Jimmy and Fay Read Free

was carefully examining everything—the bookcase, the little bar, the leaded glass lamp, the rug, the armchair. And me. There was something about the way she studied me that I did not understand. She was wearing a tweed dress and a belted jacket, the same outfit she’d had on that morning when she introduced the picture. It might have been the same clothes she was wearing in her first scene in the movie where she tried to steal the apple. She sure looked about the same as she did on-screen. Wide forehead, huge eyes, tight little mouth, but when she spoke, she didn’t have that fruity, half-British accent that most people in the movies seemed to have. She sounded more normal in person. She introduced the woman with her as Hazel. Hazel still looked worried and maybe a little scared, like she was not used to being in a speak, even a respectable classy speak like mine.
    Connie came in with the Dom and four glasses. I uncorked, poured, and offered a toast, “To your absent costar, the Eighth Wonder of the World.”
    Miss Wray looked at Connie and asked, “Is he serious?”
    â€œAnd how. He’s been talking about nothing else for a week. Dragged me to the first show.”
    The door banged open. Detective William Ellis shouldered through and the room seemed smaller. “Quinn,” he said, “I gotta talk to you.” Then he noticed the women and said to Hazel, “You must be the actress.”
    Miss Wray, unruffled, said, “Try again.”
    Ellis shrugged and said to her, “So you’re the one they’ve got the dirty pictures of?”
    Hazel shot to her feet and got in Ellis’s face, “Absolutely not! She had nothing to do with that filth.”
    They had my attention.
    I told Connie to fetch Ellis a gin once she’d finished her champagne. She knocked it back and stopped to whisper something to Miss Wray on her way out.
    Ellis settled into the armchair and said to Connie, “There’ll be two lawyers from RKO here soon. Send ’em back here.”
    She looked at me. I nodded.
    Thinking he was in charge, Ellis held out a hand and snapped his fingers. “Let’s see the pictures.”
    Miss Wray ignored him. She leaned back on the divan, crossed her legs glamorously, and said, “Perhaps when the gentlemen from the studio are here.”
    Connie showed them in a few minutes later, when she brought Ellis his gin.
    Their names were Grossner and Sleave and they were both balding, slightly paunchy men who looked like they didn’t laugh much. They wore black three-piece suits fully buttoned, and dark ties, I don’t remember which color. Sleave wore the kind of glasses that pinch the bridge of your nose. Grossner was taller and wore regular glasses.
    He looked around the room and said, “Given the sensitive nature of our business, I think it should be kept as quiet as possible. Miss Wray’s assistant and the bar girl can wait downstairs.”
    Miss Wray said, “Absolutely not. Hazel is part of this.”
    I leaned back in my chair and said, “There’s no reason for Connie to leave,” but she shook her head and slipped out.
    After the door clicked shut, Sleave said, “We have spent the afternoon speaking with the studio in California.”
    Grossner muttered, “The long-distance charges alone are going to be astronomical. Twenty-five dollars just to connect.”
    Sleave paid no attention and said to Miss Wray, “We have come to a decision. If indeed the situation is as you describe it, we will not comply with this extortion. But we will, of course, provide you a bodyguard. He should be at the hotel when you return from the reception.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” Her voice was cold.
    Sleave tugged at his vest and cleared his throat. “We have spoken to several senior executives in both the legal and production departments, and if these pictures are indeed not of you, then the studio has no