An Inconvenient Woman (54 page)

“Flo. Flo March,” she had answered.

“Right. Flo March,” the young man repeated.

“And I’m not sure I got yours. Kippie? Was that it?”

“Kippie. Right.”

“Kippie what?”

“Petworth.”

Flo laughed. “That’s what I call a pretty fancy name. It’s not a name you hear much in the Silverlake district.”

“No, no. It’s strictly Blue Book,” he said and laughed.

When he laughed, it was the first time she had noticed that one of his front teeth was missing.

“I’m afraid I dripped some blood on your sofa,” he said.

“Oh, my God,” she said, rushing over to pick up one of the cushions of her gray satin sofa. It was covered with blood. “This is a brand-new sofa. It was only delivered yesterday. Do you have any idea how much this fabric cost? It cost ninety-five dollars a yard.”

“Just have to have it recovered, I guess,” he said. “Jules will pay for it.”

“But I’ve only had it one day,” she repeated. “It’s brand-new.”

“In the meantime, you just turn it over like this, with the blood side down, and nobody will notice the difference.” He turned over the cushion and patted the clean unspotted side. “See? Only you and your decorator can tell the difference.”

“Yeah,” she answered, shaking her head. She was crestfallen that her beautiful new sofa was marred. She was annoyed with Jules that he had brought this careless stranger to her house, especially as he seemed unconcerned with the damage he had done, as if he were used to having things taken care of for him.

“Look, it’s pointless to spend time worrying about something so unimportant as the cushion of a sofa,” Kippie said, when he realized that she was truly upset over the stains he had made.

She had to admit he had charm and style, the kind of charm and style that is not acquired but innate. She tried to think of a word to describe him. “Adorable” was the word that came to mind. She wondered what he was doing in her house. She wondered why Jules had delivered him to her at six o’clock in the morning and said, “Keep him here until I come back for him. Don’t ask any questions.”

“Mind if I smoke a joint?” Kippie had asked, taking a joint from his pocket. He reached for a package of matches without waiting for an answer.

“Yes, I do mind,” she had answered. “I don’t want you to smoke a joint in my house.”

He looked at her, surprise on his face. “Isn’t that funny? I wouldn’t have taken you for a lady who would object,” he said.

“There was a time when I wouldn’t have, but I do now,” Flo said.

“Because I rooked your new sofa?”

“No, because I don’t want any dope smoked in my house.”

He shrugged and put the joint back in his pocket. “Have you got any orange juice then?”

“I’ll squeeze some.”

“And coffee?”

“I’ll put some on. But don’t talk to me like I’m the maid. This is my house you’re in, and I’m apparently doing you some kind of favor by letting you stay here,” said Flo.

“Did I sound like that? I’m sorry.” He covered his mouth with his hand and smiled at her. She could see that he was used to getting his own way, especially with women.

She poured him coffee at the kitchen table, where he seized the
Los Angeles Tribunal
that she had read earlier and left on the table. He seemed inordinately interested in the morning paper. He turned the pages very quickly, scanning each one as if he were looking for something specific. Finally, he pushed the paper away and drank his coffee.

“What are you to Jules Mendelson?” Flo asked.

Kippie Petworth looked at Flo March, but he didn’t answer her question. He realized that Jules had told her nothing.

“I asked you a question,” said Flo.

“What are
you
to Jules Mendelson?” he asked in return.

Each stared at the other. Neither replied to the other’s question. Kippie Petworth had a pretty good idea who Flo March was, but Flo March had no idea who Kippie Petworth was.

Later Jules picked him up, and they left together without exchanging a word between them. Jules never brought up his name. Neither did she. Then, in the excitement of the death of Hector Paradiso, which consumed everyone’s conversation for days afterward, she forgot about the young man called Kippie Petworth who had spent six hours in her house, and she never, for even an instant, formed a connection in her mind between him and the death of Hector.

When she had called Nellie Potts to tell her that she needed more of the gray satin fabric to recover one of her cushions on the new sofa, Nellie told her that the fabric company was temporarily out of stock, but she would let her know when it became available again.

•   •   •

The next morning Flo checked her date book. The day that Jules had brought Kippie to her house at six o’clock in the morning was, indeed, the same day that Hector Paradiso was found dead. She remembered also that Jules had been annoyed with her for attending Hector’s funeral. She realized that if she had not gone to the all-night market and run into Lonny Edge, whom she had tried to avoid, she might never have realized that it was Pauline Mendelson’s son by a previous marriage who was hidden in her house while Jules made the arrangement to cover up the murder he had committed. She remembered the young man’s charm and style, the kind of charm and style he could only have inherited from his mother. The knowledge was comforting to her.

“There’s something I want you to do for me, Sims,” said Flo, when she called Sims Lord later in the day.

“What’s that?” asked Sims. The tone of his voice was chilly.

“I want to meet with Pauline Mendelson,” she said.

“Oh, come on, Flo. Be practical. Pauline Mendelson will never meet with you,” said Sims.

“Perhaps you should tell her that I have some information that might be of great interest to her,” said Flo.

“Forget about Pauline. That’s a hopeless cause. She thinks you ruined her life. She’ll never let up on you.”

“Tell the great lady she’s going to be very very sorry if she doesn’t come and see me, Sims.” When he did not reply, she added, “Tell her it has to do with Kippie.”

“What about Kippie?” he asked. In the years he had been the lawyer and confidant of Jules Mendelson, he had been involved in getting Kippie Petworth out of a great many scrapes.

“I’m not talking to you anymore, Sims. She’s the one I want to talk to.”

“Never. Never, never, never,” said Pauline. “There is no way I would meet with her. With people like that, it’s blackmail. It’s all about money.”

“She said—” said Sims.

“I don’t care what she said,” said Pauline.

“She said it had to do with Kippie,” continued Sims.

There was a silence. “With Kippie?” she replied. Pauline Mendelson was not the type of woman who perspired, but she felt moisture in her armpits when she heard her son’s name, as
having come from the lips of Flo March. She remembered the last thing she had said to Jules before he died. “Does anyone else know, Jules?” she had asked, but he had died without answering her. She remembered Kippie’s telephone call after Jules had died. “I know everything,” she had said to him. “About Flo March?” Kippie had answered.

That afternoon the Reverend Doctor Rufus Browning, of the All Saints Episcopal Church in Beverly Hills, came to have tea with Pauline in the library at Clouds. She could not bring herself to tell anyone what she knew about her son, not even her father, whom she trusted implicitly, or either of her sisters, or Camilla Ebury, and certainly not Rose Cliveden. Rufus Browning was a great admirer of Pauline Mendelson’s, and relished his role as her spiritual adviser. On those occasions during the year when she attended his Sunday services, she always called him Dr. Browning when they spoke on the steps of the church after the service, but in her library, on those occasions when he came for tea, she always called him Rufus. It was not lost on either Blondell or Dudley that Mrs. Mendelson had been crying during the hour and a half that she remained behind closed doors in the library with Dr. Browning. Afterward, she telephoned Sims Lord at his office.

“I’ll see her,” said Pauline. “But not in my house. I do not want her here. And I will most certainly not go to her house.”

“We can meet in Jules’s office,” said Sims.

“I will go to court, Mrs. Mendelson,” said Flo. “I have these papers that Jules signed. You will notice on these photocopies that they were witnessed by Olaf Pederson and Margaret Maple, and Sims Lord’s name is right here in the letter.”

“Those papers were delivered within hours of my husband’s death and will not stand up in court. I have been assured of that by some of the finest legal minds in the country,” replied Pauline. The words she said were the words Sims Lord had coached her to say, but even she could hear that the force and power she had acquired since Jules’s death were missing from her tone. “My husband was coerced by you into signing those papers. You insinuated your way into the hospital, first pretending to be his daughter, and then dressing yourself up as a nurse. There are ample witnesses at the hospital who will testify to that. I hold you responsible for my husband’s death.”

Flo nodded, calmly. The two women whom Jules had loved stared at each other. Flo realized that she had the upper hand. “Jules’s health had been failing for more than a year, Mrs. Mendelson,” said Flo. “And you know that to be true as well as I do. So don’t blame me for his death. In case you’re interested, which I’m sure you’re not, the ambulance attendants will tell you I saved his life. And if you’re looking for someone to blame, blame Arnie Zwillman for telling Myles Crocker about the girl who went off the balcony in Chicago in nineteen fifty-three, and blame Myles Crocker for telling Jules that the Brussels appointment was off, about two hours before his heart attack.”

Pauline remained silent, devastated that Flo knew more about her husband than she did.

Flo rose, as if she were about to leave. “I know a great deal about Jules, Mrs. Mendelson,” she said to Pauline.

“Ignore her, Pauline,” said Sims. His tone of voice was icy. “This is a woman who was paid handsomely for sexual favors and is looking for a free ride for life.”

“I’m not talking to you, Sims,” said Flo. She made no effort to hide the contempt in her voice. “I’m on to you. I’ve been on to you ever since you pulled out your dick after Jules died, and thought I was the kind of girl who’d drop to my knees.”

Sims turned to Pauline. “You must understand the kind of person this is, Pauline. She would stoop to anything.”

Pauline was not unaware of a controlled reddening of Sims Lord’s face. She nodded.

“I don’t believe that Miss March knows anything,” continued Sims.

“Miss March knows who killed Hector Paradiso, for one thing,” said Flo. She ignored Sims Lord and directed what she was about to say to Pauline. “Miss March knows because Mr. Mendelson brought the killer to her house to hide out for six hours on the early morning of the murder, while he went about the business of covering up the murder and making it appear to be a suicide.”

Pauline turned pale but remained silent.

“No one would ever believe such a thing,” said Sims.

“They would if they tested the blood samples on one of the cushions of my gray satin sofa, caused by dripping blood from a missing front tooth,” said Flo. Her eyes never left
Pauline’s as she spoke. Pauline dropped her eyes and looked away.

“I’m not asking for much, Mrs. Mendelson. I’m just asking for what Jules wanted me to have. The house on Azelia Way and an income from one of his investments to continue to live in the style in which he wanted me to live. That’s all. Not one cent more. With your kind of bucks, that’s not much. Think it over. And should you ever wish to talk privately with me, without Sims hovering, Miss Maple will give you my number.”

She opened the door of Jules’s conference room and walked out.

Sims and Pauline sat in silence for a few moments.

“Pay her off, Sims. Give her what she wants. God knows, I can afford it,” said Pauline.

“It never ends, once you start, you know,” said Sims, finally.

“Pay her,” repeated Pauline.

“It is a mistake, Pauline,” said Sims.

“What do you mean?” asked Pauline. She was shaken by her encounter with Flo.

“You agree to this now, next year she’ll come back for more. It’s a form of blackmail. I’ve seen cases like this before. What was that she was talking about? The missing tooth? The blood on the cushion? I didn’t understand that.”

Pauline shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said.

“I’ve concluded that not only is she a liar, but she’s delusional, money-hungry, and a danger to you and the memory of Jules,” said Sims.

“Are you saying we shouldn’t pay her?” asked Pauline.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” asked Sims in turn.

“But I thought you were in favor of honoring the agreements Jules made,” said Pauline.

“Not anymore,” replied Sims, flatly.

Pauline, troubled, nodded. She was afraid to pursue the subject for fear of having Kippie’s name come up. She gathered her bag and rose. At the door of Jules’s office, she turned back to Sims.

“What will happen to her, do you suppose?” she asked.

“She’ll fall into oblivion, never to be heard from again, no doubt.”