by Judith Gould
He gestured toward the car. 'Then you're sure you don't want it?'
She ran her fingertips lightly across the curvaceous fender. The metal felt warm from the sun. How curiously tempting a concoction of metal could be, she was thinking. Then she quickly snatched her hand away and thrust the keys at Louis. She shook her head. 'We can't,' she said quietly. 'Please try to understand.' She attempted a weak smile. 'I’ll always remember this car, since you went to the trouble to get it. But we can't keep it.'
He turned away and she took his arm and turned him to face her.
'It's the thought that counts, Louie. Now please take it back.' She rose on tiptoe and brushed a kiss against his cheek, but his expression didn't change.
'Have it your way,' he said through tight lips, and tossed the keys on the car seat.
Tamara took a deep breath. 'I know you're upset with me, and if the circumstances didn't warrant it, I wouldn't ask you to do this.'
'Sure, I'll drive it back to the dealer. What the hell?' He began to tug at the wide satin ribbon. 'My wife tells me to jump, I jump.'
She flinched and stood there wordlessly, watching, hating herself for having burst his bubble, knowing how much he enjoyed giving her gifts. But there was no way they could afford a new car now. Not after what Clifford Harriman had told her. She wished there was something more she could say, some way to penetrate Louis' quiet anger, but there wasn't time. Tonight would come soon enough.
Sighing softly, she went back inside and got a pair of dark glasses. She slipped them on her nose. She should have thought of them earlier. At least she would be able to let her guard down somewhat, since Marilee surely didn't have X-ray vision.
As she walked back out to the terrace, Tamara could faintly hear the slam of a car door and the screeching of tyres. The car was going back to the dealer. For a moment she lingered under the shady loggia, seeking strength and calm by inhaling deeply. It was a trick Louis had taught her when she'd first begun to act. Deep breaths. Filling the lungs completely, then letting the air out very slowly. One . . . Two . . . Three . . . There. She concentrated on her delicate facial muscles, relaxing them, and they seemed to change under the skin, creating a carefree expression. For a moment, at least, the unhappiness of the scene with Louis was shoved to the recesses of her mind. Armed with a serene expression, she could face Marilee again.
'Is everything all right on the home front?' the columnist asked Tamara as she sat back down.
'Yes, fine.'
'Esperanza brought us the drinks. Yours is right there, beside your chair. You know, she's really quite a sweet, uncomplicated girl once you dig under that inscrutable passiveness of hers. We had a nice little chat.'
Oh-oh, Tamara thought, her internal antennae going to full alert. 'Did you learn anything interesting?'
'Actually, not as much as I would have liked.' Marilee smiled.
Tamara reached for her glass of iced tea and took a sip. It was too strong and extremely bitter, and she hid her grimace. 'You've been holding out on me, Marilee,' she chided almost lazily as she put the glass down. 'Why didn't you mention my Oscar nomination?'
'You heard?'
Tamara nodded. 'Louie just got through telling me.' She paused and smiled sweetly. 'So that's why you want me on your show. As an Oscar nominee.'
'Well, yes,' Marilee admitted. 'But more correctly, that's why O.T. wants you to do it. It's a great way to publicize the picture. Now . . .'She consulted her notes, poised her poison pencil and looked Tamara squarely in the eye. 'Fire and Blood' is your first Technicolour movie. What did you think about seeing yourself in colour for the very first time?'
The questions continued to come: 'I know your husband directs all your films, but if he wasn't around, who would be your choice of director?' . . . 'You always dress in white or pale colours. Tell me, is it your own style or did the studio decide it for you?' 'Which did you prefer to kiss, Clark Gable or Errol Flynn?' . . . 'Do you really think Roosevelt is doing a good job in running this country?'
Tamara listened and thought quickly and replied as honestly as the questions allowed. They ranged from films to politics, an area O.T. had had her suitably tutored in from time to time so she could give concise middle-of-the-road views that would offend the least number of her fans. The barrage of questions was unrelenting, and when Esperanza came unhurriedly toward them in that flatfooted way of hers, Tamara actually welcomed the interruption.
Esperanza's face was as impassive as always. 'There a policeman here to see you, señora.'
'A policeman!' Tamara whipped off her sunglasses and frowned up at her. 'Did he say what he wants?'
'No, señora.' Esperanza shrugged. 'He no tell me.'
'I'd better see to this right away,' Tamara told Marilee. 'I'm sorry. Today it seems like we're doomed to be constantly interrupted. I'll be right back.'
Marilee nodded and watched Tamara hurrying off. She was about to sit back, when her reporter's instinct made her get up and follow at a discreet distance.
Tamara found one of L.A.'s uniformed finest waiting just inside the sliding terrace doors, blue cap in hand. 'You wished to see me?' she asked.
'Yes, ma'am. I'm Officer West of the LAPD. Are you the owner of a white Packard Convertible?'
It was then that her heart began to beat like a sledgehammer on an anvil, but she forced herself to remain calm. 'No ... I mean, yes. I ... I suppose so. You see, my husband just bought me one earlier today, and I didn't want it. He's gone to return it.'
His face still looked straight at her, but his eyes shifted to the side, as though he was afraid to meet her gaze head-on. 'I'm afraid there's been an accident.'
She clutched his arm. 'No! It can't be!'
'I'm sorry, ma'am. According to eyewitness reports, there was the sound of a blowout just before a curve, and then the driver apparently lost control. The car overshot the road and . . . plunged down into the canyon.'
'He's dead!' she screamed, her eyes widening in horror. 'Oh, my God, he's dead!' She clapped her hands over her ears and started to scream.
And then the world seemed to screech and roar and tilt, whirling out of control and blasting her straight off the universe. Her eyes rolled and fluttered, and then her body went limp. Even before Officer West caught her and lowered her gently to the floor, Marilee Rice was dashing to her car. She knew a scoop when she heard one.
Chapter 19
Louis' funeral was lavish. O.T. had put his chauffeured limousine at Tamara's disposal and rode to the synagogue with her and Inge. Once there they were treated to a shock. Morbid curiosity seekers lined both sides of the street behind hastily erected police barricades; the press and hundreds of fans had turned out to catch a glimpse of the Hollywood notables come to pay their last respects. There was a carnival atmosphere in the air. An ice-cream vendor was doing a brisk business, and hand-held placards bobbed obscenely up and down, reading we love you , tamara or we weep with you , and one young man was frantically waving one which read how about me? The moment Tamara was helped out of the car, a single whisper flashed from person to person: 'Tamara.' Shutters started clicking and newsreel cameras rolled. And then the chant began: 'Ta-ma-RA. Ta-ma-RA.'
Reporters started shouting questions, and the crowd thrust the barricades aside, surging forward despite the phalanx of policemen trying to hold them back. One crazed woman managed to reach Tamara on the synagogue steps, waving an autograph book in front of her veiled face. While a policeman dragged the woman away, O.T. and Inge quickly hustled Tamara inside.
The synagogue was filled to overflowing. The film colony was a tight-knit community, and Louis had known almost everyone in it. Many of his friends and acquaintances, from studio heads on down to the grips, had shown up to pay their last respects. The floral tributes were mountainous, the service mercifully short, the eulogy, delivered by O.T., warm and inspiring. The casket was closed, so Tamara could take no comfort from seeing her loved one in peaceful, if cosmetic, repose, could kiss no chill lips good-bye bef
ore sending him on his final journey. There was nothing she could draw comfort from, not even the hope that death had been instantaneous. Louis had, in all likelihood, been aware of the car's plunge for several horrible seconds before it crashed into the canyon bed. She could only pray that death had then been immediate. The alternative was too gruesome to imagine. Louis had been pinned behind the steering wheel of the Packard and burned beyond recognition when the gas tank exploded.
Afterward, Tamara didn't know how she had managed to get through the ordeal, the single worst thing that had ever happened to her. Blessedly, most of it was a blur—she was still in a state of numb shock. Everyone remarked upon how dignified she was, how she kept herself in rigid control. In truth, she was closer to catatonia than life, and she simply let Inge lead her around like a zombie. All she had to do, really, was put one foot,in front of the other. That was the only effort required of her.
It was at the cemetery plot, a stone's throw from Valentino's crypt, that the other nightmare occurred. As Louis' coffin was about to be lowered into the ground, Zelda Ziolko let out a shriek and rushed forward, flinging herself across it. 'Louieee,' she sobbed, beating her fists on her son's coffin.'Louieeee . . . don't you leave me here, Louieeee . . .'
Friends of Zelda's who had accompanied her tried to pry her loose and managed to pull her back. It was then that Zelda pointed an accusing finger at Tamara. 'You, you no-good bitch!' Zelda shrieked crazily. 'YOU killed him! You killed my bubbale! I curse you, you bitch! May you never rest in peace!'
Inge swiftly placed herself between Zelda and Tamara, and then Zelda's friends pulled the hysterical woman back and hustled her off to a waiting limousine, her wails and accusations rupturing the otherwise dignified silence of the ceremony.
'Come, we must go,' Inge said finally in a trembling voice that made it evident just how grief-stricken she was. She gestured at two workmen standing at a discreet distance, leaning on their shovels and smoking. 'The gravediggers are waiting.' Tears rolled down from her cornflower-blue eyes as she took Tamara's arm shakily and tried to steer her away. 'It is all over now.'
Tamara trembled slightly, her veil swaying in front of her face. 'No, it's not over,' she whispered in a thin, reedy voice. 'Death is with you always. A part of me has died along with Louie.'
When they arrived back at Tamahawk, they discovered that there would be no peace there either. Two men were waiting for Tamara in the living room. They rose to their feet as one the moment she entered.
'Mrs. Ziolko?' the taller of the two said, stepping forward.
She lifted her veil slowly and frowned blankly at him, her puffy red eyes confused. 'Who are you?' she asked in a shrill voice. 'Who let you in? Get out this instant before I call the police!'
The man was undeterred. 'I am David Fleischer and this is my associate Alan Salzberg,' he said. 'We are with the firm of Kasindorf, Steinberg, Rinaldi, and Fleischer, attorneys for Mrs. Zelda Ziolko.'
'What does she have to do with you trespassing in my house?'
Fleischer held up a sheaf of folded documents. 'We're sorry, Mrs. Ziolko, but we must ask you to vacate this house at once.'
'What!' Tamara started to rush forward, and almost leapt at him, but Inge clung to her arm and held her back.
'According to a prenuptial agreement we prepared and you signed, you have voluntarily forfeited all claims to the estate of Louis Ziolko.'
'Get out!' she whispered. 'This is my house. I've been paying the mortage on it! Get out! Get out! Get out!'
'According to the deed, both the house and the property are in Mr. Ziolko's name.' He stepped forward and thrust the papers at her. She refused to hold them, and let them drop to the floor. 'Pending a full investigation, we must insist that you do not remove anything except your personal clothes.'
Tamara squirmed out of Inge's grip and raised her taloned hands threateningly. 'Get out of my house!' she screamed, rushing at the lawyer. 'Out! Out!'
The two lawyers departed swiftly. Like a blind woman, Tamara stumbled toward the nearest couch, felt it, and then carefully sank down into it. She was shaking so badly that her teeth were chattering. Would this nightmare never end? Was this the legacy she was to be left by her dead husband?
Tamara lowered her hands, raised her head, and sat there stiffly. 'Inge, call the Beverly Hills Hotel,' she said shakily. 'See if they have a bungalow available for us. Then pack what we'll need. Two suitcases will do for now.'
Inge stood her ground stubbornly. 'You cannot let that witch get away with it!'
'Inge, please do as I say,' Tamara breathed wearily. 'I don't want to spend another night in this place.' She glanced around the room and shuddered. 'I never liked it much anyway. It reminds me too much of a mausoleum.'
They were about to leave when Tamara took one more look back at the living room from the foyer. 'We forgot something,' she said, her grief finally turning to purposeful anger.
'What?' Inge wanted to know.
'Come on, I need your help.' Heels clicking sharply, Tamara marched across the travertine and plopped herself down on one of the long white couches placed along the walls. She started to take off a shoe.
'What are you doing?' Inge asked, mystified.
Tamara looked at the sleek black pump in her hand and began to laugh, mirthlessly. 'You're right,' she said, slipping it back on her foot. 'They're not my smudges now, they're Zelda's. Let her get the cleaning bill.' She climbed up on the soft white sofa cushions and signalled for Inge to climb up beside her. Still mystified, Inge did as she was told. When Tamara grabbed one side of the large gilt-framed Toulouse-Lautrec painting hanging over the sofa, she didn't have to be told any more. She grabbed the other side, and grunting, they managed to lift it off the hook and carry it out to the foyer. The ornate carved and gilded frame weighed a good sixty pounds.
'We can do this?' Inge, with her typical middle-class fear of courts and lawyers, asked in an astonished voice. 'After what the man tell you?'
'Watch me do it,' Tamara said grimly. 'If Zelda tries to get her greedy little paws on these, she's got a fight on her hands. They're mine, and I can prove it. Louie gave me one of these for each of our wedding anniversaries, six in all. All the columnists reported the paintings I got from Louie as presents. As far as I'm concerned, that constitutes proof of ownership.'
For the first time in three days, Inge almost smiled as they went methodically around the room, lifting the other five paintings off the walls.
'There,' Tamara said after they'd leaned them against the walls in the foyer. She clapped the dust off her hands. 'You're looking at money in the bank. Louie always said they were as good as cash. Now, get Esperanza and the chauffeur in here. They can help us lug these out to the car. Which reminds me. Don't let me forget to call those laywers. All the cars except for the Duesenberg are registered to me.'
Only later, in the limousine on the way to the hotel, did it occur to Tamara that when the lawyers had addressed her as 'Mrs. Ziolko', it was the very first time since her marriage that she had been called by her married name.
Chapter 20
Oscar Skolnik hit the roof. 'Retire!' he thundered. 'What do you mean, retire?' He glared malevolently at Tamara. 'You're at the top of the world! Stars don't retire, damn it!'
The two of them were sitting alone amid the staggering luxury of his living room, the very room where she had first met him seven years earlier. This time the gleaming antiques, fine paintings, and glittering objets did not intimidate her in the least.
She drew a deep breath and her jaw tightened perceptibly. 'I want out, O.T.,' she repeated firmly.
He threw himself back in his chair, the fingers of both hands working themselves up to a silent piano crescendo on the leather arms. He stared at her and puffed steadily on a carved ivory pipe, and when he spoke, he removed the pipe from between his lips. His voice was quiet. 'What are you trying to pull?' His bright blue eyes stared into hers.
She raised her chin. 'I'm not trying to pull anything. I tol
d you, I'm finished with making movies. I've had it with Hollywood. Isn't that good enough for you?'
'No, it's not.' He leaned forward. 'What I want to know is, why isn't Morty Hirschbaum doing your bidding for you? He's your agent.'
'I don't see what he's got to do with it. I'm not trying to renegotiate a contract. I just wanted to tell you in person what my plans are.'
He smiled suddenly. 'Now I get it. The little midget put you up to it. Thought he could put the squeeze on me by having you come waltzing in and frightening me with the announcement of your retirement.' He shook his head. 'Tell him no dice. If he wants to negotiate, he should come and see me instead of having his clients do the dirty work for him.'
Tamara was getting exasperated. 'O.T., you've got it all wrong. Morty has nothing to do with this. He doesn't even know I'm here.'
'Clever.' He shook his head admiringly. 'I've got to hand it to you. You've got a lot more sense than I gave you credit for. You know, if you hadn't made it as an actress, you would've made one hell of an agent.'
She stared at him. That he would refuse to accept the truth for what it was had never entered her mind.
'So who was it?' Skolnik asked. 'Zanuck? Or L.B.? Or both?' His eyes glittered suspiciously. 'What did they offer you to defect from IA?'
'Would you listen to me for once!' she yelled suddenly.
That did get through to him, she was gratified to see. His blue eyes blinked twice and he frowned slightly.
'Okay. Let's stop tap-dancing circles around each other and get it over with.' He paused. 'Name your price.'
Emitting a little growl of exasperation, she grabbed her purse and got to her feet. 'I see that I've been wasting my time,' she said angrily. 'You can read all about it in Marilee's column tomorrow morning.' She started stalking across the room to the door.
'Hey, hold on now!' He jumped out of his chair, caught up with her, and took her by the arm. 'What are you getting so worked up for?' He turned her round to face him.
