by David Pierce
It was too early in the year to swim but not too early to sit in the sun and to stroll out the pier and watch the fishermen and try to relax. Mae says I worry too much. I say there is no too much. I bought a slice of pizza for lunch and watched some girls playing volleyball. A small boy learning to roller-skate ran into me. A chap all dressed in black and a white, powdered face, was pretending he was a robot. Another chap was inside a large cardboard box that was decorated like a jukebox and if you put a quarter in the slot, a flap in the front dropped and he sang you a song. Another chap was playing with great aplomb and many flourishes a stringless guitar. And I thought that I had problems.
I came back to town late in the afternoon against the traffic and by five thirty was where I was supposed to be – on Rivera Street, around the corner from the Seburns' house in bustling, suburban Burbank. A quarter of an hour later, same old routine – south to the freeway, off at La Cienega, her car into the health-club parking lot, mine into Moe's. I had to give her a few minutes to start doing whatever it was she did so I had a couple of hotdogs and was just about to get out of the car and go over to open negotiations with Mr Universe at the front desk when lo and behold if Mrs Seburn didn't come out of the club with another woman.
And lo and behold even more if they didn't cross Ventura and walk right up to Yours Truly, Taken Aback.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Yes, taken well aback. Nonplussed. Good-looking woman, Mrs Seburn – late thirties, I suppose, tanned, expensive, low-heeled half boots, short skirt, full-sleeved, collarless cotton shirt. Her friend was younger, also attractive, permed blond hair in an all-over frizz, silver sandals, silver jumpsuit festooned with a lot of decorative zippers. They came right up to me and looked in the car window.
'You've got mustard on your mouth,' Mrs Seburn said.
'Thank you,' I said, wiping it off.
'Nice wheels,' her friend said.
'Thank you,' I said. I switched the radio off.
'I don't know, Pam,' Mrs Seburn said. 'I'm not sure.'
'I am,' her friend said. Mrs Seburn took a deep breath.
'I can't do it through a car window,' she said. While I was getting out, her friend said, 'My God, how do you fit in that thing?'
'I fold,' I said, getting out the rest of the way. Then we all went and perched on stools on the shady side of Moe's. Son of Moe came over to see if we wanted anything. I said I didn't. Lucy and Pam said they didn't. Then I changed my mind and asked for a coffee. Then the ladies changed their minds and a few minutes later, there we were, on the shady side of Moe's, all sipping terrible coffee.
'Well, ladies?' I finally said.
'Look, Mr Whoever-You-Are,' Lucy Seburn said, 'is it too much to ask you to tell us the truth?'
'Try me,' I said with my disarming, little-boy grin.
'Have you been following me?'
'Yes.'
'I told you it was him,' Pam said.
'Every Thursday?'
'Yes. What put you on to me?' I was curious. I mean I know I'm not the world's best when it comes to following people but I had taken certain precautions, especially as both me and my car are somewhat noticeable. After the first time, when I knew the route, there were always plenty of cars between us and I always parked out of sight both from the Seburn house and the club.
The ladies look at each other.
'Not fair just me being truthful,' I said.
'My husband's secretary,' Lucy said, looking away. 'She found out and phoned me up. God, what awful coffee.'
'Why?' I asked.
'Why?'
'Yes. why, I don't want to be coarse but what's in it for her?'
'She's a woman,' said Pam, as if that explained all. Maybe it did.
'Do you know my husband?' Lucy asked me.
'No, I never met him. But we write a lot.'
'He's a nice man. I like him a lot. I don't want to hurt him any more than I have to, can you believe that?'
'Pass,' I said. 'You're right, it is awful.'
'Look,' Pam said, taking her friend's hand and giving it a squeeze. 'We're lovers, OK?'
'OK by me,' I said, having just figured it out for myself.
'Bob, her husband, is going to have enough problems anyway without finding out his wife has left him for a dyke, as he would put it. We want to leave him something.'
'He's a nice guy,' Lucy said again. 'He's a personal manager for athletes, a couple of Dodgers, a couple of Lakers, a whole bunch of golfers. He's a complete sports freak himself, plays football, Softball, golf, hangs out with the guys, one of the boys, you know?'
I nodded.
'Look,' Pam said. 'Lucy just wants out. No money, no house, nothing that isn't hers. Right, Lucy?'
Lucy grinned. 'Right, I guess,' she said. 'Just kidding, Pam, but it is a little scary. I'm not a spring chicken any more and all I've done for ten years is go on diets and spend his money. A lot of lovely money,' she said a bit wistfully. 'There's a lot of beautiful places in the world when you've got a lot of money.'
'And they do say travel broadens,' I said. 'So what's the plan, then?' A thought struck me. 'Has it anything to do with that good-looking young hunk who I hate who walks you to your car and then gives you a big smooch for the benefit of any prying eyes?'
'Give that man a cee-gar,' said Pam, pointing one finger at me. 'Look. You snap some nice clean dirty pictures of him and Lucy in flagrante delicto, otherwise known as on the job. Ah, the old story – neglected wife of un âge certain meets young, gorgeous iron-pumper – something any husband can relate to. He can also if he wants to relate the sad tale to his friends so they can all relate to it too in their macho ways.'
'Ain't men just the worst,' I said.
'So Bob gets très, très angry, which will help him over the pain of separation and loss and he can justifiably, more or less, and without guilt, or too much, anyway, cut her off without a cent, little knowing she doesn't want a cent anyway.'
'I guess,' said Lucy. 'Just kidding, Pam.'
'Maybe, but it isn't funny, Lucy,' said Pam. 'So quit it. So everyone winds up happy. Well, if not happy, at least as little unhappy as possible.' She swung her nice legs up to the horizontal a couple of times.
'Nifty plan,' I said. 'All I have to do is fake evidence and lie a lot. What about the secretary?'
'What about the secretary?' they both said together, then smiled at each other.
'Does she know your master plan?'
'Are you kidding?' said Lucy. 'How would she know? All she knows is Bob thinks I'm playing around, having the occasional quickie on the side.' The ladies smiled at each other again.
'There is one other little thing I might mention here,' Pam said.
'Yes, I think you might mention it,' Lucy said.
'I don't want you to think in any way that we're trying to bribe you . . .'
'God forbid,' I said.
'. . . but it did strike me that you might have to bill Bob, that sounds funny, doesn't it, bill Bob, for the considerable extra expense involved in getting the clean dirty pictures. After all, he is loaded, and he is getting out of it fairly easily, all things considered.'
'I don't know about that,' I said. 'I never had a wife but I almost had one and there was nothing at all easy about losing her. I'm getting over it, of course, hell, in another five years the pain'll probably die down to a dull ache.'
'Yeah but facts is facts,' said Pam. 'And the fact is he's going to lose her anyway. And the fact is he's lost her already. You think he hasn't been humping every cheerleader west of the Pecos? You don't think we could hit him with that? Hell, his secretary gave Lucy a list a mile long and that was without thinking.'
'There is that,' I said. I thought for a moment. Awful coffee doesn't get better when it's cold, I thought. On the other hand it doesn't get any worse. I thought Pam was one smart cookie. Tough, too. Gorgeous too, damn it. And I thought she was probably correct, her way was the best for all including my client, whose rights I was morally if not legally com
mitted to protect. And I didn't see how it could hurt his position, although it might wreak havoc with his feelings, to have some 8 x 10 glossies of his wife playing doctor.
'I just happen to have my camera with me,' I said, 'so if Lover Boy's available, let's get it on. I suppose you've already worked out all the details like where and how I just happened to be there with my trusty Baby Brownie.'
And they had, they had. I paid Son of Moe, then got my Canon from the glove compartment. We waited for a break in the traffic, then jay-walked across the boulevard and entered the club. The style was open plan – on the left was the gray and red metallic reception desk where Mr Universe held sway; opposite it were innumerable complex machines designed to do wonderful things to flab. Behind the desk area was a half-sized boxing ring with a green Astroturf track circling it. After that was a small, health-food snack bar. I must go back and eat there sometime, I heard the aubergine cutlets were unforgettable. The sauna, steam room, changing rooms and medical offices were in a row at the back. There were two black girls working out side by side who were so beautiful I felt like hitting someone.
Pam waved to Mr Universe and led us down a hall at the back that led to a small storeroom, along one side of which was a waist-high pile of padded, white gymnasts' mats that made a spiffy bed. A strong, bare bulb hung from an overhead fixture and the door, which was almost at the foot of the mats, opened inward. Pam and Lucy seemed to know the place well but that was none of my business, was it? Pam went off to get the hunk while I fussed professionally with my camera which had not, by the by, come from the Nus' cousin, it was a birthday present from Benny from a few years back. Of course where he had obtained it from one did not inquire but it was noticeable that the neck strap had been slightly worn when he gave it to me.
Pam came back with Lucy's friend. She didn't introduce us but she called him Joseph. He was an overpowering stack of rippling muscles and glistening health tanned to perfection, maybe six foot five, wearing a black leather cock-sock tied at the back with a thong and a matching black leather headband; the rest was skin. I would have hated him on sight if I hadn't already loathed every square inch of him.
Joseph thought the whole thing an absolute and total lark.
'Ready when you are, Mr de Mille,' was the first thing he said to me.
'Call me Cecil,' was the first thing I said to him. Then he looked at my shirt and shuddered.
'I had the worst time in Hawaii last year,' he said, as if it was my fault. Maybe it was.
We got down to business. Pam, giggling, directed. I lurked by the door. Lucy stripped down to her yellow panties. Joseph kept saying helpful things like 'Places, please' and 'Quiet on the set' and 'Makeup! Makeup!'
I must say it wasn't really all that much fun, in fact it was depressing, especially for Lucy; I had to admire Pam and Joseph for doing their best to keep it all light. Pam had decided that what we needed were shots of naked torsos in which Lucy's face was completely recognizable, without any full frontals, despite Joseph's more than willingness. When the two were posed to everyone's satisfaction I went out into the hall and shot off a quick roll through the door which had been left carefully ajar; the theory was the lovers had been so engrossed in their passion they hadn't noticed me. I suppose the theory was also that they either didn't mind the bare 100-watt bulb hanging right over them or they liked it that way. I've heard there are people who enjoy making love in blinding light, it's supposed to be quite fashionable these modern times, share everything, hide nothing. I say nerts to that, like my pop before me.
It didn't take long; soon we were out in the heat and haze again. Pam had a quick word with Mr Universe on the way out; I never did find out what arrangements she had made with him. Maybe they did it for friendship; I suppose it's remotely possible that someone could have all the muscles in the world and still be nice.
I walked the girls to their cars.
'Well, TTFN,' I said. 'All the best. Mr Seburn should have the prints tomorrow afternoon sometime so get your act together in the highly unlikely chance you haven't already.'
Lucy stood up on tiptoe and kissed me firmly on one cheek, then Pam kissed me noisily on the other. I crossed Ventura and made my way back to Moe's and perched on a stool on the sunny side for a change. When Moe brought me over a medium root beer, he gave me that kind of look that says, what a sly dog you turned out to be. I gave him right back the kind of look that says, if you only knew, pal.
I sipped my soda and swung my heels. I watched a dog take a pee on one of my white-walls. I saw a cat go up and inspect what was left of a dead gull in the far corner of Moe's parking lot. I saw two flies playing piggyback. Amazing what the observant naturalist can find in a big city.
I wondered how much I could hit good ol' Bob, the man's man, for, in what would more than likely be his final tab. Let's see . . . there was the hefty bribe to Mr Universe at the desk, the ditto to the janitor who kept the coast clear and perhaps unlocked the door for me . . . were hotdogs and root beers legitimate expenses? . . . the cost of the film, of course, nothing but the best, then the special one-day processing . . . how about if Lover Boy had caught me, there was a scuffle and I lost a couple of teeth . . . how about if he chased me to my car and picked up a handy 2 X 4 and started smashing it up. . .?
Oh yes, there was plenty to think about as I made my way westward along the freeway toward the Valley Bowl and Barbara Herbert, single, age twenty-four. When I was twenty-four I was already about thirty. I was in southern Louisiana learning what a fool's mate was.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
'Oh, Barbara? She's got the night off she'll be in Friday,' Mrs Martha F. Nazaroff, twenty-seven, from La Crescenta, told me chirpily. 'Aren't you something to do with security?'
'Right on,' I said. That didn't seem to frighten her at all. 'Is Barbara a good friend of yours?'
'Pretty good, considering she's only been here a while. Should I tell her you're looking for her?'
'That might be a good idea,' I said. In fact I thought it a splendid idea, then Babs could spend the next twenty-four hours or so shivering her timbers from fright so she'd be a nervous wreck and ready to confess all when I did catch up with her. If it was her in the first place, of course.
'Should I give her a hint what it's all about?' Mrs Nazaroff asked with unashamed curiosity.
'She'll know,' I said mysteriously. I thanked Mrs Nazaroff and ambled off to the bank of public phones; Big Sally blew me a kiss as I passed the snack bowl. I looked shocked.
Miss Shirley answered the phone almost before it started to ring. Ah, just awaitin' my call, was she, just hopin' against hope.
'It's me,' I said chirpily.
'I'm busy,' she said distantly. 'What do you want?'
'Dev.'
'Oh. Friday nights he gets tanked up at some veterans' organization. VFW? The Legion? In Glendale.'
'Sure?'
'Sure I'm sure, I found out from Frank.'
'Who's Frank?'
'Frank! He's one of the other guards, they go together, Dev picks him up about seven forty-five. Goodbye.' She hung up.
'TTFN,' I said to the dial tone and hung up too. Moody things, women, who can figure them? Maybe it was her biorhythms. Sure. I took out the list of names I'd made at the office and propped it up in front of me. I called Robert Shenley, student president of the St Stephen's Rifle Club. Robert was at the movies, his mother told me, was it anything important?
I said no.
I called Robert Santee, secretary of the St Stephen's Rifle Club. A young girl, his sister, I deduced, asked me politely to wait a minute, then shouted, 'It's for you, rat! Bobby!'
After a minute and after what sounded like your normal friendly scuffle between siblings, Bobby said, 'Hello?'
'Robert Santee?'
'Yes.'
'My name is Richard Morse; your vice-principal Mr Low-enstein suggested I have a word with you.'
"What about?'
'I don't want to alarm you, Robert,' I said, wanti
ng to alarm him out of his socks, 'but I'm an investigator of sorts. Let me say right now that what I am interested in has nothing whatsoever to do with you, your friends or your family, in fact, Mr Lowenstein only gave me your name because he considers you a decent and patriotic young man who would do his duty to his school and his country without question. Is he correct in that assumption, Robert?'
'I guess so, sure,' said the boy uncertainly. 'But what's it about?'
'I'd rather not tell you over the phone for obvious reasons,' I said, lowering my voice. 'But let me say only at this time that if you have any doubts whatsoever about meeting me later tonight, please give Mr Lowenstein a call at his home immediately, and I have the number right here. If he's not in, you might try his secretary Miss Shirley.' I hoped if Bobby did call anyone it would be Miss Shirley, and she'd be interrupted in the middle of something romantic and get in a snit. But it was unlikely. As all door-to-door salesmen will have appreciated by now, it was the old 'if you have any doubts' routine: if you have any doubts, madam, please telephone the Chamber of Commerce at this number and they will tell you I'm not only fully licensed but our work (or delivery of product) is fully insured by the state. A total lie, of course, but no one ever phones except the occasional paranoid bag who's not going to buy anything in the first place.
Not that it would be the end of the world if Bobby did give one of them a call; as soon as they said no, never heard of the guy, then I'd just have to get on to them and explain why I wasn't using my own name and then explain the same thing to Bobby. But I didn't want to do all that. Firstly, it was tiresome. Secondly, and more important, I'd gone to great lengths with Dev to conceal my part in the highly successful demolition of Art's; not only couldn't it have been me who did it physically but I'd mentioned to him I worked alone, without a partner. Now it was time for Mr X the phantom bomber to strike again, and I hoped my cleverness would serve the dual purpose of keeping me, my property and my friends out of the firing line and also suggesting that there were other dangerous and aggressive parties involved.
