“All I’m saying is…”
He yelled, “I know what you’re saying.” His foot pounded the floor.
“I told you I talked to Dore Schary. Metro wants a meeting with you. Maybe they’ll take you back.”
Frank looked at me, disgusted. “I wanna get out of here.”
Ava pleaded. “Edna, I love a man who wants to see his whole life fall apart.”
Frank fumed. He tried to light a cigarette but his hand shook. The match and cigarette dropped to the table.
“Perhaps now is not the place to…” I began.
“Help us, Edna.”
Frank stood up abruptly. “I don’t need help. Ava. Old maids need boy scouts to help them across the wide boulevards of L.A. I’m not a boy scout.”
Ava stammered, “Francis, how dare you!”
Frank avoided looking at me.
“Ava,” I said brightly, “why are you so sure Frank did not kill Max?”
“Tell her, Francis.” Ava looked up at Frank who was shuffling from one foot to the other.
Frank moved toward the closed door. “I wonder why I let you talk me into these evenings, Ava.”
Ava stood, grabbed at the sleeve of his sports jacket. He twisted out of her grip, and sputtered, “Christ, Ava. Leave me some dignity.”
“You didn’t do it, did you, Francis? I called you that night, but you weren’t home. You told me you’d be back in Palm Springs.”
“I told you already, Ava. I’ve told everybody. I went for a ride out into the desert. By myself. I do that a lot. With broads like you, a guy has to get away sometimes.”
The look on Ava’s face startled me. Perhaps I expected a belligerent yet hopeful trust in what he was saying to her-a trust that a man who lied to her so many times would not, this time around, lie again. She wanted some black-and-white resolution to this dilemma…to convince herself that her instincts were on target.
But what I saw in that beautiful face now was confusion, doubt, and with it an abundance of pain. Conflicted, torn, she glanced back at me, as though I held an answer for her. Though I immediately regretted it, I closed up my face and stared, steely-eyed, at a helpless Ava.
Now Ava whispered at Frank, who had his back to her. I could see his neck muscles tighten, swell. “Your bodyguard said you left in a fit. You were angry.”
He swung back to face her. A vein on his left temple throbbed, his eyes so dark now they could be black instead of that deep-sea blue. “You interrogated Angie? You questioned him?”
Ava slumped back in the chair. “We were talking.”
“Christ.”
Frank opened the door and kicked it back against the wall. From where I sat I could see the upturned heads of a few diners, suddenly startled by the movement. “Another pleasant evening, Ava,” he sneered. “Miss Ferber, a real delight.” He sailed through and slammed the door behind him.
I tried to smile at her. “That went well.”
Ava stared at the slammed door. When she reached for a cigarette, her hand shook so much she had to give up.
Chapter Fifteen
Ava’s words. You know the answer, Edna. Ava’s panicked response to the accusations against Frank. Ava’s declaration that…that night held the answers we all sought. That night, and the assembled cast of this sad drama. I couldn’t escape thinking about her words. In the middle of the night, suddenly awake and sitting up in bed, I played with her words. The night of the murder. Put the pieces together, Edna. Block out the scene. Stage the performance. Place the characters. Lift the curtain. Roll the cameras. Lights, camera…inaction.
Lorena Marr seemed surprised to hear my voice on the phone. “Edna, my word. Has something happened?”
“No, Lorena, I haven’t spoken to you since Sol’s funeral.”
There was hesitation in her voice. “I know. I’ve been in hiding. Ethan called me early yesterday morning and told me Frank was mad at Tony. I guess Tony mouthed off at Ava’s house.”
“Yes, not pretty.”
“It’s amazing how Ethan checks in with me now more than when we were married.”
“What did he say?”
“Just that Tony made a fool of himself.”
“He did that, certainly, but I don’t think he knows how to behave anymore. He’s wading in quicksand.” I waited a second. “He hates Frank, doesn’t he?”
Long silence, the dead space of a phone conversation. “Why do you say that?”
“Because it’s obvious. He resents Frank’s success the way a poor family member hates the crumbs a wealthy relative tosses his way.”
“No one wants to face that.”
“I do.” I waited. “And Ethan himself was not the picture of decorum that night.”
Surprise in her voice, a chuckle. “He didn’t share that information with me.”
“Doubtless.”
Lorena spoke matter-of-factly. “Ethan keeps his emotions hidden.” I could hear her lighting a cigarette, the striking of a match. “Ethan is troubled, I guess, because Frank was ice cold on the ride back into town.”
“Well, they said some unflattering things to him.” Now I warmed up. “I gather Ethan refers to them as Adam and Ava. The lost souls of paradise.”
“He doesn’t mean anything by that. Ethan is hard to read sometimes.”
“You make excuses for him, Lorena. Patient Griselda, home waiting for her man.”
“That’s not fair, Edna. We were in love.”
“Past tense?”
A pause as she changed her mind. “I’m lying to you, Edna. It does mean something. With Frank losing favor these days, he’s shoving the boys aside, particularly Tony. He’s…impatient. It’s hard to like Tony, loyalty to Hoboken notwithstanding. Some of us remember the quiet, funny guy-before Lenny died. I suppose Tony does resent Frank’s stupendous success, even though he’s been riding his coat tails freely.”
“I sensed that.” I waited a second. “What about Ethan? How does he view Frank?”
“Well,” Lorena breathed in slowly, and I could hear the intake of a cigarette, “lately he’s told me he doesn’t like Frank’s mockery of Tony.”
“But that’s so much sport these days. The lost drunk. Tony’s out of control and you’re all watching him as though he’s a scene in a movie you don’t care for.”
“You know, Edna, out here in gaga land, everyone is surprised when they realize they haven’t become rich and famous over night.”
“That’s Ethan?”
“A little bit. Back when. But I was thinking more of Tony.”
“Sometimes I think that he’s never so drunk as he acts. Even smashed, he’s watching everyone.”
A long silence. “God, Edna. I don’t think so. He gets hammered and passes out.”
“True, but at the Paradise, under Ethan’s watch. But I sense a bit of the actor in him. A bad one, yes, but I detect cleverness in him. Acting the fall-down drunk allows him to get away with things. Oh, poor Tony, the sad drunk on Saturday night. Poor Liz, putting up with him. Poor Ethan, the guardian angel. Well, what can you expect from a drunk?”
Again, the hesitation. “Well, maybe.”
“Ethan mentioned that he and Tony are headed back to New Jersey.”
Now she laughed out loud. “Ethan has been threatening to do that for a while. He claims to be sick of L.A., that he is saving Tony from a drunk tank and death. God, back in Hoboken he’d disappear into a package store and never come out. But L.A. is in Ethan’s blood. Go to the movies with him sometime-he’s like a little kid, all revved up, almost giddy. ‘They make movies here!’ he once chirped at me. Imagine!”
There was a rush of voices behind her. “You’re busy.” But I added, hurriedly, “I called for a reason. Do you have Liz Grable’s phone number?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I’d like to talk to her.”
A long pause. “Liz?”
I stammered. “I told her we’d have a talk.”
“Really?”
My request puzzled Lorena, though she gave me Liz’s number as well as that of her hair salon.
“Call me, Edna. Before you leave.”