“I got a bad feeling about these HUAC hearings,” Eddie said. “I’d rather have Sid’s film in the can, even if we have to postpone production on the war movie.”
“Okay. I’ll call you when I’ve read it,” Rick said. Eddie fell away, and Rick continued his rounds, but his euphoria at finishing shooting had been pricked by Eddie Harris, and air was leaking out.
2
The wrap party was over by eight. Rick drove Glenna to her cottage/dressing room to change out of her gown, then home. They looked in on their daughters, Louise, two, and Glenn, three months, and found them happily asleep. Glenna went to bed with a novel, and Rick settled into his study to read Sidney Brooks’s new script.
It was just as down-and-dirty as Sid had said it was, probably the most realistic depiction of the Old West that Rick had come across, and he loved it. He knew Eddie Harris would still be up, and he called him.
“Eddie Harris.”
“It’s me; the script is terrific. We may take some heat for the realism, but it’s worth fighting for.”
“Then buy it. Pay him more than he expects; he may need the money soon.”
“You’re really worried about the committee hearings?”
“Never underestimate how far politicians will go to get their names in the papers.”
“You know what’s-his-name, don’t you? The California congressman who’s on the committee?”
“Dick Nixon? Yeah, I know him, and as far as I’m concerned he’s a real shit. He beat Helen Gahagan Douglas by telling people she was a Communist, which she in no way, shape or form was, and I won’t ask him for a favor.”
“You know anybody else on the committee?”
“Nah, they’re all from New Jersey or the South or someplace.”
“Is there anything we can do to help Sid?”
“It’s too soon to tell. All we can do right now is to pay him well and up front for his script.”
“Up front?”
“It’s the least we can do after the job he did on Times Square Dance. What’s the new script called?”
“Bitter Creek. It’s about a fight over water rights.”
“Tried-and-true western theme.”
“Believe me, nothing about this is tried-and-true. There are no heroes, just people who are less bad than other people.”
“Will it sell tickets?”
“Yes. There are at least three roles that leading actors would kill for and one really good female role, a woman who runs a ranch after her husband is murdered.”
“Glenna?”
“Only if she really wants to do it. I wouldn’t try to persuade her; it’s so different from everything else she’s done. Think of a younger Marjorie Main.”
“That sure doesn’t sound like Glenna.”
“I think that’s what she’ll say, too.”
“Okay, kid, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Eddie hung up.
Rick poured himself half a drink and reflected on what his life might be like now were it not for Eddie Harris’s friendship. Rick had still been a cop when he had witnessed a horrible traffic accident involving Centurion’s biggest star at the time, Clete Barrow. A woman had run a stop sign and had been killed as a result. Rick had been quick-witted enough to get the actor out of there and, at Barrow’s urging, called Eddie Harris. Before he knew what had hit him, Rick had become Centurion’s head of security, and since that date, Eddie had given him more and more responsibility.
When Rick had had to get out of L.A. because of a shooting and had joined the navy, Eddie had continued to pay his salary, and when he returned, his knee shot up, Eddie had found the best knee surgeon west of the Mississippi to fix it. Now, with studio founder Sol Weinman dead, Eddie was chairman and CEO, and Rick had his old job as head of production.
Rick’s career as a cop was already on the rocks when he met Eddie, and if not for Eddie, he’d probably be a down-at-the-heels private eye, doing divorce work.
Rick emptied his glass and went up to bed. Glenna was still awake.
“So, is there a part for me?”
“There’s only one decent female role,” Rick replied, “a sort of younger Marjorie Main character.”
Glenna made a face. “Not for me. I’m not ready for character roles.”
“That’s what I thought you’d say.” He tossed the script on the bed and began to undress. “Read it, though; I don’t want you to come back after you’ve seen the picture and yell at me for not giving you the role.”
“I don’t yell.”
“Yes you do when you don’t get the roles you want.” Rick got into bed.
“Mmm, no pajamas, huh?” she asked. “What could that mean?”
“Just that I’m available.”
Glenna took a deep breath. “Before I make that decision, I want to ask you something.”
“Shoot.”
“An unintentionally ironic reply,” she said. “Did you shoot Chick Stampano?”
Rick drew in a quick breath. That was completely unexpected. Stampano had been a slick Mafia thug and blackmailer who had preyed on rising actresses, Glenna among them. He had also given her a horrible beating that had put her in the hospital for weeks. “Why are you asking me that after what, four years?”
“I have an opinion; I just want a fact. I want to know if my husband would kill for me.”
“Yes,” Rick said.
“Yes he would, or yes he did?”
Rick turned and looked her in the eye. “Both,” he said.
“And that’s why you joined the navy, instead of coming to look for me?”
“Yes.”
Glenna shucked off her silk nightgown and wrapped herself around him. “I’m so glad,” she said.
“Glad I joined the navy?”
“Glad it was you who dealt with Stampano.” She kissed him on the neck. “Did it make you feel guilty?”
“No,” Rick replied, “not for a moment. It made me feel sick for a moment, but I knew I had done the right thing. I had already talked with the navy recruiter and had taken my physical. They were able to get me into training almost immediately. I’m surprised Eddie didn’t tell you all of this.”
“He came to see me at the hospital and told me some things but not everything. As soon as I could, I got out and went to New York. Eddie didn’t have a chance to explain further, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. Did you have problems with the police?”
“My friend Ben Morrison was the investigating officer. He bought me enough time to get out of town, then he spread a rumor that I’d gone to Canada to enlist in the Royal Canadian Air Force. When I came back to L.A., after I was wounded, the whole thing had blown over. Nobody seemed to want to know anything, except Bugsy Siegel, who still wanted my head on a platter.”
“Eddie took care of that, didn’t he? I mean, I know the conventional wisdom was that the mob murdered him, but I never believed that.”
“Neither did I, but Eddie never said another word about it after he brought me the newspaper with Ben Siegel’s picture on the front page, missing part of his head.”
She snuggled closer. “Was there something you wanted to do to me?”
“I want to do everything to you.”
She kissed him again. “Then do it.”
And he did.
3
Rick got up early, careful not to wake Glenna, dressed and left the house without breakfast. He got into Eddie Harris’s old 194 °Continental convertible, drove out to Clover Field in Santa Monica, then to his father’s hangar at Barron Flying Service. He parked out back and walked into the hangar. His father was standing before Centurion Studios’ Douglas DC–3, which, after being confiscated for military use and used as a general’s personal transport during the war, had finally been released to its owner. Jack Barron and his people were renovating the airplane thoroughly.