Michael Nava - Goldenboy

“Read about you in the paper today,” he said. “D.A. dumped the Pears case.”

“Justice triumphs again,” I replied. Downstairs someone burst into loud laughter.

“You don’t sound like a happy man.”

From the window I watched shadows of clouds gather on the surface of Silver Lake. “It wasn’t exactly an acquittal.”

“He wasn’t exactly innocent.”

“There’s something I’d like you to look into.”

“We still talking about Pears?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t do pro bono,” he said.

“I’ll pay you the same rate we originally agreed on.”

“Go ahead.”

I told him about the missing bar key.

“That’s it?” His voice was incredulous. “You think someone broke in, slashed the Fox kid and left the knife in Pears’s hand?”

“I’m less interested in the bar key than I am in Josh Mandel,” I replied after a moment’s hesitation.

“What does that mean?”

“I think he’s concealing information about the case,” I replied. “I’d like you to find out what it is without approaching him.”

“I’m an investigator, Henry, not a psychic.”

There was more laughter from downstairs. “Then do what you have to do,” I replied.

“What do you think he knows?”

“I have no idea,” I said, irritably. “That’s what I’m hiring you to find out.”

“Uh-huh. You don’t want to talk to him because, why? You think he’ll run or… “ The sentence trailed off.

“I slept with him last night.”

Vidor said, “I’m glad I’m not your boyfriend.”

“Go to hell.”

“I’ll be in touch,” he replied. I set the phone down with a clang.

I was lying on the bed flipping through the pages of a mystery called The Vines of Ferrara. As I began the same paragraph for the fifth time, my attention wandered to the wall where, inexplicably, the shadows of the tree outside the window reminded me of Josh Mandel. That and everything else. What was this? Second adolescence? I picked up the book again and examined the cover.

There was a knock at the door. Expecting Larry, I hollered, “Come in.”

Irene Gentry stepped in. I hopped off the bed, buttoning my shirt.

“Sit down, Henry,” she said. She wore a suit in winter whites tailored to her body. It was quite a good body. “Do you mind if we visit for a while?”

“Of course not. Here,” I said, bringing a chair up to the bed. “Sit down.”

She arranged herself in the chair and extracted a silver cigarette case from her pocket. “May I?”

“Let me find you an ashtray.” The best I could do was the soap dish from the bathroom. I held it out to her. She smiled and set it at the edge of the bed.

She puffed on her cigarette like a stevedore and said, finally, “I hate Sandy Blenheim.”

“Any reason in particular?”

“It’s so obvious that Tom’s nothing to him but a meal ticket.” She stubbed out her cigarette. “He pushes Tom to take whatever crap’s offered to him. Anything to bring in money.” She paused and looked at me. “I suppose you wonder what Tom is to me.”

“It’s not my business to wonder that.”

She smiled without amusement. “I’ll tell you anyway, Henry, since you’re bound to hear rumors. I love him.”

In the musty stillness of the room, the words were startlingly clear. Rennie studied my face and said, “You seem surprised.”

“I’m sorry if I do.”

“We all love according to our natures,” she continued. “You, of all people, should understand that.”

“I don’t doubt you,” I replied.

“Scoot over,” she said, and kicked off her shoes. She climbed up on the bed beside me. “Larry says you’re from San Francisco.”

“Close enough,” I replied, and explained that I actually lived in a small university town on the peninsula.

“Linden University? Did you go to school there?”

“Yes.”

“That’s wonderful,” she replied, shifting her weight so that our bodies touched. “The closest I ever came to higher education was doing summer stock in Ann Arbor.”

I put my arm around her. Today she smelled faintly of lilac.

“May I ask you something?” she said, tipping her face toward mine.

“Sure.”

“Are you and Larry lovers?”

“No,” I replied.

“Oh,” she said perplexed. “I thought that’s why you were here, to take care of him.”

Since she had told me she knew Larry was sick, it didn’t seem worth being evasive. “Larry’s not the type to allow himself to be taken care of.”

“You don’t seem the type either,” she said. “Frankly — and I don’t mean this badly — that always surprises me in gay men. They often seem so needy.”

“Larry and I are just the other extreme,” I replied. “It’s a kind of psychological machismo. Not really much better than being constantly in need, when you get right down to it.”

“And then there’s Sandy,” she said, her shoulders stiffening. “He defies types. I wish I knew why Tom keeps him around.” She relaxed and said, “Is it really true that you don’t need anyone?”

Perhaps because I had been thinking of Josh, the question tugged at my guts.

She must have seen it in my face. “Have I touched a sore spot?” she asked gently.

“It’s just that I met someone.”

“Last night?”

I nodded.

She closed her hand around mine. “Then shouldn’t you be happy?”

“I don’t think it’s going to work out.”

“The unlikeliest matches do, you know,” she murmured.

Someone shouted her name from downstairs.

“Time to go,” she said, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. “Will you come and have lunch with me day after tomorrow?”

“I’d love to,” I replied.

She put her shoes on, stood up and staightened her skirt. “Good, make it around noon. Larry can tell you where I live.” She leaned over and kissed my cheek. “He’s a fool if he lets you go,” she said.

“Larry?”

“You know who I mean. Goodbye, Henry.”

“Goodbye, Rennie,” I replied and listened as she made her way down the stairs. I got up and went to the window. The Zanes were getting into the black Mercedes, Tom in front and Rennie in back. Sandy Blenheim got into the driver’s seat. Sandy Blenheim was Gldnboy? Only in Hollywood, I thought, and watched as the car pulled away.

A few minutes later, Larry came in.

“They’re gone,” he announced, pacing the room.

“I heard them leave. I thought you weren’t taking new clients.”

He sat down. “I’m not. That was just a little consulting.”

“It looked like the IBM litigation to me.”

He picked up the soap dish that Rennie had used as an ashtray and lifted an eyebrow. “You and Mrs. Zane have a nice chat?”

“I like her,” I said, taking exception to his tone.

“That’s allowed, I suppose.”

“You don’t?”

He stood up and paced to the doorway of the study. “In this business it doesn’t pay to like anyone very much.” He ran his hand across a dusty bureau.

“That’s very cynical,” I said.

He smiled at me, wiping his dusty fingers on his trousers. “Are you going to tell me where you spent the night?”

“With Josh Mandel,” I said, amazed at how lightly I was able to speak his name.

“The waiter-witness?” Larry asked. “That’s a surprise.”

“To me, too,” I replied, not wanting to pursue it.

“Doesn’t the canon of ethics proscribe screwing witnesses? Except on the witness stand, I mean.”

“There is no case,” I snapped.

‘‘Sorry,” he said. He looked at me. “Was it that good, Henry?”

“Can we talk about something else?”

“Evidently, it was,” he said as if to himself. “Forgive me, I’m just jealous.”