CHAPTER 24

 

 

Kathryn drove into the parking lot of the Moulin Rouge nightclub on Sunset Boulevard and pulled into the first space she came to.

“If you’re not feeling well,” she told her mother, “I can put you in a taxi.”

“Not a chance.” Francine tugged a handkerchief from her purse and dabbed at her face. In an attempt to cloak her pallor, she’d applied so much rouge that it approached clown-level color. “I shouldn’t have told you how I was feeling.”

“Dizziness and nausea aren’t symptoms you should be ignoring. Especially not—”

“If you say especially not at my age, I’ll clock you with my handbag.”

Francine said it with a smile, but Kathryn knew she meant it.

“I am glad you’re here,” she said. “I’m nervous as hell about what I have to do in there.”

If Leo’s Sunbeam – Betty Crocker – Westinghouse idea had remained a slight reinvention of Kathryn’s coast-to-coast tour from a couple of years back, Kathryn wouldn’t have been twitchy about taking the stage with Betty Furness and Adelaide Hawley. But Leo had turned into Florenz Ziegfeld and now it was the sort of show that people might see at the Desert Inn in Las Vegas with musicians, back-up singers, and a sophisticated set covered in glitter, mirrors, chandeliers, and spotlights. Kathryn wasn’t sure what she was walking into this morning, but she half-expected to see the Rockettes executing a military-precision kick line.

Francine jammed her handkerchief up her sleeve. “But you’ve been performing in front of audiences for years. Why is Suncrockerhouse any different?”

At some point, everybody had tacitly agreed that “Sunbeam – Betty Crocker – Westinghouse” was too big a mouthful so they’d adopted the more convenient shorthand “Suncrockerhouse” when referring to the show.

To Kathryn, the doors of the Moulin Rouge now looked like Rodin’s Gates of Hell. “I have a sneaking suspicion that Leo’s going to ask me to sing.”

Francine’s eyes bulged. “Do you remember that audition you did for Eddie Cantor?”

Cantor had announced he was putting together a nationwide tour and needed a child performer. Francine had forced an eleven-year-old Kathryn to audition with a maudlin song called “Baby Shoes.” She had been so bad that she’d left the stage in tears without stopping to retrieve the sheet music.

“Why do you think I never sang on my radio show?”

The two of them sat in Kathryn’s Oldsmobile as the seconds ticked by, until Francine said, “Are we going in, or are you taking me out to that expensive lunch you promised?”

“In, I guess.”

Francine propped her handbag on the edge of her knees. “If you’re truly terrible, I’ll let you know and you can tell Leo to come up with a substitute. Deal?”

Kathryn smiled. Why weren’t you this nice when I was growing up? She risked a light kiss on her mother’s cheek. “Deal.”

* * *

A sign in black with gold lettering hung twelve feet over the curved stage.

 

Sunbeam Mixmaster & Betty Crocker & Westinghouse Presents!

 

Leo stood with a stagehand in front of an elaborate kitchen set checking through a list with the diligence of a brain surgeon. Once they were done, he cupped his hands to his mouth and called “Okay, Jim. Let’s have it.”

A string of enormous key lights blazed to life, drenching the stage.

“What the hell?” Kathryn muttered. “They’re as bright as the ones on a movie set.”

Francine pointed out a huge camera in the semi-dark of the audience seating. Stenciled on a side panel was a sign that read: Property of 20th Century-Fox Studios.

Kathryn dropped her handbag on a nearby table. “LEO!”

“You’re here!” He pointed out the side stairs leading up to the stage. “I’ve got the most wonderful news!” He met her at the top of the steps. “I got a call yesterday from Fox Movietone Newsreel. They want to film the first show! Isn’t that marvelous? You couldn’t buy that sort of publicity!”

Kathryn nodded in feigned agreement.

“Not only that, but the newsreel is set to play ahead of Fox’s big holiday release.”

“There’s No Business Like Show Business?”

“I don’t know why Zanuck’s okayed this, and I didn’t stop to ask.”

After her encounter with Zanuck at Perino’s, Kathryn had received a cryptic thank-you for alerting him to how his affair with Bella Darvi wasn’t as clandestine as he assumed, and a promise that he would pay back her good turn.

Leo searched Kathryn’s face for excitement. “Aren’t you thrilled?”

“Sure. It’s just that—”

Kathryn pulled out a square sheet of white cardboard she’d found under her front door the previous night. It contained four lines of what looked to her like song lyrics written in Leo’s pristine penmanship.

 

Sunbeam’s new Mixmaster

Mixes my Betty batter faster

It makes my baking more ambitious

’Cause everything turns out so delicious.

 

She held the card up to face height. “What is this?” Please don’t say lyrics. Please don’t say lyrics.

“Lyrics to the big song! What do you think?”

Another crewmember with another clipboard approached him for his authority to pay the band. She caught sight of three words—“ten-piece orchestra”—and waited until the crewmember departed.

“An orchestra?”

“Nothing but the best, baby!”

She waved the card in Leo’s face. “Please tell me I won’t be singing.”

“Each of you gets a verse and then you’ll harmonize the chorus together.” It took him an infuriatingly long moment to notice the frown on Kathryn’s face. “Is that a problem?”

“Betty and Adelaide are professional performers. This sort of stuff comes naturally to them.”

“But you’re Kathryn Massey!” Leo took a step back and crossed his arms. “You’ve got more moxie than anybody I know. I assumed you’d be up for anything.”

“Normally I would be, but singing? In front of hundreds of people? And a newsreel camera? That’s where I draw the line. And nobody says ‘moxie’ anymore.”

A shriek of laughter from Betty and Adelaide rang out from the rear of the cavernous auditorium.

“You’re refusing to sing?” Leo asked.

Not if you’re going to look at me with those moon-faced droopy eyes. “I didn’t say that.”

“How about we do a couple of run-throughs and see how it goes?”

Kathryn fanned herself. “Okay.”

Leo pulled her into a hug and whispered several hurried thank-yous as her costars climbed onto the stage, brimming with all the verve and chutzpah Kathryn wished she possessed.

* * *

“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen,” Leo announced in front of the footlights. “A few wrinkles to iron out, of course, but that was a wonderful first rehearsal. We’ll see you tomorrow morning, ten a.m. sharp.”

Kathryn descended the stairs, each step more wearying than the previous. She made it to Francine’s table with very little left in her tank. “All those years I did Window on Hollywood,” she said, plopping herself into the chair beside her mother, “I was never so drained as I am right now.”

Even with no audience, no cameras, no microphones, and only the crew looking on, singing Leo’s harmless little ditty was Kathryn’s worst nightmare come to life. Leo had told her that she was fine; so had Betty and Adelaide. But Kathryn paid them no heed. The opinion of the woman sitting next to her was the only one that mattered.

Kathryn had seen what happened when people surrounded themselves with sycophants. If “You’re fantastic! You’re so talented! You’re one hundred percent correct!” was all they ever heard, they start to believe it, and that’s where careers fell apart. But “straight from the hip” was Francine’s sole modus operandi, so she was the only person in this room whom Kathryn trusted.

The two of them seemed to be getting along better recently. Francine was sixty-six now, and Kathryn hoped perhaps her mom was slipping into a less feisty, less combative, less judgmental age. But she was still strong-willed enough to let fly with a brutal opinion.

“Leo has put together a very slick show.” Francine’s verdict lacked conviction, scuttling Kathryn’s confidence. “Lots of lively razzle-dazzle.”

“But how was I? Both barrels, Mother.”

Francine dabbed at her forehead. “You didn’t embarrass yourself. I mean, obviously, Betty and Adelaide know what they’re doing. Meanwhile, you were floundering around like a beached marlin. But you’ve got gumption and it shows. Your audiences will appreciate that.” She reached out and patted Kathryn’s hand. “You were fine, darling.”

Francine Massey wasn’t a tactile parent, so this warm act was unprecedented. What a shame her hand was so cold.

“You’re freezing. If you’re not feeling well, we can skip lunch—”

“What did I tell you?”

* * *

Kathryn’s Oldsmobile purred to life. “I haven’t been to the Polo Lounge in a while and it’s so nice during summer.” She pulled onto Sunset.

Two blocks later, Francine said, “I’ve changed my mind.”

It was a phrase Kathryn had never heard coming from her mother. Coupled with the hand gesture, this was turning into a red-letter day. “I didn’t get around to making a booking, so we can eat someplace else.”

“I’d like to go to the veterans’ hospital on Wilshire.”

“Are you sure?”

“Quite.”

Kathryn headed south toward the military hospital set among sprawling grounds on the approach to Santa Monica.

A week or two after Kathryn’s confrontation with Voss at LA County had come the announcement that he was being transferred for “an extended recuperation.” Although how a coward like Sheldon Voss had managed to get into a military hospital was a mystery. It was enough for Kathryn to know that Francine wanted to face her brother. Regardless of what happened, being a witness to that was worth whatever fallout might result.

The visitors’ parking lot was surprisingly small, but Kathryn found an open space and pulled into it. As Francine reached for the car door handle, Kathryn stopped her with a nip to the elbow.

The afternoon sun shone onto Francine’s face, revealing that she looked paler now than back at Moulin Rouge. Kathryn wanted to reach over and swipe away the line of sweat following the contours of Francine’s hairline, but thought the better of it. “Do you have a plan?”

Francine shook her head. “I don’t believe this amnesia story any more than you do, so I don’t expect to get a confession out of him. But I want to see that miserable son-of-a-bitch squirm when he sees me. And if I can get close enough to give him a piece of my mind, all the better.”

“You did pretty well for yourself that night in MacArthur Park.”

“I spent the next week thinking of what I wished I’d said. If I can get one or two out today, I’ll walk away satisfied.”

Kathryn had assumed that Voss would be locked away in the same sort of cell he’d occupied at LA County, but the cheery volunteer with the Joan Blondell face told them that they’d find him in the recreation room at the end of the hall.

It was two stories tall with windows on three sides that opened out to the summery air. A light breeze wafted across residents scattered around club chairs and card tables, reading or chatting or playing board games.

Voss sat by himself, his chin propped on the palm of his right hand and his gaze fixed blankly on the lawns outside.

Kathryn and Francine started walking toward him.

“He’s a sitting duck.” Francine murmured.

Kathryn let out a yip of a laugh. Voss visibly stiffened. He turned the jerky movement into a stretch and yawn. Pretending not to have seen them, he rose from his chair.

The Joan Blondell nurse called out to him. “Not so fast!” She sounded more like a kindergarten teacher. “This is your sister, Mr. Voss. Remember what the doctor said? Regain your memory and you regain your life. You never know which face or voice or perhaps even a smell will bring it back.”

A muttering groundswell rolled through the place. Since the display ads using Harlan McNamara’s photos had started appearing in newspapers and magazines across the country, Kathryn was being recognized in new sorts of places: the supermarket, the library, the beach. And now convalescent wards, apparently.

She tapped the nurse on her shoulder. “Perhaps we could move to somewhere more private?”

Voss opened his mouth to protest but the nurse ignored him. “The rose garden pergola.” She pointed to French doors opening out onto a slate path that followed the slope of the lawn, then disappeared into a grove of acorn trees.

Kathryn didn’t need to look around the room to know that all eyes were on them. She appropriated Voss’s elbow, but he yanked it away. Francine walked ahead and opened the glass door. “We’ll have a lovely visit—you’ll see.”

With Francine on one side and Kathryn on the other, Voss said nothing as they trudged along the path. It swerved right at the acorn trees, revealing a pergola covered in roses intertwined with ivy. Surrounded by a semicircle of hedges, it stood on a slight rise to catch the coastal breezes.

“I want to go back inside,” Voss said.

“But fresh air is so healthful!” Kathryn prodded him toward the pergola, where three separate benches provided seating for six. Overhead, the ivy and roses offered rare tranquility, a reprieve from the commotion of the sprawling city surrounding them. Kathryn, Francine, and Voss each took a bench.

“It’s okay, Uncle Sheldon,” Kathryn taunted, “nobody can hear you. There’s nothing to give you away.”

“I don’t know who you think you are or what you think you’re going to accomplish, but you’ll get nothing out of me.”

“Why?” Kathryn pushed. “Because you can’t remember?”

“For all I know, you might be wearing a wire.”

Only because it hadn’t occurred to me. “Why would you be worried if you had nothing to hide?”

“I’ve been hounded by every two-bit shyster in this town who wants to get their greedy paws on my—” He folded one leg over another and hunkered down into a ball. “When you don’t know anybody, you learn to trust nobody.”

“For crying out loud!” Kathryn barked. “The only people who know the real you are sitting right here, so cut the crap and drop the act.”

“I don’t know what act you are referring to—”

“The one that came to an end when you gave me the finger at LA County General.” Kathryn watched a wall rise in Voss’s eyes. “Look,” she said, softening her tone, “I don’t care if you’ve got millions stashed away, or secrets you’re holding over someone, or whatever monkey business you’re up to with this amnesia gambit of yours. All I care about is Thomas Danford.”

“EXACTLY!” Francine’s roar startled nearby magpies to flight. “How could you?! I loved Thomas with all my heart.” She was on her feet now, her hands tightened into fists, and her black Sunday hat slanted to the left. “We would’ve figured a way out of our predicament, but no! Mister Savior had to charge in like he’s Mister Fix-Everything. You stuck your beak in where it wasn’t invited, wasn’t welcome, and wasn’t needed.”

Voss stayed glued to his wooden bench, even as Francine stood over him with her arms flung out wide.

“It wasn’t your life to dictate! I could’ve spent the last forty years with the man I loved, but that ceased to be an option the minute you jumped on your high horse. That was bad enough, but then you set yourself up as some phony-baloney preacher. You and your Sea to Shining Sea March, your redemption boards, and your Quarter Cans. What a load of manure. And now you’re trying to squirm out of it by playing the amnesia victim? Well, screw you, Sheldon Voss. You ain’t nothing but the worst kind of swindler. I’m ashamed and disgusted to be related to you.”

Francine started rolling her jaw. Look at her! Kathryn thought. She’s working up a wad to spit on him. She jumped to her feet and joined her mother. “Nothing gave me greater pleasure than to see that resentful look on your face as you handed over your Quarter Cans to those Negroes.”

Voss was on his feet now, slowly circling them like a jackal. He jabbed a finger at Francine. “I saved you from a marriage born of obligation that would have been lived in misery and despair.”

“So now you’re a fortune-teller?” Francine bit back.

“You were a plaything to satisfy his lust. He would never have done right by you.”

“He most cert—”

“The Danfords think themselves far too la-di-dah to accept some stray member of the rabble into their midst. You were just too naïve to realize it.”

“It wasn’t your call to make,” Kathryn said. “Thomas Danford—”

Voss wheeled around, his eyes blazing with scorn. “Your precious Daddy Danford couldn’t keep his lust in his pants for two goddamned minutes, so what kind of father would he have been?”

“You’re one to talk,” Kathryn scoffed, “cheating widows and embezzling factory workers. But you outdid yourself when you framed my father.”

Francine gave out a little gasp. “He what?”

Even with that article from Look magazine, Kathryn knew the evidence she’d gathered was circumstantial at best. Why put Francine through the wringer when she wasn’t sure of the facts? But it was a moot point now that she’d blurted out everything.

“Sorry to keep you in the dark,” Kathryn told her mother, “but I wanted more evidence. That night at MacArthur Park, this little worm admitted to me that he framed Thomas Danford.”

“I admitted no such thing!” he hissed. “All I said was that I waited years to exact my revenge. You were the one throwing around accusations that I framed Danford. You’re going to have to do a damn sight better than Look magazine—”

“What Look magazine?” Francine’s voice trembled but Kathryn couldn’t pull her eyes away from Voss’s odious sneer.

“I’ll show you later.” Kathryn stepped in front of Francine and faced Voss. “I’m still collecting evidence, but when I have enough, I’ll come after you. And you know what? I wish I’d thought to wear a wire because everybody who’s so concerned about your welfare should be hearing this.”

“But you’re not wearing a wire, are you?” Voss’s sangfroid was unnerving.

“Listen, you heinous prick—”

“Kathryn? Kathryn?”

Francine’s hand pressed against Kathryn’s shoulder blade, then trailed down her back. Kathryn reached out as Francine clutched her chest, but her arms escaped her grasp as she staggered backward, hit her head against one of the benches, and collapsed onto the concrete.

“Mom! MOM!”

Kathryn gently rolled Francine onto her back, tucking her handbag under her head. “What’s happening? Are you in pain?” Francine’s only response was to stare up at her daughter, straining for breath in ragged gasps. “Is it your heart? Are you having a heart attack?”

Francine nodded weakly.

“GO GET HELP!” Kathryn shouted at Voss. “NOW!”

He cannonballed out of the pergola.

Francine’s eyes lost their focus.

“Hang on, Mom. We’re at a hospital. There are doctors. Lots of them. They’re only seconds away. Stay with me.” She sucked in a lungful of air. “Keep breathing. Like this. In . . . out . . . in . . . out . . .”

Where did he go? What’s taking so long?

Francine started to open and close her mouth like a goldfish panting for air. In between each pant, she slurred in guttural whispers. “I . . . did it . . . all for you. Everything . . . for you.”

“Mom! Please! Not now. Save your strength.”

“Never . . . showed it . . .” Her breath was hot and damp. “. . . like I . . . should’ve.”

Kathryn squeezed her eyes tightly shut, willing herself not to fall apart. She wrapped her arm around Francine’s shoulder and cradled her to her chest.

“So proud. So proud.” Francine sprang up into a half-sitting position, unleashed a low groan that sounded like she’d summoned it from the depth of her soul, then fell heavily to the ground, pulling Kathryn down with her.