Hoodwink

by Rhonda Roberts

  ‘That’s rich coming from you, Curtis,’ growled Selznick. ‘Every night I’ve been to the Clover Club, you’re there too … you must owe a packet. Have they sent the boys round to collect yet?’

  Silence.

  ‘Look, David, I want you to be able to make payroll just as much as you do. We have to find a way to get Devereaux in and now! But he’s a cagey type and we’re gonna need a lever of some kind to prise open that cheque book of his.’

  ‘You got any ideas?’

  ‘Yeah, I’ll tell you downstairs …’

  I bolted through the nearest door — it was a bedroom — and hid inside as they passed.

  Earl had Mob-enforced gambling debts?

  Bloom told me that towards the end Earl had begun disappearing. He’d finish shooting and then no one would see him until the next morning. When Susan asked, Earl would say he’d been at home the whole night.

  Earl was staying out because he had a gambling problem …

  Suddenly the concrete kimono made sense.

  17

  SPEAK OF THE DEVIL

  I was betting Paulette Goddard could confirm my suspicions about Earl.

  I headed straight for the entrance to the filmy tent over the tennis court. Inside, the bar ran the entire length on one side and was manned by half a dozen attendants dressed like Aladdin.

  Someone from the far back corner shrieked, ‘Kay! Over here.’

  I turned. Paulette Goddard was sitting in the lounge area at the back of the tent with her friends …

  Bingo. Jackpot.

  Opposite Paulette, Clark Gable had his large frame sprawled across a well-padded divan. There was a very nice body under that black monkey suit, with slim hips and long legs to match the muscled shoulders. But he wasn’t movie star pretty. Gable had a black moustache and deep dimples, which gave him the appearance of a misplaced riverboat gambler, but his big ears stuck out at an outrageous angle.

  Gable was thirty-six years old and at the peak of his career. He was considered a man’s man and, even wearing a tuxedo, looked like he should have a hunting rifle slung across his shoulders.

  Definitely old school.

  Gable was cuddling a perky blonde in yet another shiny, slinky dress. This one was metallic peach.

  I reclined across the divan next to Paulette and she introduced me.

  The blonde was Carole Lombard, Gable’s wife of two months. Lombard was thirty-one and considered a hell-raiser even by Hollywood standards. She’d been making films here since she was twelve and knew everyone there was to know in Hollywood.

  Carole Lombard was also high on my list of important information sources. She’d worked with Earl and saw him on a regular basis. She was a core member of the Hollywood A-list.

  I wanted to rub my hands and hoot with glee.

  Goddard, Gable and Lombard all in one place … but I’d have to go slowly; my guess was none of them would take too many direct questions kindly.

  ‘We were just talking about the news headlines today,’ said Paulette, her expression intense. ‘Hitler and Mussolini have signed the Pact of Steel.’ She shot a cynical glance at Clark. ‘I told you this would happen, sonny boy. Germany and Italy are getting ready to bully Europe, with Japan as their back-up in the Pacific. Now America has to get ready.’

  ‘Oh not this again, Paulette,’ said Gable, exasperated. ‘Everyone in Europe’s been signing damned pacts and treaties for years now. Four years ago the Germans and the British signed a naval treaty. Does that mean we’re going to fight the Redcoats all over again?’

  ‘That’s bull, Clark, and you know it,’ replied Paulette stiffly. ‘Hitler’s choosing sides for everyone. It’s like high school all over again.’

  ‘She’s right, Pappy,’ said Carole. ‘All three have wiped out the opposition in their own countries. Now they’re leering over their fence at us.’

  ‘Well, you two certainly know how to get rid of me,’ said Gable, kissing the top of his wife’s head. He stood and straightened his tuxedo coat. ‘Paulette, you and Charlie are too damn paranoid. Everything will settle down. No one wants another world war, not even Hitler.’

  ‘That’s what you think, Clark,’ muttered Paulette.

  Gable took that with good humour. ‘Anyway, I’m not going to waste a perfectly good open bar talking politics with you two.’ He gave me a toothy grin. ‘Kay, I’m excusing you, my dear, on the grounds that you seem like you have more sense.’

  I searched his confident face. Gable beamed down, expecting me to be charmed. It wasn’t that he was ill natured, he was just used to a certain kind of reaction.

  ‘Sorry, Clark.’ I smiled back. ‘But I’m with them. I know they’re absolutely right, Hitler and Mussolini have to be stopped … now!’

  Gable sighed. ‘Well in that case I’m off to the bar.’ He strolled away.

  The two women just stared at me, mouths slightly open.

  ‘Most women fall at Clark’s feet like gibbering loons,’ said Carole. ‘I’m impressed.’

  ‘I’m impressed too, sister,’ said Paulette, lightly punching my arm.

  Still, they both turned to watch Clark Gable work his way through the crowd. Men were patting him on the back and the women were all finding reasons to touch him. Even in this stellar crowd he was a big deal.

  Both Carole and Paulette were watching Gable’s tight butt.

  Some things never change.

  I took advantage of their approval. ‘Paulette, I’ve just been told that Earl Curtis has a gambling problem. Do you know if that’s true?’

  ‘Earl? You’re kidding. He’s as tight with a buck as …’ She grinned at Carole. ‘As Clark Gable.’

  Carole grimaced back but didn’t correct her.

  ‘But David Selznick just accused him of having gambling debts at the Clover Club,’ I insisted.

  ‘Yeah, Paulette,’ said Carole. ‘I’ve seen him there every night this week. Earl goes to the Clover Club a lot these days.’

  ‘Yes, but if you watch him, Earl makes the lowest bets possible and spends most of the time at the bar.’ Paulette shrugged. ‘Knowing Earl, he has an angle of some kind … but I don’t know what it is.’

  Damn! There went that theory. But what the hell was Earl doing at the Clover Club if he wasn’t gambling?

  ‘Well he’s certainly been wacky since he came back from that trip to Paris in March.’ Carole’s brow puckered at the thought.

  My eyes must’ve lit up like beacons.

  ‘I just couldn’t believe how he …’ Carole stopped dead. ‘Oh my God, we have to hide.’ She was gawking over my head and trying to shrink down at the same time.

  Paulette turned to give the crowd a derisory examination, then stiffened. ‘Oh my God, speak of the devil!’ She took a stiff slurp of her drink, finishing it off, as though getting ready to run.

  ‘Did I hear someone take my name in vain?’ said Bernie Jennings, Selznick’s new head of publicity, as he rudely stepped over Carole to take her husband’s place on the divan.

  Carole gave him an icy reception. ‘Well … see who the cat dragged in.’

  ‘Yes, David must be letting anyone in tonight,’ replied Paulette, her face flushed with annoyance.

  Jennings didn’t react. ‘So, Carole … Has your boy read the copy of Gone with the Wind I sent over yet? I had my secretary mark the most important bits with yellow paper.’

  ‘No, he hasn’t, Bernie!’ she snapped. ‘Why should he? Clark’s acting from a film script, not the frigging book.’

  Paulette raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow at me, as though to say, ‘This should be interesting’.

  ‘But, Carole,’ whined Jennings, ‘tomorrow we’ve got a whole boatload of Southern fans coming and they know Gone with the Wind backwards …’

  ‘Don’t tell me, Bernie.’ Carole held up her hand. ‘Tell Clark. I’m not his keeper and I’m not your frigging secretary!’

  ‘But, Carole, you know you’re the only person Gable listens to, and I know the jo
urnalist from Life magazine will ask him questions about Rhett Butler …’

  ‘Clark will probably punch you if you nag him to read that damned book one more time, Bernie! So make us all happy and go and ask him!’

  ‘Yes, Bernie, go away. We’re having a serious conversation.’ Paulette waved a dismissive hand. ‘Did you hear, Carole? Last week Ray Dullwater threatened to sack anyone who was even seen in the neighbourhood of the Screen Cartoonist Guild meetings.’

  ‘So he should too,’ said Jennings, a pugnacious set to his jaw. ‘They’re a bunch of dirty commies and should be rounded up and sent to jail.’

  Carole bristled. ‘And I suppose, Bernie, that you agree with what Dullwater did at Christmas time too?’ She appealed to me. ‘Kay, Leni Riefenstahl was here trying to sell her Nazi propaganda films … Have you heard of her?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ I said dryly.

  Leni Riefenstahl was not only a close personal friend of Hitler and Goebbels, she was also responsible for some of the most persuasive pieces of propaganda used to justify their regime. After World War II Riefenstahl was charged with war crimes but never convicted.

  ‘She makes Hitler look like a noble Teutonic knight riding in to save Germany,’ stated Carole. ‘Instead of the slimy little rat he really is.’

  ‘Bullshit! Leni Riefenstahl is a damned fine filmmaker,’ objected Jennings. ‘Great camera angles … Really riveting stuff. We could all learn from her.’

  ‘That just makes it worse, Bernie!’ replied Carole with ire. ‘It means people actually watch her movies. That travesty Triumph of the Will was a hit in Europe and she wants to make it one here too!’

  ‘But what about the scene she filmed in the Berlin Olympics?’ quizzed Paulette. ‘The one where Hitler is supposed to present the gold medal to Jesse Owens, the Negro athlete. The look on Hitler’s face! Holy mackerel! Riefenstahl may be a Nazi but she sure knows a good movie moment when she sees one.’

  ‘Wasn’t Jesse Owens the grandson of a slave?’ asked Jennings.

  Paulette nodded, puzzled that Jennings should know that.

  ‘See, that’s what I mean,’ said Bernie. ‘Hitler let a nig …’ He shot a look at Carole’s irate face and amended his words. ‘Hitler let a Negro run at his Olympics, so he can’t be too strict.’

  ‘Hitler’s Olympics?’ Carole drew herself up like a cobra ready to strike.

  ‘You can say it’s Hitler’s Olympics, but he had to watch Jesse Owens win four gold medals …’ mocked Paulette. ‘Talk about shooting Hitler’s racial theories in the foot and ruining his nasty little attempt to turn the Games into his own little Aryan supremacy fest.’

  Bernie grunted with disgust.

  ‘You know, Bernie,’ said Carole, disdain dripping off every word. ‘Your great friend Ray Dullwater was the only studio head in this whole town who would meet with Leni Riefenstahl.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Carole, this is America not communist Russia!’ Jennings wasn’t ready to give up. ‘Why shouldn’t Ray see who he wants to?’

  ‘Unfortunately, Carole,’ said Paulette, ‘the other studios would’ve talked to Riefenstahl too if she hadn’t arrived just after Kristallnacht.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Jennings meditatively. ‘Leni arrived while the newspapers were still showing the photos.’ His disapproval was obvious. ‘Very bad timing … so unprofessional. She should’ve waited at least a couple of weeks, until it all died down.’

  Carole and Paulette stared at him, eyes glazed in horror.

  ‘I can’t believe you!’ shrieked Paulette. ‘Tens of thousands of Jews are attacked by Hitler’s thugs, thousands killed and you treat it like … like it’s just a publicity problem. What kind of man are you?’

  ‘Oh, don’t give me your commie bullshit, Paulette. Hitler’s not a bad man. He’s just trying to pull his country out of the Depression, like everyone else. Hitler’s just a very practical man with practical solutions to Germany’s problems.’

  ‘It’s his practical solutions that worry me,’ snapped Paulette.

  ‘Yes, and if we all listened to you we’d be Russians not Americans!’

  Paulette clenched her drink as though getting ready to hurl it.

  Jennings didn’t care, he was too busy trying to catch the attention of a passing drinks waiter. Then his eyes lit up when he saw Gable was walking back towards us.

  Gable took one look at Jennings and spun on his heel.

  Jennings got to his feet and gave chase.

  ‘Oh, that man!’ said Carole, slapping the divan. ‘He’s got the hide of a rhinoceros. I don’t know how David can stand having him around.’

  ‘Yes, Carole, but you know Bernie doesn’t come out with that tripe to David’s face. We’re just the brainless womenfolk … and actresses at that!’

  They fell silent for a moment, depressed.

  ‘What does Earl think about all this?’ I asked. I had to get back to what happened in Paris. ‘Didn’t Earl go over to Paris to meet Jean Renoir in March? You know, the director who made Grand Illusion, the film that targeted Hitler.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s right, he did,’ muttered Carole, slightly amazed, as though connecting Earl with a political stance was extraordinary.

  ‘Was that when Earl hooked up with the luscious Daniel Devereaux?’ mused Paulette.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, eager. ‘How did Earl meet Devereaux?’

  ‘Why don’t you ask him yourself?’

  I followed her gaze.

  Jade-eyes was standing at the bar with Leslie Howard.

  18

  HUNTING IN PAIRS

  Devereaux exited the tent alone and turned right.

  I did the same but couldn’t make out his figure in the darkness ahead.

  It was pitch black on this side of the Selznick back yard. No lights, no people, nothing. The moon, not quite full, gave me just enough light to pick my way to the side gate. My high heels kept sinking into the spongy lawn.

  I rattled the gate to make sure. Yep, it was still locked.

  It was too tall to even see over … So where the hell had he gone?

  ‘There you are, baby. I’ve been looking for you.’

  Damn.

  Those were Purcell’s greasy tones.

  I turned.

  He was ten feet away and moving in fast. Sanders was at his heels, grinning like a hyena on heat.

  ‘I think I want to finish our little conversation another way, baby.’ Purcell grabbed my wrist and wrenched me into his chest.

  I ripped my wrist free and stepped back, hitting the gate hard.

  Blast Purcell and his little pet parasite.

  On this ground, in these heels, disciplining these creeps was going to get my paintwork at the very least smudged and possibly end in a torn dress. Either was going to make it difficult for me to mix in without alarmed comment.

  At worst it was going to end in a big scene with these two pests leaving in an ambulance.

  I had to talk my way out.

  ‘Look, boys, I’m sorry if I offended you, but I’m not an actress and I’m not available …’

  ‘Oh, you’re available all right,’ said Sanders, coming up to stand shoulder to shoulder with Purcell. ‘First you’re going to make amends to my friend here and then you’re going to do me too.’

  ‘You don’t want to do this, boys. If I scream …’

  ‘Scream all you want,’ said Purcell. ‘No one’s going to hear a thing over that band.’

  He was right. The swing band was now playing at full volume.

  Purcell jerked his head at his feet. ‘Get on your knees … now!’

  Over Purcell’s shoulder I saw a flash of white in the darkness — the shirt under a tuxedo.

  It was Daniel Devereaux.

  The sheer ferocity in his tiger eyes chilled … Yep. Purcell was going to leave in an ambulance after all.

  Purcell was wrenched back by one shoulder and sent flying away from me. He landed in a heap, his eyes bulging in fright.

  Sand
ers swung a hammer-like fist straight into Devereaux’s profile only to be punched straight off his feet before he could land it.

  Purcell came running back and Devereaux snapped him once in the stomach with an explosive hook and then a savage uppercut to the jaw. He dropped to the grass and bounced.

  While Purcell was woozily trying to lift his head, Devereaux pulled him up by the shirt collar and dumped him head-first over the locked gate.

  He landed with a splat.

  Devereaux turned on the other one … hostility steeling every limb.

  Sanders had been scrabbling to get his feet under him for another attack but now crouched at Devereaux’s feet instead.

  ‘You either get over that fence and take your friend with you. Or I’m going to break you in half.’ The faint French accent only made the threat more menacing.

  I watched, dazed.

  All my life I’d fought my own battles …

  Sanders ran at the gate, scaled it and was gone.

  Jade-eyes gazed over at me, barely out of breath. ‘Did they touch you, cherie? I can get them back and make them apologise.’

  ‘No, you arrived just in time,’ I said, frowning.

  I felt grateful that I didn’t have to deal with them but strangely inept at being the damsel in distress.

  ‘We’ve met but I don’t know your name …’ He lightly rolled his rs. It made the words melt off his tongue like honey. ‘I’m Daniel Devereaux.’

  We stared across at each other in the moonlight.

  ‘Kay Dupree.’

  Now his tiger eyes smouldered with a different kind of intensity.

  Mine probably did too.

  There was something about him that was so familiar … and yet so electrifying.

  Like recognising like.

  A memory of our first meeting flashed into my head.

  Instinctively I asked, ‘Why were you so …’ I couldn’t say hopeless. ‘Why were you so sad this afternoon … When you were watching those Confederate extras?’

  A microsecond of the lost expression I’d seen before flickered across his features.