“That was a long one. Who were you talking to?”
“Who was I talking to? Betty Bond.”
“You mean you’ve been on the phone to the coast all this time?” he said.
“Is there anything wrong with that?” she said.
“You weren’t talking to Betty Bond just now,” he said.
“Wasn’t I? I guess I wasn’t.”
“No, you sure as hell weren’t. I heard what you said,” he said. “You like to talk dirty when you’re stewed. Who was the guy?”
“I don’t know. Some friend of Betty’s. What difference does it make? Somebody talks dirty to me, I’ll talk dirty to them.”
“Oh, great. Just great,” he said.
“Oh, great yourself. I’m going to bed.”
“That’s probably a good idea, and take the bottle with you,” he said.
“Don’ worry, kid. Don’t you worry about that. I’ll take the bottle with me you can be sure of that,” she said.
When the monthly bill from the telephone company arrived he discovered that her calls to the coast would cost him more than eight hundred dollars. Three of the numbers he recognized; a fourth, a Crestview number, he did not know. “What’s this Crestview number you called sixteen times in the last month?” he said. “And talked over three hundred dollars’ worth?”
“A friend of Betty Bond’s,” she said.
“The one that talks dirty?” he said.
“He’s good for some laughs,” she said.
“I don’t think he’s that funny,” he said. “I’m not laughing. I don’t even know who this guy is, although I sure as hell have his phone number. I guess we’re right back where we were before you had your operation. The same deal holds good. I’ll cut it right down the middle, Celeste. You’ve had your operation, and you don’t need me any more. So why don’t you make your plans accordingly?”
“You mean get a divorce?”
“The same deal. For eight hundred dollars a month I’d like to get a few laughs, but I’d rather pick my own comic. You’ve obviously picked yours. By the way, does he call you eight hundred dollars’ worth, or am I paying for it all?”
“Get me a reservation and I’ll leave tomorrow,” she said. “I’ll stay with Betty for a while, till I find someplace.”
“Rots of ruck,” he said. “I’ll get in touch with Henry Duskin and he’ll find you some other lawyer. You can trust Henry.”
He accompanied her to Idlewild the next afternoon. “I must say you’re behaving like a perfect gentleman,” she said.
“Never mind the sarcasm,” he said. “Just be sure and get off that plane sober. I know Betty Bond, and you could wear out your welcome pretty quickly. She may like parties and all that, but she and Arthur aren’t going to put up with—”
“Oh, don’t start telling me about Betty and Arthur at this late date,” she said. “Thanks for bringing me out here. I’ll go see Henry Duskin tomorrow or the next day.”
A week passed before he heard from her again, and then it was not from her but of her, through a telephone call by Henry Duskin, Jack’s lawyer and friend. “She finally came to see me yesterday, after breaking two appointments,” said Henry. “Jack, she’s in pretty bad shape. I gave her the names of a couple of good lawyers, but she didn’t even write them down. I offered to phone one from my office and she said there was no hurry. I’m a little afraid they may ask her to leave the Bel-Air.”
“The Bel-Air? I thought she was staying at the Bonds’.”
“She was, but she left there after two nights. I don’t know whether it was by request, but I’m inclined to think it was. I got her in at the Bel-Air but I don’t know how long they’ll let her stay. They had to carry her out of the cocktail lounge the day before yesterday.”
“Was she alone?”
“Then she was, but not later,” said Henry Duskin. “Jack, I’m afraid this situation is a lot more serious than you led me to believe. I think you ought to get on a plane and come out here. You can stay at my house if you like, to avoid any publicity, but there was a line in one of the columns this morning that was unmistakably about Celeste and this Joe Albridge character. I’ll read it to you. ‘That former movie biggie’s wife and her boy friend, initials J. A., don’t care who knows it.’”
“Who is Albridge?”
“He’s one of those guys you always see around Hollywood. In the old days they used to call them gigolos, but not any more. They call them ‘ad execs’ or just plain ‘execs.’ A lot of them came here after the war, looking for the soft touch.”
“I’ll be there sometime tomorrow,” said Jack Dorney.
He was met at the airport by Henry Duskin, who had with him a stout man in a silk-like suit. “This is Morris Manville, does investigating for me,” said Henry.
“My pleasure, Mr. Dorney,” said Manville. “I go back a long way with you. To the time when you used to own that gray LaSalle. You wouldn’t remember, but I let you talk me out of giving you a ticket.”
“Morris was formerly in the Los Angeles Police Department.”
“Till I broke my leg,” said Manville.
“A hazardous occupation, motorcycle policeman,” said Jack.
“Only I broke it playing touch football with some kids,” said Manville.
“We can sit down and have a cup of coffee,” said Henry. “Morris has another assignment.”
The three men sat at an isolated table in the airport restaurant. “Proceed, Morris,” said Henry.
“Will do,” said Manville. He took out a notebook. “I have exact times and all that. License numbers, street addresses. All in here. But Henry says you’ll just want the gist of it, so here goes. The lady I have down here as C. D., the fellow I refer to as J. A. They left the Bel-Air Hotel the day before yesterday shortly after luncheon and visited various private residences till around ha’ past eight in the evening. Drove to the LaRue restaurant, only stayed there about ten minutes and then to an address on Pico where J. A. has an apartment. They were there steadily since, with the exception that J. A. left the apartment to have a prescription filled at the drug store in the Beverly-Wilshire Hotel. That was yesterday afternoon. During the night my relief man reported they had a visit from a doctor, and shortly after that a private ambulance took the woman C. D. to a private hospital out in the Valley, which she is still there. I or my assistant made no effort to ascertain what name she was registered under or any other information due to the fact that this particular private hospital is extremely uncooperative. The fact of the matter is, it’s an expensive setup with a lousy reputation.”
“Thank you, Morris. We won’t keep you any longer,” said Henry.
“You gave me an autograph for my daughter, Mr. Dorney. And now she has a kid starting to collect them.”
“No autographs today, Morris,” said Henry.
“No, course not. Discretion,” said Manville. He shook hands and left.
“I really put him to work not so much for the information as some kind of protection,” said Henry.
“Oh, I understand that, Henry,” said Jack. “I’m glad you did.”
“The question now is, do we go and get her? If you go, you’d better have me along, in case they want to be difficult. Then depending on what condition she’s in, we ought to arrange to take her to a legitimate place I know in Altadena.”
“She might be there a long time,” said Jack.
“Do you know anything about the prescription, what that would be for?”
“Sleeping pills, I imagine. She could always call up Dr. White, used to be her doctor here.”
“The combination of liquor and sleeping pills, I don’t like that combination. Well, you sit tight for a few minutes and I’ll call the place in Altadena. It’s run by my brother-in-law’s brother.”
Henry Duskin had a black Cadillac limousine with a c
hauffeur, imposing enough in ordinary circumstances, but they were halted at the gate of the private hospital. A man in a uniform that closely resembled that of the Sheriff’s Patrol stopped the car. “What name, sir?”
“I’m Henry Duskin, the attorney-at-law.”
“Are you expected, Mr. Duskin?”
“I don’t have an appointment, if that’s what you mean. But I’m sure they’ll recognize my name.”
“Oh, I recognized your name all right. And the other gentleman? Can I have his name?”
“Come now, are you an American citizen?” said Henry.
“I certainly am.”
“Then you ought to recognize this gentleman by sight.”
“Oh—Jack Dorney? Uh-huh. I see. Well, just hold on a minute till I call the office,” said the guard. “Routine regulations.” He went to a lodge-sentry box, and they could guess that he was being asked a lot of questions on the telephone. His manner, when he returned, was that of a chastened man. “Go ahead, but stay in the car till you’re told to get out,” he said.
“By whom?” said Henry.
“By the proprietor, the head man,” said the guard. “You aren’t supposed to come here without an appointment. Go on.”
The driveway was not long, but it was curved, and the entrance to the main house was invisible from the public road. The house was a ranch type, to which wings had been added. Some of the windows were covered with grillwork that would serve the same purpose as iron bars. At the entrance a deeply tanned man with a thin black moustache, wearing frontier pants and a stockman’s jacket waited to greet them.
“I am Dr. Reznick. Would you gentlemen care to follow me to my private office please? This way, gentlemen, please. I was about to go for a ride on one of my palominos. We have several saddle horses for the use of our guests, and I myself am a keen horseman. Now, gentlemen, if you will kindly be seated, please.” He pointed to a couple of carved Mexican chairs. “I am honored, of course, by the visit of two such distinguished gentlemen. Cigars, gentlemen? Cigarettes?”
“Dr. Reznick, we learned that Mrs. Dorney is a patient—”
“Please—guest. Guest.”
“Guest. Patient. Inmate. The point is, she’s here, and we’ve come to get her.”
“So I assumed, of course,” said Reznick. “Well, why not? She is free to leave. I sensed a certain aggressiveness in your attitude, Mr. Duskin, but I assure you none of our guests remain here against their will.” He picked up a piece of paper that was lying on his desk. “As a lawyer, Mr. Duskin, you will find this document, which Mrs. Dorney signed, you will find this document carefully prepared.”
“I was sure I would,” said Henry.
“Guests enter my ranch voluntarily, stay as long as they like and only as long as they like. I am a doctor of medicine, but my services as a doctor are separate from my function as proprietor of this ranch. Look about you, gentlemen. Does this look like the office of a doctor? No. My clinic is elsewhere on the premises. But many of my guests come here and stay for weeks at a time without consulting me as a physician. They ride horseback, play tennis, swim in the pool, and relax. Listen to good music on occasion.”
“Then this would be the last place a woman would come to if she had to have an abortion,” said Henry.
“Under certain conditions, Mr. Duskin, we could perform an abortion. Or an appendectomy. Tonsillectomy. My clinic has all the necessary facilities. I myself am not a gynecologist, if that answers your question.”
“Just what are you, Doctor?”
“What am I? I am an M.D. licensed to practice in the State of California, and the proprietor of a dude ranch. Unfortunately I am not also a graduate of law school, and am not equipped to bandy words with such a distinguished member of the bar as the renowned Henry Duskin.”
“Oh, you’re doing all right,” said Henry.
“Yes. If my English were better. But only since 1935 I have been in this country.”
“You speak better English than I do,” said Jack Dorney.
“Ah, Mr. Dorney. I was wondering whether Mr. Duskin arranged to do all the talking, you were so silent. Utterly silent. A rare thing in your profession.”
“Very rare,” said Jack.
“Mrs. Dorney was not expecting you, but I can send for her. If you wish to take her away, I must urge you to see that she has rest. She was—exhausted when she came here. We could help her in a matter of weeks, or months, possibly. But Mr. Duskin obviously has preconceived notions of this institution, and I have no desire to convert Mr. Duskin. Your wife needs rest, Mr. Dorney, and then I think her physician would suggest psychiatric care. But I am not her physician, make that clear, Mr. Duskin. She has had no medication here except that which she brought with her, prescribed for her by Dr. White.” He spoke into the desk inter-com. “Ask Mrs. Dorney to come to my office, please. I believe you will find her down at the swimming pool.”
The three men made no conversational effort while waiting for Celeste to appear. She was not long. She was wearing a beach robe and wooden sandals, and when she saw Jack she said, “Oh, for Christ’s sake.”
“Your husband and Mr. Duskin have come to take you away,” said Reznick.
“What if I don’t want to go away?” said Celeste.
“Then you may stay, but under the circumstances I think you should go with them,” said Reznick.
“What circumstances?” said Celeste.
“Henry’s car is outside. We want to take you to a place we know about, run by his brother-in-law,” said Jack.
“What kind of a place?” said Celeste. “I have nothing against this place.”
“Be careful what you say now, Mr. Duskin,” said Reznick.
“Thank you, Dr. Reznick. I’ll be careful. Celeste, this place is a dump and Dr. Reznick is a phony. Please pack your bag and come with us. You know you can trust us, and you don’t know the first thing about Dr. Reznick.”
“Very careless talk for a lawyer,” said Reznick.
“Get me in court, Dr. Reznick. I’ve found out enough about you in the last twenty-four hours to beat your brains out. Just get me in court. Are you coming, Celeste?”
“Oh—I guess so,” she said. “I’ll meet you at the car.” She left.
“Do you wish to write me a cheque for Mrs. Dorney’s bill?” said Reznick.
“Yes.”
“The charge is $150 a day, or any part of a day. That will be $300 plus incidentals. I have the whole thing here. Ambulance, $85. Meals, $80. Beverages and Room Service, $28. Telephone, $22. Lending library, $2. That’s $2 a week or any part of a week. Night maid service, $10. Under the contract I could charge you for a week, the minimum, but I’m only charging you for two days. That will be $527 plus tax. Five forty-three seventy-one. Make it out to J-R Ranch, Incorporated, please.”
“Cheap at half the price,” said Henry.
“Mr. Dorney will see how our bill compares with your brother-in-law’s. Perhaps you may be putting your brother-in-law on the spot,” said Reznick.
“Perhaps so,” said Henry. “But my brother-in-law gets no customers from Mr. Joe Albridge. Mr. Joe Albridge never heard of my brother-in-law.”
“Mr. Albridge happens to be a personal friend of mine, Mr. Famous Barrister Duskin,” said Reznick.
“Yes, I find that very easy to believe,” said Henry. “I don’t doubt that for a minute.”
“I know what you’re hinting at, Duskin. I just wonder how you, a Jew, could believe in guilt by association.”
“Dr. Reznick, long before anybody heard that phrase, guilt by association, there was an old saying, ‘Birds of a feather flock together.’”
“Here’s your cheque,” said Jack, laying it on the desk.
“Thank you, sir,” said Reznick. “I see that it’s drawn on a New York bank. You have no assets in California, Mr. Dorney?”
&n
bsp; “Don’t answer that question,” said Henry.
“The reason I asked it, Mr. Dorney, you may be called upon to testify in my suit against Mr. Duskin. In fact, you would be one of my important witnesses. But if you refused to come from New York State, the judge would attach your assets. That why I asked the question.”
“Don’t worry your pretty head about that, Dr. Reznick. If you ever bring a suit against me, I guarantee you Mr. Dorney will be there. I can say that with such conviction because I know there will be no suit. Your lawyer will tell you that you must come into court with clean hands—and yours are filthy. Take care, Dr. Reznick, while you are making threats of lawsuits, take care that you do not put the same idea into the minds of other people. Come on, Jack, let’s get out of this dump. It smells bad.”
Celeste was waiting in the car, looking downcast, with her hands folded in her lap. Jack took the middle seat beside her and Henry sat on his right. “What is this place you want to take me to?” she said. “A head-shrinker?”
“He has a head-shrinker there,” said Henry.
“Well, I probably could use one. But why go to all that expense? I know what’s wrong with me. I know everything that’s wrong with me, past, present and future. Take me to the head-shrinker if you like, but I’ll tell you once and for all, I don’t want to go. No psychiatrist is going to undo in a few months what it took me over fifty years to build up. And maybe I don’t want to be changed.”
“Where to, Mr. Duskin?” said the chauffeur.
“Let’s head out the Valley and I’ll tell you when to turn around,” said Henry. He pressed the button that raised the glass partition behind the driver’s seat.
“I know what I want,” said Celeste. “Or what I don’t want, is more like it. I don’t want to be separated from my husband. If I am separated from you, Jack, I’ll be dead in a year. Please take me back to New York with you.”
“You can’t say no to that, Jack,” said Henry.
“No, I can’t. I don’t, either, as long as Celeste is sure she means what she says,” said Jack.