There was such an aching sense of panic and love between us as if, after all, the kindness of strangers wasn’t quite enough and would never be enough, for either of us. ‘Yes,’ I promised as I hugged him. ‘Just whistle, right?’
In the end, the US of A was not Lamarr’s scene either and, flamboyant as ever, he returned the next year to New Zealand. He was thirty when fortune favoured him and he met Harry, an Australian restaurateur who pursued him to Tauranga and didn’t mind watching old Hollywood movies.
And then I heard Aunt Lulu give a little chuckle and when I looked into the rear-vision mirror she was looking at me and she said:
‘Oh Gardner, you got that shiner all for me?’
To tell you the truth, I didn’t mind that Aunt Lulu thought I was Uncle Gardner.
In fact, I suspect that he’s who this story is really about. From the first time he had asked me to ‘throw the little sonofabitch into a cowpat’, Uncle Gardner and I had been on the same side. He was the iconic hero, someone like Alan Ladd in Shane: decent, disarming, moral. He wore his heart on his sleeve and he unreservedly loved Aunt Lulu and his family.
I remember one occasion when Uncle Gardner had come to see me play indoor basketball during a high school tournament. Lamarr was watching from the sidelines and I should have known, when the game was over and Uncle Gardner was congratulating me, that my sporting prowess cast him in a shadow. He came over to offer his congratulations too. ‘You should have been Father’s son,’ he said. ‘Not me.’
Forgive me, but all I could feel was elation. All my life I had felt the same thing: my own father regardless, Uncle Gardner and I could have been made from the same flesh.
But the blood drained from Uncle Gardner’s face. ‘What the Hell are you talking about, Lamarr? You’re my son.’ He pulled Lamarr towards him and shook him. ‘I love you.’
Just before Uncle Gardner died, fifteen years ago now, he called me to see him. Those blond good looks of his had completely faded and he’d put on quite a bit of weight, but he was still as charming and as concerned about Aunt Lulu and his family as ever.
‘Those daughters of mine are in the USA and I’ve left Lulu in good hands but, William, I would like to make you the executor of my will.’
I was floored.
He began to weep. ‘Look after them all, won’t you? Particularly your Cousin Lamarr. He needs a masculine brother, you know what I mean? Damn it, I don’t mind his predilections and peccadilloes because he’s my own flesh and blood. And it was his mother’s fault that he turned out the way he has and, no matter, I still love him, you hear? But every now and then, throw the sonofabitch into a cowpat.’
And so I assumed Uncle Gardner’s persona.
I looked into the rear-view mirror. Tried to smile with that same awkward, lopsided but sexy grin. Crinkled my eyes. Imitated that slow Southern drawl of his.
‘Ever since I saw you as a schoolgirl, I’ve loved you, Lulu. For you, I’d grab all the stars in the sky and one by one strew them at your feet.’
Uncle Gardner, this one is for you.
TEN
Finally, I delivered Aunt Lulu, the great Ruru-i-te-marama, to her son and heir.
As soon as I turned into the driveway of Lamarr’s house he came running out crying, ‘Mother? Mother!’
‘Hello, Lamarr,’ said Aunt Lulu as he yanked open the door to the Bentley. She looked him up and down. ‘You’re putting on weight,’ she said, as Marlene Dietrich did to Orson Welles in Touch of Evil. ‘Time to lay off the candy bars.’
Lamarr blew me kisses. I waited to one side as he gathered his mother in his arms. ‘How dare they do this to you.’
‘Out on the street, Lamarr,’ she sobbed. ‘They threw me away as if I was of no use to anybody.’
And then she stopped in her tracks.
‘I will not go a step further,’ she cried. ‘William? Take me back! Take me anywhere! I will not be a burden to Lamarr!’
At first I thought it was one of her usual melodramatic outbursts. Then I started to worry. This was real.
‘No! No! No!’ she cried as Lamarr forced her onward. She was kicking at him and trying to claw at his face. ‘Let me go back!’
‘Harry!’ Lamarr shouted. ‘Help!’
Harry waddled out but, try as they both might, Aunt Lulu would not go into the house. She began to scream — ‘Oh, Gardner! Gardner!’
And she fell to the ground.
I don’t know why I did what I did.
I walked towards Aunt Lulu and pulled her up. She gave a slight cry of fear and fought against my enfolding arms.
The moon came out and Sam began to play ‘As Time Goes By’ and I was Rick, owner of the Café Américain, and here I was with Ilsa at the fog-enshrouded airport, just ten minutes to spare before the plane to Lisbon was to depart.
I put my soul into my acting. ‘You said I was to do the thinking for both of us,’ I said to Aunt Lulu. ‘Well, I’ve done a lot of it since then and it all adds up to one thing. You’re getting on that plane with Victor where you belong.’
Pooch began to bark. No Pooch, I thought to myself, this is not your scene. I was worried that Aunt Lulu might not respond as she looked at me, puzzled, but then she recognised the script. Good girl that she was, she immediately stepped into Ilsa’s character. ‘But Richard, no, I, I —’
‘You’ve got to listen to me,’ I said roughly. ‘Do you have any idea what you’d have to look forward to if you stayed here? Nine chances out of ten we’d both wind up in a concentration camp. Isn’t that true, Louis?’
Lamarr pretended to countersign the papers. ‘I’m afraid Major Strasser would insist.’
‘You’re saying this only to make me go,’ Aunt Lulu cried. The plane’s propellers were already turning, roaring loudly in the night.
‘I’m saying it because it’s true,’ I answered, grabbing her arms and forcing her to accept what I was telling her. ‘Inside of us we both know you belong to Victor. You’re part of his work, the thing that keeps him going. If that plane leaves the ground and you’re not with him, you’ll regret it.’
‘No,’ Aunt Lulu cried again.
‘Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon, and for the rest of your life.’
‘But what about us?’
Her question lingered in the air.
I’d forgotten the line.
Aunt Lulu stiffened and glared at me. ‘Amateurs!’ she declared. ‘Why am I always surrounded by people from … central casting! And look at the lighting! Where’s the make-up girl? How can I possibly appear before my public looking like this?’
She pointed at me. ‘As for you — all of you — call yourselves actors? Where are Humphrey Bogart, John Wayne and Jimmy Stewart when you need them!’
She drew herself up and, head tossed back, made her exit.
Lamarr turned to me. We were grinning like maniacs.
‘Here’s looking at you, kid,’ he said.
One More Night
adapted from ‘Whero’s New Net’, 2009, by Albert Belz
PART ONE
IN SEARCH OF EMERALD CITY
So here we are, me and my mate Whero, and I can feel that beautiful hot white spotlight on our faces. I look across at her, the way the light reflects off those cheekbones of hers and all those sparks come to nest in her hair. How did she ever get to be so gorgeous? She’s a rock diva, queen of the club, and I ramp up the sound on my guitar. Although she frowns, she takes up the challenge.