“I don’t want you to think I’m conceited, or anything, but I can tell you for a fact that Jules really loved me. But, believe me, that had never been his intent. At first, it was like an infatuation. I think he thought that after we’d done it for a while, like the trip to Paris, for instance, that the spell would be broken, and he’d unload me with a nice gift, like a jewel or a fur coat, and probably a little cash, the way rich guys do when they unload their superfluous women. And it would be terminated with grace. And I’d go back to the coffee shop, and he’d go back to Pauline.
“I thought that was what was going to happen too. I expected him to unload me. But he didn’t. After the first year, I knew it was the real thing
.”
W
hen all her guests had finally gone, Pauline went back to the library of her house. First she took off all her jewelry and placed it in the safe. At the same time, she removed Hector’s final note from the safe and put it in her bag. Then she picked up the intercom and buzzed Jules’s room.
“Yes?” answered Miss Toomey.
“Call Dr. Petrie, Miss Toomey, and inform him of my husband’s death,” said Pauline. She spoke in the same authoritative tone of voice she used when she was giving her instructions for the day to her maid or her butler or her cook.
“Yes, Mrs. Mendelson.”
Then Pauline buzzed for Dudley.
“Yes?”
“Could you come in the library, please, Dudley?”
“Yes, Mrs. Mendelson.”
When Dudley came in a few moments later, she said, “Mr. Mendelson has just died, Dudley.”
“Oh, Mrs. Mendelson,” said Dudley. “I am so sorry.”
“Thank you, Dudley. And thank you for these past weeks since he came home from the hospital. You have practically run this house yourself, and my husband was very appreciative and so am I. Now, there is a great deal to be done, and I very much need your help.”
“Yes, Mrs. Mendelson.” Dudley turned away from Pauline so that she could not see his face. She understood that he was crying. It had always fascinated Pauline that the people who worked for Jules—his butler, his guard, his chauffeur, his secretary, his barber, his lawyer—had always cared deeply about him and stayed on with him year after year. She knew he had private dealings with them all, buying them houses, or
businesses, or paying their hospital expenses, or helping educate their children.
“Will you tell the staff, Dudley?” asked Pauline. “Except Blondell. I’ll tell Blondell. Tell Jim, and Smitty, and Gertie in the kitchen, and that little maid, whatshername, the one I became upset with tonight?”
“Carmen.”
“Yes, of course, Carmen. Ask her not to be angry with me about the gum chewing. I was upset. I was worried about Mr. Mendelson the whole evening. I so regretted that I had not canceled the party this afternoon when he came home from his CAT scan.”
“We all understand.”
“Has Olaf left the house?”
“Yes.”
“With all his things?”
“Yes. He said you fired him.”
“I did. He deserved to be fired.”
“May I know what he did?”
“Yes, but not now. Nurse Toomey has called Dr. Petrie. He should be here shortly. Alert Smitty outside that he will be arriving. Dr. Petrie is terrified of the dogs. They jumped all over him the last time. There will probably be an ambulance also. Or a hearse. I don’t know what they use. Will you call Miss Maple and ask her to call the mortuary and alert them? We use Pierce Brothers, of course. Will you ask Miss Maple to be here in the morning as early as possible? Will you also get me my telephone book in my office? I have to call Sims Lord tonight and tell him, and I can’t remember his home number.”
“Yes, Mrs. Mendelson,” said Dudley. He went to the desk and jotted down the things she had asked him to do. It did not surprise him that, even in grief and sorrow, Pauline Mendelson remained calm and organized.
“Oh, and Dudley?”
“Yes, Mrs. Mendelson?”
“Please tell the staff, and Miss Maple as well, that no one, and I mean
no one
, is to repeat this information outside the house. I do not want the press to know of my husband’s death until after the funeral.”
“When will the funeral be?”
“If possible, tomorrow. And it will be private.”
Alone, after Dudley went about his chores, she looked at
her clock. It was fifteen minutes past eleven. She counted on her fingers the time it would be in Paris. Fifteen minutes past eight o’clock in the morning. Hubert, she knew, was always up and about at seven to do his calisthenics before leaving for his atelier. She had always called her Paris couturier by his first name. He had made her clothes for twenty-five years, and she knew him well. “Hubert,” she said, when he answered the telephone in his apartment. She pronounced his name
Hubair
. She told him what had happened.
“I’m so sorry, Pauline,” he answered.
“Thank you, Hubert,” she replied. She wanted to get right down to business. She did not want to receive sympathy. “Can you make up some things, black and gray, and maybe some white, it’s so hot here, to wear for the next few months. I leave it all up to you. Nothing above the knee. Whatever you think is right, but I’m going to need a couple of black dresses immediately. I’ll send the plane. Oh, and Hubert? I want one of those black veils. A total cover, don’t you think?”
Olaf Pederson, fired by Miss Toomey, drove down the hill from Clouds. Miss Toomey, who did not like him because he had grown so close to Jules and she had not, did not know why she was firing him, and told him that. She would have liked him to stay to assist in what had to be done when Dr. Petrie arrived. Olaf realized that it must have been Pauline Mendelson who had picked up the telephone and heard him talking to Flo March on the extension and then slammed down the receiver. He had become very fond of Jules Mendelson in the weeks he had spent with him at Clouds, and he understood the deep complications of the man’s life. Olaf Pederson was a decent man. He was sorry that he had upset Mrs. Mendelson, but he had promised Flo that afternoon that he would call and let her know how Jules was. His home was in the Silverlake district, but on the way he drove up Coldwater Canyon until he reached Azelia Way. There he told Flo March that her lover was dead.
When the ambulance arrived to take away Jules’s body, Pauline waited in the library with Dudley and Blondell until the attendants had zipped his corpse into the body bag. Then, alerted by Miss Toomey that the body was being removed from the house, the three went into the front hall to watch the attendants bring Jules Mendelson down his winding stairway
for the last time. As they rounded the curve by the third of the six Monet paintings of water lilies, the shoulder of one of the attendants hit against the gilded frame of the famous picture and knocked it askew. “Be careful!” called out Pauline from below. It was unclear to the attendant whether her concern was for the welfare of the body or the painting of the water lilies.
The Reverend Doctor Rufus Browning of the All Saints Episcopal Church in Beverly Hills was contacted to conduct the private service. Dr. Browning assured the widow that the secrecy she desired would be scrupulously kept.
“But Jules was not Episcopalian,” said Sims Lord, when he was made aware of this arrangement.
“Nor was he anything else,” replied Pauline. Then she added, “It was not necessary for you to point that out to me, Sims. After all, I was married to Jules for twenty-two years, or twenty-three, whatever it was. I know perfectly well he wasn’t Episcopalian, but he was always very fond of Rufus Browning, whenever Rufus came up to the house, and he was very generous to All Saints. Rufus will do something quick and quiet. I want this all over with before that horrible woman finds out. I do not wish the funeral to turn into a circus.”
“You could always have him cremated,” said Sims. “That way there’s no coffin to contend with to attract attention.”
“Cremated, yes. That’s what should be done. He should be cremated,” said Pauline, seizing on the idea.
“Oh, no, Mrs. Mendelson,” said Miss Maple, looking up from her notes. “He hated cremation. He always said so. He wanted to be buried in Westwood. He has the plots, for both you and him, right next to Armand Hammer’s mausoleum. Isn’t that right, Mr. Lord? Isn’t that in Mr. Mendelson’s will?”
Sims Lord nodded.
“Well, he’s not going to be buried in Westwood,” said Pauline. “He’s going to be cremated. Otherwise, that woman will have photographers taking her picture throwing herself on top of the grave. I know that type, believe me.”
Miss Maple looked over at Sims Lord, but Sims did not look back at her. It was not lost on either of them that Pauline had become irrational on the subject of Flo March.
“Do you suppose people will say about me, ‘She is the widow of a man who loved another woman’?” asked Pauline.
“No, they won’t say that, Pauline,” replied Sims. “Jules loved you. I know that.”
She didn’t hear what Sims said. She continued with her own thoughts. “Or, ‘Her husband died in the arms of his mistress’?” she asked.
“He didn’t die in the arms of his mistress, Pauline,” said Sims Lord. “He died here in your house.”
“To all intents and purposes he did. He had a heart attack in her arms. And he went to see her yesterday after his CAT scan. That duplicitous Olaf took him to her house. Did you know that, Sims?”
Sims Lord knew how to control the reddening of his face. He shook his head no in answer to Pauline’s question. The day before, knowing that Jules was at the end of his life, he had gotten out of the Bentley when Olaf passed the Beverly Hills Hotel, as he did not want to be in the car when it returned to Clouds. It was important to him that Pauline not find out he had been party to the deception.
Pauline, unaware, continued. “I firmly believe that if my husband had not gone to that woman’s house yesterday, he would still be alive. Dr. Petrie said that the CAT scan proved how well he was doing.”
Dudley opened the door and came into the library.
“If it’s a telephone call for me, Dudley, I’m not home to anyone except my father or my sisters,” said Pauline. “Or, of course, the White House, but they couldn’t know yet.”
“It’s Kippie,” said Dudley.
“Kippie?” She stared at Dudley. “From France?”
“Yes.”
“Does he know?”
“Yes.”
“Who told him?”
“I assumed you would want him to know, Mrs. Mendelson.”
“Yes, yes, of course, Dudley.”
“Would you like us to leave the room, Pauline?” asked Sims.
“I would, yes,” said Pauline.
“The staff would like to go to the funeral, Mrs. Mendelson,” said Dudley, as he was leaving the room.
“Oh,” said Pauline. She had moved to the telephone but had not picked it up. “But only you, and Blondell, and Gertie,
Dudley. I want to keep this very small. As little attention as possible.”
“Yes, ma’am, but Smitty and Jim have been with Mr. M. for years too,” said Dudley.
“Yes, of course. Smitty and Jim too. I’m just not thinking,” said Pauline. She turned to Sims Lord. “I suppose I have to ask Camilla Ebury too. I’ll call her. But not Rose. I can’t deal with Rose. And she’ll tell someone. She tells everything.”
“What about Camilla Ebury’s boyfriend?” asked Sims.
“Philip Quennell? No, not Philip. He wasn’t a friend of Jules. Just Camilla. Jules adored Camilla. No one else.”
When she was alone, she picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
“
Mère
? It’s Kippie.”
There was a long pause, as Pauline stared at the telephone and did not reply.
“
Mère
? Are you there?”
“Yes, I’m here,” she said, finally.
“Look, I’m awfully sorry,
Mère
. I know Jules and I never got along, and it was probably my fault, but I am sorry.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll come for the service. I’m booked on the Concorde tomorrow.”
“No. Don’t,” said Pauline.
“Don’t?” he repeated, surprised.
“Don’t come. The service will have already taken place. And he will already have been cremated.”
“But to see you. I want to be there with you.”
“No, don’t.” She spoke in a low voice.
“Mom, what’s the matter? I mean, I’m clean this time. I’m not on drugs anymore. I’ve licked it. I won’t embarrass you. I promise.”
Pauline did not reply.
“Mom, can you hear me? Is this a bad connection?”
“I know, Kippie. Jules told me. I know everything,” she said.
Kippie was not sure what she meant. “About Flo March, you mean?”
“Yes, about Flo March, among other things.”
“What other things?”
“About you.”
“Me?”
“And Hector.”
“What about Hector?”
“That it was you who did it.”
There was a long silence. Pauline could hear her son breathing heavily, and then she spoke again in a hollow voice. “Why? Why? Hector Paradiso was my friend.”
“But it’s not true,” said Kippie. He began to speak very quickly. “There was some hustler there, some blond trick he picked up in a gay bar called Miss Garbo’s. Your great pal Hector was not the old sweetheart you always thought he was,
Mère
. He had a very complicated private life, and people who lead that kind of complicated private life get into that kind of trouble with those kind of people they cavort with in the small hours of the night. You’re not so isolated up there at Clouds that you’re not aware of things like that.”
“Oh, don’t con me, Kippie. Just don’t. I’m in no mood for being conned. Jules Mendelson would not have gone through this complicated suicide story for a hustler from a gay bar, believe me. And it will come out, sometime. You know it will.”
“Mom. Don’t you understand?”
“What is there to understand?”
“I couldn’t have done it. I couldn’t have shot Hector five times. It’s impossible.”
“Oh, Kippie, please don’t lie to me. Hector left a note. There was blood on the paper, and your name.”
“But, Mom, listen to me. That little dog, that mean little dog of Hector’s, what was that dog’s name?”
“Astrid?”
“Yes, Astrid. Astrid bit off my trigger finger. Don’t you remember? You can’t shoot somebody five times if you don’t have a trigger finger,
Mère
.”