“Yes,” he said.
“Yes?” I repeated.
“The hair, or lack of it,” Astaire said. “You were looking at my head. In the movies, I wear a wig. I hate the damn thing. In public, I wear a hat.”
He held up a hat he had apparently placed on the floor.
“While I’d say I’m a reasonably presentable example of the human male,” he went on, “were I not a movie actor, I doubt if women would notice me on the street.”
I assumed we were getting somewhere, so I shut up. He continued: “You were recommended to me as someone who could be. . discreet.”
“I can be discreet,” I assured him.
He nodded and looked around the room.
“I know the style’s not right,” he said, looking at the painting on the wall to his right. “Too naturalistic. But I’d almost swear it was a Dali.”
“It is,” I said. “Payment for a job I did for him.”
The painting showed a woman with a warm, loving face holding two little naked boy babies, one in each arm.
“Amazing,” said Astaire. “Aren’t you afraid. . I mean, someone could. .”
“Mr. Astaire. .”
“Fred.”
“Fred, if you were a robber and you made your way through Dr. Minck’s office back here with a flashlight in your hand, do you think you’d recognize the painting as anything worth stealing?”
“Probably not,” he said.
“Besides, it’s too big to sneak out.”
“They could wrap it up, throw it out the window, and then go down the stairs and pick it up.”
“You spend a lot of time hanging around criminals?” I said.
“Well, as a matter of fact, I do, which is part of the reason I’m here,” he said softly. “I’m a bit of a police buff. No, I’m more than a bit. I’m fascinated by the police and the criminal world. I’ve gone out on patrols in almost every major city in the United States, and I go rather frequently out in police cars and to lineups. Phyllis sometimes joins me.”
“Phyllis?”
“My wife. The people in the photograph. .” he said, turning to look up past my investigator’s license at the fading photo of a weathered man with two young boys at his side and a German shepherd at his feet.
“My father,” I said. “Younger kid is me. Older one is my brother, Phil. The dog is Kaiser Wilhelm. My father and the dog are dead.”
“The photograph rather echoes the Dali painting,” he said. “A parent, two boys.”
“Never thought of it,” I said.
“I never had much to do with my father,” Astaire said. “My sister and my mother and I were out on the road by the time I was five. My father stayed in Omaha. Saw him once in a while but. .”
The pause was long and he sighed.
“I’m stalling.”
“I noticed,” I said. “I’m in no hurry.”
“There is a woman,” he said, looking at the Dali painting. “She wanted dancing lessons from me. She approached me through a phone call from her ‘friend,’ an Arthur Forbes. You may know the name.”
“I know the name,” I said. “Also known as Fingers Intaglia, from Detroit. Son-in-law of Guiseppi Cortona, who runs mob business in Minneapolis.”
“Mr. Forbes was rather insistent that I teach his friend,” Astaire went on. “Indicated that she wanted no other teacher, would accept no other teacher. He also said that his friend had, until recently, been a ballroom dance teacher, but she needed to move on to the heights of professionalism. I could name my own price but, as he put it, he would be ‘very disappointed’ if I refused. Mr. Peters. . Toby, I have a wife and three children-the youngest, Ava, just had her first birthday. A father’s nightmare is that something might happen to his family. A dancer’s nightmare is that something might happen to his body. My knowledge of Mr. Forbes’s history suggests that both nightmares might come true. I agreed to a limited number of lessons. Forbes set up a schedule with me at the Monticello Hotel.”
“On Sunset.”
“On Sunset,” he confirmed. “I picked the times and brought my own accompanist. This is difficult. The young woman’s name is Luna Martin. She is pretty. She is smart. She is not graceful, but she is determined. As I said, she also claims to have been a dance instructor. One can only guess at the number of lead-footed zombies she unleashed on the dance floors of America. At the end of the second lesson last Thursday, when the piano player was taking a break, Miss Martin unbuttoned her silk blouse, displayed her considerable breasts, and declared that she wanted me and was determined to have me.”
I nodded.
Music was now coming from Shelly’s office. It sounded like the Modernaires.
“I’ve been in vaudeville, musical comedy, and movies all my life,” said Astaire. “I’ve seen bare-breasted women and have been approached by a variety of females who have made it clear that they were available. I am quite happily married and inclined neither to couple with Luna Martin nor be deformed by her boyfriend. In short. .”
“You want me to find a way to get her off your back.”
“And every other part of my anatomy,” he amended. “Miss Martin expects her next lesson Thursday morning at ten. I can make an excuse and skip this one. Maybe I can even make a reasonable excuse and miss two sessions. Three would sorely challenge my limited verbal skill, and four would be impossible.”
“I get rid of Luna Martin and Forbes, and I provide you with protection. That it?” I said, taking notes on the back of one of the many envelopes on my desk.
“At least till the situation is reasonably safe,” he said. “Is this a reasonable request?”
“Twenty-five a day for me, plus expenses. Twenty per man for protection. I think we’re talking about two or three men for a few weeks at least. Or you can go one hundred a day and I cover the cost of additional help. Of course, you get a detailed accounting.”
“It could run into money,” Astaire said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
“It could,” I agreed.
“Considering the amount I’ve lost on the horses,” he said, standing, “I think it’s a wise investment. One condition. No police. No publicity.”
“No police. No publicity. No guarantee, but I’ll do my best.”
I held out my hand and he took it.
“I need one more thing from you,” I said.
“An advance,” he said, reaching for his wallet.
“That would be nice,” I said. “But what I really need is one quick dance lesson so I can take your place at the Monticello Thursday.”
“Can you dance at all?”
“Not a step,” I said.
He sighed deeply, took out his wallet, and gave me two hundred dollars in cash, saying he didn’t want to use checks for this. He also gave me a private phone number where I could reach him and told me to meet him at R.K.O. the next morning, Wednesday, for an emergency dance lesson.
“I’ve heard I can rely on you,” Astaire said, taking the doorknob in hand.
I nodded with a knowing smile and more confidence than I felt, and Fred Astaire opened the door, letting in the voices of the Modernaires before he left.
In the dental office, I could hear Shelly speaking quickly to Astaire. I couldn’t make out the words. The door to the reception room opened and closed and I knew that Astaire had made his escape.
As soon as I knew he was safe, I flattened out the sheet of paper Violet had given me and put in a call to Anne.
Anne and I had been divorced for more than six years. She had stayed with me when I was a cop in Glendale and a security guard at Warner Brothers. When I got fired from Warners by Jack Warner himself, for breaking the nose of a cowboy star who wouldn’t keep his hands off a girl in the accounting office, Anne had said I would never grow up. She was right, I guess. I loved her. She left me. From time to time, when my hard head could help her out of a tight spot, she gave me a call.