Sitting up, Tony started to say Alice’s name, but Ethan reached out and touched his sleeve. “Not now. Haven’t we embarrassed ourselves enough tonight?”
Ava whispered to Frank. “Get them out of here.”
Frank smiled. “Did you hear them, though? They don’t think much of my brain, Ava. I’m just a lucky so-and-so…”
Ethan pleaded, “Don’t listen to him, Frankie.”
Tony looked helpless. “Do you really think Max found me a job? Lorena said she talked to him.”
His shoulders stiff, Ethan walked to the door. “Maybe Lorena lied, Tony. Maybe she made the whole damn thing up. We’ll never know, will we? Maybe Lorena was trying to make Max look good. Good old Max, unselfish Max, no-hard-feelings Max.”
“But Lorena did speak to Max that night,” I added.
Ethan frowned. “But who knows what that conversation was about? The only part I heard was when she asked for Alice.”
Tony burbled, “I need a job.”
Ethan turned the doorknob. “Good luck.” He focused on Frank. “We need a lift back to civilization, Frankie.” He waited until Tony was at his side. “We’re going back to New Jersey. I’ve had it out here. Lenny is dead. He was murdered, too. It’s too dangerous out here in Hollywood land. God knows when one of us”-His hand swept the room-“will face the barrel of a gun. Little Alice-sit-by-the-fire did him in. It’s you and me, Tony. Back home. People come to Hollywood to die. I’m not ready for that.”
Ava and I sat alone in the quiet room, sipping iced tea and eating slabs of chocolate cake. Frank had driven the brothers away, begrudgingly, annoyed with them. We’d watched him careen out of the driveway, nearly clipping some bushes. I surmised the ride back would consist of silence, and a whole lot of groveling.
“I keep failing at my promises to you, Edna,” Ava finally said.
“Not true.” I smiled at her. “You came through with the magnificent fried chicken.”
“Which, you remember, you had to fry yourself.”
I breathed in. “Listen to me, Ava. These things happen, and I suppose they happen more with volatile people. You and Frank are a train wreck, but there’s nothing that can be done about that. You have to play that love game out. You have no choice, toppling chairs in restaurants, knocking over drinks, screaming at each other. And everyone watches. Neither of you is ready to jump off that speeding train.”
She leaned over and poured me more tea as I gazed out the window into the pitch-blackness: no moonlight, no stars.
Quietly, “I know.”
“I don’t like it out here,” I said.
“Who does?”
“But you stay here. I can leave. New York may be a lot of things, but there’s a gritty, hard-nosed reality about it. New York tells me the truth. New York slaps you awake every day of your life. Out here in the constant sunshine with wide boulevards and sparkling cars, well, people come to believe they can reinvent themselves, their failed lives. That’s always been the promise of the West, of course-new beginnings, second chances, new blood pulsating through the anemic body. And, I suppose, it can be true. But not for L.A., not this oasis that looks to Hollywood for answers. Make it up and see if it flies. If it doesn’t, make something else up. A culture of sandboxes with children restacking the blocks that keep falling down.”
Ava had been staring at me, mouth open. “God, Edna. Stay away from the Chamber of Commerce. They’ll crucify you. Tar and feather you and ride you out of town on a rail.” She started giggling.
“And it would be filmed for a scene in some celluloid epic.”
She looked to the ceiling. “But I wanted to come out here.”
“It’s your career.”
“I know, I know. I make my money here. Lots of it. Tons of it. But most don’t. A Tony Pannis. Liz Grable who waits for that talent scout every time someone walks into the soda parlor where she waits and waits, perched on a stool. We keep lying to them.”
“Otherwise there’d be only desert and orange groves. L.A. circa 1900.”
She sipped her tea. “Sometimes I dream of going back home. I wanted to be an actress-I wanted to shine in Show Boat, get fantastic reviews-but I don’t want it. You know what I mean? Francis doesn’t believe me. For him it’s everything. Hoboken is grubby and horrid…and over. L.A. is…is the flashy Cadillac convertible, the big house in Palm Springs, and the screaming girls. I dream of North Carolina because no one bothered me there. Yes, I like the fame, I guess, but I feel owned here. Eaten alive.”
“You are so good in Show Boat.”
A wide grin. “Keep telling me that. I don’t like myself most of the time.”
I sipped my tea. “What do you want, Ava?”
“I don’t know. Right now, I want Francis. But I also know that he’s…Hollywood. Exciting. He’s L.A. He’s Palm Springs. He’s beautiful at the moment but he’s temporary. Everything out here-even people-are rented for the short term. Ironically he’s probably the love of my life. Paradox, no?” She chuckled. “I learned that word from Artie Shaw. He described me that way.”
“Well, you are.”
“Everyone is.”
“True. But some more than others.”
She drew her bare feet up under her legs, snuggled into the cushions. “I will always make movies. I’m supposed to.” She struck a pose. “‘The most beautiful woman in the world.’” Said with a bittersweet wistfulness. “But I want to live in Europe. Spain, probably. When I was there, I felt…comfortable. Everything is old and they like it that way.” Now she grinned. “And the bullfighters wear such tight pants, Edna.”
I ignored that. “Does Frank know about this dream of yours?”
“I’ve told him, but he’s not one to listen. He thinks Hollywood is paradise on earth. El Dorado. The seven cities of Cibola, acres of gold all contained in one big movie contract. You know, he’s so…soft a man, Edna. He’s afraid he’ll break.”
“He reminds me of a mischievous little boy.”
“Exactly.” Her eyes got merry. “It must be illegal to go to bed with a little boy in Hollywood.” She laughed outright, long, full.
My mind wandered. “Ava, I go back home in days and Max’s murderer is still at large.”
Ava leaned into me and smiled. “But you’re doing something about it, no?”
Startled, “How do you know?”
“I see the way you look at folks, Edna. You know, I’ve watched you at the cocktail party and at dinners and the public melees that Francis and I stage for Hedda Hopper and her ilk. This is a puzzle you’re working on. You got a bag of pieces and you’re shaking it.”
I nodded. “I owe this to Max.”
“You know all the players in this little costume drama.”
“How do you know it wasn’t a stranger?”
“Of course not. This was a deliberate killing…and personal. Somebody had something against Max. Some vendetta. No Commie nonsense. That was a convenient excuse, used by someone. Think about it, Edna. Someone took advantage of the moment to kill poor Max.” She locked eyes with me. “We agree about that, don’t we, Edna?”
“I know that.”
“It’s about timing here. Timing.”
I sat back. Everybody in Hollywood talked about timing. The glib catchphrase covered a multitude of sinning. The players. Who gained by Max’s death? I asked that question over and over. What satisfaction did someone have in seeing him dead?
Ava got reflective. “The night he died, Edna. Think about it.”
Yes, I thought: the night he died. Where were all the people? I counted them in my head. Who?
“You know the answer, Edna. I suspect you know most things before they happen.” She smiled.
“Tiki voodoo, Ava?”
“What?”
“Nothing.” I pointed a finger at her. “There’s always black magic in paradise.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Miss Ferber.” A scratchy voice, grating. For some reason Desmond Peake glanced over my shoulder, toward the doorway. “Miss Ferber.”