The Retrieval (3 page)

When he got into the roadster, Charlie turned around to check on Ducky, who sat tall in the rumble seat next to the upended wicker basket, examining his new surroundings with interest, “You’re doing well. Good boy.”

Ducky received his due accolade graciously. Charlie turned back to ask Jake, “Where to next?”

Jake gazed at him silently, all of the wariness returned to his features.

“Oh, don’t give me that look. You’re the one who just now confirmed you’ve been busy changing teams.” The traffic was light and the sidewalks were empty now that Burke was returning inside. “If you believe I didn’t have my suspicions even without meeting one of your recent playmates, I think I’m insulted.”

“Really? If you suspected, I wish you’d told me.” Jake glowered even as he started the car. “I could have used the news a lot earlier than I got it, and it’s not like you didn’t have a great chance to say something right after we first met.”

“What? You mean after that proposition of yours?” On some level, Charlie was amazed to hear himself raise his voice in public. “Are you mad? Jake, you were sixteen!” Then he craned around to check their surroundings again. No, they were driving through a quiet residential neighborhood.

Jake still had to raise his voice right back, even if it was only to be heard over the engine. “So what? You were, I don’t know, twenty-five?”

“Twenty-six, as opposed to sixteen. I was too old for you even if you hadn’t been offering up your all merely to keep Laura from having to do likewise with my fellow backer because of his moronic ideas about how to cast that insipid rooftop review.”

“Trust you to get that said in one breath.” Jake snorted. “And, let me point out here,
The Nighttime Chorale
not only paid back the stake you inherited from your uncle, it made Laura’s career. Once you forced Kimble and the producers to cast her.”

“Because she could sing, and because Kimble, the producers, and I had all agreed not to use the casting couch. He deserved any frustration he got after trying to cheat on our deal.”

“Doesn’t change the fact you made them cast her. I would have come across, you know. Fair’s fair.”

“Sixteen. Back then your sister would have needed to look up the anatomy to find out where to start, and she still would have gelded me with a dull and rusty tuning fork.”

“Maybe,” Jake said, although he had winced.

“Likely. Don’t forget, I know the pair of you. I know you both all too well. And I prefer escorting her to dinner parties while speaking in a baritone, thank you.” Charlie narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you dare tell me you weren’t relieved at the time.”

“Maybe?”

“Aroo,” Ducky interjected, his half-bark, half-moan disapproving.

“No,” Charlie told him. “You do not get an opinion. You weren’t present; believe me, I would have noticed.”

“I think he saw a cat at that last stop sign. Anyhow, ‘maybe’ is all you get. After you marched me back home to Hell’s Kitchen that night, Laura asked me what I thought I was trying to do, and I couldn’t altogether tell her. I had to wonder. Then, after I moved out here, and female extras were trying hard to cozy up to Laura Moore’s brother, I had to wonder even more. ‘How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable--’”

“Thank you, Master Shakespeare. Good to know you paid attention to more than maps in those college classes.”

“I wasn’t going to waste Laura’s money even if I did pay her back.”

“Oh? You don’t sponge worth a damn, do you? No wonder she’s reduced to sneaking you gloriously ridiculous roadsters on birthdays when you can’t refuse.” Charlie took a deep breath and let it out. He had no right to complain, but since Jake had broached the topic-- “I’ve been in and out of this town for years, you know, if you were so very, very curious.”

Jake got them turned right onto another hilly street curving off into obscurity. “Because what a suave and sentimental type like you needs is to give a pal a hand and then have him upchuck afterward.”

That was a show-stopper. “Did you really vomit?”

“Only because I was drunk as a skunk.” Jake must have seen Charlie’s wince. “Okay, maybe there were some nerves I tried to soothe with booze. I’m past all that now. Be grateful you missed the worst months of drama.”

“Since, being a suave type, I’ve never assisted you with any other little social difficulty. And although sentimentality is obviously not your cup of tea, as a trait it might seem to suggest I could have helped you with the nerves.” When Jake drew in a deep breath, starting to speak, Charlie raised a hand and said, “Don’t press your luck.”

“I was going to say sorry.”

“Fine. You’ve said it. And now I’m taking a break to indulge in the additional traits of being petty, thin-skinned, and morose.”

After that, for several miles of town and countryside, silence reigned. Even Ducky was quiet in the rumble seat. However, Charlie’s conscience wouldn’t let him wallow too long when more important matters still needed to be discussed.

Making sure his voice was calm, Charlie broke the silence by saying, “All right, enough sulking. You’re certain?”

“Now I am.” Jake turned right off of some Hollywood commercial street or other before he added, “I don’t mind, much. This being a Nance, it’s not going to be too bad if I’m careful.”

“Not if you’re also very lucky, but how did you figure that out on your own?”

“On my own? I’ve been around Broadway or Hollywood most of my life. Once I’d swallowed hard -- I know, ha-ha -- I already understood I didn’t have to be, what, slimy and evil? I could just be like you and some of the others except with less fa-la-la and more sis-boom-bah.”

“You rehearsed that.” Charlie twisted around to tell Ducky, “He rehearsed that with his shaving mirror.”

Ducky’s noise was more of a moan this time.

Jake bridled. “Did we or did we not settle the question of me being an actor? No reviews accepted. Besides, we’re almost there.”

“Almost where?”

“To our noon appointment, to look at a house you might like.”

Charlie frowned. “What about my lunch?”

“After we’re done. First we’re going to follow this much of my original plan, come hell or high water.”

“How about starvation?”

“Come starvation, too. This particular real estate agent is also my landlady. It’d be safer for me to snub Norma Shearer at the Cocoanut Grove.”

Having spent most of his adult life in Manhattan, Charlie couldn’t argue against the importance of pacifying landlords. Resigned, he looked around the sparsely-built, hilly street. “And where are we this time?”

“Not far from my apartment house, west of Hollywood above Sunset Boulevard. Lots of movie people live around here, including some of the Manhattan crowd. It’s not as showy or expensive as Beverly Hills and there’s more of a nightlife.” After vigorously thrusting out his arm to signal one last right turn, Jake pulled up to the curb. “Here’s Mrs. Hurley.”

A rangy, elderly lady, who had been seated in a folding chair by the front steps of the house, rose to her feet. She extended a long arm to wave with zest. “Yoo-hoo! Jake!”

“Hi, Mrs. Hurley!” It wasn’t hard to sort out the mixture of affection and trepidation in Jake’s voice. Charlie resolved to be charming.

As she strode briskly over to the roadster, Mrs. Hurley was already talking. “Now, are you sure you want to view this particular property, Sweetie? The current owner means to sell, not rent. Anyone helping you buy is going to want onto the title. And I don’t know if…” Trailing off, she lifted her tortoiseshell glasses and peered at the roadster from beneath them. “But who’s this?” She was not addressing Charlie.

“Oh, that’s Ducky,” Jake told her, already out of and around the auto to her side even as Charlie was still climbing through his door. “Don’t mind him.”

“I don’t,” she said, and beamed. Then, “Hello, gorgeous,” she continued, not talking to Jake this time. She extended a multi-ringed hand toward the rumble seat.

For a moment, Charlie had the oddest notion that Ducky would bow and kiss the back of her hand as he clicked both sets of heels. Instead the dog settled for a polite sniff and a soft, approving noise.

“Aw, look at you,” she said. “What a handsome fellow. Well, now I understand. You can’t keep a big boy like this on a property without some room. Come along, you two, and have a look-see.” Without another word, she turned and strode away just as briskly as she had approached.

Jake opened his mouth and then, quite sensibly in Charlie’s opinion, closed it without trying to catch Mrs. Hurley’s attention. Instead he shrugged at Charlie and asked, “Could you…?” before racing to catch up with her.

“It seems you’re coming with us,” Charlie told Ducky.

Ducky stood up on the rumble seat and Charlie leaned in to unfasten the strap twined through the dog lead. After they had sorted themselves out on the sidewalk, Charlie commanded Ducky, “Heel,” which earned him an intensely interested look as the dog came precisely to position at hip. Then they hurried to join Mrs. Hurley, who was telling Jake something about a detached garage along the alley to the side of the two-story house.

This place was a little too large for a snug set of bachelor quarters, was Charlie’s first thought. This place was ridiculously attractive, was his second. Oh, no one would ever mistake it for anything authentically Spanish, but all the tile roofing, hardwood floors, iron curlicues, and rounded corners still murmured Mediterranean to Charlie. He had a weakness for balconies. And the rooms were well-designed and well-crafted for the local climate, to boot.

They finished their tour upstairs, in the largest of the three bedrooms, where Jake stood regarding the sunlight flowing in through the tall, south-facing windows as yearningly as if he were watching a shimmering image of Jean Harlow up on the screen at a picture palace. No, Gary Cooper, but the principle was the same. There wasn’t a draftsman worth his salt who could resist this room. Up went the house’s price by another two hundred dollars.

Mrs. Hurley planted both hands on her hips. “Well, fellows, what do you think? Still considering buying?”

Although it was obvious by now what the missing piece of Jake’s shaving mirror conversation would have been, Charlie couldn’t resist turning slowly to him and asking in dulcet tones, “I’m not sure. What do we think, Jake?”

Jake almost blanched. Hastily, he said, “I think Ducky needs to go out and check the garden again. And maybe the courtyard.”

Ducky, who had been inspecting baseboards in nasal detail, looked up upon hearing his name.

“Perhaps you two could talk over titles while we take care of business?” Jake asked as he cravenly retreated from the bedroom, Ducky in tow.

The silence he left in his wake was brief. Mrs. Hurley turned to Charlie and studied him with care. “So, you two gents would be buying the house together?” Her eyes were shrewd, but at least they weren’t immediately hostile.

“I believe that’s what Jake has in mind, yes.”

“He’s a good boy, Mr. Hunter. Always on time with his rent, no loud parties, no overnight guests, helps keep up his apartment’s share of the walkways and shrubs. But I guess you knew all that. He told me you’re quite the friend of the family, almost an older brother except you used to date his sister.” Then her expression altered slightly. “Say, do I know you?”

Of course this would be one of the rare occasions when Charlie was recognized. “Do you subscribe to
The Saturday Evening Post,
Mrs. Hurley?”

Mrs. Hurley beamed. “I thought so. You’re Mr. Hunter, the author.” Offering him her hands, she said, “Honestly,
Shoot the Chute
was the funniest book.” That had been his first novel published all the way back in 1922. And the best work he’d ever done, damn it. “I really liked
The
White Way
, too.” At least his latest book might be second-best. Mrs. Hurley also knew her light reading or at least agreed with Charlie’s tastes.

He shook both of her hands in his best upper-crust speakeasy style. “Thank you. I could tell you were a lady of discernment. I suppose, given that, we’ll have to lock up Jake to keep him safe.”

Charlie had judged correctly; this seemed to delight her. “Aren’t you a rascal? Well, if you’re out here to work for the studios, you’ll need someplace quiet for your writing. That downstairs room facing west would be just about perfect. Let’s go look at it again.”

The hell of the thing was, she was right.

“You’re right,” Charlie told Mrs. Hurley, hearing his own resignation. “It’s perfect. If Jake agrees, we’ll need a second appointment after the inspections are done, so I can weep over prices behind closed doors.”

She patted his arm sympathetically. “That’s okay. Jake had already made clear what you wanted badly enough to pay for, if you know what I mean. Someone should talk with that young man about showing all his cards.”

“Hopeless, I’m afraid, unless he’s indulging in the drama of a flat-out lie. Which he wouldn’t try with a landlady, especially you. Give me a minute or two to track him down and hear what he says.”

“Take your time. I have nothing to do after this but go to a luncheon with my bridge club.”

“I wish I could say the same.”