A
Hollywood Mystery
This story of murder, intrigue, mystery and Hollywood glamour is the result of a fun-filled weekly collaboration of many blogging and Facebook friends. Each contributed a chapter until the mystery was solved. One thing they all have in common - they love classic films and a good mystery! Many thanks to all the writers. It was great fun!
Part
1
It was a busy Saturday night
at the Brown Derby. Hedda held court in one booth, Louella in another (a
respectable distance apart, of course). Current King of Hollywood Clark Gable and
new bride Carole Lombard had their heads together like the lovebirds they were.
Clark had just finished shooting the highly anticipated “Gone with the Wind”
and was looking forward to spending some much needed alone-time with his wife
before going off to the Atlanta premier. Clark’s co-star Vivien Leigh and her
companion, Laurence Olivier, were deep in conversation in a dark corner and a
bored Paulette Goddard toyed with her luscious diamond and emerald bracelet while
husband Charlie Chaplin and best pal, and past King of Hollywood, Douglas
Fairbanks reminisced about the old days. Doug was with new wife, Sylvia, who
Charlie only tolerated. Paulette liked her just fine, but was hoping Doug’s ex,
Mary Pickford, would stroll in with her pretty hubby, Buddy Rogers, just to add
some spice to the evening. Money men, producers and directors chatted about
their next projects and everyone eyed everyone else to make sure they missed
nothing.
Sitting below the caricatures
of himself and Groucho Marx were Cary Grant and his usual date, Phyllis Brooks.
Miss Brooks was a pretty blonde and a good, undemanding companion – just what
Cary needed after a busy year of filming “Gunga Din,” “Only Angels have Wings,”
and “In Name Only.” They were enjoying their dinner of Spaghetti and veal
cutlets when suddenly a waiter ran from the kitchen out onto the restaurant
floor. His jacket was covered in blood and, before he could utter a word, he
collapsed, dead, right at Louella Parson’s feet. All in attendance here
horrified, Hedda was steamed, and it became quite clear that there would be no desert
served that night.
Management and wait staff
attempted to escort everyone out of the restaurant. Startled stars wandered out onto North Vine
Street, while Louella and Hedda had to be forcibly removed before the police
came. Cary and Phyllis were among the amazed crowd that lingered in front of
the restaurant. Cary thought it best to go home and leave things to the police,
but Phyllis wanted to stay. “Why, Phyllis?” he asked. “What can we do except
get in the way?” Phyllis started to speak, but her speech was muffled by the
sobs she had been suppressing. “We can’t
leave”, she managed, “not just yet. That waiter - I know him.”
To
be continued…….
Submitted by Marsha Collock
Part
2
Phyllis looked up at Cary, her teary eyes held
his gaze. "You see...I know him from...."
Just then a long black limousine stopped in
front of them. A handsome chauffeur got out of the driver side and came around
to open the passenger door. Another handsome man in a tuxedo came out and assisted
Mae West out of the car. Her long satin gown was the color of moonlight in
evening. "Hey Cary, what's going on? This place looks deader than a
temperance meeting on St. Patrick's Day."
"A waiter was killed here tonight Mae, we
were just leaving," he said, taking Phyllis's hand in his.
"Oh, I missed all the drama. Let's go to
the Coconut Grove then," Mae said looking up at her date.
Out of the shadows a lone figure walked up to the
two couples. He smelled of alcohol and was hiding something in his pocket. He
stopped and swayed a little on his feet.
"Any a youse got a quarter for some
coffee?" He slurred. Mae took a quarter out of her beaded hand bag and
gave it to him. "Thanks lady." He handed her a folded note and said,
"You'll want to read that, it's important" as he walked back into the
shadows.
To
be continued…….
Submitted by Tracey Witt
Part 3
And,
earlier that day….
Charlie Chaplin steered
his Pierce-Arrow south on Vine and turned left onto Sunset Boulevard. He
swerved around the corner to view scores of hopeful actors lined up outside of
Chaplin Studios. They were all there for the same purpose -- to audition
for a handful of small parts in Chaplin’s new controversial film, The Great Dictator.
The crowd of actors moved away from the studio gate and allowed the pale blue
convertible to pass -- the aspirants all stretching to catch a glimpse of the
great Chaplin.
Once inside, Carl Voss
waited patiently as other actor’s names were called before his. “Another cattle
call. It never ends,” said Carl to a familiar looking mug in the next
seat. There were so many actors, and so few roles. Chaplin, forever
the perfectionist, took his time, hand selecting his choices for even the
smallest of parts. The hours passed and still Carl waited. He knew
he would soon have to leave if he was to be on time for work or he would pay
the consequences.
Like other actors, Carl
had to support himself between gigs. After all, he hadn’t had a paying
part since his bit role in Little
Miss Broadway, and that was months ago. The sweet Shirley Temple
film had helped to launch Phyllis’ career to the next level. So much so,
that she had moved on to a better social circle and left poor Carl flat --
brokenhearted and struggling. Phyllis really thought she was the cat’s
meow since she caught Cary Grant’s eye. She was all dolled up and rubbing
elbows with the right crowd now. Grant not only had the looks; he had
deep pockets. Carl felt double crossed, but he still carried a torch for
Phyllis and he wouldn’t give up. Carl felt sure that this new film would
bring him a perfect opportunity and his life would take a new direction.
If Chaplin only knew about his past he would know that Carl was made for this
picture. So much was riding on his success. Carl just needed one good
break so he would no longer have to wait tables at… The Brown Derby.
Sure, it helped pay the bills, and it allowed him to network with some of
Hollywood’s highest royalty, but Johnny, the abusive head waiter, seemed to
have some kind of beef with Carl. It started over a waitress named Betty.
Johnny had eyes for the little brunette tomato who liked to flirt with
Carl even though she wasn’t Carl’s type. Carl had to get out of
there. He wasn’t going to take it anymore. Just one lucky break was
all he needed to steal the show. Then Phyllis would come back. He
knew it.
The clock ticked. It
was now 4:27. Carl would have to leave soon if he were to race the 2
blocks to The Derby and still sign in before 5:00. He desperately wanted
a part in Chaplin’s new film. Carl opened his portfolio and removed a
small piece of stationery. He carefully crafted his note and then made
his way to the receptionist’s desk. “Hello, my name is Carl Voss.
Miss West asked Mr. Chaplin to see me today,” he said to the efficient looking
woman behind the desk. She looked back at him with an expression of
disinterest. “Mr. Chaplin is currently engaged in the last audition of
the day. You’ll have to come back tomorrow,” she said. “Please,”
Carl urged, “I wonder if you would be so kind as to give Mr. Chaplin this
note. Please!”
Carl ran out the door and
hurried up Sunset Boulevard toward Vine. Then – a lucky break. A
jalopy slowed and blasted the horn. “Hey, Hotshot! You headed to work?
Hop in. I’ll give you a ride!” It was Carl’s old pal Alan – another
aspiring actor/waiter. “Aw go chase yourself!” Carl called back
laughing. Carl and Al were chums from way back. Phyllis had
introduced them at an audition and they ended up sharing a bungalow for a while.
Al was a swell guy even if he had done some time in the big house – something
about getting even with a guy for not paying some gambling debts. Carl
didn’t want anything to do with it. But hey, sometimes it’s good to have
a pal who’s packing heat. Carl vaulted into the car and they sped toward
the Derby making it to work with time to spare.
To be continued…..
Submitted by Elaine Mosher
PART 4
Mae was not in the least bit surprised by the inebriated stranger
who had staggered over to her as she stood outside The Brown Derby with her
date, Roy, Cary Grant and his starlet of the month Phyllis Brooks. She
was accustomed to having strangers approach her for an autograph, a hand out,
even asking for a small part in one of her movies. She took the note with
her gloved hand and stuffed it in her beaded purse which had just enough room
in it for some lipstick and a gold compact. The purse had been a gift from W.C.
Fields. He had it sent to Mae after the movie, "My Little Chickadee"
had finished filming its last scene. It was that horrid man's attempt at
an apology for the way she had been treated by Universal. The nerve of those
big shots they had the gall to give both Mae and Fields equal screen writing
credit for the movie. Everyone in Hollywood knew that Mae had written the
original screenplay. Now after waiting for an hour in her limousine for
traffic to clear and start moving all she wanted to do was go home...she had a
note to read.
"Phyllis darling," "Calm yourself" said Cary
with concern in his voice. "What did you mean when you said,"
"I know that waiter from"... after what seemed like an eternity
they had finally arrived at her modest apartment in Burbank. Phyll, as Cary
liked to call her, nervously paced the living room floor while smoking a
cigarette. "He is, I mean, he used to be my husband." she sobbed.
Instead of going straight to The Brown Derby from the auditions,
Al had made a stop to talk to an "acquaintance" of his. Carl,
was impatiently waiting in the car for Al to finish talking to the beefy guy in
the pin stripe suit. The guy’s name was Mick De La Rosa. Carl had seen
him hanging around the back entrance of The Brown Derby. Waiters had set up a
couple of tables and chairs outside and would take their breaks in the smelly
alley. Al was a swell guy but the crowd he hung out with made Carl’s skin
crawl. After waiting for 30 minutes Carl jumped out of the car and
hurriedly made his way to The Brown Derby...
To be continued……
Submitted by Tina Cosio
Part
5
Solitude. Sometimes all a girl wants is some alone time.
Mae West had sent her insistent beau of the evening off to his own
devices. Having slipped into a comfortable, yet showy kimono Mae surveyed
her luxurious art deco living room with satisfaction. She had worked long
and hard for her success, and she enjoyed it. The bear rug, three paneled
mirror and meticulously cared for porcelain knick-knacks were signs that she
had made it. The small beaded bag she had taken with her for the evening's
entertainment lay on the silken upholstered divan. Inside was the start
of something big. She could sense it. She was never wrong.
Slowly she poured herself a glass of perrie in a Waterford cut glass and
circled the bag as if circling an admiring swain. Anticipation was often
the greatest part of pleasure.
Barely an hour had passed since the scene out front of the Brown
Derby. The well-dressed coterie Hollywood's elite shell-shocked and
wondering how to react in front of the press and the police with no script to
follow and no director to provide motivation. If only she could have
gotten inside to see the body. Surely the radio would have the story by
now. The top-of-the-line Crosley model 639M had a console to match Mae's
luxurious taste and worked at the push of a button with no muss or fuss.
"It appears that the murdered man was not an employee of the
restaurant after all, despite his attire. According to police sources no
identification was found on the body. Witnesses are being unco-operative
at the present time. Sources close to the scene have disclosed a possible
gangland connection to the incident. We will update you with further news
should it become available."
Mae turned the radio off and stretched out her full 5' frame on
the antique lounge. Another sip from the chilled glass and now to see
what Henry had to say for himself. She was the only one of the
group, too spellbound by the trouble to recognize dear old H.B. Warner on one
of his toots. Mae shook her head. Warner was getting lots of work
these days, why would he risk it in such a way?
The note was slightly crumpled from having been quickly tossed
into the crowded bag. The writing, however, showed an educated and
practiced hand. It read ...
"When is a marriage not really a marriage."
More hastily scrawled at the bottom, as if an afterthought:
"Someone likes to gamble."
Mae smiled softly and hummed a little tune. A phony
marriage? Gamblers? Wouldn't the police like to know? Well
maybe she'd tell them, but maybe first she'd do the Torchy Blane act and bring
the cops the solution to this crime on a silver platter. There wasn't
anyone in this town she didn't know and nothing Mae West couldn't do.
Plus, she had just the outfit for a lady detective!
To be continued……
Submitted by Patricia Nolan-Hall
Part
6
Cary cradled Phyll in his arms. "Is there more that you want to tell
me?" Cary gently asked her.
Phyllis wanted to forget everything she had ever Phyllis wanted to forget everything she had ever known about her ex-husband. The memory of the days of being in love with him
and living the good life had been erased by the events preceding the end of
their marriage. He had become involved with unsavory characters who were
a threat to her career as well as her life. She did not want to reveal his real
identity, but she did feel some obligation to tell Cary more. After all, they
had just seen him murdered. And, Phyllis had as many questions as answers.
"I'm not sure what to tell you," she
began. "You see, my own life is in danger if I tell all that I know. Bill,
my ex, was known by the elite of the Hollywood community early in his career;
he was much older than I and knew some of the most elite stars in Hollywood. I
don't know much about his life before me. But his star had faded, and many of
his so-called friends had forgotten him. He was devastated that he could no
longer get work in Hollywood and began to drink heavily and gamble. His
drinking led to...well, let's just say, I divorced him so that I could go on
with my life. I suppose I should have kept in touch with him, but I didn't, and
now ... well, now I may not ever know what really happened to him...or who he
was involved with. Oh, Cary, what should I do?"
To be continued...
Submitted by Linda Thacker
Part 7:
Cary was reeling. In the space of just under an hour he had
witnessed a man dying, learned that the dead waiter was a former movie star and
that Phyllis was once married to him. And, to make matters worse, she felt her
life was in danger. He wanted to help, really he did, but he was not thinking
clearly because earlier that night….
Cary had arranged to meet Phyllis at the Brown Derby at 7.
Normally he would have done the gentlemanly thing and called for her, but both
of them were meeting directly after a long day before the cameras and meeting
at the Derby for dinner seemed easier. Cary arrived at about 6:30. Minutes
later an assembled crowd of notable guests entered into the Brown Derby. Among these
were John Barrymore, Ethel Barrymore and Lionel Barrymore. John, needing a
pre-dinner alcoholic pick-me-up, saw Cary and asked him to join him at the bar.
Cary was thrilled – he admired John Barrymore so much, and soon found himself
engaged in a vodka-fueled conversation. John was only getting started, but
after 2 drinks, Cary was feeling a bit buzzed. While he and John dished the
Hollywood dirt, Cary noticed that many of the restaurants patrons were tying
one on. In particular, he noticed Mae West’s old pal, H.B. Warner getting ready
to go on one of his famous toots.
Back in the main lounge at the Brown Derby, Ethel and Lionel
became concerned over John’s disappearance to the bar. They thought he might
have forgotten where their table was in the large restaurant, but after a half
hour of waiting, John was nowhere to be found. Ethel began to worry about her
little brother. "Oh no, I hope he's alright" she said, but Lionel
knew brother Jack was either drunk or flirting with some starlet or both. Forty
minutes had passed and John still had not returned. Ethel spied Phyllis Brooks
sitting by herself, patiently waiting for her date. "I must go and see
where John is" said a worried Ethel. “Stay here, “said Lionel, “I’ll get
him – as usual.” Lionel scanned every section of the Brown Derby for John and
Cary, but they were nowhere to be found. Lionel was now starting to worry. Just
as he was about to head back to his table, he heard the sound of laughter
coming from an alley behind the building. Making his way back there he found
John, Cary and assorted waiters and other types engaged in a game of dice. Upon
Lionel’s appearance, John quickly hid the open bottle of vodka behind him. Cary
suddenly remembered Phyllis and dashed past the growling Lionel, feeling mighty
unsteady on his feet. But he was sure steadier than John Barrymore, who after
standing up and bowing to his brother, promptly passed out on the pavement.
Phyllis was annoyed at having
been kept waiting, but soon all of that was forgotten when Carl Voss a.k.a.
Bill Cassidy dropped dead before the appetizers were ordered.
To be continued….
Submitted by Crystal Kalyana
Pacey and Marsha Collock
Part 8:
The Scene
There's a method to a homicide investigation.
Police arrive and enter through the least likely
route, in this case via a back alley. They check the victim and note their time
of arrival. The victim is photographed and all physical evidence is removed
from the victim. The scene is roped off and all witnesses are identified
and statements are taken and duly recorded.
Attempts are made to establish the victim's
movements prior to the crime. This involves the identification of the victim,
and all background information, i.e. relatives, friends, employment, criminal
record, finances, romantic involvement(s), narcotics, gang involvement etc.
On this night, for this case, Detective Archer
conducts the investigation. All steps having been followed, Det. Archer sets
about the process of questioning witnesses and those present at the Brown Derby
at the time of the occurrence.
Hopper, Parsons, Gable, Lombard, Leigh, Olivier,
Goddard, Chaplin, Fairbanks. The detective's notes read like the credits of one
of Ken Murray's home movies. Their testimony is entered in Archer's notepad and
before dismissing them he announces that they are free to leave but cautions
them to refrain from travel outside the State until clearance is
authorized by the LAPD.
As the A-List cast strolls out of the
Derby, a lone figure waits behind. A waiter, sans his uniform jacket,
approaches Archer and asks the detective if he may speak to him privately. Once
he is certain that all the stars and starlets have gone, he begins to
address the detective.
“Well, what is it, young man?" Archer
asked.
" Sir, I think you should know that there
are a couple of witnesses that departed the restaurant before you arrived.”
" A couple?" Archer asked. "Is
that so?”
The waiter replied " Yes, and I believe
they may know more, much more, than you may have already ascertained from this
group "
Archer, intrigued asked " Do you know their
names ?"
" Oh sure I do. Everyone in this town, in
this state, in this country, in fact knows the name Cary Grant".
.....to be continued.....
Submitted by Jerry Oddo
Part 9
Even hardboiled Detective Archer,
usually underwhelmed by the so-called “stars” of Hollywood, felt a wave of
excitement over the prospect of questioning the debonair Cary Grant. He had
just seen him in “Gunga Din,” and had to admit that pretty boy could act. But
first, before confronting Mr. Grant, Archer had 2 orders of business to attend
to.
One was to find that out-of-uniform
waiter. Citizens are rarely so helpful unless they have something to hide. Good
Samaritans in Hollywood were like virgins in a cat-house – non-existent.
Archer watched as Carl Voss’ body was
removed. He remembered watching him in westerns as a kid when he was known as
Billy Cassidy. Poor Billy didn’t make the cut in talkies and had been reduced
to bit parts and waiting tables. But, just 10 years ago he was riding high.
After Voss/Cassidy was shipped off to
the morgue and the crime scene was cleared, Archer began methodically
interviewing the Derby employees, who were told to remain on hand for
questioning. Not surprisingly, none seemed to know who the mystery informant
was. Finally, Frankie, a dishwasher who looked as though he needed a good
scrubbing, thought he knew the man in question. He was a fill-in guy
named Alan. Like everyone else in Hollywood he was an aspiring actor and
worked occasionally as a waiter or busboy, but mostly he was interested in the
gambling that took place in the alley behind the restaurant. Alan was a master
at knowing when some poor slob got paid and then separating that slob from his
paycheck. If anyone asked, Alan claimed to be an actor, but the reality was
that he but found cards and the occasional blackmail an easier way to make a
living.
Archer knew Alan was too smart to come
back to the Derby any time soon. So, he figured he’d do the next thing on his
list: question Mr. Grant. Questioning a big star without studio interference
could be tricky, but Archer had an ace up his sleeve. Once home, he’d call his
good friend and sometime girlfriend, Mae West, and ask her to arrange a
meeting. Mae gave Cary one of his first big breaks in Hollywood, and Cary
remained forever grateful to her. Archer was sure Mae could convince Cary to
meet with her. The detective was eager for any excuse to see Mae. Besides being
fun and sexy, Mae not only had a natural nose for trouble, but she loved a good
mystery.
Little did he know Mae was holding a
few cards of her own.
To be continued...
- Submitted by Marsha Collock
Part
10
Mae West had called her
friend Cary and told him that Archer wanted to interview him and Phyllis about
Billy Cassidy’s murder. Cary confided to Mae that he was worried about Phyllis.
She always seemed to be short of money, even though she was working steadily. Just
what was she doing with her money? Mae knew Cary was – for a better word –
thrifty, and while he might not mind picking up the check for dinner, he would
never volunteer to pay for a girl’s new pair of shoes. Cary also told Mae that
Phyllis confessed she had once been married to the former cowboy star, but that
she has refused to talk about it since the night of his death.
So, Mae thought, the little
blonde cutie finally came clean. Mae and Billy went way back, way before he
came to Hollywood. She knew him as one half of the vaudeville act Voss and
Ross, the other partner being one Alan Ross. Voss was the straight man/singer
and Ross was the comedian/dancer. A male impersonator by the name of Anabel
Rose traveled with Voss and Ross. She was pretty darn good, as Mae remembered,
if a bit on the short side. Mae soon set her sights on Broadway and then
Hollywood, while Carl Voss headed for Hollywood, changed his name to Billy
Cassidy, and became a cowboy star. While sitting in a jail cell in Manhattan in
1927 for corrupting the morals of theater-goers with her play, Sex, Mae read in the papers that Cassidy
had acquired a wife, the former vamp star known as Anastasia Petrova. Mae never
met Anastasia, since her star had flamed out by the time she had married Billy,
but Mae knew 3 things: 1. Anastasia was once
Anabel Rose, sister of Alan Rosenberg, aka Alan Ross, 2. Anastasia and Billy
were never legally divorced, and 3. the marriage to Phyllis Brooks was a sham.
Mae also suspected one other thing: It was Anastasia, aka Anabel Rose in drag,
who slipped her that note the night of the murder.
Now Mae had only one
dilemma: should she tell Archer all she knew before the meeting with Cary and
Phyllis or after?
To be continued....
- Submitted by Marsha Collock
Part
11
Cary was having second
thoughts about meeting with Archer. He had worked too hard to get where he was,
to get dragged into a scandal… especially a murder. The more he thought about
it, the more he knew he didn’t want to get involved.
He called his agent, Frank
Vincent. Frank had recently helped Cary become a “free-agent” (of sorts) with
an unprecedented dual studio contract with RKO and Columbia Pictures. Frank
would know what to do!
The doorbell rang. It wasn’t
Archer, at all. There stood Old Mae, herself.
She looked behind her to see
if she’d been followed, then hurried in and slammed the door. Not the glamour
girl her fans had come to love, here instead stood an out of breath woman in a
trench coat and galoshes. She was surprised to see that Phyllis was still in
tow.
“Cary, you’ve gotta help me.
Phyllis, you might as well hear this, too. You’re gonna find out soon enough, I
think we’re BOTH involved up to our elbows in this murder…”
Just then, lawyers from both
studios arrived at Cary’s bungalow. They were none too happy to see that, now,
Mae West was also involved. “Don’t say ANYTHING”, was their advice. A
play-it-safe plan, to be sure.
But what about Phyllis…?
Frank was assigned the task of driving the B-actress home. “Mae you’d better
hop in, too. I don’t know what you’re doing here… maybe you can fill me in on
the way.”
As the threesome left, Mae
muttered under her breath, “… that damn Voss!”
Ten minutes later, Archer
was bangin’ on the door.
To be continued….
Submitted by Missy Kendrick
Part
12
Her laugh filled The Brown Derby. "You wake up when the
copper's banging on the door? That wouldn’t sell a ticket to anyone’s
grandmother, honey." She shook her head as she perused the room. All was
back to normal in the Hollywood establishment, " Imagine me
involved in a murder," she continued, "and worse - panicked!
Panic inhibits and you know that’s not my style.” Cary Grant all but
rolled his eyes as Mae West did her best…well, Mae West. Walter Huston,
who occupied the next booth with his wife shook his head in amusement.
“We came that close to a scandal, Mae” Grant said annoyed and
gesturing with his fingers, "and I’m glad that entire episode is over.”
Mae sighed, “Oh lighten up. Who doesn’t need a scandal now and
again? To quote our dear Hedda,” Mae said with a sneer, “Nobody’s
interested in sweetness and light.” Mae, who didn’t miss a beat, turned
to talk with Jack Benny who’d just finished saying hello to the Hustons.
Cary’s mind turned to Phyllis Brooks. Poor Phyllis he thought.
She’d made it through the entire Carl Voss affair, but not without a few scars.
“Where are you?” Mae asked turning her attention back to Cary and
noticing his blank expression. “Don’t tell me. How is your
Phyllis?” Cary didn’t bother to answer deciding to leave well enough
alone. Any mention of Phyllis will surely bring up her last movie, which
you couldn’t pay people to see. Mae would have a field day with that.
“Her latest movie…what is it?” Mae asked as if she could hear his
thoughts. “Slightly Honorable,” Grant replied. Mae lifted a brow,
“Please, it’s not even slightly good. Decent cast. Shitty
movie. But we’ll change the subject. Let’s talk about a real
tragedy,” Mae said, “Poor Carl had real talent and he threw it all away.
Screwed himself up so bad not even my name could open doors for him. He
tried for the Chaplin picture, you know, the day he got murdered. He
gambled and lost. And all for your Phyllis.” Grant just stared as
the entire Carl Voss affair replayed in his mind. It’d been a few months
since Detective Archer had questioned him, if that’s what you call it.
Despite the seriousness of the policeman’s demeanor he hadn't been
beyond name-dropping. “I’m here at Mae’s request. She said you
prefer a private meeting.” “Come in” Grant said reluctantly to Archer who stood
in the doorway, “although I’m sure I have nothing to offer your investigation.”
The Detective stepped in, “I think you know more than you let on.
Although,” the cop continued as he took stock of the vast living room, “I already
know how things went down. Just tidying up loose ends.” People he
cared about were involved and Grant couldn’t quite hide his nervousness.
Still, he did his best to sound disinterested, “You won’t find any
of those loose ends here, Archer.”
The story Archer relayed was straight out of a B picture. As
it turns out Anastasia Petrova aka Anabel Rose had been the mastermind of a
Hollywood blackmail scheme in conjunction with Al Ross since arriving in
Hollywood two decades earlier. She’d tried to get money out of the likes
of Jack Warner and later Harry Cohn, but both men simply replied they’d squash
her like a bug if she tried anything. No skin off her back though.
Using Carl’s connections Anastasia turned her focus to smaller fish, primarily
starlets and up-and-comers with no studio behind them to bury their sordid
pasts. Al was the information guy gathering intel as he got people good
and plastered at which time they were all too eager to spill the beans.
It was only a matter of time before Anastasia focused in on Phyllis
Brooks. And she had plenty to milk for. The fact that Phyllis had
not been legally married to Carl, but instead lived with a married man would
yield a steady income on its own. It was up to Carl to make sure she got
paid or the career of his beloved Phyllis was over. Carl told Phyllis it
was a loan, monthly payments he’d return as soon as he got a shot in a
picture. And he tried. Over and over again, but people talk and
everyone knew Carl was on the skids - to put it mildly.
Sick and tired of Anastasia and hurt knowing Phyllis was stepping
out with Cary Grant, a bonafide Hollywood player whose career was on the rise,
Carl refused to pay Anastasia any longer. He was determined to make it
and approached Mae West for help. A last resort. Unfortunately, he
did so too late. His luck ran out when his oldest friend Al pushed a
knife into him just as he was reaching for a Cobb Salad in the kitchen of The
Brown Derby.
Cary shook his head to clear it and
noticed Mae was no longer in the booth. Suddenly he looked up just as Mae
sauntered over. “Are we leaving?” she asked before reaching the table.
“No. Sit down,” he replied. “Oooh, forceful,” she said, but
her expression sobered when she noticed Cary’s concern, “I know you want all
this behind you,” he said, “to put 1939 behind you, but it just occurred to me
that Archer never mentioned your name. You’re involved in this thing
somehow. I know you are.” With a straight face, but never missing a
beat she retorted, “He never mentioned me? What a disappointed.
Archer and I have been...um...playing cards together for years.” She
cleared her throat when Cary’s gaze remained perfectly still. “Look, kid,
I have skeletons in my closet," Mae said, "big, hairy skeletons and
Archer knows them all. One of those is gambling, which is what Anastasia
tried to unsettle me with when she handed me the note the night Carl was
murdered. “Someone has a gambling problem” referred to me. I’m
the someone in her note. I’m guessing it was a warning that I was her
next target. But I’m a big fish, never batted an eye and told Archer the
entire story as soon as I could. Still, even if I hadn't, there’s no way
Anastasia could’ve pressed me for anything. I know a lot of people and a
lot of people owe me favors. That’s it. There’s nothing more to
tell.” Cary looked down at his drink satisfied that he could trust Mae
and then she interrupted, “Why you insist on dwelling on this ugliness is
beyond me. Let’s talk about the Hawks picture, the remake of THE FRONT
PAGE that has the entire room buzzing. When do you leave for New York?”
“Next week,” he said with a faint smile. “Good,” Mae said, “New
York will cleanse your palate. And that Roz Russell’s a gem. Let me tell
you something,” she said suddenly and seriously as she took his hand, “Cary
Grant's gonna be bigger than Gable. Men are going to want be him.
Women will want to be with him and," he squirmed a bit in his seat,
"AND, you know I'm never wrong. Now let’s get out of here. I want to
go to the Coconut Grove.”
(submitted by Aurora Desmond)
THE END
