Cheat and Charmer (87 page)

Gussie looked up when he came into the kitchen through the back door. She was smoking, and reading the sports section of the
Examiner
. “Where’s Mrs. Lasker, Gus?”

“Dinah’s upstairs, Mr. Lasker,” she said pointedly, using Dinah’s first name. “She ain’t feeling too good.”

She gave him a long, unsmiling look. He nodded. “I’m expecting someone here in about an hour, Gus. Let me know when he comes, will you? Where’s Peter?”

“He’s upstairs in his room, packing up his stuff.”

“You see anybody around here today—any cars sitting out in the street that maybe shouldn’t be here? Anything or anyone that bothered you?”

“You mean anyone besides that dog-ass Cole and that red-haired woman? He done sat in the car the whole time the girl was here, and then he drove off with her.”

“But you didn’t see anybody else, did you?”

“Like who, Mr. Lasker?”

“Gussie, you just keep a lookout for me, will you? Just let me know if you see anybody you don’t like the looks of.”

“Well, I’m lookin’ at one right now.” She fixed him with a steady gaze.

“Gus, please. You can think whatever you like of me later, but right now I need your help. Pete might be in danger.”

She stood up and went over to the kitchen window and looked out. “No,” she said. “There ain’t nobody out there. So you just go on upstairs, Mr. Lasker. Ain’t nobody gonna touch that boy or anybody else in this house long as I’m here.”

His eye filled with tears. “Thanks, Gus.”

“You better go upstairs, Mr. Lasker. You is in the doghouse now. You better grease your chops, too, ’cause you got some explainin’ to do.”

“Gus, can you keep on with the packing? I’ve got a plan, and we’ve got to get the packing done as soon as possible.”

“Well, you want me to do the packing or the looking? I can’t do both at the same time.”

“Packing.” He started to go toward the stairs. “But then, every fifteen minutes or so, just take a look out the windows, too. Okay?”

H
oney?” he said, standing by Dinah’s bed. She was lying on her side with her knees drawn up and her hands between them.

The manila envelope lay on the floor. He picked it up and pulled out the book and the photographs. He looked and saw the open kimono, the sofa with the dolls. The open bottle of root beer. The bedroom. His fat belly and flat ass and skinny ankles arched over her body.

They had all been taken on the evening of the day he’d finished shooting. He remembered a phone call—from her friend Ninky, he thought. The pictures had all been taken through a window, with a zoom lens, in the early summer evening, when it was still light enough to get an image. The sound, that night, of somebody tripping on something, or scraping a metal thing along the ground, and muttering “Shit!” That had been, he realized now, Byron Cole.

He moved over to the bed but dared not sit down. “Listen, honey, I know this is hard for you. But listen to me, please. Burgoyne called me today. Just when …” He couldn’t bring himself to say her name. “When, you know, what’s-her-name was here. And he’s made some threats. Some serious threats.”

She sat up suddenly and blinked at him, and rubbed her arms, as if she were cold. Her voice was low, and dead. He smelled booze on her breath. “What k-k-k-kind of threats?”

“Against Peter. And me.”

“What do you mean?” She lit a cigarette and stared at him. Her eyes were swollen, her lips puffy and dry.

He explained what Burgoyne had said.

“You I don’t care about,” she said. “I hope you d-d-d-die. But what about Peter?”

He had a plan, he said. He had already called Gladys at the studio, and she was making all the arrangements. “You and the kids are leaving tomorrow. Not for London. For Paris. The George V. You’ll see Felicity. You’ll see Dorshka and Coco. And then I’ll join you, and we’ll go back to London together and move into the flat there. On Green Street, just as we planned, only you’re going a little bit earlier.”

She blinked at him. “I’m not going anywhere with you, Jake. I’m not leaving, and the kids aren’t leaving. I’m taking them, tomorrow morning, to the Beverly Hills Hotel, and then I’m going to find a house in Brentwood, and a divorce lawyer, and you are n-n-n-never going to see them or me again.”

“Wait till this is over, and then you can do whatever you like. I know this is hard on you.”

“Not as hard as it’s going to be on you. You’ve blown it, b-b-b-buster. I’m through with you.”

“Honey, promise me you won’t do anything, judge anything, say anything, until we clear up this mess with Burgoyne. Then we’ll talk it through. None of it meant anything.”

“None of it
meant
anything? What kind of human being are you, anyway? A girl you fuck for three years doesn’t mean anything? Veevi didn’t mean anything?”

“What I mean is, none of it changes one bit the feelings I have for you—and have always had, and always will.”

“Which is no doubt how you felt when you were f-f-f-fucking my sister.”

“Please, honey, it wasn’t what you think. Listen to me, darling. Let me explain.”

“Explain? What is there to explain? You’re a
prick
, Jake! A
pr-pr-pr-prick!
”

She burst into sobs. He sat down on the edge of his own bed, his arms folded across his chest, and looked at her while she sat there, shaking, the ugly, squealing sounds of rage and grief racking her body.

He felt far away, and patient. This is all very normal, he told himself. She’ll get over it in time. They always do. That’s what George Joy had told him—and the other guys, dozens of them, over golf, at Finlandia, at the commissary. If you get caught, stay cool: keep her busy, treat her well. A vacation in Cap Ferrat, a new place to fuss over in London, getting the kids settled in schools over there, some sweet talk, trips to Paris, jewelry. For
every broad, she gets a brooch. In the meantime, he’d just have to stand it, like serving a short jail sentence. Of course she was angry and hurt. They’re always like that. The Burgoyne thing had to be cleared up first, though. Then he could go to work on her.

The telephone rang. “I’ll get it,” she said, glaring at him.

“Dinah Lasker?” bellowed a voice on the other end.

“What do you want, Mr. B-B-B-Burgoyne?”

“I know about your Commie past, and I’m calling to tell you how proud I am of you for coming clean about it.”

“You said that in Vegas. What do you w-w-w-want?”

“Girls like you should get the Congressional Medal of Honor, doing your country a service like that. Too bad you spilled your guts for a horse’s ass like your husband. I know you must be feeling pretty rum tonight, but believe me, Mrs. Lasker, my sweet little Cockney friend Gracie here did you a favor. Didn’t you, kitten?” he said, his voice suddenly becoming distant, as if his face had been turned away from the phone.

“You evil b-b-b-bastard.” Jake ran quickly down the corridor and picked up the phone in his office. “You love your son and I love my kitten. Don’t I, baby?” Again, the voice faded out and returned. “So your husband should act like a gentleman and take care of Gracie like he said he would. He shouldn’t get any ideas about leaving town in a hurry. I hear your son’s a faggot, anyway, and could use a little toughening up.” Dinah heard a mirthless laugh. “Grace’s old man and I have very good friends in London. Good friends here, too. Right, doll? I’ve seen the pictures. Your husband’s got skinny Jew legs. We can break ’em like matchsticks. Same with your son. We can do whatever we want until he makes good on that contract.”

“What contract?”

Another rolling laugh. “You ask him about that. Like I told him, and like Grace told you, if she doesn’t get the money by Monday night, come Tuesday morning I’m calling Hedda and Louella before I even take a morning crap. I got a copy of that contract your husband gave Grace, and I can tell my good friend Winchell about the apartment he paid for and the job he gave your Commie sister while he was banging her.”

“If you touch my son, I will kill you, B-B-B-Burgoyne,” said Dinah.

“Oooh, I like your cute little stammer.”

Dinah slammed the phone down. She started toward the attic.

“Where are you going?” he said.

“I’m getting Pop’s .22. It’s still in there.”

“Oh no, you’re not.” He was aware that she was absolutely capable of using it—that she wouldn’t hesitate to get into the car, find Burgoyne, and blow his head off if it meant protecting Peter. He grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her down onto the bed. She drew up her knees and kicked him, knocking him backward toward the antique chest of drawers where he kept his chewing gum, cuff links, and socks. She sat up, breathless, and he held his hand to his chest.

“Angina,” he whispered, panting. “Acute angina.”

“I’ll say you’ve got ang-g-gina!” she sneered. “And I’m sure hers was very cute! You’re up to your ears in ang-g-gina, you schmuck.”

He reached into his pocket for the nitroglycerin.

“Gee, you could have died screwing her. Then what would have happened?”

“Then I’d have been dead and you’d have gotten a million bucks in insurance.”

She stared at him. In the past, they would have laughed at this together. “Now, what’s this about a contract?” she said.

His voice, usually so rich and gravelly, so that it seemed he sometimes spoke like a radio announcer, was tight and thin. “Well, I did have kind of an arrangement with her.”

He moved in gingerly fashion over to the armchair, careful to sideswipe the foot of the bed in case she tried to clobber him again.

“You better tell me everything, Jake.”

She sat cross-legged on his bed, listening and crying softly, while he started at the beginning—the night he drove back into L.A. with Veevi, after the fight in Palm Springs. When he finished, she wasn’t thinking about the contract. “Jesus Christ, Jake,” she said. “My sister.”

“Dinah,” he said. “Please, listen to me. You’re not getting the important part. Which is that I ended it. I ended it with Veevi. I ended it with Grace. I didn’t want them. I only want you.”

“The girl said you were so much in love with Veevi you were going to leave us for her.”

“Not true. I never, ever, had that thought.”

“I don’t b-b-b-believe you.”

“I swear, Dinah. It wasn’t like that. Ever. Well, look, for a while I didn’t know what to do. I thought maybe it would have been the decent thing.
Not for me, but for you. That I didn’t deserve you. That’s the only reason I even contemplated it. But I got over that quickly. I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you.”

Dinah shook her head. “What kind of an idiot do you think I am?”

“Dinah, darling—”

“You’re a fucking liar. And this girl, Grace. You didn’t do anything for her.”

“That’s a load of crap. I did all I could. A girl like that, whatever you do is never enough. She’s not rare, honey. She’s not Monroe. She’s not even Jayne Mansfield. She’s got an accent problem. She’s not very talented.”

“Except at bl-bl-bl-blow jobs. She’s a genius there.”

“Stop, Dinah. Look, I gave her enough dough for the next few months. The contract was just a convenience, and she knows that. She never took it seriously. Burgoyne’s another story. He’s dangerous. I want you and the kids to get out of here, now, till this blows over. Go to Paris. Go to Cap Ferrat. The Crandells are there. After that, you can do whatever you want.”

“By God, Jake, I feel sorry for you. I’ve never seen a fuckup like this one. You’re gonna lose the whole thing, Jake. I’m not leaving the country. I’ll take the kids to East Hampton, but I’m not going to France.”

“No, Dinah, you’ve got to get out of the country. This is a bad guy—a real one.”

She looked at him and shook her head. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“What’s to get?” he said wearily. “Look, Dinah. I love you. I want to stay together, I want the family. I can’t say any more than that.”

There was a knock at the door. It opened a little, and Gussie stuck her head in. “Mr. Lasker, Vernon Ashby’s downstairs. He said you asked him to come over.”

“Tell him I’ll be right down, Gus, thank you.”

“I’m coming too,” said Dinah.

“Let me have fifteen minutes with him alone, then come down. Okay?”