Lost Among the Angels (A Mercy Allcutt Book) (15 page)

      “I’m glad you don’t do that, Lulu.”

      “Well, I seen what happened to a friend of mine, and I decided it wasn’t worth it. I’ll make it one of these days, but I’ll do it ’cause I’m good on screen, not because I’m good in bed.”

      The notion that Harvey Nash, my very own brother-in-law, might be participating in such low tactics entered my mind only to be thrust aside with vigor. Not Harvey. Never Harvey. He was too loyal. Too much in love with Chloe.

      Wasn’t he?

      Good Lord, I hoped so!

      There was more to Los Angeles than met the eye, and some of it had best remain hidden, if you asked me. Not that anyone did.

      We’d reached the elevator, and Lulu showed me how to open the door and close the door. She rode up with me to the third floor, and instructed me on how to use the lever so that the car was more or less level with the floor. “That part’s important, because you don’t want to trip and fall on your butt,” said she.

      “Right.” I’d heard that Mabel Normand used language like that. Perhaps Lulu was aiming to become the next big comic sensation of the big screen. I exited the elevator without mishap, and was pleased with the appearance of the hallway since my interview several days earlier.

      Not only had Ned put in new light bulbs, so that one could see where one was headed, but he’d also repainted not only the sign on Ernie’s office, but on a couple of other offices. As I paused to take my key out of my handbag, I was pleased that no longer was there room for doubt that this was the office of Ernest Templeton, and that his vocation was that of P.I. The glass was clean, too, although I was the one responsible for that. Well, Bon Ami and I. It looked and smelled as if Ned had been painting the hallway’s walls, too. I tell you, things were moving right along. I was proud of myself for instigating Ned’s renewed sense of pride in his work.

      A surprise awaited me when I unlocked the office door. A little bouquet of flowers, daisies and anemones, resided in what looked like a rinsed-out jelly jar on my desk.
Ned,
I thought, and wondered whose garden he’d stolen them from.

      But perhaps I’d wronged him. Or perhaps it had been Ernie who’d brought the flowers, which perked me up for a second or two before I realized that was unlikely, since he’d left the office before I had the day before and he hadn’t arrived yet this morning.

      Well, it didn’t matter. The flowers, for all their inelegant container, were pretty, and I resolved to thank whomever had been kind enough to leave them for me.

      “Hello, Miss Allcutt.”

      I glanced up from putting my handbag and hat in my drawer to find Ned, clutching the front door and peering in at me as if he were afraid I’d bite. I smiled graciously. “Good morning, Ned. Beautiful morning, isn’t it?”

      “Yeah. You want me to do anything for you, Miss Allcutt?”

      This, from the man I’d had to pry out of his closet when we’d first met. “Um … I can’t think of anything right now, Ned. Thank you.”

      He nodded, but he looked disappointed. “I been painting the hall. Did you see that?”

      “Yes, I did.”

      “And I brought those flowers.” He gestured at the jelly glass.

      “Thank you very much. They’re lovely.”

      “Picked ’em in the park. Pershing Square.”

      I’ll bet the groundskeepers would be thrilled to know that. I didn’t say so. “Well, they’re lovely. Thank you.”

      “You’re welcome.” He stood there, swaying with the door, which had decided to open wider, then said, “Well, you let me know if there’s anything you want me to do, okay?”

      “Okay.” I do believe that was the first time I’d ever used that word, although it was quite popular at the time.

      I have a feeling Ned would have lingered, mooning and swaying in the doorway, if Ernie hadn’t arrived just then. As soon as Ned spotted him, he leaped sideways.

      “ ’Lo, Ned.” Ernie’s voice was friendly and he nodded to Ned as he passed.

      “Hello, Mr. Templeton.” Ned didn’t sound as if he was pleased to see Ernie, but I certainly was.

      As ever, Ernie’s stride was long and effortless, and he nodded at me, too, as he passed my desk. “Morning, Miss Allcutt.”

      “Good morning, Mr. Templeton. I mean Ernie.”

      He grinned as he stopped in the doorway to his office, reached up and lifted his hat from his head, and flung it across his office at the coat tree. “Ha! Made it.” And he went into his office and shut the door behind him.

      I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do at that point, so I remained seated behind my desk, opened my top middle drawer, and withdrew my pad. Ned was still in the doorway when I glanced up. “Did you want something, Ned?”

      “You call him Ernie?” His frown made him look puzzled, and reinforced my opinion that Ned wasn’t the brightest candle in the box.

      “Why, yes. He told me to call him Ernie.”

      “Huh.” And Ned disappeared from my sight.

      I wished Ernie hadn’t shut his door, because I’d wanted to chat with him about Pasadena, and Barbara-Ann Houser, and all sorts of things. Since I was his secretary—his
confidential
secretary (I’d seen that description in an advertisement in the
Times
)—I concluded it was all right for me to interrupt him. Therefore, I rose from my chair and was about to interrupt his newspaper reading, when the front door opened, and another visitor appeared. While I hadn’t been thrilled and delighted to see Ned this early in the morning, I was even less so to see Mr. Godfrey.

      My lack of enthusiasm didn’t matter, however. I was Ernie’s secretary, and I had to be pleasant to the clients. Therefore, I sat back down and smiled. “Good morning, Mr. Godfrey.”

      “Good morning, Miss Allcutt.” He stood before my desk, shifting from one foot to the other, his chubby face pink, and his little eyes darting glances around the office. Snatching the hat from his head, he whipped his other hand out from behind his back. In it resided a pretty bouquet of mixed flowers tied with a pink bow.  “I thought you might like some flowers.”

      I loved flowers, as a matter of fact, but I wasn’t altogether certain I wanted to receive them from two such men as Ned and Mr. Godfrey. Now, if Francis Easthope were to honor me with some red roses or something, I’d be thrilled. Or even Ernie.

      Mr. Godfrey’s gaze came to rest on the jelly jar. “You already have some flowers, I see.”

      “Yes. People are most kind.” There I went: sounding like my mother again. Ah, well. There’s a lot to be said for the rules of society; they can ease one’s way through many swampy situations.

      “You mean somebody else gave you those?” He looked so downcast and dejected that I almost felt sorry for him.

      “Well, yes, but I do love flowers, and you were very kind to bring these to me. Perhaps I should try to find a bowl for them.”

      Thrusting the bouquet at me, he said, “All right. Is Mr. Templeton in?”

      “Yes, he is. Let me tell him you’re here.” So I took the flowers, set them carefully on my desk so as not to squish them, and finished my interrupted trip to Ernie’s office, where I knocked on his door.

      “C’m in,” he called.

      So I went in. “Mr. Godfrey is here to see you.”

      Ernie folded the
Times
, sighed, and set it on his desk. “All right. Show him in.”

      So I did that, too. As soon as the door closed behind the two men, I picked up my posy and went in search of a vase. Or at least another jelly jar.  It really had been nice of both Ned and Mr. Godfrey to bring me flowers, and I suppose it was unkind of me to wish they hadn’t.

      Deciding that I probably ought to use the stairway, since exercise was good for one’s stamina, I did so, trotting down the three flights and ending up in the lobby, where Lulu still filed her fingernails. She glanced up when she heard my sensible shoes clop across the lobby floor.

      “ ’Lo, Mercy.”

      “Hello again, Lulu. Do you have any idea where I might find something in which to put these flowers?”

      Her face split into a grin. “So
you’re
the one, eh?”

      I blinked at her. “I beg your pardon?”

      “I saw that guy bring ’em in and wondered who they were for. I kinda hoped he’d give ’em to me. I like flowers.”

      “So do I.” It crossed my mind to give the flowers to Lulu, but then decided that wouldn’t be right, and it might hurt Mr. Godfrey’s feelings. And
that
would be going directly against my secretarial duty. “But I need something to put them in.”

      “Sure. I bet Ned has something.”

      Drat. I’d already considered Ned, but didn’t want to offend him or make him feel bad by asking him for a container for another gentleman’s flowers. Then I decided I was being too sensitive. It wasn’t my fault two men had decided I needed flowers today, curse it! “I guess I’ll go down and try to find him.”

      “Sweetie, all you have to do is whisper his name, and he’ll come running.”

      I’m not sure why that comment made my nose wrinkle, but it did. “Swell,” I said sarcastically, and Lulu laughed.

      Nevertheless, I tramped down another flight of stairs to the basement. Since I didn’t feel like spending hours on my quest, I called out, “Ned!”

      Instantly, a closet door opened, and Ned appeared, holding another book. Glancing at the title, I saw it was
The Mysterious Affair at Styles
, by Agatha Christie. I couldn’t fault his literary taste, even if he was an annoying sort of person. “Miss Allcutt!” Ned beamed at me.

      “Hi, Ned. I need something to put these flowers in, please.”

      His smile vanished. “Where’d you get those?”

      Forgetting that Ned already believed he had a grudge against the person who’d given them to me, I said, “Mr. Godfrey.”

      His lips pinched into a flat line, and Ned’s skimpy eyebrows formed a perfect V over his pale blue eyes. “Godfrey! I should have known.”

      Oh, dear. However, I reminded myself that Ned’s dislike of Mr. Godfrey, and Mr. Godfrey’s dislike of Ned were of no concern to me. Therefore, I merely smiled. “Do you have a vase anywhere around, Ned?”

      “Huh?” He jumped a little, as if he’d forgotten my presence in his contemplation of the enemy. I had heard from friends who seemed to know more than I about the subject that men were irrational creatures. If most men behaved like Ned, I believed it.

      I lifted the small bouquet. “A vase?” I reminded him gently.

      “Oh, yeah. Um … I think there’s one around here somewhere. Lulu gets flowers sometimes.”

      “That’s nice,” said I, meaning it. I’d just as soon give her these.

      So I followed Ned around the basement, watching him open doors and marveling at his incoherent (to me) method of organization. What he needed was Mrs. Biddle to come to the Figueroa Building and show him how to put things in order. At last he opened a door to a closet whose contents looked promising. “Knew they were here someplace,” he mumbled, and stepped aside. By gum, he was right. Before my very eyes was a shelf with glasses and vases on it. So I picked one out, thanked Ned, and climbed the four flights back to my office, deciding as I did so that, while stair climbing might be good for one’s stamina, it played havoc with one’s flowers. They were already beginning to wilt in the summer heat. I detoured by the ladies’ room to put water in the vase.

      Evidently Ernie and Mr. Godfrey were still conferring when I arranged the bouquet on my desk and sat again. I was glad of it, because I wanted time to catch my breath before I had to do any talking.

      I hadn’t quite recovered from my morning’s exertions when the telephone rang. This was the very first time I’d had to answer the telephone for my job, and my heart sped up when I lifted the receiver.

      “Mr. Templeton’s office. Miss Allcutt speaking.” Chloe had told me that was how Harvey’s secretary answered his telephone, so I adopted the method for myself. It sounded very professional.

      “Good morning,” a husky female voice purred in my ear. Mrs. Von Schilling. Nuts. “May I please speak to Mr. Templeton.”

      “I’m sorry, but Mr. Templeton is engaged at the moment. May I take a message?” I picked up my pencil and poised it over my message pad, just like a real secretary. Which I was.

      “Please have him telephone me, dear.”

      Dear? Egad.

      “Certainly.”

      “Mrs. Von Schilling,” she said, as if anyone in the world besides her spoke in that sultry voice. “Madison six two four nine six.”

      “I’ll certainly do that, Mrs. Von Schilling.”

      “Thank you so much, Miss Allcutt. You’re a treasure.”

      A treasure, was I? Phooey. However, I dutifully copied the name and number, detached the message from the pad, and set it precisely at the corner of my desk where Ernie couldn’t help but see it—and I wouldn’t forget it. Not that there was much chance of that, messages thus far being quite unusual in that office.

      Because I wanted to take pride in both my work and the room in which I did it, I’d stopped by the five-and-dime to purchase a dust cloth on my way home from work the day before. I’d just finished dusting the office, not a difficult task since there was so little furniture, and decided the place needed a rug on the floor and a table for magazines and maybe another chair or two and a picture on the wall, when Ernie’s door opened and both he and Mr. Godfrey walked out of it. Ernie looked at my dust cloth, then at the new bouquet of flowers on my desk, and gave me an ironic grin that I believed was uncalled for.

      Mr. Godfrey saw that I’d put his pretty little bouquet in a vase with water and smiled. When he smiled, his piggy eyes almost disappeared into his fleshy face. It was an unfortunate result of a facial expression that usually brightens a countenance.

      Peeved with him and with Ernie, I snatched the message off my desk and thrust it at my boss. “Here. You have a message.”

      “Thank you, Miss Allcutt,” he said so politely that I knew he was making fun of me. He read the message, his eyebrows lifted, and he said, “Ah,” in a pleased-sounding voice. And he turned and went back into his office, leaving me alone with Mr. Godfrey.