The Darkness Rolling (12 page)

“You’re happy?”

She laughed. “Let’s just say Beverly Hills is more appealing than a Texas feed lot.”

Seven

The next morning I stepped out of Linda’s cabin and got spanked in the face by a note on her door.

STAY AWAY FROM THE SAILOR

HE WILL GET YOU HURT

I stared at it. It was written in a child’s printing. The culprit had fastened it with a thumbtack and had done it while Linda was asleep. While
we
were asleep. That gave me almost as many creeps as the scrawled words.

I yanked it off, shouldered the sticky door back open, padded to the bed, and handed it to Linda.

She read it, stuck it out to me, and said, “Forget it. I’ve had worse, far worse.”

“Recently?”

She shrugged.

“Linda, listen to me. I can’t protect you if I don’t know everything.”

She walked to her dresser and pulled out an envelope that had been folded and folded again. I recognized that envelope. Inside was a letter, worn thin with folding and refolding.

She gave it to me, and I sat heavy on her bed, reading. Plenty of details, but no signature. Then I read it again.

“You’ve had this since we got to the hotel in Winslow?” I said to her.

“Yes, yes, you were there when I got it.”

“You may have put yourself in danger by ignoring it. Maybe all of us.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Believe me, in the real world this is a big deal.”

She turned her back to me.

“I have to show it to Mr. John,” I said. “This is his shoot. And your life.”

She shrugged. Acted like she didn’t care, one way or the other.

“Get dressed,” I said.

“I don’t know if I like you like this.”

“Get dressed.”

*   *   *

Mr. John’s face turned the color of a red onion. “Get Julius,” he told a flunky.

Linda tried to say something.

Mr. John put his finger in the air. The message was clear—not one word yet.

Julius read the letter impassively. Then he read the scrawled note. When he finished, the cigar twisted, and I could almost hear the wheels grinding in his head.

Mr. John said, holding out the stationery, “This letter, this was waiting for you at La Posada?”

She nodded yes.

“This other letter, this note, you just found it on your door?”

Yes again.

“Julius,” John Ford’s voice boomed, “do we think it was written by the same person?”

“We are forming an opinion.”

“God, Julius, you are infuriating. Everything we’re doing—a private bodyguard, a studio bodyguard, go to the middle of nowhere—and we still can’t keep crazy people at bay! I don’t know whose head to have first.”

Mr. John paced the floor, tapping the letter against his forehead.

“Very nice stationery.” He looked into Linda’s green eyes. “Who was the last boyfriend you dumped?”

“That’s none of your business!”

She was on shaky ground there.

“Let me rephrase that,” Mr. John said. “Do you remember the last boyfriend you jilted, and was there more than one?”

She turned her face up to him, an attempt at defiance. “Could we talk in private?”

“We cannot. Answer my question.”

“Fine. Frank Cantonucci.”

“Would you repeat that?”

“Frank Canto— You know exactly who I am talking about.”

“Yes, I do. Oh, this is sweet. You dumped Frank Cantonucci. Toss in Mickey Cohen,” he said, “and we’re really off to the races.” Mr. John put his hands on his hips, looked out the window, and shook his head. “Zanuck will have a coronary if he hears about this.”

“Don’t tell him,” Linda said.

“I have no intention of telling him,” he said. “Julius, get over to Goulding’s, make some calls, track this down. Do whatever you need to do to make it go away. To make him go away. Bribe him. Tell him I’ll give his wife a small role in something. Threaten to get Mr. H. on his ass. Take care of it.”

All of this sounded like very bad business.

Julius said to Ford, “Done.” He was squinting at Linda when he said it. I didn’t know their history—how could I?—but I had a feeling that this wasn’t the first time she’d complicated his life.

“And be back ASAP.” Julius was already out the door.

Then Mr. John turned to Linda. She shrank a little closer to me. Fortunately, I had remained off Mr. John’s radar. So far.

“You! What do I do with you? I can hire extra security, but I can’t keep tabs on your entire life, Linda. Frank…”

He paced, pulled his chin, and stuck his face in hers. “You have stepped into deep shit, and you’re such a kid that you don’t even know it.”

For the first time, Linda looked scared.

“You know he has plenty of guys who could follow you here, take care of you, and … Look out there. One very large desert. No one would ever find the body. Your body. Get that?”

“I can’t—”

“Don’t talk. I’m too angry, and I’m not finished. Getting involved with a mobster? Linda, they don’t go away. And jilting a guy close to Mickey Cohen?”

“It was stupid, I understand.”

“I could fix it so you didn’t work again.”

Her lip trembled.

“But, God help me, there is something so vulnerable about you.…”

Then Mr. John looked like the air had gone out of him. A spent balloon.

“What now?” she said.

“To hell with the message left on your door. I take threats seriously, but I will not be coerced. Since the guy making trouble wants Yazzie gone, he stays. And we need to beef up the security. I’ll hire more, and we’ll see what Julius wants when he gets back.”

Mr. John looked at me. I was visible again. As long as that had happened, I stood straight and worked myself into looking tough.

“I trust Yazzie,” Ford said to Linda. “He’s a good man, although he has fallen for your charms like everyone else except for me, Julius, and the makeup man. Don’t look at the floor, Yazzie.”

Mr. John mused. “Today Cathy Downs will be here. I’m not letting her walk into this situation.”

I was embarrassed beyond belief. Of course Julius would have told Mr. John about our goings-on. That was his job—security—and I should have figured that included being a spy.

Julius came in and shut the door too hard. “I did what I could for now. More later.”

“What do you want for security?

“The Seaman goes. He’s a magnet.”

Mr. John barked, “Damn it.…”

Julius came back at him. “He goes. He’s the problem.”

“Who the hell do you think is in charge here? I say what’s what.”

“May I remind you that the note appeared while Yazzie was with her? At night? And no more afternoon naps.”

Then Linda stepped in, for her in a gentle way.

“You don’t want to lose those afternoon shots,” said the star to Mr. John. “No nap, and I don’t glow for the camera.” She looked straight into Mr. John’s eyes. “You don’t want that.” Her words fell on the floor and rolled around.

“That’s bull,” said Julius.

“Both of you shut up!” Mr. John snapped. “Here’s what’s going to happen. One armed man will be with Linda every minute. When the crew is around, when she’s napping, when she’s sleeping—all the time. And that armed man is Yazzie.”

Ford glared at Julius, who then looked at his shoes.

“When Linda is on the set, or in the tent, or at the Porta-Potty, a second armed man will be within another dozen steps of her, his attention on no one else. Who do you want?”

“Colin,” said Julius.

I breathed easier.

Mr. John leaned into Linda’s face. “Even if it’s your next studio that’s paying for your protection,” Mr. John said with pepper in his voice, “right now you’re working for me.”

She studied the ceiling.

“I am waiting,” he said.

“I understand.”

“And you’ll do as I say?”

She nodded.

“That’s not bad,” said Julius. “I’ll get Colin on it right now.”

“Yazzie, there’s no way in or out of the cabin but the front door?” Ford said.

“None.”

“All right. While she’s inside, you will be her protection. Yazzie, you’re here in the afternoon and at night, with Colin outside the cabin. You’re right with Linda on the set, and Colin’s her shadow. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Linda,” he said, “take no chances. Never be without two armed men. Never.”

He started out the door and turned back. “And don’t tell anyone—cast, crew, anyone—about the note on the door or about that letter.”

Eight

After a few days, things settled down some. Whatever had happened, and whoever had tacked that note up and sent that letter, the incident seemed faded. Maybe a twisted jab. A wicked one, but …

One lunchtime, when Linda was finished being a bad girl with me for an hour or so, I stepped out of the cabin and into a surprise.

“Hi, Yazzie,” said Iris with verve. “I came down to, you know, see what’s going on. Raphael here has been very nice to me, and— Is Linda inside there?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“I just want to say hi to her.”

Iris slipped past me through the cabin door. Automatically, I looked for Linda’s guard, Colin. He was sitting in front of Raphael Garibaldi, fifty feet away. Colin had a ruff of Woody Woodpecker red hair, a flock of freckles, a short burly frame, and the eyes of a rooster ready to fight. His amiable Irish looks were a mask. Perfect view of the door, and plenty of attitude that was well-disguised.

Raphael was the makeup man who worked on Linda every day, just before the costume woman finished her up for the next shot. I sat behind the guard and next to Raphael, which I knew would irk him a little. He didn’t like all the lunch-break time Linda spent with me. He often nudged her to get down to her dressing room faster so he could do her makeup, get things moving for the costume person, and get her in front of the camera.

From inside the cabin I heard the enthusiastic greetings of two young women who sounded like old friends.

Raphael got up and followed Iris inside. I leaned against a cedar tree, waiting. The tree trunk curved back. Good smell. It was comfortable.

Out they came in about two minutes. Iris and Linda made a beeline for the cedar. Iris gave the guard a
What’s-going-on-here?
glance along the way, and she plucked her sketchpad from behind the tree.

“I’ll introduce you to Mr. John and tell him you’re a great artist,” said Linda. “Mr. John loves artists.”

“Meanwhile,” Iris said, looking at Colin, “this gentleman and I haven’t been introduced.”

“Oh, sorry,” I said, embarrassed. “Iris Goldman, this is Colin Murphy. Colin, Iris Goldman, my aunt.”

Politely, Colin stood and nodded. “Seldom seen so young and beautiful an aunt,” he said.

Iris was plainly embarrassed. Her right forefinger went to her mouth in her habit of touching the crooked tooth, but she kept her upper lip over it. “You’re pretty husky for an Irishman,” she said. Then she turned kind of red. It was about the first time I’d seen Iris with a lame comeback, more like something I would say.

“Let’s go,” Linda said. We walked down the hill.

Linda wasn’t giving me a choice about Iris being around, and I wasn’t sure how that would work out on all fronts. As we approached the mob of crew around the shot, Iris almost danced with excitement.

Careful not to stammer, I said, “Mr. John won’t want you sketching the stars.”

Iris looked at me with a tickled expression. “Jeez, Yazzie, I won’t embarrass you. I’m only going to put a few up for sale to the highest bidder. Maybe sell them to a gallery in Santa Fe…”

Oh, boy, there went my job.

“I’m kidding. God, you look whiter than a white guy right now.”

Linda put her head back and laughed. Those two women could be a dangerous pair. At least to any shred of dignity I imagined I had, or might have, someday.

Colin was silent, his eyes flicking everywhere.

Linda led us through the crowd around the camera and introduced Iris to Mr. John. He said, “What about you, Yazzie? You vouch for this young woman?”

“Sure, she’s my aunt.”

Iris fidgeted again. I got it. She was uncomfortable with “aunt.”

Mr. John said, “Welcome to the movies, Miss Goldman.”

Iris saw his right eye flick down to her sketchpad. She said quickly, “Don’t worry. I won’t do people.”

“People in general would be fine,” he said. “Stars, no. Stick with Yazzie and Colin. They’ll show you the ropes.” He took another look at her. “Plenty around here to fire up an artist.”

He turned and walked away, his focus already in three other places at once.

*   *   *

Linda was front and center, Mr. John was taking care of business, and that left me and Iris looking at the light settling to the earth and the glow on the bluffs. She was right. You could get delirious over this place. I was so used to it, I didn’t see it sometimes. The quiet between us was easy. She turned to me, looking puzzled.

She gave Colin a stealthy glance and said to me softly, “You understand that I’m not really your aunt, don’t you?”

“Navajo way, yes, you are.”

“Maybe Navajo way, but I’m not your blood relative. You know that, right?”

“Uh…” Sometimes it wasn’t easy living in two worlds. At least two worlds.

“Never mind. So what are these ropes I need to learn?” she said to both of us.

Colin spoke up. “Aside from ‘Shhh, don’t make a breath of sound during a shot’ and ‘Don’t get in front of the camera during a shot,’ not so very much.”

We were standing in the street of the false-front town, with an angle into a window of the tavern. Crew members were busily doing stuff I only half understood.

“What do you do all day?” she said, giving me her look. “I already know what you do during lunch break—I mean the rest of the time.”

I felt myself flush. “Basically, my job is to stick tight to Linda, be on guard, listen to stories, guard Linda, tell old stories, repeat bad jokes, and guard Linda.”

“Same as I,” said Colin, “except I’m studio and Yazzie’s personal.”

“Whoo-ee!”

“Iris, it’s an education,” I said. “I like to watch people’s postures, their gestures, their expressions, and especially their strange little habits. That story is a lot closer to the truth than whatever they’re saying.”