Handsome headed the convertible toward Fairfax Avenue and the motel. Bingo felt in his pocket, touched the papers as though for luck. He still felt a little stunned.
There had been no criticism, no objection from Handsome. Finally Bingo said, “We can always sell it again, like he said. Plenty of buyers would jump at it. Make a nice little profit, too. In fact, I’d do just that, and put us a little ahead, except that I like the house.” He glanced sidelong at Handsome.
“Me, I like it too,” Handsome said.
Bingo breathed deeply with relief. “Mr. Budlong must be a pretty important man. And remember, he said he’d throw some business our way.”
“Bingo,” Handsome said, “what kind of business?”
“Well—” Bingo said.
“What I mean is,” Handsome said, “he doesn’t know what business we’re in. Only what it says on the card, and that don’t explain very much.”
For that matter, Bingo reflected, he didn’t quite know himself what business they were in. Not yet. He said, encouragingly, “Well, anyway, as I was saying before, Handsome, we’ve come a long way. There we were in New York not owning a thing but the cameras, and them in hock. Bang, we leave New York with this swell car, a lot of luggage and elegant clothes, and twelve hundred bucks and a little over. Not only that, along the way we do better than double it, for very little work. So now—”
“Only,” Handsome said, with just a trace of unhappiness, “we didn’t do that taking pictures.”
Bingo didn’t need to be reminded of that, and what’s more, didn’t want to be. “Handsome,” he said sternly, “we’re not going to run into any murders in Hollywood.”
He leaned back, let the breeze ruffle his hair, and contemplated a happy future. “You know,” he said dreamily, after a few blocks, “that’s the first time I ever met a guy who had a Japanese chauffeur. Mr. Budlong must be doing fine.” They’d be doing fine themselves before long. He looked again at Handsome and caught an expression of worry and a touch of bewilderment.
“Something?” he asked anxiously.
Handsome scowled. “I’m trying to remember. About seeing Mr. Budlong before.” He paused. “I mean, about seeing his picture before.” He paused again. “It’s like this, Bingo. I mean, I’ve seen it and I haven’t seen it.”
“Make up your mind,” Bingo said.
“I’m trying to,” Handsome said earnestly. “One minute I have seen it, and one minute I haven’t seen it. It’s that way.”
Bingo looked at his partner with deep concern. “Try to think where you saw it, Handsome.”
Handsome’s brow almost tied itself into knots. “If I saw it,” he said very slowly. “If I did — and I guess I didn’t. But it would’ve been on page three, section one. Next to it was a story about the big flood in Holland. There was a picture of two people and a dog in a rowboat.”
Bingo felt it safe to assume that Courtney Budlong had not been one of the people in the rowboat. He said nothing, and waited.
“And another thing, Bingo,” Handsome said. He sounded really unhappy now. “About April Robin. I know I ought to remember where I saw pictures of her, only I don’t. Not one single solitary picture.” This time, the pause was a long one. “Bingo, I think maybe I’m losing my memory.”
Bingo drew a long, slow breath. “Handsome,” he said, “what were the people in the rowboat like?”
“Them? There was—” Handsome’s eyes narrowed a little with thought — “a lady and a gentleman. She was all wrapped up in a blanket and he had a hat on. The dog was a little, spotted one. It wasn’t a very good picture either.”
“Go on,” Bingo said gently.
“It was February 7, 1953,” Handsome said. “There was a whole page of pictures on page one, section two. One of Queen Juliana and some refugees, but the rest were mostly water. It was an awful lot of water. I remember it was February 7th because Gus Bembough, he was the day bartender at Morrie Gelhart’s Shamrock Tavern, made a hunch bet on Water Baby in the fifth, and it paid sixty-three, forty. I guess you don’t remember Gus.”
“I don’t,” Bingo said, “but I wish I had his hunch system. And you don’t need to worry about your memory, Handsome, you’re doing fine.”
“If you say so, Bingo,” Handsome said. He sounded a little happier.
“And as far as April Robin is concerned,” Bingo said, “why, she was long before your time. Sure, you’ve heard of her. I’ve heard of her. Everybody remembers her. But you couldn’t possibly have seen her picture, because it was too long ago.”
Handsome sighed with relief. “Sure, Bingo,” he said. “Only it bothered me for a little while.”
“She was one of the greats,” Bingo said reverently. And we’re going to be living in her house, he said to himself.
Once more he leaned back, relaxed, and thought what a good world it was and how glad he was to be in it. Oh yes, there were occasional little difficulties, but nothing that couldn’t be overcome without too much hardship.
It continued to amaze him how rapidly the sale of the April Robin house had been put through. He’d never bought a house before, or even dreamed of buying one, but he’d had a feeling that it was a highly complex and long-drawn-out affair, involving banks, lawyers, practically the Supreme Court. This had gone through as quickly and easily as buying a coffee at a drive-in. But, he reminded himself again, this was Hollywood.
He roused himself as Handsome pulled to a stop in front of the Skylight Motel. “It won’t take us long to pack,” he said. “You can start, and I’ll go tell the old lady — I’ll go tell Mrs. DeLee that we’re leaving—”
Handsome glanced at the dashboard clock and said, “It’s after one o’clock. She’ll charge us for tonight anyway.”
Bingo hesitated for just a moment. Then he said firmly, “No, we own a house, and we’re going to sleep in it.” He thought briefly of the beds in the Skylight Motel, and of the two davenports in the mansion. There weren’t any blankets, either. Oh well, he’d slept on davenports before, and they could pick up a couple of blankets somewhere. A day or so, and all that wonderful furniture would be brought out of storage. Paintings, and linens and silver. Then they’d get the yard fixed up, and get acquainted with the neighbors, the society woman on one side, and the big motion picture producer on the other. No doubt about it, they were really in!
He located Mariposa DeLee in the office and stood for a moment wondering how to break the news to her that the International Foto, Motion Picture and Television Corporation of America was moving out. She’d changed to black velveteen toreador pants, and a filmy white blouse shot through here and there with sparkling silver threads. The decorative rhinestone-centered flowers in the back of her hairdo matched her earrings, and she was wearing a fresh job of make-up, but she didn’t look noticeably younger.
“We hate to leave you,” he said, with his best nonprofessional smile, “but we’ve bought a house.” Bought a house. He loved the sound of the words.
Her carefully outlined eyebrows lifted and she said, “Oh?”
“Immediate occupancy, too,” he told her. “So we’re moving in tonight.”
The eyebrows came down, and her eyes went to the wall clock.
“I know,” Bingo said. “Rooms to be vacated by one in the afternoon. But we don’t mind losing the one night’s rental.” Not so long past, he remembered suddenly, that one night’s rental would have paid for a week in New York with enough left over for a few meals. “We just want to get settled, that’s all.”
She smiled then, eyebrows and all, and said, “Well, naturally!”
“We were very lucky,” he said expansively. “Got a terrific buy.” He paused for dramatic effect. “It’s the old April Robin mansion. You remember April Robin, of course.”