Читать книгу Kiss Your Elbow - Alan Handley - Страница 14

IN WALGREEN’S THERE WAS just the usual crowd of civilians. It was way past even the most leisurely lunchtime for actors. No matter how good you were at it, you couldn’t nurse an egg-salad sandwich and chocolate malted till almost four-thirty.

I ordered a ham and cheese and coffee, and Maggie had a tuna-fish salad and coffee. We just sat there until the plates came sliding up. I always meant to find out how they manage to get two slices out of one leaf of lettuce. It wasn’t till I started eating that I realized how hungry I was so I ordered another of the same. After we finished I reached for a cigarette and felt the tickets that Nick Stein had given me.

“Would you like to go to the theater tonight?” I asked Maggie.

“Is it a real show or some more of your passes?” She’d been with me before and was naturally a little suspicious.

“That new Lucille Blake thing. Not supposed to be too bad.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. Not tonight. I still feel a little strange and you must admit that this has been a rather hectic day. First that damn doorknob and then you rushing in and confessing to a murder. Why don’t you ask your precious Bobby LeB. to go?”

“Not a bad idea if I knew where to find him. Might take Libby Drew and find out what she knows.”

“She’d be thrilled to death. Which reminds me I didn’t pay for the drinks.”

She reached into her purse and put some money in my hand. I didn’t see how much it was. “Here, take this and pay for them, will you? You can pay me back from the reward.”

“What reward?”

“Why else are you so intent on playing Dick Tracy?”

“I still owe you some.” But I didn’t try to give it back.

“Yes, dear, I know, but don’t let it keep you awake nights. It doesn’t me. Call me in the morning and let me know what Libby does for you…in solving your precious little mystery, I mean.” She patted my cheek. “But don’t forget Nellie’s funeral in the afternoon. She’ll give a better show dead than Lucille Blake alive.”

And knowing an exit line when she says one, Maggie walked out of the drugstore pulling on her gloves. A nice girl. Has sense, too, though you generally overlook it when she starts being vague; but this afternoon she wasn’t vague at all. I knew she was right. It was silly, I suppose, getting myself mixed up in this Nellie thing. Maybe I was just bored. I felt bored a lot since I got out of the army, but who didn’t. Hell, I might as well finish it up now that I had started. Call up Libby and see if she wanted to go to the theater tonight. I gathered the checks and walked over to the cashiers. It was then that I looked at the money Maggie had put in my hand. Two fifty-dollar bills…enough to last me for a month, if I was very careful. The cashier gave me some nickels with the change, so I went down to the deserted basement and telephoned Libby. She was delighted to go to the theater with me and would meet me at Louis Bergen’s bar at eight-fifteen, and I’d better get the Bronx Home News or some such paper tomorrow, she might have her picture in it. I told her I would and hung up.

The clock on the wall said it was only about ten minutes to five…a lot sure had happened in one day. That’s what comes of getting up before noon.

If I hurried I might have time to get over to Equity before it closed. Then I could ride home on the Fifth Avenue bus and maybe catch a nap before meeting Libby.

The old brownstone on West Forty-seventh Street where Equity has its offices is something right out of Charles Addams and the only reason I ever go there is to advise them of a change in my address or see if the bond is posted for that turkey I may get a walk-on in.

I climbed the creaky stairs up to the third floor information section where they have all the addresses. The fussy little old lady in charge behind the wire fence was just getting ready to go. She was alone—her handmaidens must have jumped the gun. With a great deal of pursing of lips, she finally consented to ask me what I wanted.

“Yiss? And what is it you require?”

“It’s kind of silly,” I said. “But I’m trying to locate someone, but I only know his first name and last initial.” I gave her the teeth, but she was having none of it.

“Are you an Equity member?”

“Yes, for eight years. My name is Tim Briscoe.” This seemed to mean something to her.

“Briscoe…Briscoe? Oh, yes. Someone just asked for your address and phone number not half an hour ago.”

“Who was it? Do you remember?”

“Certainly. It was dear Henry Frobisher. Such a fine man, a real gentleman. I was with him in Bless You, Darling. Perhaps you saw it?” I hadn’t. She preened herself and patted her hair back in place. “Of course, it was just a tiny part, the party scene in the second act. I wore purple and ecru lace. Dear Henry was so kind about the part being so small, but I do think it better to have a small part with a first-rate management than a lead with some fly-by-night, don’t you?” I heartily agreed. She rambled on.

Why would Frobisher want to see me? And I thought he didn’t even know my name. I wondered if it was too late to call him. No, he didn’t look like he was going back to his office when we left him. Anyway, Kendall Thayer was at the Casbah and he was pretty good about taking messages for me.

“And wasn’t that tragic about his son?” Purple and Ecru Lace was still rolling along.

“His son?” I wasn’t paying much attention, trying to puzzle out why he should want my phone number.

“Being killed in the war. Such a blow to dear Mr. Frobisher. An only son, too. I met him once, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know.” And I didn’t want to know. I just wanted to get Bobby’s address and beat it home and find out if Frobisher had called and if so why. But Tootsie, here, was determined to take me down Memory Lane, willy-nilly. “Such a lovely boy, too. So well mannered. Mr. Frobisher brought him to rehearsal. Such a tragedy. Were you in the service, too?” I admitted I was. “Mr. Frobisher’s son was killed in action. In Normandy, I believe,” she said accusingly. Well, my God, Tootsie, I’m sorry. I apologize. I did not mean to offend you. I know I’m not lovely or very well mannered, and my father can’t give you a job in purple and ecru lace, but please don’t make me feel guilty just being alive.

“I’m sorry, Mrs…. Mrs….”

“Tuckerman. Mrs. Tuckerman. Of course, my stage name was Marianne Rice, but then…”

“Yes, well, Mrs. Tuckerman, I’m really in rather a hurry….”

“Oh, yiss, of course,” she said coldly, all efficiency again. “Now who was it you wanted to locate? It’s really past hours, you know.” I told her what I knew and she flew to the files.

“We have a Robert LeBor, but he is in Hollywood now. Would he be the one?”

“No, I shouldn’t think so. Any others?”

“There’s a Robin LeBaron…but of course he’s dead, poor soul, so I should scarcely think he would be the one you are after, would you?”

“Scarcely. Is that all?”

“Yiss, that is all. Are you quite sure he is a member of Actors’ Equity?”

“No…not exactly.”

“Well, really, Mr. Briscoe.” Angrily she took her coat from a cupboard and started to put it on.

“Can you suggest any other place I might look? You’ve been so kind and helpful perhaps you might know some other place.” That thawed her out a little. She paused for a second.

“Is your friend a member of the profession?”

“I’m almost positive of that.”

“There are still, you know, other organizations. Professional organizations—AFRA, Screen Actors Guild, Chorus Equity and, I believe, those night club entertainers have some sort of an organization, too.” I hadn’t thought of that possibility. My thanks were slightly overdone, but she must receive a kind word so seldom that by the time I had escorted her down to the street and said goodbye I was pretty sure I could play gin rummy with those address cards from now on.

There must be someone I knew who was a member of those other unions, and I could get them to check for me. It was such a long shot that there didn’t seem to be any particular need for secrecy. And if questioned, I could always say I found a watch or a ring with an inscription. “Ever thine, Bobby LeB.,” or some such.

And Mr. Frobisher wanted my phone number. Money in my pocket and a phone call from a top-flight producer. What more could I ask?

Things were certainly looking up.