  “Yeah,” Law said, still staring at Laura. “She sort of takes your breath away, doesn’t she?”

  “There’s a lot more to her than her looks. Tell me what you’ve got.”

  “A child matching Todd Austin’s description was seen in Maine. We’re trying to pinpoint an exact location. We also got a tip that some bootlegging gang on the East End may be responsible.”

  “Anything to connect the sighting in Maine with the gang?”

  “No.”

  “What about Virginia Kingsley?”

  “We haven’t come up with anything linking her to the crime. Her fingerprints weren’t on any of the evidence.”

  “What about the fact that I saw her coming out of the farmhouse?”

  “She’s got good connections to the department and the victim is her nephew. We’ve got nothing to go on with her yet.”

  “Keep me posted.”

  Half an hour later, Louis Armstrong and his band took the stage and performed for more than two hours. Afterwards, the crowd in the speakeasy jumped to their feet, and Louis rewarded them with three encores.

  After they’d left the stage, Laura pointed at a table in the corner. “See those two guys over there? One’s from the Schultz mob. The other’s from a gang in Detroit. They’re rivals.”

  Erich smiled at her, looking impressed. “I thought you didn’t know anything about gangsters.”

  She shrugged. “I know a little.”

  It didn’t take long before the two gang leaders got into an argument. They shoved their table over and drinks slid to the floor with a crash. One punched the other and he stumbled backward across the room, knocking over tables and sending patrons scurrying for the door. The falling gangster landed at Laura’s feet.

 

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