Fallen Angels (14 page)

“Mother, please allow me to introduce you to
Mr. John Gilbert. John, this is my mother, Mrs. Allcutt.”

Executing an absolutely stunning bow, John
Gilbert took our mother’s hand and almost kissed it. It was the
“almost” part that won our mother over to his side, I think.
Hand-kissing is all well and good for European nobility, but it was
gauche for Americans. That’s according to our mother. At that
moment, it occurred to me that Chloe might well have warned Mr.
Gilbert whom he’d be up against that evening. His twinkling eyes
hinted that he knew all about our mother and was planning on
charming her anyway. I liked him instantly.

Then Chloe said, “John, you simply must meet
my sister, Mercedes Allcutt. We call her Mercy, she’s recently
moved to Los Angeles to live with us, and she loves it here.”

Oh, my. To have such a fellow as John Gilbert
bestow his entire attention upon one is . . . well, the sensation
was almost overpowering. I nearly screeched myself.

He gave me one of his perfect bows, did the
almost-hand-kissing thing again, and then gave me a wink for good
measure, as if he and I were in some conspiracy together. I
couldn’t restrain my smile. Here was a nice man, I told myself. And
he was.

I have to admit that his speaking voice
wasn’t altogether what one might want the hero of one’s dreams to
possess. It was more of a tenor than a bass or a baritone, but it
was nowhere near as high and squeaky as people would claim a few
years later when he attempted to move from the silents to the
talkies. I think someone deliberately undermined his career at that
point, and I think whoever did it was mean and hateful and a real
stinker.

Then Renee Adoree appeared upon the scene.
This time the maid didn’t scream or faint, but she did catch
Chloe’s eye, so Chloe hurried away, leaving John Gilbert with
Mother, Mr. Easthope, and me. I tried not to flutter or
stutter.

“Mother and I both enjoyed
The Big Parade
, Mr. Gilbert. You
played your part wonderfully,” I ventured.

“Thank you, Miss Allcutt and Mrs.
Allcutt.” He turned to Mr. Easthope. “You created the costumes
for
The Big Parade
, didn’t
you, Mr. Easthope?”

I could tell Mr. Easthope was pleased to have
been praised. “Indeed I did. It was a pleasure to work with such
charming people.”

One of Mr. Gilbert’s eyebrows lifted. “Was
Miss Adoree charming to you? She was rather a cat once or twice on
the set.”

Chuckling softly, Mr. Easthope said, “She was
charm itself at fittings. I guess I was lucky.”

“I guess so.” Mr. Gilbert turned to me. There
went my heart again, battering away at my bound bosoms like crazy.
Stupid heart. I didn’t even know this man, for Pete’s sake. “Say,
Miss Allcutt, your sister has told me all about your little poodle.
I was thinking of getting a dog for myself, and would enjoy meeting
your little Buttercup, if you don’t mind.”

Would I
mind
? Is my mother an overbearing Bostonian? The
answers to those questions, in order, are no and yes. Trying not to
gush, I said, “I’d love to introduce you to Buttercup.”

So, arm in arm, Mr. John Gilbert, one of the
most famous men in the world (after bowing politely to my mother
and Mr. Easthope again), and I, Mercedes Louise Allcutt, an
absolute nobody from Boston, walked out of the living room and down
the hallway toward the sun room, where poor Buttercup had been
confined for the evening.

“I’m planning to get Chloe and Harvey a
poodle for Christmas,” I told him, in order not to appear
tongue-tied. “They want a black one.”

“Chloe told me about the Christmas present.
She also told me about your mother.”

I couldn’t help myself; I laughed. “I
wondered if she’d done that!”

“I figured I’d do my best to rescue you,” he
said, thus proving himself to be a hero off the screen as well as
on it.

“Thank you very much. You can’t imagine how
much I appreciate being rescued.”

“Still, I really would like to meet this
Buttercup of yours. I like dogs. Truth to tell, I have a dog
already. An English setter. I like to do the occasional bit of
hunting, and she’s a great bird dog.”

“I believe poodles were originally bred to do
that sort of thing. Retrieve birds and so forth.” That the notion
of my precious Buttercup carrying a mangled bird corpse in her
mouth made me shudder, I didn’t let on.

“I believe you’re right. I also think Germany
claims them as their country of origin as does France.”

“We’d probably better not tell Miss Adoree
that,” I said.

He chuckled, and I went all giddy for a
moment. Good heavens, how silly can one girl get? Then again, if
the notion of John Gilbert could make my mother giggle, I suppose I
could be forgiven a certain giddiness in his company.

At that moment, I opened the door to the sun
porch, and an overjoyed Buttercup leapt out of the bed in which
she’d been moping and dashed over to me. Before she could jump up
and rip any of the pretty beads from my gown, I bent and picked her
up. “Buttercup, I would like you to meet one of the most celebrated
men of our time, Mr. John Gilbert.”

Then Buttercup did a trick I’d taught her, as
if on cue, and held out a paw to Mr. Gilbert. If she wasn’t the
sweetest thing on the face of the earth, I didn’t know what
was.

Darned if the man didn’t bow and take my
dog’s paw and shake it as if she were a human being instead of a
canine!

“It’s as great a pleasure to meet you, Miss
Buttercup, as it was to meet your mistress, Miss Allcutt. I must
say you’re both delightful ladies.”

Buttercup returned the compliment by licking
him on the chin. Fortunately, Mr. Gilbert had a sense of humor and
only laughed.

After petting Buttercup and reassuring her
that I’d rescue her eventually, I put her back into her little bed.
She whined once, then gave it up. She knew who was boss. Poodles
are smart that way.

“An admirable pooch, Miss Allcutt,” said Mr.
Gilbert as we walked back to the crowded living room.

“Thank you. I’m ever so glad I got her.” It
occurred to me that Mr. Gilbert might know if any of his fellow
actors had been moved to join Adelaide Burkhard Emanuel’s cause, so
I asked him.

He blinked once or twice, letting me know
that I hadn’t exactly warmed up to the subject but had rather
dumped it on him out of the blue, so I hurried to explain. “I’m
sorry to be so abrupt. But that church or some of its members might
have a bearing on the case my employer and I are working on.” I
suppose I should cringe at admitting it, but I was becoming more
adept at lying every day. I know that’s a bad thing, but it didn’t
seem like one at the time.

“Ah, yes. Chloe told me you’d chosen to
retreat from your ivory tower and pursue honest employment.”

The way he said it made me understand he
wasn’t teasing, but understood that a person might get bored and
crave new adventures. I appreciated him for it. “Indeed. And
working for a private investigator is most interesting.”

His eyes thinned and his brow crinkled. “Say,
you’re not talking about this Chalmers thing, are you? I heard that
Persephone had passed away suddenly, but I didn’t realize it was a
case. In that sense of the word, I mean.”

“You knew her?” I was surprised.

“Not well, but we’d met at a couple of
parties. Her husband is a bigwig in some business or other, and his
money has helped finance some pictures.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Well, as I said, I didn’t know her well, but
I was sorry to hear of her death.”

By this time, we’d almost come to the living
room, so I said quickly, “She was murdered.”

“Dear God!” He stopped in his tracks for a
moment and appeared to be honestly shocked.

But then we had to give up the topic because
we’d reached the living room and, therefore, the party. Just when I
might have been getting somewhere on the case, too. That would
teach me to allow my mind to wander from work to Hollywood screen
idols.

I had no time to fall into a melancholy,
however, because Chloe was on me in an instant with Miss Renee
Adoree at her side.

“Mercy!” cried my sister. “You must meet Miss
Renee Adoree.” So she introduced us.

Renee Adoree, a simply beautiful woman whose
looks had been bestowed upon her by God rather than the paint box,
had a rather languid air about her, but she wasn’t as wafty as Mrs.
Chalmers had been. In truth, she seemed a very nice person, if a
little standoffish. Not too long after that, and after several more
impressive performances in the flickers, she was diagnosed with
tuberculosis. That would make me sad, especially as she died only a
short while after her diagnosis.

That evening in Chloe’s living room, Renee
Adoree was stunning, dressed to kill and extremely polite. I soon
discovered, however, that while she had a lovely speaking
voice—marred, my mother would say, by an unfortunate French
accent—she didn’t know beans about the Angelica Gospel Hall or its
minions or converts, so I didn’t bother with her much after
learning that.

Dinner was, naturally, a great success, with
all sorts of delicious courses and wines and so forth and so on.
I’d come to understand shortly after my arrival in Los Angeles that
everyone who was anyone had his or her own bootlegger. Chloe was
right in that she would have been considered a very odd hostess
indeed not to have served wine with dinner that night, Mother or no
Mother. Not that this bit of information adds to the tale. I only
mention it.

After the meal was finished, we gathered once
again in the living room, where I scouted out Mr. Gilbert. I didn’t
want to appear too obvious, for fear Mother would think I was
pursuing the man. Telling her I was only doing so for the sake of
my job would, as you must know by this time, not have softened any
rebuke she’d fling at me.

“Your sister and brother-in-law sure know how
to entertain,” said Mr. Gilbert with a smile and a drink in his
hand when I approached him. He’d been chatting with Harvey, who
winked at me. Have I mentioned that Harvey was a great fellow?
Well, he was.

“Harvey and Chloe are two of the very best
people on earth,” I declared to Mr. Gilbert, which earned me a wide
grin from Harvey.

“It’s good to see siblings who are so close,”
Mr. Gilbert said, and I think he meant it. “So often families
aren’t affectionate. For good reason, in some cases.”

I cast a quick glance at my mother, but she
was safely ensconced on the other side of the room, holding forth
with Mr. Easthope and another woman who was prominent in both
literature and the flickers, Elinor Glyn. I’d met Miss Glyn before,
and she intimidated me, although I think that was only because my
own aspirations seemed so tepid when compared to her
accomplishments. Still and all, I was relatively confident that the
likes of Elinor Glyn wouldn’t have anything to do with the likes of
Sister Emmanuel or Persephone Chalmers, so I saw no reason to fight
my feelings of inferiority in order to question her. Besides, Mr.
Gilbert was ever so much more my cup of tea, if you know what I
mean.

It was obvious that Mr. Gilbert and Harvey
had seen my desperate glance Mother’s way because they both
laughed.

Harvey said, “Don’t worry, Mercy. I think the
storm has settled for a while.”

“Oh, dear,” said I, embarrassed.

“Don’t think anything about it,” recommended
Mr. Gilbert. “Remember that old saying, which, I’m sure, is only
popular because it’s true: one can choose one friends, but one
can’t choose one’s family.”

“Amen,” I muttered. “But I don’t know what
I’d do without Chloe.”

“And I can add an amen to that,” echoed
Harvey, which made my heart all warm and fuzzy. While I didn’t
understand the attraction between Mr. and Mrs. Everett, it was
obvious that Chloe and Harvey were made for each other. They also
looked good together, unlike the Everetts, who were as mismatched a
pair as I’d ever seen.

“Chloe is the best sister a person could
have,” I said staunchly and meaning every word.

“That’s good to hear,” said Mr. Gilbert. I
got the feeling the conversation was boring him, so I decided to
forge onward onto another topic.

“You mentioned earlier that you don’t know
much about the Angelica Gospel Hall, is that right?”

“Er . . . yes, it is. I know one or two
people who’ve attended services there,” said Mr. Gilbert. I decided
then and there to practice turning topics more elegantly.

“Do you think any of them might be able to
give me any information about Mrs. Chalmers’ involvement with the
Hall?” I asked eagerly.

“Um . . .” Mr. Gilbert seemed taken
aback.

“Mercy went so far as to visit the place this
morning,” Harvey said.

“Talk about sacrificing oneself for one’s
role.” Mr. Gilbert’s eyebrows arched.

I smiled but said, “It wasn’t really too
awful. It certainly wasn’t like anything I’m used to.”

“I should hope not,” murmured Harvey.

“Well,” said I, thinking kindly of Sister
Emmanuel because she’d been nice to me and had performed well in a
crisis, “I believe their hearts are in the right place. They just .
. . get a little carried away. For my taste,” I hurried to add,
just in case Mr. Gilbert was a secret member of the church or
something like that. “In fact, Sister Emmanuel was quite nice to me
when a member of her parish fainted.”

“Somebody fainted?” Mr. Gilbert’s posture
straightened slightly from its formerly relaxed state, and I sensed
a spike in his interest.

“Well, yes. I’m afraid I startled the poor
woman by blurting out that Mrs. Chalmers had been murdered, you
see.”

“Good God, Miss Allcutt, what kind of work do
you do for this Mr. Templeton of yours? Chloe told me you were his
secretary, but you seem to be busy ferreting out information in a
murder case.”