1980 - You Can Say That Again (19 page)

‘No place is difficult to find a beautiful girl,’ I said. ‘Where is it?’

‘Around eight thirty? I’ll be there,’ and she hung up.

I slowly replaced the receiver. Okay, so she didn’t want me to know where she lived. Maybe she was sharing with another girl. Maybe she wasn’t too happy about her surroundings. Maybe . . . I shrugged.

What really interested me was I was going to take Sonia Malcolm out to dinner. But I was curious. I tried to find her in the telephone book, but she wasn’t in it.

Then I remembered she was a new secretary and might not be listed.

After lunch, I walked to the deserted beach. I swam, sun bathed, swam again.

Lying under the shade of a palm tree, my mind went back to Loretta. I tried not to think of her, but that scream, that sickening thud haunted me. I thought again of the funeral, the priest and the poodle.

I suddenly felt lonely. Was I going to enjoy this luxurious cabin as I had first thought? I looked along the deserted beach. I was used to mixing and talking with people. Now, this sudden loneliness, with only morbid thoughts to keep me company, depressed me.

I walked slowly back to the cabin. Its emptiness also depressed me. I tried to tell myself I should be grateful to have such a place in which to live, but I knew I was kidding myself.

How the scene would change if I had Sonia here to share all this with me!

I realized I had fallen in love with her the moment I had seen her. With her here, I was sure I would be really happy.

I thought of tonight. I wasn’t sure of her. She seemed friendly. Could she be more than friendly to me? I was now no longer a bit-part, unemployed actor.

I was Jerry Stevens, the personal assistant to one of the richest men in the world, and holding down a salary of one hundred thousand dollars!

What makes you think she hasn’t fallen in love with you? I thought. Man! If she had!

Suddenly anxious to get away from this silent, lonely cabin, I went into the bathroom, took a shower, shaved carefully, then put on the oyster grey suit I had bought, with a matching shirt, a wine red tie and Gucci shoes. Regarding myself in the mirror, I decided I looked pretty good.

I decided I would drive down to Ocean Boulevard, find the Albatross restaurant and book a discreet table where Sonia and I could talk. Having booked the table, I would spend the rest of the afternoon exploring the city.

As I was leaving, the telephone bell rang. The sound startled me as it was so unexpected. I hesitated, then lifted the receiver.

‘Yes?’

‘Mr. Stevens?’ A man’s voice.

‘Yes. Who is this?’

‘Mr. Stevens, I am Jack Macklin, the staff controller of our corporation.’ The voice was soft, but confident: a man used to giving orders.

‘Oh, yes?’ Staff controllers were, to me, a dime a dozen.

‘As a new member of our corporation, Mr. Stevens, you may not have had the opportunity of reading the staff regulations and the rules of our corporation.’

‘I didn’t even know there were staff rules and regulations,’ I said in my bored voice.

‘Exactly, Mr. Stevens. I am putting a copy of the staff handbook in the mail for you. It should reach you tomorrow morning. I would ask you to study it.’

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Thanks for calling.’

‘Mr. Stevens, to forestall disappointment, I will tell you one of our strictest rules is that members of our staff do not have any personal relationship with each other.’

I felt a sudden rush of blood to my head.

‘I’m not with you,’ I said.

‘I understand you have invited Miss Malcolm to dinner.’

‘That’s not your business!’ I barked.

‘Miss Malcolm is also a new member of our staff. She did not know of this strict rule not to have any personal relationship with other members of our staff,’ he went on as if I hadn’t spoken. ‘The rule has now been explained to her as I am explaining it to you.’

I was in such a rage, words wouldn’t come. While I was floundering, the quiet voice went on, ‘Also Mr. Stevens, only authorized people are allowed on any of Mr. Ferguson’s properties. That is to say, you have the use of one of Mr. Ferguson’s cabins, but visitors are not allowed.’

‘Listen to me!’ I almost shouted. ‘I am Mr. Ferguson’s personal assistant! Staff rules do not apply to me! I do what I damn well like!’

‘I understand, Mr. Stevens. You will, of course, ask Mr. Durant about receiving visitors, but Miss Malcolm does what I tell her,’ and he hung up.

Seething with rage, I dialed the Corporation.

A girl said in a bright, pleasant voice, ‘The Ferguson Electronic & Oil Corporation. Can I help you?’

‘Put me through to Miss Sonia Malcolm!’ I barked.

‘Excuse me, sir, is this a personal call?’

‘Never mind! Put me through!’

‘Hold it a moment, sir.’

I waited, blood hammering in my temples.

A long pause, then she came back on the line.

‘Miss Malcolm isn’t available, sir. Can I put you through to our staff controller?’

I slammed down the receiver.

Man! Was I fit to be tied!

chapter nine

T
he palm trees rustled in the breeze. The sea glittered in the sun. The beach was like a silver carpet.

Who the hell cared?

Frustration, fury and loneliness swamped my mind.

I wanted Sonia! I needed her!

I sat on the veranda, staring at the empty beach. A gull swooped out of the sun and flew away with a plaintive cry.

In my mind, I heard the voice of the staff controller:
Miss Malcolm does what I tell her
.

I forced myself to relax. If this creep imagined he could dictate to me, he was in for a surprise! This was between Sonia and I! To hell with him!

My decision made, I got to my feet and walked to where I had parked the Merc, under the shade of a group of palms. I drove to the barrier. The guard, yet another squat, dark, sinister looking man, gave me a curt nod and lifted the pole.

I drove into the city. The time now was 17.05. I had no idea when the Ferguson Oil & Electronic Corporation released their staff. I hopefully decided when the staff did leave, they would leave by the back entrance.

It was a chance I had to take.

I cut down the side street, leading to the back entrance and the underground garage. I found parking space and maneuvered the Merc, to the curb, then I settled to wait. I was in a good position. I could see the exit of the garage. I could see the guard at the barrier.

Time crawled by. I kept looking at my watch. Just after 18.00, the exodus began. First, cars came from the garage. I looked at the men, driving: all well dressed, executive types. Then, some twenty minutes later, came the flood of secretaries, the clerks, the less important. All of them walking.

I started the engine, leaning forward, my heart thumping. There seemed no end to the stream of men and women: some talking, some pausing for a final word.

Then I saw her. She came up the ramp, wearing a cool looking beige dress, walking purposefully, and by herself.

No one spoke to her: no one waved. She was a new member of the staff.

She set off down the street, heading for the main boulevard. I gave her a good start, then drove slowly after her.

Once on the boulevard, I had trouble. I had to edge my car into the home going traffic, and once in, I was surrounded by slow moving cars. I could see her on the sidewalk, walking briskly. I tried to slow, but an impatient tap on the horn from the car behind me forced me on. I passed her, cursing. There was no parking space ahead of me. As I passed her I wanted to pull up, but again the tap on the horn kept me going. I nearly rammed into the car ahead of me as I watched her in my driving mirror. She kept moving, but I was now leaving her well behind.

The sidewalk was as crowded as the boulevard. If I lost her! I didn’t know where she lived! Then ahead of me, I saw a car pull slowly from the curb and edge into the traffic. I swung into the parking slot, didn’t wait to lock the car, but ran back down the sidewalk, dodging around people, looking frantically for Sonia.

I caught a glimpse of her as she turned down a side street. I ran, jostling and shoving against the stream of people until I reached the side street. There she was, walking briskly, out of the crowd. I lengthened my stride and came up to her.

‘Sonia!’

She whirled around.

There were only a few people on the sidewalk. They pressed on, ignoring us.

She stared at me.

‘What do you want?’

This wasn’t the Sonia I had been dreaming about.

Her expression was hostile, her eyes frightened.

‘Sonia!’ I said as I came to a standstill by her side. ‘I . . .’

I got no further.

With firm determination, she said, ‘Leave me alone! I don’t want anything to do with you! Leave me alone!’

‘Now listen, you mustn’t worry about that jerk, Macklin. I am Mr. Ferguson’s personal assistant. I don’t have to conform to their stupid rules. If I ask you to dinner, there is no problem. I . . .’

‘No problem for you, Mr. Stevens!’ she snapped. ‘Now you listen to me! I have slaved for this job. I am working as Mr. Ferguson’s assistant secretary. Mr. Macklin has told me that if I fraternize with you or any of the other members of the staff, I will be dismissed! Now, go away! I am not giving up this job for any man! If you don’t leave me alone, I will complain to Mr. Macklin!’

She turned and walked on, leaving me staring after her.

‘Tough,’ a well-known voice said from behind me.

I swung around to find Mazzo, smiling his ape-like smile.

‘Women are hell,’ he went on, ‘but she’s talking sense. She’s holding down a big job, Jerry, so think of her, and not of yourself.’

I gaped at him. I never expected to hear this shaven headed ape come out with a sentiment of that kind.

‘Let’s go and have a drink,’ he said.

Then I remembered I was looking at the man who had murdered Loretta.

‘Screw you and screw your drink,’ I said, and brushing by him, I walked to where I had parked the Merc. I sat behind the wheel, wrestling with my disappointment. Finally, I came to terms with myself.

Sonia was lost to me. I guessed she was probably as lonely as I was and been happy to accept my dinner invitation. Then Macklin had shown her the red light.

The bitter truth was that I meant nothing to her except a night out.

So what was I going to do with the evening and the night? I knew no one in this opulent city. I thought of the lonely cabin. To go back there and sit on my own was unthinkable. The idea of going to some restaurant and eat on my own was also unthinkable. I thought longingly of the people in Hollywood I could call: people I had had to drop, and who had dropped me because I had run out of money, but who would come flocking if they knew I was now earning one hundred thousand dollars a year.

This mood quickly passed. Those fair weather friends weren’t worth a goddamn.

So I sat there and brooded. Then out of the blue, an idea hit me. I had to find an occupation to keep my loneliness from swamping me. Why not write a detailed story of what I had experienced since Liz Martin, Lu Prentz’s secretary, had telephoned me, telling me Lu had a job for me.

The luxury cabin would no longer be lonely. I would sit at a typewriter and write the frightening story of my impersonation of John Merrill Ferguson, the murders of Larry Edwards, Charles Duvine and Loretta, of Mrs. Harriet and her poodle, Mazzo and Durant. I would write it as a novel with changed names and with changed backgrounds. The only character I would call by his real name would be Lu Prentz. I knew he would love to be featured in a novel.

It seemed to me the story was unique. I might have a big paperback sale! I might even sell the film rights, with me playing the lead!

Writing the book as a novel, using fictionalized names, the Ferguson Corporation couldn’t object. No one would believe such a story could happen, but I would wait until my seven-year contract was up. I wasn’t going to give up one hundred thousand dollars a year. This novel would be an insurance for my old age!

I would have to write it now while all the facts were fresh in my mind.

The cabin would be the perfect place in which to write. No one would interrupt me. I would write all the morning, swim, construct the plot in the afternoon, then write again in the evening.

I started the car engine and drove along Paradise Boulevard until I spotted a cut-price store. The salesman talked me into buying a second-hand IBM electric typewriter. I bought a carton of typing ribbons and a box of typing paper.

I put my purchases in the car, then headed back to the cabin. As I drove, I realized I no longer felt lonely.

I was itching to make a start.

As I entered the cabin, I found a large, smiling black woman, dusting the living room. She told me she was Mrs. Swanson. I remembered Sonia telling me there was a cleaning woman on the beach estate.

‘If there’s anything you want cooked for dinner tonight, just tell me, Mr. Stevens,’ she said.

‘Why yes, thank you. If it’s not too much trouble,’ I said. I didn’t want to go out on my own. ‘Anything will do.’

‘I have a beautiful steak.’

‘That would be fine.’

‘Okay, Mr. Stevens, around eight o’clock, I’ll be in and whip you up a dinner.

As soon as she had gone, I got the typewriter from the Merc., plugged in and practiced with the machine.

Among the many jobs I had done while waiting for a film deal, was addressing envelopes, sending begging letters for a School for the Blind. After an hour, I got back my old speed.

With a big scotch, I went onto the veranda and began to plan the story of my impersonation of John Merrill Ferguson. On a scratch pad, I invented names.

Under each name, I invented a description, completely unlike the people I planned to write about. I invented place names.

By the time I had finished this chore, Mrs. Swanson returned and cooked me a splendid steak with all the trimmings. She said she would be in tomorrow evening with one of her specials: curried chicken. I gave her five dollars. Her wide, beaming smile showed her surprise and pleasure.