Hoodwink

by Rhonda Roberts

  Susan Curtis had lied to me. Why?

  Even worse, if she knew Earl was a bastard why had she kept his memory alive all these years?

  Nothing made sense …

  Beulah shot me a sympathetic glance. ‘Now you just go into the breakfast room next door, Miss Dupree, and I’ll bring you in something to eat.’

  By the time she was finished the table in front of me was piled high with the works: bacon, sausages, scrambled eggs, tomatoes, potatoes, pancakes, fried everything and a mountain of hot buttered toast.

  I gave myself a mental slap on the face. The past was never what you expected it to be …

  I had no idea what crazy game Susan Curtis was playing but I still had to bring back an answer …

  ‘Are you okay?’ Gilbert pulled up the chair opposite and began piling up his plate.

  I grabbed a piece of buttered toast and chewed.

  ‘Gilbert, how long have you been Earl Curtis’ bodyguard?’

  ‘About seven weeks too long,’ he said, shuddering. ‘That bastard gives me the heebie-jeebies. He hired me to watch his back and then sneaks off every second night without me.’

  Beulah brought in fresh coffee for us both and more bacon.

  ‘Have you got any idea where he goes?’

  ‘Nah. Mr Curtis runs me ragged the rest of the time so I catch up on my sleep.’

  ‘So when did Earl hire you exactly?’

  Beulah answered for him. ‘Just after he came back from Paris.’

  ‘Do you know why he wanted a bodyguard then?’

  ‘Because that’s where he first started receiving those spooky dolls,’ said Gilbert.

  Everything kept leading back to Paris.

  With Gilbert’s help Earl gingerly worked his way down the spiral stairs. He was dressed in a dark suit and wearing dark glasses over his bloodshot eyes. Earl’d pass as sober as long as the dark glasses stayed on and no one came close enough to smell his breath.

  Hmm. As long as I forgot about my lying client, Susan Curtis, things were looking up. I had a solid lead to follow with Lewis Renfrow and another three days to verify it.

  But there were so many loose ends … like who was sending those malignant little dolls? And what on earth had happened in Paris?

  Gilbert drove us to the studio and together we kept Earl upright and walking from the car to his bungalow. He wasn’t due to be out the front of the Administration Building for another forty minutes, which gave him time for a little lie down and an ice pack.

  Eve was waiting outside the bungalow. As soon as she saw us she waved anxiously. ‘Kay, I need to talk to you …’

  Gilbert half carried Earl in.

  ‘Darling, there was a man here earlier this morning asking questions about you.’

  ‘Me?’ I said blankly. I was still trying to take in the revelation about Susan Curtis. ‘Who was it?’

  ‘If I’d been there, darling, I would have found out his social security number, let alone the rest,’ said Eve dryly. ‘But he talked to Benny, one of Vance Wheeler’s assistants, and all Benny did was tell me on his way past.’

  It had to be the NTA supervisor. I’d been here less than two days — who else could be looking for me?

  ‘Do you think someone has found out you’re a reporter for The New York Torch?’ asked Eve. She was anxious, more for me than herself.

  ‘No. But I have a feeling I know who it could be … What did he want to know?’

  ‘Benny was on the run, darling. He didn’t have time to go into details.’

  ‘D’you know where he is?’

  ‘Helping Vance set up in front of the Administration Building. Jennings wants everything filmed so it can be edited into a Movie News segment.’

  It had to be the supervisor and I needed to know what the son of a bitch looked like.

  ‘Thanks for that, Eve.’

  Since I wasn’t that worried Eve relaxed too.

  ‘So how did the Selznick party go last night?’ She brightened at the thought of some hot gossip. ‘Did you get lots of notes on Earl?’

  ‘Not a lot,’ I hedged. ‘But what can you tell me about Lewis Renfrow?’

  ‘Lewis Renfrow? Why do you want to know about him, darling?’

  ‘I’m just curious, he was at the party.’

  ‘Oh …’ She was disappointed. ‘Well, Renfrow used to work in New York. He was an enforcer for Meyer Lansky and Lucky Luciano. They sent him and Bugsy Siegel out here in 1937 to try and take over the West Coast gambling.’

  ‘Bloody hell. So Lewis Renfrow really is dangerous.’

  ‘Darling, he and Siegel were the main shooters for Murder Inc. They were hired to do the jobs the New York Mafiosi families wouldn’t do for themselves.’

  Cripes. ‘I can’t believe that a mobster like Lewis Renfrow was at Selznick’s last night.’

  ‘Oh, he goes everywhere he wants, invited or not.’

  ‘Oh, right. Who’s going to say no?’

  ‘That, plus he’s got a lot of power in Hollywood. In the industry. The studio heads all want to stay on his good side.’ She chuckled. ‘Well on his sunny side, at least.’

  ‘Power in the industry?’

  ‘In the unions.’

  ‘You mean that they’re Mob-enforced here?’

  ‘Yes, darling. When Renfrow arrived two years ago he realised the movie business was even more lucrative than gambling. So he set up a scam with the president of the Combined Theatre and Film Workers Union. The union includes most of the big technical ones that Hollywood depends on.’

  ‘I see … Renfrow can hold everyone hostage.’

  ‘Exactly, darling. No payola, no work. Now the big studios give him regular payoffs. Renfrow distributes the money to his Mob family here and in New York and struts around like Hollywood royalty.’

  ‘What about the police?’ I wanted to check Earl wasn’t being too paranoid. ‘What do they know about Renfrow? Do they know what he’s doing?’

  ‘Of course they do, darling, Los Angeles isn’t the City of Angels.’ She stopped. ‘Not the good kind anyway. Two years ago Mayor Frank Shaw sent an LAPD captain to plant a bomb in the car of one of his enemies. When it became public he wasn’t even sacked.’

  Hmm. Earl was right.

  ‘So the LAPD don’t want to know about Renfrow?’

  ‘Oh, they get kickbacks for doing nothing.’

  That certainly would explain the LAPD’s determination to make Earl’s death a suicide. So if Renfrow wanted Earl dead then it was just a matter of when and how.

  If it was Renfrow …

  21

  OPEN DAY

  Everything was set up out the front of the Administration Building. The stately faux plantation house with its lofty white columns was an ideal backdrop for selling the film version of Gone with the Wind to its Southern critics. It had that juicy ring of authenticity.

  If even the studio looked so innately Southern how could it not do a good job on the book?

  Anyway, that was Jennings’ logic.

  There was a wide set of stairs leading up to the middle of the porch and at the very top was a podium with a line of six antique chairs behind it. Seating for the audience had been set up at the bottom of the stairs, running across the white gravel driveway and extending onto the lawn beyond. The seats were divided into left and right sides with a walkway in the middle for the camera crew.

  Vance and his key grip were checking the lighting. It was a sunny day, but they’d still put up big lights focused on the podium and antique chairs, and a couple of reflectors to use the natural light as well. Two big cameras were set up in the centre aisle, one positioned to film the speakers, the other to get reaction shots from the audience.

  As I stood there searching for a glimpse of Benny, a guided procession of visitors filed in to take their seats. They were made up of small groups, each with their own designated studio minder. Jennings’ boys all had big ‘Publicity Department’ buttons on their lapels. He was obviously keen to make sure n
othing went wrong.

  Caterers had set up linen-covered tables on the studio’s front lawn, a few feet behind the last row of chairs. Once the speeches were over everyone would get a nice little garden party out on the grass.

  Benny wasn’t in the crew helping Vance so I scanned around. The lights and cameras had thick, twisting cables running out of them and along to an electrical panel. A thick cord ran from that and back into the Administration Building.

  He was checking the panel.

  ‘Benny.’

  He was so intent on his work that he didn’t hear me.

  ‘Benny,’ I hissed.

  He jerked his head up. ‘Oh, Miss Petti … sorry, I mean Miss Dupree.’ He straightened.

  ‘Benny, I was just talking to Eve. You told her that a man had been asking about me?’

  He glanced nervously down at the board then across to the camera crew. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Dupree, I’ve gotta get this working so Vance can finish off the lighting.’

  ‘Sure, Benny. Can’t you talk and work?’

  ‘It’s a bit dangerous, miss. I need to concentrate —’ He stiffened.

  I followed his eyes. Vance was waving frantically and pointing to his watch.

  I got the message. I didn’t have time either.

  ‘That’s fine, Benny, but find me as soon as you’re finished. I’m going to Earl’s bungalow then I’ll be back again for the speeches. I really need to know about this guy.’

  He nodded once and dropped down to resume his work.

  I looked back at Vance and the cameramen. The two rows of seats on either side of them were already filled. I checked my watch. Selznick wanted the four stars and Earl up in the seats behind the podium so he could introduce them.

  Okay, focus. I’d find out about the NTA supervisor a little later. Today was all about impressions. Good ones. The actors were probably all still getting their hair and faces fixed. But no doubt Earl needed it more.

  When I made it back to the bungalow Gilbert was outside dealing with an enraged Beck.

  ‘I’ve been up all night working on this!’ Beck waved a wad of script under Gilbert’s nose. ‘Earl told me I absolutely had to have these pages ready by eight o’clock this morning.’

  Beck was wearing exactly the same clothes as yesterday, big black circles ringed his eyes and he stank of tobacco and booze.

  Gilbert stood his ground. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Beck, but like I told you, you can’t go in there!’

  Beck made to push past the larger man. ‘I don’t care what you want. If I don’t do exactly what Earl says, he’ll blame me!’

  Gilbert solidly barred the way. When he saw me approach he said with relief, ‘Here’s Miss Dupree. You can talk to her.’

  We didn’t have time to waste. By all accounts Earl made it through today’s activities without getting fired.

  ‘Sorry, Beck. No matter what Earl asked you to do, he can’t read it right now,’ I said.

  ‘What!’ Beck was furious.

  ‘He’s not well and Gilbert and I have to get him ready for —’

  ‘That lousy, rotten sod. He’s drunk again, isn’t he?’

  Gilbert and I exchanged a glance. Beck was stoking himself up into a fine passion.

  I reached out my hand, palm up. ‘Beck, if you give me the script, I’ll see he gets it.’

  ‘No!’ Beck clutched it to his chest protectively. ‘No! Mr Curtis won’t like it being seen by anyone else. Including you!’ He spat out the last two words.

  Yesterday Beck had been a timid grey mouse but today he was a nasty mix of anxiety and aggression.

  ‘What’s this all about, Beck?’ I asked.

  Beck sneered, ‘Just you mind your own business … I’ll come back later.’ He marched off.

  I watched him go. Earl collected enemies like syrup collected flies.

  Gilbert opened the front door of the bungalow. ‘How much time do we have, Miss Dupree?’

  ‘Call me Kay.’ I checked my watch. ‘None, Gilbert.’

  Earl appeared in the doorway to bark, ‘Gilbert, you fool, why didn’t you get me up …’ He stopped to clutch his head and groan, ‘Jesus … Where are my dark glasses?’

  He was wearing them.

  ‘It’s time to go, Mr Curtis,’ I said.

  ‘I know that, you idiot!’ whispered Earl venomously. ‘Get me over there.’

  Gilbert helped him negotiate the steps and then we walked Earl to the Administration Building. Or rather, we walked on either side holding his arms and Earl wobbled along between us.

  This was going to be interesting.

  Vivien Leigh, Clark Gable, Veronica Hall and Leslie Howard were already sitting on the line of antique chairs and pretending to chat. They were all dressed in stylish street wear and flashing their white teeth in correctly photogenic smiles for the cameras. Vivien Leigh was coyly batting her eyelashes at Clark Gable. Lip-reading his reply, I think he actually said, ‘Ah shucks.’

  The visitors, dizzy with excitement, were twittering to each other about the actors. What they were wearing, Vivien Leigh’s exquisite complexion, how manly Clark Gable was …

  Bernie Jennings had been right on the money. Whatever mood this lot had arrived in, they were lapping up the sheer star power like nectar now.

  There were only two empty antique chairs left. One for Selznick and one for Earl. The good news was that Selznick hadn’t made his grand entrance yet.

  Earl straightened his coat and made for the front stairs. Gilbert grabbed off his sunglasses as he passed.

  We both retreated to the side where a group of Jennings’ publicity boys were clustered. We were far enough away to be out of the view of the audience, but close enough to do something if Earl fell down the stairs.

  Earl made it to the top just as Selznick came up the other side; they met at the podium. His boss kept the smile going for the audience and patted him on the shoulder as they passed each other. The audience applauded and Earl managed to take his seat without falling down.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ began Selznick. ‘Let me say how proud I am to welcome you all here to my studio and to the home of Gone with the Wind. Not only is this story about the most important time in modern American history … a time that has made America what it is today … But,’ he swept his hand around to indicate the four actors behind him, ‘we are fortunate enough to have this story told by the best actors of our generation … Miss Vivien Leigh, Mr Clark Gable, Miss Veronica Hall and Mr Leslie Howard.’

  Jennings’ minders led the audience in resounding applause. A couple of the bolder men gave rebel yells.

  Vivien Leigh and Clark Gable nodded and waved at the crowd.

  Veronica Hall merely smiled demurely but her jaw was clenched hard enough to bite through a railway sleeper. Howard was politely bored. They both knew the applause wasn’t for them; it was for Scarlett and Rhett.

  Selznick continued, bosom swelling with feeling. ‘And, in our audience today, we are proud to have such guests as the Standard Bearers of the Confederate Flag, all proud descendants of Civil War soldiers …’

  More rousing applause.

  ‘As well, we have the distinguished editor of the Southern Bugle, Mr Clarence Dunstable … who we would like to make most welcome.’

  A burly red-faced man in the first row stood and waved.

  More applause.

  Each time Earl went through the motion of clapping but his hands didn’t quite connect. He was probably just managing to cope with the light, let alone the noise.

  ‘But in particular,’ Selznick put a hand to his heart, ‘we are exceedingly proud to welcome our esteemed guests of honour … the three gentlemen sitting in the front row. Let’s give a rousing welcome to Captain Cyrus Montgomery, Sergeant Emmet Routledge and Private Ruben Gouge, of the 51st Volunteers … All brave survivors of the Siege of Atlanta.’

  At that the whole audience stood and cheered; the men all gave loud rebel yells.

  Quick to pick up on the mood, the four actors als
o rose to their feet and saluted the three veterans with warm smiles and applause.

  The aged Confederate soldiers sat there, neatly dressed in plain street clothes and hats. They were old, very old; by now, surely they’d have to be in their nineties at least. Two of them turned to wave at the crowd and stars alike, one smiling a strangely boyish, yellow-toothed smile. The last veteran held aloof, surveying the scene with faintly cynical dark eyes. You got the feeling he knew something no one else did.

  ‘Our gallant veterans,’ continued Selznick, ‘will leave us now for a photo shoot with Life magazine. But don’t worry, we’ll all be able to catch up with them later …’

  ‘Psst!’

  I swung around and into Benny.

  ‘I’m sorry, Miss Dupree, but it’s taken me all this time to find you again.’

  ‘That’s all right, Benny. I just want to know about the man who was here this morning. The one you mentioned to Eve.’

  ‘You mean the man who was asking about you?’ Benny wasn’t the brightest person I’d ever met.

  ‘Yes, that’s the one. What did he look like?’

  ‘He was tall and thin, about six foot I’d say.’ Benny was short himself so he looked up when he said it, as though measuring the angle he’d had to use.

  ‘Yep. How old?’

  ‘Forties, I think. He had black hair that’d turned to grey and white.’

  Hmm. That sounded exactly like Brigham. Would he really check up on me himself?

  Then I remembered the way Brigham went through my stuff before I got in the portal — yeah, he’d relish personally finding a way to kick me off the program.

  ‘What did this man want to know, Benny?’

  ‘Not really sure, miss.’

  Benny was proving to be a hard nut to crack. ‘Well what do you know? Why did you think he was asking about me?’

  Benny wrinkled his forehead. ‘I walked through the gate this morning.’ He pointed in the direction of Gate Two. ‘This man, he was talking to Bob, the guard, real chatty like. I wasn’t paying too much attention because I was late and I knew Mr Wheeler would —’