Chapter 25
A mile west of Doheny on Sunset, the cab approached the comfortably lit pinkness of the Beverly Hills Hotel, which suddenly seemed preferable to the Infernal Abyss. A few minutes later, she was seated with her White Russian in the Polo Lounge on the phone to Jesse Edwin. "Where are you?"
"Culver City. You can smell the ocean. We're in a rehearsal room on the back lot of Sony Studios. Hirschfeld's call to Freddy Kopelsen seems to be paying off. Freddy's people helped me put together a pickup band. They've already got us booked for a mid-week tryout at Spaceland. You'll never guess who our lead singer is."
"Tell me."
"No way. I want to surprise you. The only clue I'll give you is he's a formerly famous god of rock. He used to look like a freak. Now he looks more like an accountant, but he's still got the voice. Meeting the guy made me feel like Moses in front of the burning bush. I even took off my shoes before I shook his hand."
"Son, you may as well know Hershey is in the hospital. He had a heart attack today. I'm at the Polo Lounge having a drink in his honor."
"I'm sorry, Mom. Not for him. For you. After all you've been through with him, it doesn't seem fair for him to continue ruining your life. Listen, I'll wind up this rehearsal and meet you there."
"No, Jesse Edwin. You keep rehearsing. The real reason I called you is because Just Plain Dot died. I was going to The Dell alone to retrieve her from the freezer when I just plain chickened out. It's nothing that can't wait."
"Just a minute Mom."
In the background, she could hear the eclectic cacophony of musical instruments putting down a funky blues track, the din in question fusing nicely with some expert ethereal vocal intonations, the suspected source of which gave Rickie a slight chill.
"Mom?"
"Your lead singer is Ellard Purl," Rickie said. "I'd know that voice anywhere. What puzzles me is I thought he died of a drug overdose and was thrown overboard by Bob Wagner at one of his Catalina yacht parties."
"You've got a good ear, Mom, and a fair memory. Bobby Wagner didn't get a chance to heave him over to hide the evidence like he did Natalie Wood. He was going to, but Peter Fonda was a guest that night and got to Purl's comatose body first. Peter medevac'd Purl out in time to save him."
"You know, Jesse Edwin, I get the feeling you'll soon be going places you've never been before. Ellard Purl is still a big name with what's left of my generation. He wasn't merely a part of the Seventies, he was the Seventies."
"Mom? I braided my hair. I look merely the way my father did in those pictures."
"Now look what you've done. I'm crying like a fool."
"Hold on, Mom, there's somebody here who wants to say hello."
In spite of herself, Rickie thrilled slightly. Was she, in a matter of seconds, going to be speaking to the legendary Ellard Purl? Would this day's secrets and happenstance never end?
"Hello, Rickie," a voice which could cut gravel rasped. Not Ellard. Shank. "How are you?"
"Fine."
"You don't sound fine."
"I tried to pull off a murder this morning, after which my husband collapsed from a heart attack. Then I had a vision of you returning my kiss, after which I tried unsuccessfully to drown myself. To top it all off, poor little Just Plain Dot did manage to drown herself and is even as we speak in my freezer in Beverly Hills, frozen inside a Gelson's shopping bag. Other than that, I'm fine."
"Where are you?"
"The Polo Lounge, trying to work up the courage to go retrieve the cat."
"Thirty minutes. I'll bring a real kiss with me."
The phone went dead, leaving Rickie with a sense of the unearthly having transpired. A few hours before, she was drowning in the Santa Monica surf. Now she was sitting nursing a cocktail, waiting for a kiss to be delivered. Perhaps the universe held some promise after all.
"How goes the battle. Another drink?" the drink waiter--a forty-something man with the accent, face and manner of a young Al Pacino--queried, his face cast in a practiced flirtatiousness.
Rickie glanced at her glass. Without even realizing it, she'd somehow finished the drink. "I'll have another, but stop with the bedroom eyes. We both know I'm too old to fall for that. It's obvious you're an out of work actor hustling the old rich broads for tips."
"It's that obvious?"
"It is."
"I'm only hustling the locals."
"What makes you think I'm a local?"
"You're not looking around, craning your neck trying to spot a star."
"You're observant. Perhaps you really are an actor. Are you appearing in anything?"
"The odd commercial here and there."
"You're too gorgeous to be doing commercials."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence. I didn't mean to go overboard on the hustle for tips, but I recently finished an off-Broadway thing. You know how it is, I barely made minimum wage. It cost me everything to move out here. I can't even afford a car. Every night after work when I walk to the bus stop I get scoped out by the Beverly Hills PD's K-9. Now, about your drink. The same again?"
"With a little more vodka this time. Keep an eye out for a tall, skinny, crusty old gentleman. He'll be looking for me. When he gets here, don't offer him a drink. Have a pot of your best coffee brewed and waiting."
"Your husband?"
"Just a friend."
He glanced at her wedding ring. "Too bad you're married."
"Damn you," Rickie said, laughing. "You made that seem incredibly real. You accomplished something else. You showed me I can still laugh. I'll tell you what. When you bring me my drink, leave me your agent's name and number and I'll have my husband's people get in touch with you about some real work."
"Like I said, too bad you're married."
"Look, this isn't a come on. I nearly drowned today and I've decided to start being nice to people in the short time I have left on earth. Believe me, I'll have you out of this gig and working on a real movie before the week is over. Now get going on that drink before I change my mind."
"I'm sorry about the phony come on," he said. "It wasn't all phony. I'm sure you've heard this before, but you're a dead ringer for Audrey Hepburn, excepting the red hair, of course. If you'd shown some interest, I would have followed through. I apologize. I just broke up with my girlfriend back in New York. She texted me and put me on her blocked calls list. I guess I've gone a little off the deep end."
"Haven't we all," Rickie said. "Haven't we all."
He departed and she looked down at her hand. With a slow deliberateness, she removed the ring. It is too bad I'm married.