Hollywood and Levine Read Free

bat.”
    He smiled and his eyes relaxed. For the first time since he had arrived, Adrian was in the same room with me.
    â€œI knew you would,” he said, and left.
    I went back to my desk and stuck my feet up on the windowsill. The clerks at Fidelity were getting their coats and lining up at the time clock. I felt a familiar pang and wished for nothing more complicated than to punch out with them and ride the subway home to the wife, kids, and leaping pooch. Dinner, the sports pages, radio, yell at the kids a little, and bed down with my gentle and obliging missus. Not big demands, just impossible ones.
    I watched the clerks file out and wondered about the possible dimensions of Walter Adrian’s mistake, pretty sure that I was getting into another ungodly mess.
    Adrian had gotten there ahead of me and was waiting in front of Lindy’s, taller than most of the people who swept past him into the restaurant. It was a surprising night for February, mild and wet and gusty; the screenwriter’s hair was blowing about wildly and he stood tightly wrapped in his raincoat like a ship’s captain in an epic storm.
    â€œWhy didn’t you wait inside?” I asked him.
    Adrian just shrugged and we pushed through the revolving doors into the brightly lit interior. Lindy’s was a famous hangout for show business types, gamblers, and dress manufacturers who thought they fit into the first two categories. The cheesecake was legendary, but I did not really like Lindy’s at all; it was full of comedians, professional and amateur, who belittled each other and pretended it was done out of affection. The camaraderie and warmth was as genuine as an electric hearth.
    We got a booth near the back and ordered a couple of drinks. Adrian looked better, having shaved, changed, and freshened up.
    â€œWhere did you leave him?” I asked.
    â€œLeave who?”
    â€œThe tail.”
    Our drinks arrived. The fat gray-haired waiter wanted to know if we were ready to order. When we said no, he grunted and walked away.
    We clinked glasses.
    â€œTo old friendship renewed,” said Adrian, his eyes glittering. He seemed very happy.
    â€œTo crime,” I replied, delicately sipping my iced bourbon. “The tail, Walter, where did you leave him?”
    â€œThere isn’t any tail, Jack. I made that up before.”
    He opened up his menu and studied it.
    â€œNo tail,” I said quietly, as if to confirm it. I was surprised and not surprised. “You want to explain why you told me you were being followed, Walter?”
    Adrian wouldn’t lift his eyes from the menu.
    â€œDon’t be angry, Jack. I do need your help.” He finally looked up. “But I couldn’t just come in off the street and spill. I had to see how I felt with you, had to chat and get comfortable. Trust is very important in something like this.”
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œLike what I need you for. When you asked what the problem was, I said the first thing that sounded plausible. Being followed sprang to mind. I used it in Murder Street .” He smiled. “Fooled you.”
    â€œThat’s not so hard.”
    The waiter returned and wouldn’t leave until we ordered. Walter and I both opted for the brisket. The waiter tore the menus from our hands and departed.
    â€œOkay, Walter, for real this time: what’s the problem?”
    The writer finished off his manhattan and coughed a bit, his cheeks flushing red. Then he folded his hands before him.
    â€œIt’s kind of a long story,” he began. “The background, that is.”
    â€œThere aren’t any short stories in my business.”
    â€œSo you’ll be patient?”
    â€œI’m even patient with strangers, Walter.”
    He was moved by the remark. His eyes went a little wet and he nodded.
    â€œI know, Jack. That’s why I’m talking to you.” Adrian rubbed the corners of his eyes. “Okay. The short of it is