The Devil You Know (26 page)

“But
you still go?”

“Yes.
For now. Father Joe says I should leave.” He shook his head. “But I think
Julian needs me now more than ever.”

“Have
you talked to Father Joe recently?” she asked. When Colin shook his head, she
said, “And you haven’t told Julian anything about me?”

“No,”
he said weakly.

Marie
could easily imagine Colin crumbling under Julian’s scrutiny and telling him
about her interest in the incubi. That was the last thing she wanted. After
Jasper’s death, it had puzzled her that none of Piedmont’s cronies had harassed
her as well. If they had followed her from Piedmont’s mansion and discovered
that Jasper was no San Francisco book dealer, they could just as easily have
followed her home after she’d left Jasper’s. But if they had, they had not seen
fit to bother her, perhaps realizing that she was just a church secretary who
could have no real interest in books on the occult. Now, though, if Colin did
anything at all to suggest to Julian that she was also asking about the incubi,
she could count on getting far worse treatment than poor Jasper had received.

“I
don’t think you should go back at all,” she said. “Take Father Joe’s advice.
Get on the train for San Francisco. Leave tonight if you can. Find a church up
there and go pray in it. The farther you get from Julian Piedmont and the
things that go on in that house, the better you’ll feel, Colin. I’m sure of
it.”

He
remained silent for several seconds before finally muttering, “Maybe you’re
right.”

“I’m
sure of it. You’ll see.” She took a breath and continued, trying hard not to
let anything in her tone strike the least bit of alarm in Colin. “And in the
meantime, if you’ll let me know where the incubi go to meet women, then I’ll do
my best to get in their way. The women need a warning is all. That’s all I
want, Colin. Just to help more women from ending up like my friend.”

Again,
he remained silent for several seconds. “All right,” he finally said. “They go
different places every day, and at different times of day. Not always the same.
But you can usually find them at Schwab’s drugstore, Grauman’s Chinese, Musso
and Frank’s, or…or the Brown Derby. Sometimes they just hang around the corner
at Sunset and Vine. Those are the places they start at. Then they start
prowling the streets. I’ve watched them from my car. It never takes them long.”

“And
they still look the same as when I saw them at Julian’s?”

“Mostly.
They change a little every day.” He sounded frightened just thinking about
them. “It’s hard to say how. They look…a little more…real, I guess.”

Marie
thought about what Jasper had read to her from the Chinese demonology book
about the incubi getting stronger with each victim. Colin must be seeing the
effects of this, she told herself.

“Okay,”
she said. “But they still look like movie stars, right? Gable, Cagney,…Cary
Grant?”

“And
Tyrone Power and Errol Flynn. Yeah, those are the ones,” he said with
resignation. Then he laughed. “Ridiculous, isn’t it?”

“It’s
far worse than that, I’d say. But this helps. Thank you. Now look at train
schedules, okay?”

“I
may.” He paused, then said, “Marie?”

“Yes?”

“Will
you pray for me?”

She
hesitated a moment and then said, “I will, Colin. I will. But save yourself
now, while you still you can.”

Without
waiting to say goodbye, she turned and opened the door, the bright sunlight
outside blinding her for a moment, and making her feel completely vulnerable
again. After a few seconds, her eyes adjusted and she retraced her steps
through the lush grounds in the shadow of the big hotel. Leaving the bungalow
behind her, she felt not at all guilty for having deceived Colin into giving up
his secrets. She did, however, feel just a bit of guilt for the other lie she
had told. She had no intention of praying for him.

* * * * * * * *

After
pulling out of the parking lot and onto Sunset Boulevard, Marie drove a few
blocks and then pulled over to the curb, letting the car idle for a few minutes
while she took deep breaths and tried to collect herself. Then she took her
wallet out of her purse and counted her money. It was time to go shopping.

She
had decided that she needed three complete outfits for what was to come, and
that they should be significantly different from what she normally wore. She
bought shoes and stockings, skirts and blouses, as well as hats and a new pair
of sunglasses; visits to the make-up and perfume counters convinced her to make
more purchases. She even went so far as to get new underwear, though she hoped
no one would ever have the chance to see it.

At
home, she tried everything on again, looking at herself in her bedroom mirror,
even standing on her bed to see how her legs looked in the reflection. Murphy
watched the fashion show with some disdain until he began to make Marie nervous
and she shooed him out of her room. When she was finished, she hung most of the
new clothes in her closet and then slipped into the one dress she had bought.
It was blue and shimmery and had a slit up the leg that made her feel rather
daring. It made her think of Elise and the way they had dressed up to go to the
party at Julian’s, but she tried to put the thought out of her mind. With her
hair pulled back on one side and held with a tortoise shell comb, she put on
the same lipstick and powder she always used. And before leaving her room she
gave herself one spray of perfume from the atomizer she had purchased earlier.
Then she left to meet Tom for dinner.

Other
than quick meals in burger joints, they had never eaten together outside of
Jasper’s quaint dining room. With the Brown Derby and Musso and Frank’s both
seeming like poor choices after Marie recounted her conversation with Colin,
Tom suggested the Coconut Grove at the Ambassador Hotel. Marie had never been
there and gladly agreed. Although it was a weeknight and they had arrived
before seven, the club was still already crowded. Even so, they were able to
get a table quickly and one not far from the dance floor while the band played
“Doctor, Lawyer, Indian Chief.” Couples on their way to dance passed their
little table near one of the dozens of fake palm trees that were part of the
room’s tropical motif.

As
long as she stayed focused on Tom, Marie felt fine—happy to be here with
him, warmed by his smile and the feeling of his hand holding hers across the
white tablecloth. After a while, though, thoughts of what she would be doing
tomorrow carried her out of the room and away from the music, and she began to
feel sad and apprehensive. The palm trees no longer seemed quaint but merely
fake, and she thought of the dancers on the crowded floor as Julian Piedmont’s
people, the type who went to his parties and worried about whom they were seen
by and with. As she sipped her wine and smoked a cigarette after their meal,
she shuddered as she watched people dancing to a Kay Kyser song. In the dim
light it was easy to imagine them not as beautiful and well dressed, but rather
as victims of Julian’s cadre of incubi, their faces drawn, their skin pale,
their eyes dull and their jaws slack.

When
Tom squeezed her hand and said, “I think I’ve lost you,” she jumped in her seat
and focused on him again. His smile was broad and sincere, and she smiled back
without thinking about it.

“I’m
sorry,” she said. “It’s hard not to think about what’s to come.”

Tom
nodded his understanding. “You want to go somewhere we can talk?”

She
shook her head. “It’s fine.” She raised her glass to him and drained it. “I
need a little fun tonight.”

“You
want to dance?”

She
smiled at him, not wanting to say what she had just been imagining about the
dancers. “I don’t think so. Not right now anyway. More wine?”

They
had ordered a bottle, and Tom poured from it. Marie forced herself to focus on
him, and before long she began to feel better again, eventually agreeing to
dance. Once they were on the floor, and she felt his hand on the small of her
back, everything felt natural. Tom led more gracefully than she had imagined he
would, moving her across the dance floor with ease.

She
leaned in and said, “I get the feeling you’ve done this before.”

With
a warm smile, he said, “There were a lot of dances in England.” Then he added,
“Before D-day.”

She
returned his smile, not sure of what to say.

He
held her tighter and said, “Not many dances after that.”

Looking
into his eyes, she felt like they belonged here—at this place and in this
moment. And the other dancers against whom she brushed were just like her and
Tom, people out for a good time and a chance to forget their troubles in a town
where everything looked beautiful but sometimes wasn’t.

At
one point, there was commotion on the other side of the room; dancers and
diners stopped what they were doing and moved hurriedly among the tables, all craning
their necks and looking in the same direction. The smiles on many of their
faces told Marie there was nothing to be alarmed about, and a few seconds later
she saw the source of the people’s excitement: Humphrey Bogart and Lauren
Bacall had just walked into the club and taken a seat beneath one of the palm
trees.

Marie
shook her head and smiled ironically as she and Tom went back to their table.

“You
find it funny?” he asked.

“Amusing,”
she said. “It never ceases to amaze.”

“The
hero worship?” He pulled her chair out for her, and they sat down.

She
nodded. “It’s like religion here,” she said. “But I guess it all makes sense in
a sad sort of way.”

“How
so?”

She
shrugged. “You spend your Saturday afternoons in dark theaters in Laramie or
Des Moines and you watch those faces up on the screen. And then you come here
and see the real thing, and it’s almost a spiritual experience.”

“And
you’re immune?” Tom asked. She saw that he smiled at her as though he was
trying to figure her out.

She
shrugged and smiled back. “The movie stars just never meant that much to me.”

“You’re
like the kid who grows up in the candy shop and doesn’t see the appeal of
chocolate.”

She
laughed. “I guess. To me, a movie premiere just means the streets are going to
be closed and I’ll have to find another way to get to the market for cat food.
All the people who moved here from Iowa spill off of Hollywood or Sunset and
down into the neighborhoods, craning their necks for a peek at Bob Hope and
Bing Crosby just so they can write the folks back home and show ‘em that it’s
all true.” She drained her glass, and Tom poured more wine for both of them as
she continued. “You really do rub elbows with the stars out here. And meanwhile
the Julian Piedmonts of the world are turning the rest into…zombies or
something.” Thoughtful, she ran her finger around the rim of her glass and then
looked in the direction where the commotion had been. “You know, Piedmont was
really a genius when he chose those faces for his monsters to hide behind.”

“Because
the women already think they know those men,” Tom said.

She
narrowed her eyes at him and smiled. “That’s exactly what I was going to say,”
she said. “So now you’re a mind reader, too? Is there anything you don’t do
well?”

He
shrugged. “Just have to keep trying me out on one thing and another till you
find out.” They clinked their glasses together before he said, “So you don’t
think the demons would have been as successful with different faces?”

She
raised an eyebrow and thought about it for a moment before saying, “The devil
you know is better than the devil you don’t. When you watch them on the screen,
they’re perfect. Even when they do a bad thing, they do it for the right
reasons or they end up repentant when it’s over. So if you’re lonely or bored
or unhappily married, you love those men on the screen instead. And when you
see one in real life, you’d rather take a chance on him than all the
other…lotharios and sharks and kings of the casting couch.”

“It’s
like Little Red Riding Hood.”

The
comment caught Marie off guard and made her laugh.

“What’s
so funny?” he asked.

“Just
that,” she said. “Coming from you.”

He
chuckled with her, saying, “What? You think I never heard a fairy tale when I
was a kid?”

“I’m
sorry,” she said with a smile. Then she sipped her wine and said, “Enlighten
me.”

“The
story’s about staying on the path and not talking to strangers, right? Well,
these girls…they all talked to strangers, let ‘em know they had something the
strangers wanted.”

“A
basket of goodies.”

“Call
it what you want,” he said. “And then the stranger outsmarts them. Only he’s
not dressed up as granny, but Clark Gable or Errol Flynn.”

“And
he eats a bit of her soul instead of swallowing her all up.” She nodded. “So
does that make you and me the woodsmen?”

“I
hope so.”

They
laughed together, and Tom reached for her hand across the table. She looked
into his eyes as he gently squeezed her hand. “What is it?” she asked.