Where Love Has Gone (31 page)

“Who?” Miss Jennings’ voice was calm. “Your parents?” Dani didn’t answer.

“Apparently you didn’t pay much attention to what Judge Murphy said to you in court. It isn’t up to your parents. It’s the judge who decides what you’ll do. And he can just as easily keep you here or even send you to Perkins for observation as send you home. It’s up to him to decide what’s best for you.”

“He can’t keep me here,” Dani retorted.

“What makes you say that, Dani?” Miss Jennings asked. “Isn’t the reason you were brought here sufficient in itself to keep you here?”

Dani looked down at the floor. “But I didn’t mean to do it,” she said sullenly.

“Merely saying you didn’t mean to isn’t enough to convince Judge Murphy that he should send you home. Every child brought in here says the same thing.” Miss Jennings reached for a cigarette. “You have to show him by your actions that you won’t get into anymore trouble if he lets you go

home.”

She shuffled the papers on her desk. “I’m just closing the file on a girl who’s been here several times before. This time the judge is sending her away. She hasn’t proven herself trustworthy.” She looked at Dani. “I think you know her. She’s in the room next to yours.”

“You mean Sylvia?”

Miss Jennings nodded her head.

“Why?” Dani asked. “She’s a nice girl.”

“Maybe she is to you. But she’s always getting into trouble.” “Her only trouble is that she’s boy crazy.”

Miss Jennings smiled. “That’s one of her troubles,” she said. “She’s promiscuous. This is the third time she’s been here. Each time she’s been found with another boy and each time she talked that boy into stealing a car so they could go for a ride. She’s not only careless about her own morals but she’s a bad influence on anyone she comes into contact with.”

“What are they going to do with her?”

“She’ll probably be sent to a correctional home until she’s eighteen.” Dani was silent.

“I tried to help her. But she wouldn’t let me. She thought she knew everything. But she didn’t did she?”

“I guess not,” Dani admitted.

Miss Jennings pushed the stack of papers to one side and picked up another sheet of paper, which she held so that Dani could read it. “I’ve a report from Miss Spicer,” she said, pressing with her knee the button of the tape recorder built into the desk. “She went out to Miss Randolph’s today and after that she talked with your mother.”

“Yes?” Dani asked politely.

“The teachers and your fellow pupils at school seem to think a great deal of you. They say you got along very well with everyone.”

“That’s nice.”

“Your mother was very surprised to learn that you were having sexual relations with Mr.

Riccio.”

Dani’s voice went tight with anger. “Who said that?” “It’s true, isn’t it?”

“It’s not true!” Dani retorted. “Whoever said so is a liar!”

“Then what were you doing with these?” Miss Jennings took a small metal container from her desk. “They were found in a box under his picture.”

Dani glared at her. “It’s Violet!” she said angrily. “She knew where I kept the key.”

“Who’s Violet?”

“My mother’s maid. She’s always sneaking around spying on me!”

“You’re not answering my question, Dani,” Miss Jennings said sharply. “If it wasn’t Mr. Riccio, then who was it?”

“Why does it have to be anybody?” Dani retorted. “Just because I happened to have some of those in a drawer?”

“You forget, Dani. You were examined by a doctor when you came in.” She picked up another sheet of paper. “Do you want me to read what she said?”

“You don’t have to,” Dani said sullenly. “That could have happened from horseback riding.” “You know better than that. That’s the oldest one in the book.” She leaned forward. “I’m only

trying to help you, Dani. I don’t want the judge to send you away, like Sylvia.”

Dani stared at her silently.

“Tell me what happened? Did he rape you?” She looked at Dani earnestly. “If he did, tell me. It might help the judge understand why you did what you did. He’d take that into consideration in making his decision.”

Dani was silent for a moment, staring into the woman’s eyes. “Yes,” she finally admitted in a low voice, “he raped me.”

Sally Jennings stared back at her. She didn’t speak.

“Well?” Dani asked. “Isn’t that what you wanted me to say?”

The psychologist leaned back with a sigh of frustration. “No, Dani. I wanted you to tell me the truth. But you’re not. You’re lying.” She pressed the button again, this time turning the recorder off. “I can’t help you when you lie to me.”

Dani’s eyes fell. ‘I don’t want to talk about it, Miss Jennings. I don’t even want to think about anything that happened before. I just want to forget about the whole thing.”

“It won’t happen that easily, Dani. The only way you’ll ever be free of what’s troubling you is to bring it out in the open and face it squarely. Then you’ll understand why you did what you did and you’ll know how to keep it from happening again.”

Dani didn’t answer.

The psychologist pressed the buzzer to summon a matron. “All right, Dani,” she said in a weary voice. “You may go.”

Dani got to her feet. “The same time tomorrow, Miss Jennings?”

“I don’t think so, Dani. I think we’ve about accomplished all that we can. There wouldn’t be any point in further discussions, would there?”

Dani looked at her. “I guess not, Miss Jennings.”

“Of course, I’ll be here if you should want to talk to me.” “Yes, Miss Jennings.”

There was a knock at the glass door. The psychologist got to her feet. “Good luck, Dani.” “Thank you, Miss Jennings.” Dani started for the door, then turned back. “Miss Jennings?” “Yes, Dani?”

“About Sylvia,” Dani said. “Don’t you think she’d never have gotten into trouble if all the boys she knew had their own cars?”

Miss Jennings suppressed an involuntary smile. That was as good a cure for certain kinds of juvenile delinquency as any. Give them all their own cars. “I don’t think so,” she said, keeping as straight a face as she could. “You see, what Sylvia did was wrong. If it wasn’t cars she wanted the boys to steal, it would have been something else. What Sylvia was really doing was making them prove that they were worthy of her favors. She felt that if they’d do something really wrong, then she wouldn’t feel that what she was doing was so bad. That’s the way she justified her own behavior.”

“I see,” Dani said thoughtfully. She looked at the psychologist. “Maybe I’ll see you again before I go?”

“Anytime Dani,” Miss Jennings answered. “I’ll be here.”

10

__________________________________________

The Barbary Coast is nothing but a series of dirty gray buildings that are used mostly as warehouses and small factories now. Scattered among them is an occasional nightclub, struggling for existence, trading on the sin and glamour of the long-gone past. The best of these are in street-level stores and go in for jazz. Far-out combos or Chicago and New Orleans style.

They attract the
aficionados
and the college kids, who sit around in a kind of reverie listening to the outlandish sounds produced in the name of a new art form. The worst of them are imitations of the plusher traps out at North Beach. Second-rate Hungry I’s or overripe Purple Onions.

The Money Tree fitted into the latter category. I looked at my watch as I stopped in front of the place. It was almost midnight. There was a long narrow photograph on either side of the door. Both pictures were exactly the same. A heavy-set, leering old woman, dressed in a tight-fitting sequined evening gown four sizes too small for her tightly corseted figure, and with a mouthful of the latest thing in dentures. The lettering over the pictures was large: MAUDE MACKENZIE INSIDE!

If I’d been in the market for entertainment that picture would have been the last thing in the world to entice me. But I wasn’t. This was where Anna Stradella worked and I’d agreed to meet her after the last show. She was the club photographer.

“Go on in, buddy,” the doorman said. “The show’s just about to start.” I looked at him. “I think I will.”

He leered at me and winked. “If you get nervous sitting by yourself in the dark,” he said, “just tell your waiter that Max said for him to take care of you.”

“Thanks,” I said and went inside.

Like the street outside was dark, inside was really dark. Your own hands looked like they belonged to somebody else. The white shirtfront of the headwaiter gleamed from the gloom. “Do you have a reservation, sir?”

I grinned to myself. I could see enough white tablecloths to do a good-sized TV commercial. “No. That’s all right. I’ll sit at the bar.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said smoothly, “we don’t serve at the bar except on weekends.”

They really hustled you in this joint. Business had to be way off if the three extra bucks they got for the linen was that important.

“I have a nice table right up in front.”

He had nothing but nice tables right up front.

Maybe about ten tables out of the sixty were occupied. He held the chair while I sat down, then

hung around waiting for bread. I gave him a single and he blew. Maybe he wasn’t very happy with it, but it was better than getting stiffed.

The waiter climbed on my back and I ordered a bourbon. I didn’t have to add water. Apparently they put it right in the bottle. I sipped at the drink and looked around. I didn’t see Anna Stradella anywhere.

I’d called her that afternoon like she’d told me to. “Did you locate your brother?” I’d asked.

“Not yet. I expect to hear something tonight though.” “I can call you later.”

“I don’t get home until late. Maybe you’d better pick me up where I work. Then if I have any information maybe we can act on it right away.”

“Okay, where is it?”

“The Money Tree. It’s a nightclub on—”

“I know where it is,” I’d said. The surprise must have shown in my voice.

“I’m the club photographer. I work for the concessionaire. From five to eight I work the dinner hour at one of the restaurants on the Wharf. From nine o’clock on I’m at the club.”

“What time is the last show?”

“There are only two shows tonight. Ten and midnight. The last show should be over a few minutes after one.”

“I’ll pick you up there then.”

“Good. You’d better come inside. Then if I don’t know anything, I can let you know and I won’t hold you up.”

“Okay.”

“And don’t give your car to the doorman. They stick you for a two-buck service charge. It’s a real trap. There’s plenty of room to park in the next block.”

“Thanks.”

Then I’d put down the telephone and dialed my former mother-in-law.

“She doesn’t know where he is yet. I’m supposed to meet her later, and if she knows, she’ll take me to him.”

“The morning papers will be out by then. The ad will be in already. He’ll know we’re willing to buy.”

“What do you want to do?” I’d asked.

“I want those letters. Make a deal with him if you have to. We can’t take any chances on their getting into the wrong hands.”

“They’re in the wrong hands already.”

“Don’t do anything to make it worse.” “I won’t.”

“What are you doing tomorrow afternoon?” “Nothing that I know of,” I said.

“Nora and Gordon are coming over here. We have to present a plan for Dani to the court. Dr. Bonner and the headmaster of Dani’s school will be here too. I thought you might want to come over.”

“What time?” “Three thirty.” “I’ll be there.”

“You’ll let me know what happens tonight? Call me no matter how late it is.” “Will do.”

It was another half-hour before Maude Mackenzie came on. By that time a few more suckers had drifted in and now the room was about a third full.

Maude Mackenzie looked exactly like the pictures outside. She came on in the white glare of the spot, looked around the room, counting the house, then sat down at the piano and declared that this was what she liked—working small intimate parties. At her age she couldn’t take the big things like circuses.

The audience laughed, but I could see she was disgruntled. She must have been working on percentage and this show was practically for free.

She immediately launched into a song about the good old days and how she’d worked her way to the Barbary Coast in a covered wagon. I looked at the old bag sweating in the spotlight and thought to myself how much better it would have been if the Indians had got her.

“Would you like a nice picture of yourself, sir?”

I turned and in the spill-over from the spot Anna Stradella looked like she’d come out of an Italian movie. The brief costume and the long opera-length black net hose did it. Broad shoulders, deep bosom, narrow waist and wide comfortable hips.
La Dolce Vita
, Sophia Loren making it the hard way.

I started to shake my head.

She smiled. “Let me take your picture.” Then under her breath she whispered quickly, “My boss is watching. I got to have a reason to keep on talking.”

“Okay,” I said. “But make it a good one.”

She smiled and did something with the camera. Held it up to her face, fiddled with the viewfinder. She leaned over me. Now I knew what those Italian girls did with all that pasta. “Turn your chair like this,” she said aloud, pushing me to the left. She checked the viewfinder again. “That’s better.”

She backed away and held the camera up to her face. The flashbulb went off and I blinked the

red and green spots out of my eyes. She came back to the table.

“I’ll write on the back of the picture where you should pick me up,” she whispered. “You find him?”

She nodded and straightened up. I saw her eyes flicker and sensed rather than saw the man walking by. “That’s fine, sir. It’ll be ready in about fifteen minutes.”

She turned and walked away. I watched her for a moment. This would have been the last job I’d have figured her for when I met her in the funeral parlor. But then you never can tell, can you?

“Another drink, sir?” the waiter asked.

I looked up and nodded. What the hell, they were half water anyway. The rest of the show was as bad as the opening song. Maude Mackenzie was no Pearl Williams or Belle Barth but she was just as rough. And the customers who were there didn’t seem to mind. They ate it up. At that I guess it was better than TV on an off Wednesday night.