On the second step, Morris turned around. “Doeshn’t
matter. Big Daddy’s dead. Ta-ta.” Clinging to the iron
rail, he wobbled up the stairs.
Judith returned to the bar, took another sip of fine
Scotch, and considered her next move. She was still in
a quandary when Bill came through the main entrance.
“Hi, Bill,” she said, waving from the bar stool. “You
aren’t really Big Daddy Dumas by any chance, are
you?”
Bill stared at Judith. “Why do you ask?”
Judith stared back at him. “Do you know who I’m
talking about?”
“Of course,” he replied. “Dumas is a famous psychological case study from about twenty years ago.
Where did you hear the name?”
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Mary Daheim
Quickly, Judith explained. “So what do you know
about this Dumas?”
Bill looked pained. “Dumas was a black gang lord
in L.A. He was involved in drugs and prostitution. He
was atypical because he didn’t allow his hookers to
take drugs, though he used them to sell the stuff. He
was interesting from a psychological standpoint because the control he exerted over his girls was paternal,
rather than intimidating or enabling. He was creating a
familial bond between himself and the prostitutes. Almost all of them had had no father figure in their lives,
or if they did, he was abusive. Big Daddy never had intercourse with the girls. He protected them and made
sure they were checked out for disease. He acted like a
real father, which was all the more intriguing because
he was only in his twenties and had a large brood of
children of his own. This was one of the first case studies that showed how young people got caught up in
gangs and prostitution rings. It emphasized how the
gang provides a surrogate family and a sense of belonging.”
“What happened to Dumas?” Judith asked. “Morris
Mayne told me he was dead.”
Bill nodded. “I suppose Morris knows the story,
being based in L.A. Dumas was quite a legend there
for almost ten years. One of his girls killed him. He
was also involved in the local music scene, though
whether with promoting talent or just peddling drugs
and sex, I can’t recall. This particular girl, who was
from Mexico, felt Dumas could help her get started as
a singer for the Hispanic audience. He couldn’t or
wouldn’t, so she stabbed him in a fit of rage, claiming
he’d betrayed their family bond.”
SILVER SCREAM
247
“A father-daughter quarrel,” Judith remarked.
“Speaking of children,” Bill said, starting up the
steps, “I’d better join mine before Renie and our kids
eat all the food.”
Judith watched Bill disappear at the top of the staircase, then resumed her place at the bar. The glimmer of
an idea was forming at the back of her brain.
Charles cleared his throat. “Will you be rejoining
your party upstairs?”
“Ah . . .” Judith paused to take a quick sip from her
glass. “Yes, in a few minutes. I had to get away.”
“Oh?” Charles tried to hide his puzzlement.
“I mean, I know I just got here,” Judith explained,
“but those people can be very . . . difficult.”
“The Joneses?” Charles inquired politely.
“Yes, the Joneses.” Judith smiled confidentially.
“They’re relatives, you see.”
“Yes,” Charles agreed tactfully. “Sometimes family
members can be taxing.”
“If you don’t mind, I’ll finish my drink down here,”
Judith said, wondering if she should call a taxi and go
home. Renie and Bill would be stuck with the future
in-laws for at least an hour or two.
“Of course,” Charles responded.
Before Judith could say anything else, a pair of
hefty legs and sensible black pumps came down the
stairway.
“There you are,” Eugenia Fleming said in an accusing tone. “What’s this about the studio calling Morris?
And how did you get him so drunk?”
“He got himself drunk,” Judith declared. “I’ve never
seen anybody drink a Bottle Rocket before. It’s a wonder he didn’t launch himself across the lake.”
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Mary Daheim
Eugenia turned her head in every direction. “What
lake?”
Judith gestured at the slanting windows that faced
the length of the restaurant. “There’s a lake out there.
Two lakes, in fact. And mountains. You can’t see them
because of the fog.”
“Miserable weather,” Eugenia muttered, planting
one black pump on the single step up to the bar. “Now
tell me what’s going on with Morris and the phone
call.”
Judith feigned innocence. “I’m only the messenger.”
“Morris was too drunk to call Paradox,” Eugenia
huffed, her majestic bust heaving. “I wouldn’t let him,
so I called for him. No one there knew anything about
trying to contact him. Vito is very annoyed.”
“That’s a shame,” Judith said placidly, then took another drink of Scotch. “Morris isn’t in trouble, is he?”
“Of course he is!” Eugenia shot back. “We’re all in
trouble!” Abruptly, she put a hand to her large crimson
lips. “That is,” she said in a much softer tone, “this
Bruno incident presents several challenges to all of us
who are involved.”
“I would imagine,” Judith said, sounding sympathetic. “You’ve lost a very important client.”
“Yes,” Eugenia said, then turned to Charles. “Give
me a shot of Tanqueray, straight up.”
Charles complied. Eugenia downed the gin in one
gulp. “Producers like Bruno don’t come around every
day,” she grumbled. “In fact, I was with him from the
beginning, right after he won that film-festival prize.
You might say he owed a lot of his success to me.” She
gave Charles a curt nod. “I’ll have another, please.”
“Really?” Judith remarked. “How does that work?”
SILVER SCREAM
249
Eugenia scowled at Judith. “How does it work? I do
the work, that’s how. I start a buzz, build an image,
play publicist as well as agent. It wasn’t easy with
Bruno,” she said, downing the second gin. “He had
hang-ups, phobias, problems. But I connected him to
the right people. Nobody gives agents credit for the
grunt work involved in building a reputation.”
Judith inadvertently neglected the agent’s efforts as
she zeroed in on a word that had captured her attention.
“You mentioned hang-ups?” Again, she wore her air of
innocence.
“Family background,” Eugenia said, snapping her
fingers at Charles for another hit. “His parents may
have moved to California, where Mr. Zepf worked in
the business, but they were very strict. What would you
expect with a German father and a Midwestern
mother? It’s a wonder Bruno’s creativity wasn’t stifled
before he could leave home.”
“I understand he went in search of his roots,” Judith
said, trying not to stare as Eugenia knocked back a
third gin.
“He did,” Eugenia replied. “He went to Germany to
discover his father’s past. Josef Zepf had come from
Wiesbaden, the son of a shoemaker. Bruno loved Germany, especially the music and the literature. No doubt