H
ey, Lily,” Beverly called, knocking on her bedroom door. “Want to go to a real Hollywood premiere? Fumiko has an extra ticket. Jinx was supposed to come, but she had a date last night, the dirty dog, and she must be asleep, she’s not answering her door.”
Why not?
Lily thought. She ate a packet of saltines, brushed her teeth diligently, and gargled with Lavoris (“It tastes good, it’s good taste”).
The front yard had already sunk into shadow when they set out. The bungalow across the street glowed with the day’s last light, the stucco shining like cake frosted in broad, undulant strokes. The cactus was majestic in silhouette, all prongs and ornamental spikes, its nocturnal blooms white and sepulchral. If landscape shaped mythology, then Southern California’s was solitary heroes moving against an empty horizon, Spanish missions rising from sun-baked land, fasting and fleshly mortifications, Indian animism under the desert moon. L.A. was the anti-paradise, its dreams written on parchment-thin bougainvillea that crumpled with the first breeze of fall.
Strange desires stirred inside Lily. She yearned to slip inside these houses, assume a new identity. She’d be an actress or a pit musician, a high-priced call girl, a secretary preparing a solitary meal, a dowager awaiting death. So many lives behind those iron-studded oak doors. She wanted to flit in and out of them like a diffident angel.
On the Boulevard, they stopped at the window of an appliance store where a television tuned to KTLA was broadcasting Korla Pandit’s
Adventures in Music.
An impeccably dressed Indian man wearing a jeweled turban, Pandit played the organ with a serene smile while dancers pranced among fountains and pillars. Fumiko said Mrs. Potter wanted to install a TV in the rooming house with a coin box that would provide a half hour of viewing time for each quarter. The others agreed this was a good idea.
A flickering neon sign across the street caught Lily’s eye.
THE CROW’S NEST.
“What’s that place?” she asked Beverly, recognizing the nightclub Harry Jack had mentioned.
“I’ve never been inside. It’s supposed to have a strange clientele.”
“Extra, extra,” the newsboys called from far away, but Lily barely heard them.
“I’ve changed my mind about the premiere,” she said. “Meet you back home.”
Before they could stop her, Lily ran across the street. From inside the bar came the sound of piano music. The neon tubes hissed in a sinister fashion. Lily pulled on the door. Locked. She peered through glass bricks that formed a ship’s porthole, but saw only her own distorted reflection. She decided to try the rear entrance.
The alley was dark, but there were plenty of people about, and it was early. Lily counted the storefronts as she walked. The Crow’s Nest was twelve buildings in. She’d reached six when she heard someone behind her. A man’s tread, not a woman’s light, tapping heels. She walked faster. The footsteps sped up. The businesses weren’t marked from the back and she’d lost count. Lily stood before a black door with a brass handle. Was this it?
An unearthly howl split the air, making Lily flinch, and she turned and saw a figure in a long coat approach. Across the alley, two shadows raced atop the wall. Cats, she thought with relief. The figure drew nearer. Lily grabbed the brass handle and pulled. Locked. He was almost upon her. The piano music grew louder. She pounded.
Fingers tapped her shoulder and she turned, ready to scream.
A pale, clean-shaven man stood there, an unlit cigarette dangling from red lips. Under the hat, she saw cropped black hair, parted severely on the side and slicked back.
“Might you have a light?” he said, his English accented and musical. His eyes were warm and amused, above high cheekbones. “Ah,” he said in a rich contralto. “You are new to the game. Do not be afraid.”
She watched, mesmerized, as his hands dipped gracefully into his pocket, past an antique watch on a chain. He pulled out an engraved silver case, opened it, and offered her a cigarette. They were like none she’d ever seen before, short and wrapped in black paper embossed with gold lettering.
“Please,” he said. “They’re handmade for me in Turkey.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t smoke.”
“Suit yourself.” The corners of his mouth turned down and he lit his own, inhaled, and blew out the smoke. He was slender under the coat, wearing an old-fashioned jacket with buttons and epaulets that tapered at the waist, then flared into tails.
“Very well,” he said. “Shall we make our entrance?”
“You’re going in too?”
“But of course.”
It dawned on her. The fey, flirtatious banter. The exaggerated, theatrical movements. He was homosexual. That was probably what Beverly had heard.
“I’m afraid it’s not open,” Lily said.
He cocked his head. “Oh, but it is. To the right customer.”
He knocked twice, waited, then gave three more short raps.
A porthole opened.
“We’re closed,” came a voice.
Lily’s new friend put his face to the porthole and whispered. Lily saw that his eyes were made up like a woman’s.
The door creaked open.
“After you, mademoiselle.” Her new friend flourished his arm.
Lily swallowed and stepped through the door.
Despite the bar’s penumbra, Lily could see it was crowded. A man was playing standards on the piano while couples slow-danced.
“Over here Alex,” came a gruff voice from a table against the wall.
“Patience, good people,” Alex said, shrugging off his coat. He slung it over his arm, took her elbow, and led her to the bar, where he ordered them both champagne.
“Is it selfish,” he said, “to keep you all to myself for a while?”
His eyes wandered over her body and Lily wondered if she’d misjudged the situation. Maybe this wasn’t a homosexual club. There was something illicit here, she felt the underground currents lapping all around. Drugs, perhaps? Or some more refined decadence?
The bar was so tightly packed their thighs almost touched. It was hot, loud. She felt claustrophobia descend like a clammy blanket. She wondered if anyone at the rooming house would notice her missing if she didn’t come home.
Lily shifted away as Alex’s thigh pressed against hers, even as her brain flooded with sense-memories of Pico. After almost a year alone, she’d forgotten how it felt. At first she’d moved awkwardly, like rusty machinery. But he’d awoken something dormant that had roared back to life. She felt Alex’s thigh again and wished he could be Pico.
And yet. The contrast between the swagger and pale delicate features, the rouge over pale skin, the eyeliner, the sureness of his touch as he’d maneuvered her through the club. It was oddly titillating.
“My, you’re a pretty little thing,” he said, cupping her chin.
He leaned in with those full red lips, and feeling dizzy, she closed her eyes and whispered, “No,” but somehow his lips were on hers now, billowy and soft. For a moment she gave in, then pulled back, bracing her hand against his chest to push him off.
And felt…
Breasts.
“You’re a woman!” Lily whispered.
“So are you.”
“You kissed me.”
“You liked it.”
“That’s when I thought you were a man.”
“What does it matter? I should have been a man.”
“It’s not the same.”
“I’ll be a man for you.”
Alex moved toward her again. Lily turned away and stared at her drink. Alex’s face hovered, then withdrew. “The ice princess,” she said. “You want to be seduced.” There was a pause. “Or maybe I’m not your type?”
“It’s not that. It’s…”
“It’s a game for you. Why else would you come?”
Lily decided to be blunt.
“Remember Kitty Hayden, the actress found below the Hollywood sign?”
Alex’s eyes flickered with distrust. She didn’t answer.
“I’m a friend of the family. Kitty’s shoe and purse were found less than a block away from here. This place stays open late, so I was wondering…I came here to ask…to find out…if any of the patrons saw or heard anything unusual after eleven p.m. on October seventh.”
Now it was Alex’s turn to shrink away. “Nobody here had anything to do with that.”
“I’m not saying they did.”
“We don’t want trouble with the police. We pay money, each month, to be left alone.”
“I’m sorry you have to do that.”
“I wasn’t even here that night.”
“But others were. If you could introduce me to some of your friends, I’ll ask them.”
Alex shuddered. “And where would it end? With us testifying in court? Such a thing could ruin careers. Lives.”
“Not in court. Just to me.”
“You’re naïve to think it would stop there.”
“Two girls are dead. They didn’t deserve to die. I’m betting somebody here saw something.”
“And I can’t afford to lose my job,” Alex said. “There’s already talk about a loyalty oath, to weed out Reds. And because of my accent, I’m…” Alex’s mouth twisted. She tapped the ash off her Turkish cigarette. “This is exactly why I left Europe. I care nothing for ideology. Only to be free.”
“Kitty Hayden didn’t get freedom. Her killer’s still out there.”
Just then another pretty young man in slacks and an open-neck shirt came up. “Really, Alex,” he said. “You and your friend must join us.”
“So that’s why I need your help,” Lily concluded, after she’d bought drinks for the table. She didn’t understand Harry’s complaint about the piano player, he really wasn’t bad. When she mentioned it, everyone burst into laughter.
“I bet he started playing ‘God Save the Queen,’” Alex said.
Lily nodded.
“It’s code, darling. To warn the men to start dancing with women and vice versa. Charles must have suspected your friend was an undercover detective.”
Then it was Lily’s turn to laugh. Wait till she told Harry. It felt good to laugh. She’d done so little of it lately.
Alex’s friends assured her that they hadn’t been at the Crow’s Nest the night Kitty disappeared. Just then another mannish girl walked into the bar and joined their table. She carried an evening newspaper that smelled of fresh ink.
“There’s been another girl strangled and dumped below the Hollywood sign with only one shoe,” the newcomer said.
Lily’s skin burned prickly hot as she crowded around the paper with the others.
The photo of the dead girl’s face was indistinct this time, and most of her body was concealed by a…Lily’s brain exploded as she recognized her coat. It stood out immediately because the lapels and buttons were of a classic prewar European style, a cut rarely seen on L.A.’s streets.
“Oh my God.” She grabbed the table and tried to read, but in the dim light the letters blurred across the page.
“Here, darling.” Alex flicked her lighter. Lily read:
“‘The body of a third strangled young woman was discovered below the Hollywood sign this afternoon wearing only one shoe, leading police to wonder whether a demonic Hollywood Strangler is preying on the city’s young, beautiful female population. Police are trying to establish the identity of the unknown woman in her twenties, who was found fully clothed and wearing a wool coat with fur trim. Anyone with information as to…’”
The thought struck Lily like a punch in the gut.
“It’s Jinx,” she said with sick certainty. “One of Kitty’s roommates. She borrowed my coat last night.”
Beverly’s voice echoed in her head:
Fumiko has an extra ticket. Jinx was supposed to come, but she had a date last night, the dirty dog, and she must be asleep, she’s not answering her door.
The table erupted as everyone sought to speak.
A clanging echo filled Lily’s ears, drowning out all other sound. Three girls dead now, all of them strangled. Lily felt a chill creep up her own neck, imagined bare fingers tightening around her throat. The last embrace.
“I’ve got to get back,” she said, standing unsteadily.
Had Fumiko and Beverly already heard the news? Did they realize it was Jinx? Were they at the house right now, being interviewed by detectives?
“Before you go, let’s see if the bartender recalls anything unusual that night,” Alex said.
But the bartender told them the place had pretty much cleared out by midnight. Then a gleam came into his eye.
“Oh, I almost forgot. One of our Hollywood friends showed up right before closing. He didn’t stay long.”
“Ah,” Alex said.
“Who was it?” Lily asked.
“Here at the Crow,” the bartender said, “we believe discretion is the better part of valor.”
“But what if this man saw something on his way out?” Lily pressed.
The bartender laughed. “He was too busy making cow eyes at his new friend. They didn’t see anything but each other.”
Lily couldn’t force the bartender to reveal the man’s name, and it might come to nothing anyway. Alex said she’d hail a cab.