A yellow checker taxicab pulled smartly up in front of Rico’s and unloaded a well-dressed couple, eager for a lobster luncheon. I was going to send Rhonda back to the office in that crate to pick up her coupe and begin tracking down that pawn ticket in El Segundo, but changed my mind. That could wait. I’d keep her with me for something to eat. After spending so much time listening to Canyon’s doubtful depressing story line in that gloomy cave, I needed some fresh air and a change of atmosphere. I knew my sexy partner probably did too. When I mentioned another plan, her eyes brightened and she perked up. I didn’t have to say more.
We’d both had it with Rico’s, for today, anyway. I whipped the Buick convertible east onto Santa Monica Boulevard with Rhonda glued by my side. My suggestion for lunch at the Brown Derby near my office on North Vine Street was just what we both needed before continuing and I felt elated to be outside in the sunshine. Even moving through the midday traffic was a relief from that dark mausoleum where we’d left Canyon.
I popped out the dashboard lighter for a smoke and glimpsed Rhonda as she began to drop her secretarial disguise, which would have only fooled a blind man anyhow. She shoved the cheaters into her purse and turned that blonde mane loose in the wind, letting it whip around her beautiful face in the warm sun. Turning towards me with a puckered smile she said, “Wasn’t it ironic where we were sitting in that restaurant?”
“About what, baby?”
“I mean the “Red” colored booths and all the black and white photos of Hollywood’s elite plastered around the restaurant on the walls. They might be “hot shot movie stars” with the public, but now they’re on the “hot seat” with the Federal government.” She laughed at her joke and so did I.
“That’s cute, baby and a smart observation. I thought the same thing as we were leaving.”
“And what about that phony story from Wes Canyon? Didn’t that sound a little rehearsed? I mean, he even had the glum expressions and all to go with it. If he was that worried, why was he still in town?”
“You read my mind again, sweetheart.”
Tex was right. This kid was sharper than a freshly cut diamond and catching on so damn fast, I might cut myself trying to unwrap her tight package later. That cabeza had more than just a beautiful face. She had brains as well as a showgirl’s figure.
“I think he’s not telling us something, Matthew. Don’t know what, but he’s at least hiding behind that excuse of a girlfriend. Doesn’t that sound weak to you?”
“Yeah, his whole story stinks, especially hiding under a woman’s skirt. But, Hemingway’s no fool. He may like this guy for his movie, but he wouldn’t like what we heard today and would dump him faster than a plate of green cheese. Maybe Canyon’s not in trouble with that commie congressional committee after all and has something else going on.
“Like what?”
“Don’t know yet, but will find out, if I have time. We’ve got more iron’s in the fire than getting involved with that guy, angel. Let’s just concentrate on those first. I’ll snoop around at the Majestic after lunch on McCullen’s dame, while you track down some of those other clues we picked up on the crime scene, okay?”
“Sounds good to me, Matthew. I’m getting hungry. Look, there’s the Brown Derby,” she said pointing to the famous restaurant across the street, as I slowed to enter the parking lot.
It was midday and the Derby was packed. After greasing the palm of the maitre’d up front, we were escorted to a private, comfortable booth half way towards the back. My strawberry blonde partner garnered the usual admiring smiles and nods, including a few envious raised eyebrows, from some of the tinsel town celebrities seated at the surrounding tables. She tossed them her most captivating smile, leaving them guessing her unknown identity, as we slipped into the booth, warm thighs touching again underneath the starched table cloth.
I ordered two very dry Bombay Gin and Noilly Pratt Vermouth Martini’s to get us in the right mood and wasted no time placing our order. We both gravitated to the Derby’s “Daily Luncheon Special”- Calf’s Liver & Onions with Bacon paired with a tossed salad, a small side of fried potatoes, fresh garden peas and a glass of Burgundy wine for me and chilled Chardonnay for Rhonda.
I glanced around and noticed it wasn’t the first choice for many in the restaurant. Several preferred what I’d noticed listed on the luncheon menu as the Trout Amandine. However, what they were eating looked strange and smelled worse. Whatever it was, appeared to be smothered in something like cornflakes, maybe an attempt to mask the offensive odor. From the gagging sounds emanating from the surrounding tables, I was convinced it was something else, but wasn’t sure what and tried to ignore it.
Rhonda caught the scent too, sniffing the air several times. She leaned in closer and said, “M-Matthew, I-I don’t know what those other people are eating, but I’m beginning to feel queasy.”
I suggested holding her nose while sipping some wine to coat her palate. I had my doubts about that remedy and from her pale and sweaty countenance, I knew she wasn’t lying. I was feeling slightly nauseous myself. But what I really thought about saying would have been far less effective, but more entertaining….
“If you’re feeling faint Rhonda, just bend over; put your head between your legs and … yodel.”
She’d shoot me a startled expression and mutter, “The tabletop is in the way and, and … I don’t know any alpine songs.”
Naturally confused over this suggestion, I’d mention an alternative solution and say, “I’ll help. I’ll put my head between your legs, if you’ll do the musical bit, okay? Just, make something up. Trust me, it will work.”
She wouldn’t be confident with my plan, but would shrug her shoulders with resigned reluctance and acquiesce. I would follow with self-doubts of my own, especially after listening to her practice a couple of times. She’d sound more like a strangled cork getting jerked out of a wine bottle than a Swiss miss in heat.
I’d bump my head a few times adjusting my own position and get ready. When all was finally in order, a sweeter and purer Alpine aria would never grace the wooded valleys and mountainous peaks in all of Bavaria, like hers during that wonderful unique following moment.
The Derby would come alive with “the sound of music” and all the surrounding tables and booths from front to back, including the waiters and bartenders would join in harmonizing and humming along. Her melodious voice would echo off the walls and reverberate as far and wide, as the parking lot outside.
I sat there, chuckling at this daydream, when Rhonda broke up my reverie. She said, “Matthew, what were you thinking about? You were smiling for once, at something funny?”
“Ah- yes, just a passing thought about you, sweetheart and a very pleasant one, too.”
“Oh, thank you. I’m feeling better now, too. That sip of wine seemed to work and I don’t smell anything unpleasant anymore either.”
After we finished our lunch, I couldn’t resist asking my waiter about our neighbor’s luncheon choice. He pinched his nose and whispered something confidential about another spicy Derby creation, Creole Macaroni & Cheese Fish Casserole, substituted at the last minute to cover a gap in the menu. Just the thought of that combination was enough to make you nauseous.
Ours was a hit though with both of us anyway and after a few more glasses of wine, I left a healthy tip for the excellent service, as usual.
As we neared the front door, Seymour Swartz, one of the Derby co-owners that I’d helped squeak out of a connection in a local murder case was delighted seeing me again, this time under less strenuous circumstances. He pumped my hand vigorously while ignoring me and staring at Rhonda, “Who is this beautiful young lady, Matthew,” he fawned, grinning like a movie star pervert, holding her out stretched hand, longer than she wanted. “Please bring her again soon to grace our humble establishment. You look so familiar, sweetheart,” he said, casting a glance at some of the black and white photos plastered on the walls, trying to spot someone that he’d forgotten was there. Haven’t I seen you in something recently?”
He’d probably seen her out of something recently at the Florentine, which I was sure he attended, but didn’t comment other than, “Sy, we’ve got to leave. We’re already late for another appointment, especially after this morning over at the Majestic Studios, so-ah-.”
He looked confused; another one still trying to place my cupcake and just smiled not certain that he understood what I was mumbling about. Just to cinch our return soon, he threw in a complimentary free pass to cover the valet parking, good anytime. That made my day.
We left arm in arm. On the walk back through the parking lot, I envisioned Rhonda chattering about a return engagement as the Derby guest soloist and me, performing an encore in our office to investigate the tensile strength of my new couch hide-a-bed.
But instead afterwards, I just dropped Rhonda off at the office, where she picked up her Ford coupe to play detective at a local pawn shop. I could double back to the Majestic and maybe the crime scene, hopefully picking up a few threads on the McCullen dame. But first, I had one more delinquent item on my agenda.
I stopped at Schwab’s drug store on Sunset Boulevard, dropped a few coins into a rear-booth telephone and caught my favorite newshawk Doris Fillmore at the Herald Examiner, working at her desk.
“Hi baby, Matthew here,” I said, sounding upbeat, while my thinking cap was working overtime to concoct a plausible excuse, she’d buy for stiffing her on the luncheon meeting date I’d promised.
“Matthew, I’m so glad you didn’t call me earlier for lunch,” she said in a cheery, breathless voice, taking me by surprise.
“Oh, why was that? I thought you’d be a little disappointed that maybe I’d, uh- stood you up,” I mumbled.
She didn’t complain, instead said, “No, not at all. I just returned from another crime scene and was writing up the story for the late edition and wouldn’t have had any time for us anyway.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, I barely had time to eat. I just grabbed a sandwich at the corner deli, on the way back to the office.”
“I see, well- ah-“
“Matthew, why don’t you drop by my office building instead and I’ll give you a quick rundown on what I’ve uncovered so far on McCullen, before I finish my article. Sound good?”
“Perfect, I’m on my way, angel,” I said, relieved as she squeaked out a kiss good bye and we hung up.