Hollywood Gothic

by Thomas Gifford

  “No, I haven’t been to the bridge in quite some time,” he was saying. “But I’m ready, should the need arise, Toby. You never know. I’ve got a couple of bridges left in me.” He puffed deeply, looking off into the middle distance.

  “Nostalgia got you, Hack?”

  “You’re quite a kidder, ain’t you? Well, that’s okay, Toby. You’re okay. Yeah, Toby, I hope you get away with it. Come on, here’s the train.”

  The cable car clanged into its mooring and jolted to a stop. Hacker swung the door open, pivoted on his bad leg, waiting. Challis climbed up the steps and settled into the wobbly carriage. Hacker sat across from him and pressed the button to activate the contraption. “Leave the driving to us,” he said. They began to descend. The swimming pool glowed turquoise with the underwater lights on. The shrubs lurked menacingly in the background. Mist filtered in on them. The car creaked. Below them the swimming pool receded and they passed over the barbecue area and the changing rooms, still heading into fog. Challis shivered in the cold and damp. They creaked onward, passing through a heavy cloud bank, unable to see either the house and pool at one end or the lights of the city at the other. Then slowly they slid beneath the fog and saw Aaron Roth fifty yards farther on at the cliff edge of the property. He was submerged shoulder deep in the hot tub, steam rising around him like fire smoke. He was looking out at the blurred lights of the city, winking through the fog like stars a million years dead.

  16

  AS THE RIDE ENDED, HACKER leaned across to unlatch the gate and whispered to Challis, “About Mrs. Roth, I’d be very careful with the hugging and kissing. She and Aaron aren’t getting along all that great just now … she’s caught the fever that’s going around these days, this female discontent, wondering what her life’s about—you’ve heard about all that, I suppose? Well, the boss is on edge about her … a word to the wise.” He got the latch pulled back and swung the gate wide. “Watch your step, there,” he said as Challis climbed out. “If you get my point? If he asks me, well, he’s the man who pays me.” He raised his voice as they walked away from the shelter of the dock toward the rising clouds of steam. The rain was starting again. Hacker stopped at the edge of the patio, took a black umbrella out of a brick stand which held croquet mallets, several putters, and some ancient tennis rackets. He opened the umbrella, held it over Challis’ head. “Mr. Roth,” he said, “Mr. Challis is here.”

  “I know, Hacker, I know who he is, whatever he may look like. Graydon announced him some time ago … what took you so long, Toby? Or should I call you Bandersnatch?” He had his hand over the telephone mouthpiece; somebody must have been talking at the other end, because he shifted his attention back to the previous conversation. “Now, you listen to me,” he said in his quiet, precise voice, his small oval face composed and smooth, like a very old child’s. His shoulders, back, and chest were covered with black hair, matted by the hot water. Perspiration beaded neatly on his forehead. “There are certain things I will allow, others I will not. I have been exceedingly generous, but you must realize that every prudent man sets limits. You have reached the limits I have set—if you persist with such vulgarity I shall replace the telephone on its cradle and you can carry on to your heart’s content.” He covered the mouthpiece. “Hacker, I want ten more degrees of heat in here, please.” Hacker turned the dial set into the brick wall. “Excuse me,” he said to the mouthpiece, “but you know nothing about this business. Your man confines himself to making deals—then he shoots the deal. He is an ignorant young man. I make the deal, but I shoot a picture … a very large difference, as you will learn to your regret, should you be so foolhardy … I suggest you think it over long and hard. And when you come to your senses, we’ll have the man from Bank of America interface with the Boston bankers and sweep up the details. Probably with the Hamburg and Munich people. Good-bye.” He hung up the phone. “And good riddance,” he added. “Now, Toby …” He smiled curiously. “That feels fine, Hacker. You may leave us. Tell Mrs. Roth that the Berkowitzes may arrive at any moment. And tell Graydon I’m taking only a call from Toronto or Germany, nothing else. And don’t let your ash fall in my water, please.” Hacker nodded and went back to the carriage dock. “Toby, my son … what in the name of God did you do to Mr. Donovan? I am all ears.” He looked up benignly, his short curly hair mostly gray, his face brushed with only a hint of tan; his eyes behind the silver-dollar spectacles were small and bright like something looking at you from a dark place. His nose was aquiline in the true meaning of the word, hooked but not long, and his mouth had a well-formed sensuality which added a nice contrast to what was otherwise the face of a slightly tarted-up accountant. Challis forgot momentarily that he was staring at a face which he hadn’t seen for several months, remembering the various circumstances in which he’d seen it. He hadn’t thought of his relationship with Daffy for a long time, until he’d seen her a few minutes ago; now he was surprised by all the memories seeing Aaron Roth was bringing back. “Well, Toby, say something.”

  “Donovan,” Challis repeated, shifting under the umbrella. The rain tapped lightly. The trees whispered in the breeze. “I wanted to know what was going on between him and Goldie, between him and you … I was looking for a connection, Aaron. I know Goldie was up to something and I want to know what it was. She said she finally had something on you … something that was going to fix you for good.”

  “And instead, some unknown person, assuming you didn’t do it, fixed her for good.” He sighed at the vagaries of human nature. “Toby, you know that Goldie was always sure she had something that was going to ruin me. Wish fulfillment, of course. She was rabid on the subject of her father, and there was nothing I could do about it except pretend she was a headstrong eccentric who was going through a rebellious phase. My friends went along with my excuses for my daughter, but neither they nor anyone else was fooled. Goldie was crazy. Crackers. Who should know that better than you?” He put his arms up along the rim of the tub and kicked his feet quietly out in front of him. A plastic shark, a remnant of the Jaws summer, floated toward him, appeared to begin nibbling at his chest.

  “Okay, leave that aside,” Challis said. “Donovan went crazy when I brought you into the conversation—”

  “Come, come. You didn’t simply bring me in. You surely made accusations, drew your own conclusions, buried him in unfounded assumptions. Let’s be frank, Toby. Donovan is undoubtedly a man with many things to be frightened of … not my kind of man, you must have noticed. But still … let me be absolutely open with you. My relationship with Jack Donovan is a very uncomplicated one. I have invested some money in his magazine. He is an enterprising man, a good salesman—an emotional man. He was crushed by Goldie’s death, at which time I had met him on only a couple of occasions. After her death, brought together by our shared grief, we got to know each other rather well—”

  Shared grief came like an echo. Everybody had the same script. Challis interrupted. “Aaron, Aaron, Aaron … you forget how long we’ve known each other! You can’t make me swallow that shared-grief crap, you wouldn’t know grief from tuna salad.”

  “How thoughtless, Toby. And we’ve always been such good friends—”

  “I don’t believe a word of what you say.” Challis switched the umbrella to his other hand. “For all I know, Goldie really had you by the nuts and you killed her—”

  “Toby! Really, how unorthodox you are!” He almost smiled. He was, as Challis had often reflected, beyond insult, beyond persuasion, beyond normal temptations. “One would have thought a man in your delicate position would be a shade more diplomatic.”

  “One would have been wrong. What was Goldie into with Donovan?”

  “Excuse me, Toby. In any case, how can you possibly be taking up your getaway time asking silly questions about something that doesn’t concern you? Your behavior baffles me—or did you merely come to say good-bye to Daffy?” He cocked his head at that, the dim light reflecting on the round disks of the steel-rimmed spectacles. The wa
ter in the tub was like the pool, lit from below, a pale turquoise green. The shadows played across Roth’s face, emphasized his remoteness.

  “I want to know why Goldie wanted to see me the night she died. I want to know what she was bugging Donovan about—what was it he was doing for her, but too slowly. I’m betting what she had on you and what she was badgering Donovan about were the same thing—it’s all wrapped up together, but Donovan wasn’t doing what she wanted him to do … and where does Vito Laggiardi fit into it? Why does it all seem to be connected?”

  “Only in your troubled mind, I’m afraid.” Roth’s voice was soothing. His calm was seductive. “Don’t be offended by what I’m about to say, Toby … but you’re a fool. Or, let me be less harsh, you’re behaving in a foolish manner. I don’t blame you—goodness, no, not with what you’ve been through. I refuse to be uncharitable … why, you’re nearly out of your head, aren’t you? But you are foolish to be here, you’re a fool to be wasting even one valuable minute and to be concerning yourself with other people’s lives.” His manner was so cool, so dispassionate. He was shielding his nerves. It was hard to see it, but it was there: a high-strung man, precision his watchword, under control and facing the untidiness of a peculiar situation. “Sit down, Toby. You must be exhausted … you look like someone at a funeral with that black umbrella. Sit down. How do you feel? Are you all right?”

  Challis sat. “Stop being such an asshole, Aaron. You’re acting like I don’t know you. But I do know you.”

  “Of course you do, Toby. Now, listen to me and try to think clearly, and remember that I have always been your friend. Isn’t that true? If you didn’t kill Goldie, and I have an open mind on that, I’m prepared to believe whatever you have to say about that.”

  “You’ve heard what I have to say.” Challis suddenly felt very tired. Being alone with Aaron Roth was an utterly exhausting experience. His mind wandered away, and he wondered what the cops were doing, where they were looking for him.

  “Then what difference does it make who killed her? She was a confused, unhappy, amoral woman. The fact of the matter is, her life was a cesspool. She was not a normal, decent person … loyalty was left out of her personality, do you understand that? No loyalty to me, to her grandfather, to you.” He picked up the plastic shark and pointed its gory red mouth, gaping and full of little plastic teeth, at Challis. “You want to know who killed her? Right? Well, I know who killed Goldie … it’s no great job figuring it out. Do you seriously think you’re the only man she ever drove crazy, the only poor bastard she ever drove to a murderous rage? Good heavens, Toby, it was a way of life for her. She set men’s lives on fire just to see them burn. Who killed her? A beach bum she picked up … an out-of-work actor from a party at the marina … a biker who said to hell with her act and wasted her with the handiest blunt object … some poor nameless slob she tried to throw away after a night’s hard usage. Some guy they’ll never catch. Now, you’ve got to start being sensible and beat a retreat—”

  “Goddammit, Aaron!” Challis was on his feet, shouting, glaring down at the man in the hot swirling water. “Why don’t you care? What did she do to you that was so horrible that now you don’t care? She was your daughter.”

  “Calm yourself, calm down. You’re under a great deal of pressure. The answer is, because she’s dead. She and I are not going to have a tender reconciliation this side of eternity. Because I didn’t like her and she hated me.” He reached for a goblet of Perrier water. Ice cubes clinked as he sipped. Over the rim his eyes regarded Challis calmly, unblinking.

  “Was she blackmailing you? Is that it?” Challis felt his pulse quicken. “Were she and Donovan blackmailing you? Jesus, Aaron, is that it?” He smiled down at Roth, who carefully replaced his goblet on the tray. Was there a tremor in his hand? Or was it Challis’ imagination?

  Suddenly he was aware of the whirring of the cable car, the faint grinding of the gears. Someone was coming.

  “And where does your Laggiardi fit in? If Donovan isn’t quite your type, what is Laggiardi? What’s he got to do with Maximus? Is the mob muscling in on you? Maybe it was a threesome—Goldie, Donovan, and Vito Laggiardi? Where’s your little smirk now? Ah, Aaron, you’re so full of shit—”

  “Shut up,” Roth snapped. “There’s somebody—”

  “And who is Howard Laggiardi? Are they moving in on you, moving you out?”

  “There’s somebody coming, you imbecile.”

  The cable car drifted out of the fog. Like something from a Fellini film, there were two clowns in white face with bulbous red noses, black diamonds painted over their eyes, conical red hats perched atop orange fringes of fright wigs; they leaned out of the cars, mouths gaping in terrible smiles, hands waving.

  Aaron Roth regarded them with a mildly apprehensive stare, reached slowly for another sip of Perrier and lime. “Lena … Bernie,” he said as they clambered down the steps. Lena was fat with double chins wobbling beneath the whiteface; there were several diamond rings on her pudgy fingers, and she carried a large Vuitton shopping bag. Bernie was lean, and even behind the makeup you could sense the solemn, sepulchral face of a Giacometti martyr. He wore French jeans and Gucci loafers and thirty or forty dainty gold bracelets on his thin, hairy wrist. Her jeans were too tight and a terrible mistake. They were the current hot therapists, shrinks to the stars. Whatever the stars did this season, whatever the outrage they were into, for a fee, Bernie and Lena would assure them that their behavior was, after all, okay. Clowns were in. Clown therapy was the answer.

  “Aaron, darling,” Lena cried as she waddled toward the hot tub. “You call, we come. You’ll never know how much it means to Lena and Bernie that you don’t hesitate, that you call us when the hat is dropping … how are you, Aaron? You look tired, overworked, of course you’re all wet, and it’s not easy to see through all this smoke—”

  “That’s steam, Lena,” Aaron said. “Hi, Bernie, hi, hi, hi …” He looked at Challis out of the corner of his eye, but no one was paying any attention to the man with the umbrella.

  “Steam, smoke, borscht, I can’t see you.” She plopped down on a cedar bench and put the Vuitton bag between her feet. She blinked at Challis. “You,” she said. “What’s new?”

  Challis shrugged.

  “Well, I don’t see you around much anymore.”

  “I guess not,” he said.

  Bernie sat on the edge of the hot tub and lit a Dunhill pipe with a gold band. He sucked contentedly, not saying a word while Lena rummaged in her bag.

  “Pressures,” Aaron Roth said. The tremor had traveled from his hand to his voice, making it sound thin, reedy. “I’ve been feeling a little pressure lately. Not enough sleep …”

  “Remember, you’re a very important man, Aaron. Forget your humility for just a minute, stop trying to be so good, so caring, you should think about what’s good for Aaron Roth once in a while, start caring about Aaron Roth. Tell him, Bernie, he’s got to use the joy deep inside himself, bring it out, make people see that joy … the gift of happiness and joy, your greatest quality, you’ve got to let it shine through the troubles and cares of such an important man as Aaron Roth. Tell him, Bernie.” She rummaged on like a great fat scavenger.

  “She’s right,” Bernie said, looking into the bowl of his pipe. “Lena’s right.” He cocked his head, blinked his protuberant round eyes, looked at Challis. “Do we know you? I have the feeling …”

  “No, you don’t know me.”

  “I’ve seen your face, but it was different. Somehow. I’m quite a physiognomist …”

  “You don’t say.”

  “Au contraire, I do say.” He frowned and looked away.

  “Clowns don’t smoke pipes,” Challis said.

  “This clown does,” he said sourly, refusing to look back at Challis. He looked at Aaron. “Did you buy your clown suit yet?”

  “I haven’t had time—”

  “Naughty boy,” Lena said. She shook her sausagelike index finger at Roth. “What�
��s more important? Movies or happiness? Weekend grosses in Mobile or clowning? You need to improve your perspective … but you’re a lucky boy tonight. Lucky, lucky!” With a squat flourish she pulled a clown suit, a shiny, silky-looking garment in white with ballooning trousers and sleeves, red pompon buttons down the front, from the shopping bag. “Your own tailor-made clown suit! Your very own …” She kept pulling bits and pieces out of the bag. Challis couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. “Your own red nose … your own orange fright wig … your own makeup case … and … your own floppy shoes!”

  “How much is all this costing?”

  The outer husk of a clown lay all about the circular tub. Somewhere out there Challis knew there was a naked clown.