The Boy Who Never Grew Up (22 page)

Mr. Shelley smiled back. “Go in and say good night to Grandma, Ben.”

The kid toddled off.

“Zilch,” Mr. Shelley informed his wife miserably. “He got all tensed up and wouldn’t go.”

She rolled her eyes in frustration. “I can’t stand this anymore.”

“Didn’t the shrink have
anything
else to suggest?”

“Just patience.”

“And for that we pay him a hundred dollars an hour?”

“No, for that we pay him a hundred dollars a half hour,” she replied.

“You could try doing what they do at the Four Seasons,” I suggested.

They looked at me blankly.

“What’s that, Hoagy?” he asked.

“Put a TV in there.”

He held out his hands, palms up. “Hey, I’m willing to try anything at this point.”

“The bathroom’s not wired for cable,” she pointed out.

“So we’ll wire it. Get the Z Channel. Get Disney. Put one of the damned VCRs in there, too, so he can watch
Dennis.
What the hell.” He puffed out his cheeks wearily, then frowned at us. “What’s going on in here, anyway? You trying to steal my wife, Hoagy?”

“He’s interviewing me, Twinkle,” she said proudly. “Just like a real celebrity.”

“I’d better leave you to it.” He started out.

“Twinkle?”

“Yeah, Cookie?”

“Will Matthew have to make a different movie now? If Johnny’s in trouble, I mean.”

He lowered his voice. “I don’t know,” he said gravely. “But I’ll tell you the God’s honest truth, for our ears only. That would be something of a godsend, too. Not that I want to see Johnny thrown in jail, mind you.”

“Matthew will be destroyed if he is,” she said.

“I don’t think Johnny will fare too well either,” I said.

“Hey, I got my own goddamned problems,” he snapped, with unexpected vehemence. “And that toxic little turd isn’t one of them. Screw him!” With that he left us. I watched him go, wondering just how much more anger was simmering away under his jovial surface.

“What else can I tell you, Hoagy?” Mrs. Shelley asked, unfazed by her husband’s outburst. “Not that I’ve told you anything so far.”

“You’re doing fine,” I assured her. “Matthew got very resistant when we started talking about his days on the Monroe High basketball team. He told me he quit, but I hit a stone wall when I asked him why.”

She nodded pensively. “I remember that he refused to tell any of us why. Shelley was quite concerned, since Matthew had worked so hard to make the team, and was so proud he had. Shelley even called the coach to find out what had happened, but he didn’t know anything either. He thought Matthew was enjoying the team. He was by no means a star athlete, but he was contributing, making friends with the other boys … Until he just walked in one day and quit. Never went back. Never mentioned any of those boys again. Or her, for that matter.”

I leaned forward. “Her?” I said carefully.

“He didn’t tell you about Mona Schaffer?”

“He denied there was anyone.”

“Well, that’s basically true. But it’s not the whole story.”

“I’d like to hear it.”

She hesitated, nibbling on her lower lip. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll show you something first.”

She headed off down the hall. Lulu resurfaced, ambled over to the fridge, and sat there, staring at it. She wanted the treat I’d promised her.

Shelley returned in a moment clutching a high school yearbook. “Is she hungry?” she asked, noticing Lulu.

“She wants a treat.”

“I don’t have any dog biscuits, I’m afraid.”

“That’s not the kind of treat she has in mind.”

“What kind of treat does she—?”

“An anchovy. Chilled, preferably. Have you any in there?”

“I think so,” she said, eyeing Lulu with bemusement and, well, revulsion. “Shall I give it to her?”

“Better let me—you might lose a finger.”

I found the jar in the door and dropped a filet Lulu’s way. She snapped her jaws on it like Shamu the killer whale, then stretched out contentedly. I sat back down at the counter while Shelley leafed through the Monroe High yearbook. It gave off the same musty smell that all old yearbooks do. And it had that same gallery of stiff portraits in it, too, everyone looking frozen and lacquered and geeky. Particularly Matthew. Actually, he didn’t look much different than he did now. I think he was even wearing the same pair of glasses.

“Schaffer, Mona … Here she is.” Shelley pushed the book toward me so I could get a good look.

It was a photo of Pennyroyal Brim.

Same innocent baby’s eyes. Same snub nose. Same dimples. Same blond hair. It was Pennyroyal Brim, America’s sweetie pie. Except it wasn’t.

“Mona was the Miss Everything of Matthew’s class,” Shelley recalled. “Head cheerleader. Homecoming queen. She was the girl of Matthew’s dreams. He absolutely worshiped her. She was the reason he joined the team. I think he somehow hoped he would win her over if he became a star athlete. When it came time to cast the Debbie Dale role in the first
Badger,
he looked at literally hundreds of girls—known actresses, unknowns, fashion models, amateurs . . . even had his casting director scouring high school drama productions up and down the coast. No one was right. He wasn’t satisfied. He kept saying, ‘I’ll know her when I see her.’ And then one day Pennyroyal walked in. He hired her on the spot. Because she looked like Mona. Exactly like Mona. I almost fainted when I saw her. She hasn’t the slightest idea, in case you’re wondering. Shelley and I decided it wouldn’t be fair to show her Mona’s picture. We thought it would make her feel too weird, what with Matthew searching for her the way he had, and then making her into a star and then marrying her.”

“Whatever happened to Mona?”

“I have no idea.”

“I wonder if she’ll be at his class reunion.”

“If she’s anything like she used to be, she’s probably organizing it. But Matthew will never go.”

“He’s going,” I assured her. “You knew her?”

“I was friends with one of her sisters. She was a nice girl. Awfully pretty. Nothing at all like Debbie Dale. Of course, no one is.”

“Are you and Pennyroyal at all close?”

“I can’t say we are,” she admitted unhappily. “And that’s probably my fault. I’ve always had trouble thinking of her as anything more than this strange
pet
of Matthew’s. I mean, she’s practically a child. I couldn’t believe it when he married her. We did go target shooting together sometimes when she wasn’t working.”

“Is she a good shot?”

“Adequate. She hits what she aims at. She was always asking me a million questions about what Matthew was like when he was little. She said he’d never tell her anything. I felt uncomfortable talking to her about it. I thought he should be the one, you know? Maybe she thought I was being standoffish. I don’t know. We were never close. She’s a glamorous young actress. I’m a middle-aged housewife. When she had Georgie I thought that might bring us closer together. But by then, things were turning sour between her and Matthew.” She finished her coffee and put her empty cup in the sink. “Would you like me to contact the reunion committee for you? I can find out about Mona.”

“That would be great.”

She chuckled softly to herself. “God, I wonder what all of those people will do if he actually shows up. When they knew him he was this big, nerdy lunk. Now he’s a world-famous director. That would really be something.”

“That pistol range you go to,” I said, bringing her my cup. “You mentioned that a lot of the other wives shoot there, too.”

She nodded. “Canyon Pistol Range. It’s up in the hills, just off Sepulveda Boulevard.”

“Is Toy Schlom one of them?”

“Toy’s an excellent shot. One of the best.” She made a face. “No big surprise she can handle a gun, considering her previous line of employment.”

“Is she as good as you are?”

“How do you mean?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at me.

“With a gun.”

“No, she’s not. But …” She hesitated.

“But what?”

Shelley Selden’s face broke into a wicked smile. “No one’s as good as I am.”

“Okay, Matthew, it’s later.”

“What do you mean, Meat?”

We were standing on the two Shelleys’ front porch. He was showing me out. It was hushed outside, the night air balmy and smelling of eucalyptus trees.

“You said you’d tell me later where you and Johnny were at the time of the shooting.”

“Oh, right. He called me at about a quarter to six from the Hamburger Hamlet on Sunset and Doheny. Wanted me to meet him there. He sounded really, really upset. He was sobbing. So I did. I got there about six.”

“Made pretty good time from Culver City, didn’t you?”

“I was in the Batmobile,” he replied, as if that were a logical response. Maybe it was, to him.

“I see. Go on.”

He glanced furtively at the front door to make sure we were alone. “See, I really hate Ma’s tuna surprise. Always have. And I really love their hamburgers. I had two number elevens with extra onions. Ma would kill me if she knew I spoiled my appetite that way. I mean, she’s
fierce.
That’s why I couldn’t say anything to you about it before—she was in the room.”

“Jesus Christ, Matthew. You’re a grown man. You can eat whatever you want whenever you want.”

“Ma doesn’t see it that way,” he said.

“Then it’s up to you to make her see it that way.”

“Now you’re starting to sound like Pennyroyal,” he said sullenly. “She was always getting on me to stand up to her more. She never did understand—your ma is your ma.”

“And Johnny?”

“What about him?”

“You were having two number elevens with extra onions. What was he having?”

“Beer. Johnny was drinking beer. Why, don’t you believe me?”

We strolled down the front path to the circular driveway, where the Vette was parked along with Sarge’s Land Cruiser, Bunny’s Jaguar, and Matthew’s Batmobile. A rough stucco wall enclosed the front yard. There was an automatic gate, similar to Zorch’s.

“If the two of you were at Hamburger Hamlet when the shooting happened then somebody there should be able to back you up,” I said.

“Absolutely,” he exclaimed. “Johnny’s totally in the clear. The hostess recognized him. So did our waitress. They’ll vouch for him.”

“And for you,” I pointed out.

“Why would they need to vouch for me?” he asked, puzzled.

“Did you tell Lieutenant Lamp all of this?”

“Shelley did. They’re checking it out. I’m sure Johnny will be cleared. But he’s still going to freak if they try to question him. He has this thing about the police. Uniforms, especially. He’s totally paranoid.” Matthew glanced out the front gate at the street. Something out there seemed to have caught his gaze. I didn’t see anything. Just some parked cars. He opened the door of the Vette for me. Lulu hopped in and curled up in her seat. “Know what I like best about you, Meat?”

“I can’t even begin to imagine.”

“You haven’t tried to sell me anything. Everybody’s always trying to sell me something. A script, an idea, a gimmick. Even Shelley. You heard him this morning—he wants me to make that stupid comic strip of his into a movie. I’ve done that stuff already. I keep telling him. You, on the other hand, haven’t tried to sell me a thing. How come? Is it because you’re an intellectual?”

“Recovering intellectual,” I corrected him. “And I want plenty. You’ll see.”

He studied me thoughtfully. Then grinned and shut the door. “
Vaya con Dios
, Meat.”

I started up the Vette. He entered a code in the security panel by the front door. The gate swung open. He waved and went back in the house and I headed out, the gate closing automatically behind me. As I turned onto the street my lights swept across the cars parked there. That’s when I saw what had caught Matthew’s eye. A black BMW convertible sat there with its top up and Pennyroyal Brim inside of it watching the house. I pulled over and got out and said hi. She said hi back. Whispered it, more precisely—Little Georgie was there next to her in his car seat, fast asleep, his blond locks tousled, a little bubble of saliva forming on his lips. There was something forlorn and touching and terribly sad about her sitting there like that with her baby on this warm October night.

She looked over at him with motherly concern, then grabbed her cigarettes and lighter and got out, closing the car door softly behind her so as not to wake him. We went over to the Vette. She moved lithely in the streetlights, looking like the world’s cutest surfer girl in an oversized man’s T-shirt with the sleeves turned up, faded blue jeans, and spotless white Keds.

She lit a cigarette and inhaled it deeply. “I don’t like to smoke in front of him,” she said in her uncommonly husky voice. “The incidental smoke is bad for him.”

“Where’s Trace?” I asked.

She leaned against the Vette and tossed her golden head, Lulu watching her every move with suspicion. “Cassie needed to interview him some more. She went out to his place in Trancas. I didn’t feel like going.”

“What have you been up to?”

“Just driving around in the hills with Georgie, thinking. I had to get out of the house. The reporters and everything. I’ve been driving for hours. He seems to love riding in the car. He drops right off.” She puffed on her cigarette.

“I suppose you’ve had better days.”

She laughed her sad laugh. “No shit. Everyone in America is
positive
that I’m a whore now, just in case they had any doubt. I was seventeen years old, Hoagy. A professional photographer with his own studio told me I had to be photographed with all of my clothes off. Standard procedure, he assured me. The casting agents have to know what kind of goods they’re buying. What did I know? I was a senior in high school. Christ, it’s not as if I did it for money—
I
paid
him
.”

A Miata drove past, its lights illuminating her face. The resemblance to Mona Schaffer was startling.

“How did you get hooked up with Shambazza anyway?”

“Through Toy Schlom.” When she caught me staring she said, “Her name was Toy Barbie then. She lived with Shambazza. Recruited girls for him. Me, I actually thought she was a model’s agent. God, that was a lifetime ago.” She shivered. “Norbert was the one who told me. About Abel, I mean. He reached me on my car phone when he found out. Said he was driving past Abel’s house and there was this huge—”