The Pitiful Player (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 14)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  I was just about two-thirds done with my dish and decided it needed a little more lime juice, so I grabbed one of the lime quarters and squeezed it. Somehow, the juice hit Carter right in the chest. He looked down at the offending spot on his light blue shirt and then up at me. He smiled. I smiled back. He looked down at his shirt again and then back at me. I squeezed the lime and pointed it at his mouth, which he obligingly opened, sticking out his tongue. I managed to get one squirt on the edge of his lips. While the juice dripped down to his chin, he made a big show of licking his lips in a satisfied way and then smiled. I smiled back.

  He stood and offered his hand. I stood and took it. Brazenly, we walked hand-in-hand through the nearly empty dining room, across the lobby, and out to the bungalows. Once inside ours, I let him rip my shirt off and pick me up into his arms where he held me and kissed me deeply and passionately for a long time.

  . . .

  After we'd had a quick shower and made promises to each other to spend our siesta in bed, making as much noise as possible, we made our way over to the bar.

  Alfonso was sitting alone, talking with the bartender in Spanish. He turned when he saw the bartender nod in our direction. He smiled at us and said, "You both look happier than you did this morning."

  I nodded. "There's something about this place."

  "Beer?" he asked as we both sat down. I sat next to Alfonso and Carter was on my other side.

  I nodded. "The dark one." I looked over at Carter who nodded and winked. "Make it two," I added.

  Alfonso said to the bartender, "Modelo Negra."

  The bartender nodded. He reached into a long cooler and brought out the bottles. He put the beers down in front of us, opened them both, and then went about pouring some of each into small glasses. Once he was done, he moved down to the end of the bar, leaving us with Alfonso.

  I took a sip of my beer and said, "Marge said Maldonado has been giving you a hard time."

  Alfonso nodded. "He's been trying to. Yes. But not successful. So far."

  I took another sip as Carter asked, "What can we do for you?"

  "You can help me convince Marge to close the hotel."

  I was surprised. That wasn't what I was expecting. "How would we do that?" I asked.

  "You could remind her that I am making all the money."

  Carter laughed. "Um, I don't think that's a good idea, Alfonso. Marge seems like an independent kinda gal to me."

  Alfonso nodded sadly. "It is true. That is one of the many things I love about her."

  "Why don't I just buy her out?"

  Alfonso shook his head. "But you cannot, Nick. You must be a Mexican citizen." He took a drink of whatever was in his glass and winced. "Besides, I have considered this already. And, if I were to be so bold as to impose upon your friendship with such a request, it would not matter. Maldonado is determined to have this hotel." He shrugged. "Why not just give it to him?" He took another sip and winced again.

  Carter asked, "What does she say?"

  Sighing, Alfonso replied, "We argue about this. For almost three months. She is determined not to let him win. I can understand but I know what is inevitable and so does she."

  That hit home. And hard. I leaned in and said, "Let me talk to her. I've been doing the same thing to Carter for the last couple of months and maybe I can convince her."

  Alfonso looked at me and then around me at Carter. "You have been fighting?"

  I nodded. "Yeah. And I've been the unreasonable one. I keep thinking that if I finally give in and let Carter have his way, then something terrible will happen. I know I'm being difficult, if not impossible, but I really believe that I'm right." I looked over at Carter who put his hand on the side of my face for a moment. "I'm sorry, Chief."

  He shook his head. "It's OK, Nick."

  We looked at each other for a long moment. Finally, I stood and said, "OK, Alfonso. Lead the way. Let's see what I can do."

  . . .

  "So, I hear you wanna keep this place going as long as you can, is that right?" Marge was sitting outside, under the awning that ran along the ocean side of the hotel. In the shade, and with a breeze coming off the water, it felt nice. Still warm, but not too hot.

  "That's right. I don't want to give in to Maldonado."

  "I understand completely."

  She turned and looked at me. "You do."

  I nodded. "Yeah. I've got my own Maldonado that I'm dealing with. It's not nearly the same but I'm being just as stubborn. Carter wants to do one thing. It's completely reasonable. It makes sense. Hell, it's inevitable. But, I've dug in my heels and have been refusing to give in. That's why we're down here. I got so mad at him that I broke a mirror. Also, as you know, we spent some of February in Australia and, after having had some summer down there for a few weeks, I'm having a hard time with the cold summer that I grew up with."

  She laughed. "I've never understood how anyone could live in San Francisco in the summer. It's just too cold." She looked out at the ocean. "How was Australia?"

  "Oddly enough, it rained almost the whole time we were there. Carter wanted to surf and we never made it to the beach. It was another one of our attempts to get away from everything that turned into another case."

  "I read something about that in the papers. Didn't they kick you out? Or was that Hong Kong?"

  "Both, to be honest. But, yeah, we were asked to leave Australia along with two kids, one of whom didn't have a passport..."

  "Which is why you came through here on your way home."

  "Right, we had to smuggle him into the U.S. and we did."

  She shook her head. "You do take chances, don't you?"

  I shrugged. "We do what we have to do."

  Neither of us said anything for a few minutes. I listened to the sound of the surf in the distance. Looking around at the grounds, I noticed how perfectly manicured everything was. "Even if you're empty, you're keeping up your standards. The grounds are in good shape. Lunch was good. The room was nice and clean."

  Marge sighed. "Yes. I'm keeping all our employees busy. That's the other thing. I don't want them to lose their jobs."

  "Who's paying for all that, if you're not making any money?" It was a tricky question to ask, but my experience of Marge was that she was direct when she wanted to be. I figured I didn't have anything to risk.

  "Alfonso is. It's all coming out of his law firm, which could get him into trouble."

  "How so?"

  "Moving money from one company to another isn't exactly kosher. Not here, anyway."

  "I see." I waited. I could tell she was just looking for a reason to give in. I wondered about her employees and how I might help with that.

  After a minute or two, she said, "Really, it isn't about Maldonado, as much as I hate the man. It really is about the people who work for us. They've all been so loyal and I remember what it was like to be a working gal. There's no other place in town for them to work. It's not like the tourist trade here is hopping like it is down in Acapulco. Back when you couldn't even fly into there, Ensenada was the place. That's why we did so well at the beginning." She sighed again. "I guess it's time to admit defeat and give in. Maybe we can figure out something to do for the workers."

  "What are you gonna do?"

  "Tell Maldonado he can have it."

  "But he can't just take it, can he?"

  She thought for a moment. "I guess not." She looked out at the ocean and then said, "But I do feel better. I'm tired of fighting with Alfonso. We'll figure out something." She turned and looked at me. "What about you?"

  "What about me?"

  She playfully punched me in the arm. "When are you going to give in to Carter?"

  I sighed. "When we get home, I guess."

  "What's it all about, anyway?"

  I laughed. "You're going to think I'm crazy."

  "I know you're not crazy. What is it?"

  "He wants to get a television."

  She sat up, turned in her chair, and looked at me incredulou
sly. "That's it? He wants a TV? That's what you've been fighting about?"

  I nodded. "It's hard to explain." I shook my head. "That's not true. It's really simple. I hate television on principle. I think it's ridiculous and awful. But..." I looked out at the ocean.

  "But what?"

  "It's where he wants to put it."

  "Where?"

  I sighed again and then laughed at myself. "It's funny because until just this moment, I felt fully justified in being indignant about this."

  "Why?"

  "Carter and I now live in my grandfather's house."

  "Oh?"

  "Yeah. The house we had when we first met you burned down last summer. My father and stepmother had been wanting to move into a smaller apartment and, when we needed a place to live, they asked us to move in and take over the place. It's a big house on Nob Hill. We have six bedrooms. Well, really ten, if you count the rooms that the staff sleep in."

  "Oh my."

  "Yeah." I rolled my eyes. "I like to call it a big pile of rocks, because it is. Anyway, it's where I grew up. And, practically speaking, there's one room that would be perfect to be turned into a TV room."

  "Why not put it in the living room? That's what most people do, or so I've heard."

  "Yeah. Well, we don't really have a living room. We have a great room. A great big room. And there's no place a TV could really go. It would be too clunky. Our bedroom is on the second floor."

  "Is this one of those set-ups where you're sleeping in the same bed as your parents?"

  "Yeah. And my grandparents."

  Marge let that sink in for a moment. "So, where does the TV room come in to all this?"

  "Well, I had a sister named Janet..."

  Marge nodded. "I remember now. She died just before you two first came down here. Right?"

  I nodded.

  She frowned for a moment. "So, it's your sister's bedroom that would be perfect, is that it?"

  I nodded. "Yeah. It faces the garden, so it doesn't get a lot of sunlight. My childhood bedroom faces the street and is bright." I wiped a couple of tears from my eyes. "I know this is ridiculous, but that's why I've been fighting with Carter."

  Marge shook her head. "It's not ridiculous at all. She was your sister. There are a lot of memories there."

  I nodded and sniffed. "Yeah. There are."

  "Does Carter know how you feel about the room?"

  I shook my head. "He mentioned it once and I cut him off. I've been trying to avoid getting that far in the conversation ever since then. I usually cut him off at just the mention of getting a TV." I looked out at the ocean again.

  Marge stood. "Sounds like we both need to go have a nice, long talk."

  I nodded and stood. "Thanks, Marge."

  She kissed me on the cheek. "Thank you, Nick. I appreciate you helping me sort this out."

  "And, there has to be something we can do for your employees."

  She tilted her head to one side. "We?"

  I nodded. "Sure. I already offered to buy out the place."

  She shook her head. "You can't." She looked down at the ground. "Believe me, I've almost called you five or ten times on that score. I knew it would be an imposition." She looked up at me. "But, truth be told, it's impossible legally. That's why I married Alfonso. So I could buy this place." She grinned. "Well, one of the reasons."

  . . .

  Once we were back in our bungalow, had stripped down to nothing, and were lying in bed, I said, "OK. I give in. You can have your TV."

  Carter sighed. "Are you sure?"

  "No. It will be the end of civilization, but we're in it together, so who am I to hold up progress?"

  He paused for a moment. "Um, that doesn't make any sense."

  I laughed. "I know. And, we'll need to get someone in to redecorate Janet's bedroom and make it into a TV room."

  I could feel Carter tense up. My head was on his chest and his left arm was rubbing my left arm. It stopped right then. "Are you sure?" he asked again.

  I nodded. "Yeah."

  After a long moment, Carter asked, "That's what all of this was about, wasn't it?"

  I nodded, unable to answer.

  He pulled me in close and kissed the top of my head. "I love you, Nick."

  I lifted my head and scooted up a bit. I put my lips on his lips and said, "I love you, too, Carter." Then I gave way to him completely. There was no other way to describe it.

  . . .

  For dinner, Alfonso invited us to a local place in the center of town owned by a friend of theirs. Alfonso drove us there in the hotel's Mercedes limousine. The restaurant was on the same street as the men's clothing store we'd been to the first time we'd visited Ensenada.

  When we walked through the door of the restaurant, a large man in a white suit was standing by the door talking earnestly with a young woman who appeared to be crying. He nodded and very quietly said something to her. He very quickly slipped her some cash. She nodded in reply and silently walked past us and out the front door.

  Once he saw us, his entire demeanor changed. With a big smile, he kissed Marge on the cheek and said something to her in Spanish. He and Alfonso shared a hearty handshake. I thought I saw a little tension between the two men.

  Alfonso said, "Nick Williams and Carter Jones, allow me to present our friend Don Pedro Almendarez de Reyes. He is the owner of this wonderful restaurant."

  We shook hands with the man. He then walked us towards the back of the restaurant to a small dining alcove with a square table in the middle, already set for four. He said, "Please, be seated," and we did just that.

  After talking with us for a moment, he came up with a menu, most of which I didn't understand. Marge, however, assured me that Carter and I would like what he brought out.

  "And, of course, we must have margaritas for everyone since we are in the presence of the drink's namesake."

  Marge blushed slightly. We'd heard the rumor that the drink was named for her but not from her. Alfonso, oddly perturbed, waved his right hand across the table, and said, "Thank you, Don Pedro. We look forward to your most excellent meal and service, as always." It was as elegant a dismissal as I'd ever seen.

  The owner of the restaurant bowed deeply and retreated into the main part of the restaurant.

  Marge, who was still blushing, explained, "Alfonso is a little jealous. Don Pedro wanted to marry me." She reached out and took her husband's hand. "But I couldn't, because I didn't love him."

  Alfonso relaxed. He took his wife's hand and kissed the back of it, murmuring something in Spanish. It was sweet to see.

  I looked over at Carter, who winked and nudged me under the table with his knee. He then slipped his right hand below the tablecloth and grabbed the top of my left thigh and squeezed hard. I sighed, content.

  . . .

  The meal was delicious. Carter got his usual shoe leather steak and I got some grilled fish along with the green goop I loved so much. After the first margarita, Carter and I both switched to the dark beer. The tequila always hit me hard.

  "So, how long will you be with us?" asked Alfonso.

  I shrugged. "We'll probably head home tomorrow."

  Marge said, "Oh my goodness! I completely forgot." She reached into her purse and pulled out a telegram. "For you, Nick. It came right as we were getting ready to leave."

  I opened the envelope.

  NICK WILLIAMS C/O HOTEL RIVIERA DEL PACIFICO ENSENADA MEXICO. DEAR NICK. CAN YOU STOP HOLLYWOOD ON WAY HOME FOR RUSHES. BEST TO MARGE AND ALFONSO. BEN WHITE.

  I handed the telegram to Marge so she could read it. Ben White was an ex-cop who I was helping get set up as a movie producer in L.A. Carlo Martinelli, an ex-fireman who'd once worked with Carter, was his lover. He was working for us in our new L.A. office. Marge had become friendly with them when they'd stayed at the hotel back in '53 at around the same time that Taylor Wells had been murdered.

  She looked up at me. "So, he's really producing a movie after all?"

  I nodded
. "It Was Raining Then. I bought the rights from Metro and I think they're making some good headway."

  She pursed her lips. "That movie is cursed."

  I rolled my eyes. "That's what everyone says but I'm sure Ben will prove them wrong. What are 'rushes'?"

  "The dailies."

  I shrugged.

  "When the director and the producer sit down and watch what was filmed the day before."

  I nodded. Looking at Carter, I asked, "What do you think?"

  He smiled. "Sure. I'm not the one who hates L.A."

  I nodded. "Yeah. We can stop in Burbank." I frowned and looked at Marge "Where would the rushes be?"

  Marge laughed. "Beats me. Which studio is he working out of? Not Metro, I'd guess."

  I shook my head. "No. Ben's independent but Paramount is doing the distribution."

  She looked at me closely. "But where is the shooting happening?"

  "Oh," I said. "Ben had a closed set built in an old soundstage. It's on the grounds of the old Monumental lot."

  "My guess is that they set up a room there. That would be normal. Or, maybe, they're using some room at Paramount." She looked at me slyly. "Did you know I did some silents for them?"

  I shook my head. I'd never seen any of her pictures. I wouldn't say it out loud, but I was too young. From what I knew, most of her movies had been similar to Our Dancing Daughters. In other words, flapper movies. She'd been a Ziegfield girl, after all. And my father hadn't allowed Janet or me to see movies like that.

  She smiled. "Those were the days. Production on a Monumental silent usually lasted about ten days." She took a drink of her margarita.

  I glanced at Alfonso, who was looking smitten. There was no other word for it. He caught me watching and smiled.

  I asked, "How did you two meet?"

  "She needed a lawyer to take title to the hotel. I told her she had to be a Mexican citizen and suggested she marry me." He looked at her again. "And she did. I am a very fortunate man."

  Marge sighed. "It was a good ride while it lasted."

  Alfonso shook his head. "You should not say that, Marjorie. Whatever may happen with the hotel, I cannot live without you."

  She smiled and nodded. "Me, neither."