The Lonely Lady (46 page)

“I appreciate it.” The attorney glanced at JeriLee. “Be right back.”

JeriLee smiled. For the first time in twelve hours she didn’t have a feeling of dread hanging over her.

Chapter 20

Coldwell had taken JeriLee out through the back entrance and put her in a cab. “The reporters will have your home address within a day or two,” he said. “If you don’t want to be bothered by them, my advice is to get out of there as soon as you can.”

“I can’t stay there anyway,” she said. “Mike is my landlord. What’s going to happen to him now?”

“The judge set one hundred thousand dollars bail for each of them. My guess is that they’ll all be out before nightfall.”

“Mike hasn’t got that kind of money.”

“He’s connected with some big people. They take care of their own.”

She was silent. It was still hard for her to believe.

“You keep in touch with me,” Coldwell said. “When you move let me know where I can reach you.”

“Okay,” she said.

It was after five when she got to the apartment. As she came up the steps, she noticed that the door was open. That was surprising. She remembered distinctly having locked it when Millstein had reminded her. Slowly she went inside.

The living room was a shambles. Her portable typewriter had been smashed. There were crumpled sheets of paper scattered around the room, and in the fireplace was a pile of ashes.

She picked up a sheet of paper from the floor. It was blank. A wave of fear came over her. She rushed to the fireplace and pulled out some paper that hadn’t been entirely consumed by the fire.

She had been right. All the work she had done in the last few weeks, the screenplay she had almost finished, had been destroyed—burned in the fireplace.

Dully she rose to her feet and went into the bedroom. That room too had been overturned, the contents of the drawers and closets lay around the room in shreds. But that almost didn’t matter. What did matter was the words that had been lost. The words that might never be replaced.

The tears were running down her cheeks as she went to the bathroom. All the pills from the medicine cabinet had been strewn in the sink and tub and water run over them so that their effectiveness was destroyed. At that moment the telephone began to ring.

She picked it up in the bedroom. “Yes,” she answered in a cracked voice.

“Jane Randolph?”

“Yes.”

“This is a friend calling to give you a little friendly advice. Get out of town. Go as far away as you can. Or the next thing you’ll find broken in your apartment is you.”

“But—” She was holding a dead phone. Whoever it was had already gone off the line. She replaced the receiver and slowly began trying to straighten up the room.

***

It was close to eight when she came into the club and she was almost at the dressing room door when the manager caught up to her.

“Wait a minute,” he said. “Come down to my office.”

She followed him down to the cubbyhole that served as the office. He closed the door carefully behind him and his voice dropped to a whisper. “I didn’t expect you tonight. When did you get out?”

“This afternoon.”

“I got another girl,” he said.

“That’s okay. I could use a night’s rest. I’ll be in tomorrow.”

“No.”

“What do you mean, Charlie?”

“I got word from outside. I have to let you go.”

“You gotta be joking.”

“No, they were very specific. You’re out.”

“They have to be crazy. All that shit in the papers will do nothing but bring in business.”

“Don’t you think I know it?” he wailed. “But they control the place. If I don’t do as they say, zap! I’m finished. No license.”

“Okay,” she said. “There are other places I can work. They won’t pass up the business.”

“Janey,” he said earnestly. “I’m a lot older than you and I’m going to talk to you like a father, like an uncle. You’re a nice girl but you got mixed up with some very bad people. There ain’t no place in this town that’s going to give you a job. My advice is to go away from here. A long way.”

“They got to you too,” she said coldly.

“There’s nothing I can do. I got my own family to support. But you, you better do as I say. You hang around here and something will happen to you. I know these guys and I know what they already did to some girls who didn’t listen to them. It ain’t very pretty.”

“I was alone at the apartment,” she said. “They didn’t come near me.”

“You’re still today’s news,” he said earnestly. “Believe me, they’ll wait. Then one day when the papers have forgotten all about you they’ll pay you a visit.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Believe it,” he said sincerely. “If you were my own daughter, I couldn’t give you better advice.” He opened a small desk drawer and took out an envelope. “I owe you a day’s pay,” he said. “But you did some extra turns so I’m giving you a hundred even. Okay?”

She took the envelope without speaking.

“You take that money,” he said, “and buy yourself a plane ticket to someplace else.”

“Sure,” she said. This hundred plus the thirty in her bag and the twenty she had in the bank after paying off the lawyer was all she had in the world. She opened the door. “Thanks, Charlie.”

“Good luck, Janey.” What a business, he thought. If the girls weren’t in one kind of trouble, it was another.

***

“You fucked up, Jane.” Marc Gross’s voice was harsh and complaining as if what had happened to her was a reflection on him and his business. “I had it all set for interviews at Warner, Twentieth and Paramount, but as soon as they saw the morning papers they canceled.”

“Today’s papers reported that the charges against me were dropped.”

“It doesn’t matter. They don’t like the publicity.”

“What about the story ideas you sent out?”

“They’re starting to come back. And not even by mail. They’re so anxious to get rid of them they’re shooting them back by special messenger.”

“What about Ansbach’s prison picture. Can I still do that?”

“It’s already cast. You didn’t think he was going to wait for you forever?

It had only been a few weeks, but she didn’t argue. “Okay,” she said, looking directly at him. “Did they get to you too?”

His face flushed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do,” she said evenly. “Didn’t someone call and tell you that it might be a good idea if you had nothing to do with me?”

“I get crank calls all the time. I don’t pay any attention to them.”

She was silent for a moment watching him. “I’ll have my screenplay back from the typist tomorrow,” she lied. “I’ll send it in to you.”

He hesitated, then cleared his throat. “I’ve been thinking about the screenplay. I’m afraid it’s really not the kind of thing I can sell.”

“Why don’t you just read it first, then decide?”

“I’d only be wasting your time.”

She smiled humorlessly. “You’re a lousy liar, Marc. But even worse, you’re a lying coward.” She got to her feet. “I’ll let you know where you can send my stories when you get them all back.”

***

JeriLee stood on the sidewalk for a moment undecided about what to do. Then she saw the coffee shop on the corner. If was past the lunch hour rush and she found an empty booth and slipped into it. “Just coffee,” she said when the waitress came up to her.

She was engrossed in her thoughts and for a moment didn’t notice the man who took the seat opposite her. When she did look up, there was surprise in her voice. “Detective Millstein!”

He smiled shyly. “Coffee,” he said to the waitress.

“Are you following me?”

“Not officially,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“I had some time off, so I thought I’d see how you were doing.” He didn’t tell her that he had picked up word she might be in big trouble.

“I’m not doing so well,” she admitted. “My job is gone and just now I found out that my agent doesn’t want to represent me anymore. And yesterday when I got home I found my apartment a wreck—my clothes torn and my manuscripts burned. Besides that I got a telephone call telling me to leave town.”

“Did you recognize the man’s voice?”

“Never heard him before.”

“Why didn’t you call the police?”

“Would it have done any good?”

He was silent for a moment, then shook his head. “What are you planning to do now?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve got exactly a hundred and thirty-six dollars between me and the poorhouse. I’m trying to make up my mind whether to stick around here and invest it in a month’s rent in some cheap place and keep trying to get some work. Or, take eighty-seven dollars and buy a plane ticket back to New York.”

“Can you get a job back there?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. But at least nobody there wants to keep me from working. What do you think I should do?”

“Officially, I have to tell you to stay here. You gave your word to the court that you would appear as a material witness.”

“You’re not following me officially, so you can tell me what you think unofficially.”

“I’ll deny it if you ever quote me.”

“I won’t quote you.”

He took a deep breath. “I’d buy that ticket.”

“Do you think these men will really do what they say?”

“I don’t know. But they’re a very rough crowd and they might. I wouldn’t like you to take the chance. There’s no real way we could protect you short of keeping you in jail.”

“If only I could get a few more bucks together, I’d feel better. I hate to go back broke.”

“I could lend you a few dollars. Fifty, maybe even a hundred. I wish it could be more but a cop doesn’t make that much.”

“No thanks,” she replied. “You’ve done enough already. Shit,” she went on after a moment of silence, “just when I thought I was getting it all together.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. If you’re off duty, would it be against the rules for you to help a friend pack and then maybe take her to the airport?”

“No.”

“Would you?”

“Yes.”

Millstein watched the skycap tag her suitcase and put them on the rack. “Gate twenty-three, ma’am,” the skycap said, taking the dollar tip. “They boardin’ now.”

She held out her hand. “Thanks. You’re a nice man, Detective Millstein.”

“Good luck. I just hope things work out for you.”

“That makes two of us.”

“If you come back this way, give me a call.”

She didn’t answer.

“You know you’re still young. Why don’t you find a nice young man and get married?”

“And settle down and have some kids?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” he said defensively.

“I guess not. But it’s not for me.”

“What’s better, the way you’re living? From hand to mouth, like an animal.”

“You’re a strange man for a policeman, Detective Millstein.”

“I can’t help it. I’m a Jewish father. I have a daughter almost your age and I keep thinking the same thing could happen to her.”

A sudden smile brightened her face and she kissed his cheek. “Don’t worry. It won’t happen to her, because she has you for a father.”

He put his hand on her arms. “Let me give you some money.”

“I can manage. I have friends. It will be okay.”

“Sure?”

“Sure.” With tears in her eyes she started into the terminal. When she reached the door she turned and waved.

He waved back and waited until she disappeared in the crowds. He sat behind the wheel of his car for a long time before starting the engine. He was sad in a way that he really didn’t understand.

What caused girls like this to waste their lives? He wondered what would happen to her now. Chances were that he would never know. She would drop from sight and he would never hear of her again. Another loser in a world full of losers.

But he was wrong. He did hear from her again. It was a year later and he had almost forgotten her name. The letter came from Creedmore State Hospital and was written in pencil in a neat almost schoolgirlish hand.

Millstein thought of his wife who had died fifteen years ago, leaving him with a five-year-old daughter, and of his daughter, who was now in her third year of U.S.C. Somehow the girl Jane Randolph had reminded him of her, and perhaps that was why she had touched him so deeply.

He started to write the letter she had requested, then stopped. What was there for him to say? He didn’t even know her. He crumbled the sheet and threw it into the wastepaper basket. After a long moment of debate with himself he reached for the telephone.

“Lieutenant Collins,” the harsh voice answered.

“Dan, is it okay if I take a week of my vacation now? A friend of mine is sick in a hospital in New York…”

Chapter 21

The receptionist’s voice was impersonal. “Patient visiting hours are five to seven PM daily.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just arrived from California last night. I didn’t realize.”

“Who was it you wanted to see?”

“Jane Randolph.”

“Jane Randolph,” she repeated. She glanced down at a paper in front of her. “If you’ll take a seat over there, I’ll get in touch with her doctor and see what we can do.”

“Thank you,” he said, taking a seat near the window from which he could see the snow-covered trees. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen snow.

He was still amazed that he was really here. He remembered what his daughter had said when he told her why he was going East. She had stared at him for a moment, then flung her arms around his neck, the tears coming to her eyes. “You’re beautiful, Daddy. Just beautiful.”