Ed Ifkovic - Make Believe

“Mr. Sinatra is here.”

“So what? She’s expecting me.”

“Of course.” He dialed a number and waited. He refused to look into my face, but finally said, “Here. She wants to talk to you.”

Ava did not sound happy to hear my voice. “Oh, Edna, you did come, after all.” Then she whispered, “Your phone call this morning jarred me.”

“It was meant to.” I stared at the guard who was biting the edge of a fingernail. “I have things to tell you.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Is Frank there?”

Surprise in her voice. “He’s at a meeting. Why?”

“I’d rather see just you.”

“I’ll walk down to meet you.”

I was directed to a small lounge that boasted one china plate on which one stale doughnut rested, centered on a table with magazines. I examined a freshly mounted poster of Show Boat on the wall. Perhaps, I grumbled to myself, in the future I’d best travel with a magnifying glass, all the better to view the teeny-tiny letters of my name buried at the bottom. I was but one degree of niggardly separation from the key grip and best boy.

Men’s voices drifted in from the hallway, one of which was Desmond Peake’s. I suspected security had promptly alerted him to my annoying presence, and he’d scurried from his warren to greet me. He peered into the room, eyes slatted. “Miss Ferber, two days in a row you’re here. A pleasure.”

“Are you sure of that?”

“I was until a second ago.” He was tickled by his own humor.

I smiled. “Then there’s hope for you yet, Mr. Peake.”

“Ava expects you?”

“You already know that.”

He sat down next to me, and twisted his body around to face me. “A banner day here at Metro. Frank Sinatra is back on the lot. The exile returns, at least temporarily.”

“Another one of your favorite people.”

He ran his tongue into the corner of his mouth. “I have so many.”

“Mr. Peake, may I ask you a question?”

“You just did.”

“Clever boy.” But I wasn’t smiling now. “Tell me, do you think Max Jeffries was murdered by some misguided patriot?”

He stammered. “What?” Then, back in full control, “Of course not.”

“You say that with such certainty.”

He took a long time to answer, as though weighing his words. “Admittedly there could be a crackpot out there, some vigilante, but I don’t think so. Wouldn’t someone like that-a victim of some delirium-target a higher profile name? Someone like…I don’t know…an actor like Larry Parks, currently in the news. Someone who’s already appeared before Congress. Max was a small-time offender, though I admit he’d been spotlighted in the press. But a hoodlum wouldn’t seek him out.”

“What about someone in your America First organization?”

He bristled. “We’re patriots, and non-violent. We’re theorists, constitutionalists, loyalists. We…”

“Don’t murder?”

A thin sliver of a smile, indulgent. “Of course not. We want names…not obituaries. We’re true Americans, Miss Ferber. We want apologies, recanting, and loyalty oaths. People do make mistakes, and we forgive them, so long as they acknowledge the error of their ways.”

I shivered at that, but went on. “So who killed Max?”

“I assumed all along it was some personal vendetta.” He stood. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Miss Ferber. I have appointments. I trust Ava Gardner will take care of you.”

“She already has.”

A puzzled look on his face as he backed off.

“Oh, Mr. Peake, one more question.”

He stepped closer. “What is it?”

“Larry Calhoun is a member of your organization?”

“You already know the answer to your own question.” He started to walk off.

“I have a favor, Mr. Peake.”

He turned back. “And what is it?”

“I’d like to talk to Larry. I have a question for him. Could you please ask him to call me?”

He deliberated, his brow furrowed, but then he nodded. Without another word, he disappeared into the hallway.

A few minutes later Ava stepped into the room. “I see Desmond has been here already. He sputtered at me as we crossed paths.”

“Well, he actually served a purpose today. He told me something I wanted to hear.”

Ava scoffed. “Edna, what?” But she didn’t wait for an answer. She cradled my elbow under hers, our shoulders touching. The scent of jasmine, heavy and cloying. “Let’s go back to my dressing room.”

I accompanied her down the hallway, neither one of us speaking. Smiling, she bowed me into her rooms. I expected a familiar Broadway dressing room, small and cramped, the sickening smell of old stage makeup and mouse droppings. The lingering bite of sweat and spit. Instead Ava escorted me into a spacious three-room suite, with a stocked kitchen and bathroom. I swept my hand around the room. “I guess you’re a star.”

“That could change in a heartbeat, Edna. Tomorrow I can be back in a closet with has-been darlings.” She looked worried. “Right now Francis is trying to woo himself back into the contract with Metro.”

“Will it work?”

She shrugged. “He can be charming.” She glanced toward the shut door, then up at a wall clock. “I expect him here in a bit.” She moved around the room nervously, looking into a mirror, playing with lipstick on a tabletop, reaching into her purse for a cigarette. “He can also be a bumbler.”

Determined, I reached out and held a hand against her shoulder. “Ava, stop moving.” Both of my hands held her shoulders as I looked up into her face. “Ava, I want to go back to our conversation this morning.”

She looked away for a second, her eyes lingering on the closed door. “Edna, you scared me.” Almost a whisper.

“Did I really?”

A wistful smile. “I suppose not, but I’m…scattered. It makes sense, but I don’t see how you can prove…”

I let go of her and she toppled into a chair. I sat down. “I think I can now. I need one more conversation. Well, maybe two. Maybe Larry Calhoun. But I need to talk to Ethan now. Can you reach him here?”

She picked up the phone. I listened as she chatted with someone in accounting, who at first refused to believe he was talking with Ava Gardner. Irritated, she hung up the phone. “He’s on break in the commissary, Edna. But he’s with Tony, who’s looking for a job here. Ethan is trying to get him some work. God knows what he can do!”

I frowned. “This is not good. I want to talk to Ethan alone, without Tony. This is a wrinkle I didn’t anticipate.”

“You want to wait until Tony leaves?”

I shook my head vigorously. “No. Not this time. I seem to deal with the brothers Pannis together all the time. The whole world does. This time will be no different, though unwelcome.” I stood. “Having Tony there is not good.”

“Edna, I don’t think it’s a good idea…”

I raised my voice. “I never said it was, Ava. But it’s the only thing I can do now.”

She fidgeted. “I’ll come with you.”

“No.”

“Edna!”

“No, Ava. If I’m wrong, I don’t want you there.”

“And if you’re right?”

“Then the game is over.”

Ava gave me directions to the commissary, one building over, and I headed there, though my steps dragged. Ethan and Tony. Tony/Tiny. He wasn’t supposed to be there. Falstaff in sequins, begging for pennies from a miserly brother. But then, I thought wryly, neither should I be strolling the hallways, the wandering novelist shuffling through Metro with an I.D. badge and a purpose.

My progress was interrupted by an aide to Dore Schary who’d heard I’d invaded the hostile territory. She waylaid me as I turned a corner, standing in my path with a clipboard and pencil, her face grim. Trying to smile but failing at the simple human act, she questioned whether my being there had to do with tomorrow’s premiere of Show Boat at the Egyptian Theatre.