Stuart Kaminsky - Bullet for a Star

“You seem to be doing all right,” I said raising my voice. “I’m glad you didn’t need the alimony.”

Her laugh bounced off of the walls and hit between my eyes.

“Toby, you haven’t put together enough money in your whole life to make the alimony payment for an impoverished cleaning lady.” Her voice sounded neither bitter nor angry as she spoke. “Trying to get alimony out of you would have taken more effort than going to work.”

“You’re still at the airline?”

“Yes,” she said returning to the room with two cups of coffee. As she handed me one and sat down with the other, her robe opened a little at the top. She saw me looking and sat back with her cup shaking her head.

“You’re the same, Toby. You’ll be the same when you’re 70 if you live that long.”

I took some coffee. It was hot. She must have had the coffee brewing when I came.

“You still use the name Ann Peters,” I said, my eyes fixed on her face.

“I have the legal right to it,” she said quietly and confidently.

“Oh,” I said holding up a hand, “you’re welcome to it. It’s a link between us.”

“No, it’s not. Peters isn’t even your real name. Now if I were to go back to my maiden name, it would be a liability in my work.”

“What’s wrong with Ann Mitzenmacher?” I said enjoying the old back-and-forth with her.

Her face went serious as she drained her cup and rose.

“There’s nothing wrong with Ann Mitzenmacher,” she whispered, “which is why I’m going to have to ask you to finish your coffee, accept my sympathy and leave.”

I finished the coffee and got up.

“Annie …” I stopped because a frown from the past came to her face. “I’m sorry,” I continued, “Ann, I need a place to stay tonight.”

Her head was making a slight ‘no’ motion and her lower lip came out in an ironic pout.

“No, Toby. Not tonight, not any night.”

“Ann,” I said stepping toward her, “I promise, no monkey business, just some talk about old times and I go to sleep on that sofa.” I crossed my heart.

“Toby, I’m expecting company,” she said.

“Oh,” I replied looking for a next move and finding none in my body or on my tongue. “A gentleman caller?”

Her head said yes.

“It’s none of your business,” she said gently, “but this is a special gentleman caller. My apartment is not an orgy center.”

“You work with him?” I asked.

“I work with him,” she answered, “and I am sorry you came tonight. I didn’t invite you. If it helps, I do feel sorry for you, but not for the reasons you’d like. You don’t want to grow up, Toby. You never did.”

“True and not true,” I said. “Not true because …”

“No,” she said walking to the door. “I don’t want to hear.”

I went slowly and quietly to the door. Defeat was total and the consolation was a soft kiss Ann gave me. I tried to turn the kiss into something, but she pulled back and opened the door.

“Goodbye Toby,” she said.

“I’ll see you,” I tried.

“I hope not,” were her last words as the door closed behind me.

As I went down the hall slowly on the chance that the door would open behind me, I heard the chime ring in her apartment. Going down the carpeted stairway, I heard the lobby door open. A man passed me as I hit the bottom step. He was about 50, very well dressed with neat grey hair. I couldn’t tell for sure if he was in good shape, wearing a corset or just holding his stomach in. All three possibilities made me tired.

I got in my Buick and headed for my office. The building was dark when I arrived. As quietly as I could, I went up the stairs, through the office door, past the reception room and into the dental chair. I took off my tie and jacket in the dark, lowered Sheldon’s dental chair and closed my eyes. The phone rang once, but I ignored it. In a few minutes, I was asleep. This time I had no dream.

My eyes opened to morning and a horrible sight, D.D.S. Shelly Minck’s face, complete with cigar and glasses inches from mine.

“I thought you were dead or something,” said Shelly.

“Not yet,” I got up.

He gathered his tools together and put on some coffee while we talked and I shaved.

“Four big ones today,” Shelly gloated, taking his cigar out of his mouth to wash his hands. “An extraction, some bridgework and two patients with fillings. Business is picking up I tell you, Toby. The Depression is over. F.D.R. is getting my vote.”

“Glad to hear it, Shelly.” I fixed my tie, took one of Shelly’s sample toothbrushes and scrubbed my teeth.

After a breakfast of coffee and sweet rolls, I headed for Warner Brothers. It was a clear, bright day, and I had the feeling that I was close to a lot of answers. My immediate goal was to try to talk Adelman out of $200 and get a line on Beaumont.

Hatch wasn’t on the gate. The guy who was, was scrawny and mean and didn’t know me. He said Hatch was around, but he wasn’t about to look for him. He called Adelman’s office.

The scrawny guard got the O.K. from Adelman and passed me through.

When I entered the building, Adelman was standing in front of his office. He was trying to calm an excited, thin man of about fifty.

“That explains nothink, nothink Sidney, nothink.” The man’s accent was thick and European, and he was angry.

“Mike,” said Adelman reasonably, “what am I asking? A day? You can shoot around him for a day?”

“I shot around one day of him,” said Mike. “Enough. Tomorrow he returns or I talk to Jack Warner. I have an empty horse where Flynn should be, Sidney.”

Sid shook his head in sympathy.

“I know that, Mike,” he said. “Believe me, I know. Check back with me later, I’ll do what I can.”

“What you can,” said Mike, glancing at me as I advanced, “is to get him back tomorrow on the morning.”

The man walked past me, and Sid looked after him shaking his head.

“That’s Mike Curtiz,” said Sid seeing me. “He’s directing Santa Fe Trail, the picture Flynn is supposed to be on. You heard. He wants him back. Jesus. Come in. Come in.” Sid ushered me past Esther, who didn’t look up, and into his office.

Bill Faulkner wasn’t at home. Sid parked himself behind his desk and started to fidget with his pens and pencils.

“You owe me two hundred dollars,” I said sitting.

“You’ve got the negative and my money back?”

“No, but I found the girl in the picture. She doesn’t know Flynn, and he doesn’t know her. The picture is a fake.”

“You can prove it?” said Adelman eagerly.

“If we have to, with a doctor. The girl’s a virgin.”

“Virgin?”

“Yes,” I said. “So, if your blackmailer calls, we’ll work out something to trap him.”

“Who’s the girl?” said Adelman, gazing at the photo of Roosevelt.

“She stays out of this,” I said. “She didn’t know what was happening. Cunningham drugged her and faked the picture. Now about my two hundred dollars.”

“No negative, no cash, no two hundred,” said Adelman. He actually rubbed his hands together. “Now we can get Flynn back here. Curtiz will get off my back and …”

“Hold on, Sid. I still don’t know who killed Cunningham and who tried to kill Flynn. Whoever it is may make another try at Flynn.”

“We’ll give him protection,” he shouted, adjusting his tie. “I’ll send a couple of studio security men to watch him. Where is he?”

I told him and said the next step was finding Harry Beaumont.

“Why? What’s the klutz got to do with this?”

“I don’t know, but I’ve got to ask him some questions.”

“So go ask him,” Sid said standing. “He’s doing a short over on the back lot.”