Mirror Read Free

worked behind the counter at The Reel Thing, selling everything from souvenir programs for the opening night of
Gone With the Wind
to Ida Lupino’s earrings. It was Ramone more than anybody else who had helped him to build up his unique collection of Boofuls souvenirs.
    ‘Listen, Martin, something real interesting came up. A lady came into the store this morning and said she had a whole lot of furniture for sale.’
    Martin cleared his throat. ‘I could use some furniture, sure. But actually I was thinking of taking a trip out to the Z-Mart furnishing warehouse in Burbank. I can’t afford anything antique.’
    ‘No, no, no, you’re not getting my drift,’ said Ramone. ‘This lady bought some of the furniture from Boofuls’ old house. There was an auction, you get it, after the kid was killed, and everything was sold. Drapes, tables, knives and forks. They even sold the food out of the refrigerator. Can you imagine what kind of a ghoul would want to eat a murdered kid’s ice cream?’
    ‘But what happened? This woman bought some of the furniture?’
    ‘Maybe not her personally, but her husband or her father or somebody. Anyway, she has, what, lemme see, I made a list here – she has two armchairs, a liquor cabinet, a sofa, four barstools, and a mirror.’
    ‘Are you going to sell it for her?’
    ‘No, not my scene, furniture. And – you know – apart from you, nobody’s too keen on Boofuls stuff. I told her to advertise in the paper. Maybe some sicko will want it.’
    ‘What are you trying to say? That I’m a sicko, too?’
    ‘Aw, come on, man, I know you’re legitimate. You should see some of the guys who come in to look through Carole Landis’ underwear, stuff like that.’
    Martin said, ‘I’d like to see the furniture, sure, but I really don’t have too much spare cash right now.’
    ‘Well, that’s up to you,’ Ramone told him. ‘But if you’re interested, the lady’s name is Mrs Harper, and she lives at 1334 Hillrise. There’s no harm in taking a look, is there?’
    ‘All right, I guess not, thanks for thinking of me.’
    ‘No sweat, man. Whenever I hear the name Boofuls, I think of you.’
    ‘I hope that’s a compliment.’
    ‘
De nada
,’ said Ramone, and hung up.
    Martin finished his wine. He knew what he ought to do: and that was to sit down dutifully at his typewriter and zip another sheet of paper into the platen and carry on writing the
A-Team
. However much he disagreed with Morris; however chagrined he felt for Morris’ reaction to
Boofuls!
, Morris was an industrious agent with matchless contacts, and he made his writers money. If Martin didn’t finish this rewrite by tomorrow morning, it was quite conceivable that Morris would never be able to sell him to Stephen J Cannell Productions ever again.
    But, damn it, he was so dispirited, and so damn sick of writing slick and silly dialogue. An expedition to Hillrise Avenue to look over some of Boofuls’ original furniture might be just what he needed to lift his spirits. Just to
touch
it would be something – to touch the actual furniture that little Boofuls had sat on himself. It would make him seem more real, and Morris Nathan more imaginary, and just at the moment Martin couldn’t think of a better tonic than that.
    Hillrise Avenue was a steeply sloping street up by the Hollywood Reservoir. The houses had been avant-garde in 1952; today they were beginning to show signs of shabbiness and wear. Hillrise was one of those areas that had never quite made it, and was resignedly deteriorating for the eventual benefit of some smart real-estate developer.
    Martin parked his Mustang with the rear wheels cramped against the curb and climbed out. From here, there was a wide, distant view of Los Angeles, smoggy today, with the twin tombstones of Century City rising above the haze. He mounted the steep concrete steps to 1334, sending a lizard scurrying into the undergrowth.
    The house was square, strawberry pink, with Spanish