The man on my left downshifted with his jaw still clenched, disapproval rolling off him like steam from an overheated engine. We turned down Hollywood Boulevard, the marquees dim in the bright light of day, the streets still quiet. We passed Grauman’s Egyptian Theatre with the massive columns and barrel spotlights, and the Chinese with its flared copper roof and carved dragons. We veered onto Western and I careened into a hard shoulder. Oscar tensed and shoved me away like I had the plague.
I closed my eyes, thinking of Max. If I’d just listened to him.
On Western, we passed storefronts with gleaming windows showing the latest fashions and green parks bordered with blooming geraniums. The newest models of Packards and Cadillacs parked in front of freshly painted hotels. Angel turned to me and opened his mouth as if to speak, but the man beside me growled a few words in Spanish, and Angel sealed his lips shut with anapologetic dip of his head. The other kid, Roman, grinned and eyed me.
My mind spun with half-formed thoughts as we passed into a neighborhood of modest houses with small green lawns, flowerbeds, and older cars. What if Lana was home? Would she ask questions? A few blocks later, weeds replaced the neat flowerbeds. A bum lounged between a boarded-up building and a run-down flophouse. My cheeks heated and I snuck a glance to my left. Oscar was scowling. Why did I care what he thought of my neighborhood? Sure, it wasn’t the nicest, but it was all I could manage. Actually, it was more than I could manage. Especially as I was wearing this month’s rent.
I pointed to an avocado-green house squatting on the corner, framed by a broken picket fence and a junk pile overgrown with weeds. A worn sign tipped drunkenly against a broken window:Rooms $20 a Month. “Drop me here, on the corner. Please,” I told Angel, and he translated. I prayed my landlady was still asleep. She’d kick me out for sure if she saw who brought me home halfway into a Saturday morning.
Oscar’s mouth turned down and I figured he was taking offense. But honestly, if I wanted to tell the story of getting in late last night, I couldn’t exactly walk through the front door in broad daylight.
He jerked the auto to a stop and looked around as if he were the one sneaking back home in an evening dress long past dawn. A few words of goodbye from the boys, the rattle of the engine, and I was standing on the curb like yesterday’s garbage. I didn’t wait around. I slipped through a gap in the leaning fence and darted across the weedy lawn, still damp with last night’s moisture. With any luck, I could sneak in, get out of this dress, and nobody wouldbe the wiser. Nobody but the angry man and his brothers. But that couldn’t be helped now.
The window was unlatched. I breathed a sigh of relief and listened for a moment. It was still early, and Lana never woke before nine if she didn’t have to. Lana was always going on with “girls gotta stick together” when she needed to borrow my clothes, but this was a dead body, and maybe girls didn’t stick together over dead bodies. I wasn’t about to test her because I had the suspicion she’d fail.
I pushed up the sash and hoisted myself through, less than graceful, I’ll admit. My dress caught on a nail, and with a loud rip, I landed in a heap on the hard floor.
“Well, well. Look what the kitty cat dragged in.”
I looked up to see Lana, wrapped in her crepe de chine robe, a cigarette dangling from her fingertips. It seemed my only luck was bad luck.
Half an hour later, washed, brushed, and in my gray gabardine, I still felt like somebody was hammering on the top of my head with a pickaxe. I’d spent as long as I could in the washroom down the hall, hoping Lana had somewhere to go, but she was sitting in our one good chair when I came back, looking smug. My shift at the Brown Derby was coming up. If I didn’t leave soon, I’d be late, but I needed to call Max first, and I couldn’t do that with Lana listening in.
“So who’s the lucky fella?” she said as I helped myself to the last of the coffee from our little percolator. “As if I didn’t know.”
I almost choked. Had I told her where I was going last night? I played it cool. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t give me that bushwah. You two have been looking at each other with calves’ eyes for a month.” She exhaled a breaththat smelled of old cigarettes and gin. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anybody.” She stubbed out her cigarette and pulled herself to her feet. She grabbed her bath towel and shower cap from the closet, then opened the door to the hallway. “I don’t like the guy myself, but whatever floats your boat.”
Max. She thought I’d been with Max.
I took another swig of the bitter coffee as my cheeks burned. She was right, of course. I had been with Max but not like she thought. At least not last night. As soon as I heard the latch click on the lavatory door, I rushed down the hall to the telephone. “West Hollywood 8152,” I told the operator.
I let it ring ten times before I gave up.
Back in my room, I sat down and tried to think, taking a gulp of the cold coffee. How long would it take before somebody found Roy’s body? Had anyone seen me go upstairs with Lester? Marion, she’d been asleep on the divan. Louella? Why couldn’t I remember anything?
My hands started to shake, and I put my cup down with a clatter.
Think, Minnie, think. As far as anyone knew, I could have left anytime during the night. But what about this morning? Oscar. Would he talk to the police? Tell them he picked up a woman and brought her to 4242 Western Avenue? He didn’t have any reason not to. If the police asked me questions, I’d need to have answers. Like where I’d slept last night.
Anxiety rose in my chest and I couldn’t breathe. I searched through Lana’s handbag and found her pack of cigarettes, lit one, and brought it to my lips with shaking hands. I took a puff. What would Max tell me to do? Max, please, tell me what to do.
I let the smoke out in a long stream.
Stay calm, he’d say. Act natural.
I smoked the cigarette down to a stub, ground it out in the ashtray, and buried the butt in the wastepaper basket so Lana wouldn’t gripe. I’d go to the Brown Derby, just like any other day. Pretend everything was on the up and up.
I picked up my handbag and keys, let myself out the door, and passed the washroom, where I could hear Lana splashing and humming to herself.
Nobody would know. Nobody would ever have to know.
OSCAR
Oscar put the Model T into high gear. He’d dropped Roman and Angel at the house and told them not to say a word to Mamá about the girl. Angel would keep his word. Roman... Oscar wasn’t so sure about Roman. Nudging the throttle as far as he dared, he pushed the Ford up Canyon Road until the engine whined and shook. His eyes were gritty from lack of sleep, but if he didn’t get back to Roy’s estate today to clean up the party, he wouldn’t get paid. And he needed the money.
He passed the gatehouse and took the turn on the long drive, then jammed on his brakes and stared. Three black autos, all with white stars on the doors, were parked haphazardly in front of the wide stairs leading to the front door. Next to them, a long black hearse.
