by George Baxt
Terrific gal, thought Carole, what a hell of an epitaph. She said, “I’ll bet I’m right.”
Clark patted her hand. “Sure you are, sweetheart.”
“Don’t you even want to know what I think I’m right about?”
“Sure, sweetheart, sure. You tell us.”
Carole’s temper was rising. “I’ll tell you a lot of things if you continue patronizing me!” She zeroed in on Carl Arden. “Here’s what I think! Blink once if I’m wrong, blink twice if I’m right. Earhart was following instructions when she landed on that island. There was nothing wrong with her plane. She feigned a crash landing so we’d have an excuse to send reconnaissance planes to look for her. That’s when they took all those pictures you people were so pleased with.” Carl Arden neither blinked once or twice nor spoke. He continued munching away at the celery while Carole folded her arms and sat back. She knew she had scored. She knew she was right and Carl Arden knew she was right. Their eyes linked briefly and he winked. She was grateful for that.
Herb Villon asked her, “Got any theories as to who killed Mike Lynton?”
“Pulling my leg, Herb?”
He silently wished he could while he said, “No I’m not. You’ve got a good, logical mind. I have a feeling the solution to Mike’s killing would be a very simple one if I put my mind to work. I know there’s a connection to Lydia Austin’s disappearance. It goes back to when they were having an affair. They both knew something then that was a threat to someone and that someone decided they were both expendable.”
“You think Lydia’s dead.” Carole’s voice was hollow. Clark put an arm around her.
“Yes,” said Herb, “I think she was killed the day she disappeared.”
Carole raged, “Why didn’t you say so then?”
“I was hoping I was wrong. I might still be wrong, but why hasn’t there been a peep out of her kidnapper? It’s a lot of trouble holding someone prisoner. There have to be accomplices.”
Hazel spoke up. “Of course there are.”
Carole snapped, “How do you know?”
“It’s simple logic, Carole. If she’s alive, she has to be fed. That calls for accomplices. Or at least an accomplice. Herb and I have discussed this at length.”
“You also think she’s dead.” Carole’s eyes seemed to be penetrating Hazel’s skull. Hazel nodded. “And so does Oscar Levitt.”
“Why?” It was so soft-spoken, the word seemed to have crept out of Herb’s mouth as though it were on a clandestine mission.
“The way he told the reporters Nana Lewis would replace Lydia in the movie. There’s still time before it starts shooting. Still time for Lydia to show up. But she’s not going to show up. Everyone’s so damn sure she won’t.” She said stubbornly, “Well, I think she’s going to show up. So there!”
The waiter was clearing the table while waiting for coffee and dessert orders, not sure there would be any. The gaiety that had sparked the table earlier was gone. It’s as though they had heard the studio system was about to collapse and with it their high styles of living, he thought. And also the generous tips he usually received. He agreed with his mother, who phoned him frequently to remind him that life is not easy, don’t take it for granted.
Carole said, “I hate to be a party poop, but I want to go home.”
“Sure, sweetheart. I’ll get the check,” said Clark. Carole kicked him under the table. His eyes shut in pain. Carl Arden spoke up. “Dinner’s on me. I’m on an expense account. J. Edgar will be very impressed with the guest list.”
“He’s always impressed by celebrities,” snorted Carole, “that’s why he’s always investigating us, hee hee hee. Honest to God the couple of times I met him when I was in Washington, I marveled at the rate at which he dropped names. Edgar’s like an old maid who checks under the bed every night before she turns in. Afraid there’ll be a burglar under the bed and disappointed when she doesn’t find one. He still shacking up with that what’shis-name … Clyde Tolson?”
“They’re the best of friends,” said Carl Arden swiftly while he selected some crisp bills from his alligator-skin wallet.
“Hee hee hee. Why didn’t you just say, ‘No comment,’ Carl?”
“Actually, I have a comment. Live and let live, I say. To each his own.”
The waiter picked up the bills and the check, thanked the FBI man politely, and then put a curse on him when the cashier pointed out Arden had left a meager tip.
Bogart looked at his wristwatch and said to Mayo, “Let’s go home. I know it’s early but we can spar a few rounds in the basement.”
W. C. Fields was having a stomachache but didn’t tell Carlotta. Jim Mallory was standing, looking to the rear of the restaurant. Nana Lewis and Oscar Levitt were gone. He hadn’t seen them leave. For him, the day had not been a happy one.
* * *
In the beautifully appointed boudoir of her mansion, Miriam Hopkins reposed on the bed seductively, as she supposed Madame Récamier had done a couple of centuries ago in France. She said to Sammy and Roy, “Boys, it’s better with your shoes off.”
* * *
Before leaving the restaurant, Herb had a brief session with Mike Romanoff in Romanoff’s booth near the bar. The Gables left shortly after the bill was paid as Gable could sense Carole was growing testy. He could see she was displeased with Carl Arden, upset by the unanimous opinion that Lydia Austin was dead, and very worried that there was another world war in their future. She wanted to abduct Clark and spirit him away and have him all to herself the way Paris had made off with Helen of Troy. But where could she hide with him? Where was safe? Desert islands were once romantic and remote but today they were infested with secret armies. She sighed. She supposed she could whisk him away to the offices of the William Morris Agency, the most powerful in the business. She’d been told often enough by Hollywood cynics nobody would find her there. Then realistically, she knew Clark Gable could never be sequestered anywhere by anyone. She spat out a nasty four-letter word.
“What was that for?” asked Clark, who had been enduring her unusually long bout of silence as he drove them home.
“That was for nothing,” said Carole. She resumed brooding over Lydia Austin. She was one of Carole’s kids. Carefully chosen along with the three others. And finally she was reminded of Mala Anouk.
“Oh God,” she groaned.
“Now what?” asked Clark patiently.
“Mala Anouk. My poor little Eskimo. She must be very upset. She must have heard about the Sarita Maru.”
“You’re sure she knew Takameshuga was sailing on her?”
“I’m not sure of anything anymore. The only thing I’m sure of is we’re legally married. We are, aren’t we?”
“You’re having a bad time, baby. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” She rearranged herself in the seat. “I’ve been too smug. Don’t say I haven’t. Smug smug smug. I knew in my heart Lydia was dead. She was just past twenty. Damn it! She was robbed of her lifetime! Like Dorothy Dell! Remember her? Nineteen when she was killed in that car crash. Paramount predicted big things for her. Oh, I can still hear her singing “With My Eyes Wide Open I’m Dreaming.’” She burst into tears.
“Hey hey, kiddo. What is it? What’s wrong?” He pulled to the side of the road and put his arm around her. Carole cried softly, unmindful of the damage to her mascara. She opened the glove compartment where there were tissues. She lowered her window, took some deep breaths, and cast a shy look at Clark.
“I’m sorry, Pappy. I’ve been holding it in too long. It’s all piling up and heavy heavy lies over our heads. Thank God the kidnapping scare was just a scare. I’d been wondering for days how much I’d offer to pay if you were grabbed.”
“Would you have offered much?”
“Don’t you know to me you’re worth double your weight in gold?” He kissed her gently. Then she was her old self again. “What would you have offered for me?”
“I’d have offered nothing until they proved
you hadn’t escaped.”
“Hee hee hee; I’ll bet I’d have escaped, but not until I was sure I was plastered on the front pages of every gazette from here to China! Oh, let’s stop kidding around and go home.” The car shot forward. “Well, I guess Nana Lewis gets her big break now.”
“I wonder if she ever was mixed up with Mike Lynton.”
“You know, from time to time I’ve been thinking the same thing. Remember that time we ran into her at the casino? She said she was alone. Stood to reason. She had no steady guy that I knew of. Lots of gals go places by themselves in this town. Pride goeth before a fall or some such crap.” She stared out the window. “Nana always got around. She knew a lot of people. I once asked her jokingly could she spare some of her leftover contacts. And she said, ‘Carole, I’ve got friends I haven’t even used yet.’ I’d have a talk with her, except I’ve had talks with her before. She talks but she doesn’t offer much.” She was thinking again. “It’s still early, Pappy.”
“What’s on your mind?”
“I thought maybe we’d drop in on Mala and Nell Corday. Where does the idea grab you?”
It grabbed him. He headed for the Hollywood hills.
* * *
“So?” said Hazel to Herb Villon, who wasn’t liking Jim Mallory’s driving at all. Neither did Carl Arden, in the back seat with Hazel. She was hunched forward to hear what Herb would have to say if he said anything. To Arden, Hazel’s position reminded him of girls when he was a teenager, girls who were expecting a necking session and frequently were disappointed. Carl wasn’t highly sexed, which didn’t surprise or disappoint him in the least. It was fine by his wife, who’d rather wrestle with a book than her husband. Both of them married each other because it was expected that they would marry each other. When his wife became pregnant her sister remarked snidely, “She’s pregnant probably because neither one of them was paying attention.”
“So?” said Hazel again, now insistent, bearing down on the word.
“So what?” he finally responded.
“Mike Romanoff.”
“What about him?”
“What did he tell you?”
“When?”
Hazel was losing patience, and when lost, it would stay lost. She rarely went in search of it. “At the bar. Before we left.”
“Now, Hazel, you know better than to expect me to share privileged information.”
Hazel was bristling. “Privileged information is between lawyer and client, doctor and patient. Not between restaurant owner and detective.”
“Hazel, when are you going to learn to think before you speak?”
A trace of a smile appeared on Jim Mallory’s face and Herb felt better. Jim was obviously unhappy about the way the day had gone. Nana proves to be a washout, Mike Lynton is murdered, and Herb treats it so matter-of-factly, or seemingly so, that Jim was wondering if Herb was burned out. Herb was convinced Lynton wasn’t murdered at his casino, but still he should have gone directly there to conduct the questioning of the staff instead of going off to Romanoff’s. Herb had long ago mastered the art of reading Jim Mallory’s mind and was prepared to pacify him if pacifying was still called for.
Herb was thinking that Hazel should have known he preferred not to relay information in front of Carl Arden. Arden would find out what he wanted to know in due time, if there was anything he wanted to know. Meanwhile he preferred keeping the FBI man at arm’s length. Herb didn’t know who Arden knew in Hollywood and might deliberately or inadvertently relay information to. He then dwelled on Carole and her free-wheeling attitudes. She gave much better than she got and was a hell of a lot smarter than her husband. Anybody was a hell of a lot smarter than her husband. Herb didn’t want to go hunting. He loathed hunting animals that weren’t two-legged, but Clark was so anxious to round up a larger hunting party than was available to him, he decided to pitch in and offer his and Jim’s company. Of course, Hazel had to shoehorn her way in. Carole will go berserk listening to Hazel while the men were away hunting. Hunting. What a laugh. The only one among them who would get an animal in his sight would be Gable. He wasn’t sure about Carl Arden.
“You do much hunting, Carl?” Herb asked nonchalantly.
“Haven’t stalked a wild animal in years.”
“Then why’d you agree to join the hunt?”
“I couldn’t turn down an invitation from Clark Gable.” Arden didn’t see Jim’s jaw drop. Herb blinked his eyes like a semaphor out of control. Hazel concentrated on the scenery out her window. “Carl,” said Herb, “you’d be surprised how many men have turned down Clark Gable’s invitations.”
“But aha!” cried Hazel, sounding like comedienne Fanny Brice doing one of her routines. “Few women have turned him down!”
“Yes, I heard about his reputation back in Washington. But I guess Carole has got him tamed now.”
“Try telling that to Carole,” said Hazel dryly. “Like so many married ladies in this town, she grins and bears it, a past mistress at the gentle art of biting the bullet.”
“I think she’s a great gal,” said Arden.
Herb was thinking, There are squares and there are squares, but there are no squares like a square square.
* * *
Mala Anouk and Nell Corday were delighted by Carole and Clark’s surprise visit. A pot of coffee was brewing in the kitchen and Mala Anouk hastened to serve blubber cookies from her grandmother’s original recipe. Yes, they had heard about the Sarita Maru on the radio and Mala said the news saddened them both. Carole wondered why the strange look on Nell Corday’s face, little knowing Nell loathed Ito Takameshuga. Carole asked, “You knew Takameshuga had sailed on the ship, Mala?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell the authorities when you knew they thought he might be kidnapped?”
“Tacky swore me to secrecy. He liked me to call him Tacky.”
Carole told the girls that it was likely that Lydia Austin was dead.
“We decided that several days ago,” said Nell. “Oops! The coffee’s boiling over!” She fled to the kitchen.
“Nana’s got Lydia’s part in the picture. It’s official.”
“I’m very happy for her,” Mala said unenthusiastically. Carole wondered if any of the girls really liked each other. Circumstances had brought them together under one roof and they were apparently making the best of it. Carole was sure Nana Lewis would find a place of her own once the picture was shooting. She was the only one of the girls making steady money at Columbia Pictures but what would have gone toward rent ended up on her back. That was no bargain basement number she was wearing tonight.
Mala said, “That must have been quite a shock at the party when Mike Lynton’s body came drifting in.”
“Yes,” said Carole, “a macabre way of crashing a party.”
They heard the unoiled wheels of a cart bearing coffee and blubber cookies. “Ah! I’ll pour!” said Mala.
Carole was thinking of saying, And you take the first bite of a blubber cookie, but thought better of it. Everyone took their coffee black which made it easier for Mala. Nell passed around the plate of cookies.
Clark decided the polite thing to do was to take a cookie. Mala had told him a long time ago she was a big fan of his and the least he could do for a big fan was eat one of her blubber cookies. The cookies were shaped like bagels with a hole in the center. Carole examined her cookie with suspicion. She expected water to come spurting out at her as from a whale’s funnel.
“They’re so crisp and tasty,” said Carole, despite the fact that cookie was flat and tasteless. There were so many things she wanted to ask the girls while fearing some of the answers she would receive. Why weren’t their faces tear-stained, especially Mala’s? Wasn’t she affected by the deaths of Takameshuga and Lydia? Carole had wept, not for the Japanese whom she didn’t know, but for Lydia. In for a penny, in for a pound. “How well did Lydia know Tacky?” It amused her to use what she was sure was a very appropriate nickname.
“I introduced them,” said Mala.
“I assumed that. But how well did she know him?”
Mala placed her coffee cup on the saucer and set them aside. “What you’re really asking me is did Lydia go away to be with him? Neither one of them confided things like that to me so I don’t know.”
“But you think they did.” Clark had to hand it to his girl. She was as tenacious as a bulldog refusing to give up a bone.
“I’ve never given it any thought.”
“Hee hee hee.” Now the giggle was phony. “I’ll bet you have. Weren’t you sweet on Tacky?”
“Oh no.” She said it too fast, making Carole even more suspicious. “Tacky was a friend of my aunt.”
“Oh of course. Your aunt. The one who attended university in Tokyo. She taught you the tea ritual. How come we’re not having tea tonight?”
“Because the coffee was already on the stove.”
“Very practical.”
“Would you prefer tea? I can prepare it in a jiffy.”
“Goodness no, the coffee’s just dandy. Isn’t the coffee dandy, Pappy?”
“Real dandy.”
Carole insisted wickedly, “You haven’t touched your blubber cookie.”
“I had too much dinner.” He said with menace in his voice, “I’ll get to the cookie.”
“Mala, it suddenly occurred to me. Is your aunt still in Japan?”
“Yes. She loves it there.”
“Really? But aren’t Japanese women subservient to their men? I read somewhere the men order their women around and if they get any backtalk, they belt them.”
“Oh yes!” said Mala jovially. “It is the same with Eskimo women. We live to serve our men. After all, they do the hunting and the fishing and protect us from polar bears and other dangers. The least we can do is look up to and honor them. When my father’s boots are frozen, my mother chews them until the leather is soft again and he can wear them to go hunting.”
“No!” Carole looked at Clark. Fat chance he’d ever get her to chew his smelly boots back into condition. She hoped Mala wasn’t giving him any ideas. “Are you still planning to go back to the Antarctic?”
