Goodbye Natalie
Chapter Twentyone: Flesh to Stone
Vivian Valentine sat at her dressing table carefully applying the layers of make-up that temporarily disguised the evidence of a hard-lived, long life. She began with a heavy, neutral concealing foundation. While it dried, she expertly glued on feathery false eyelashes, painted dark, tapered brows and etched eyeliner with a steady hand. After choosing the appropriate glittering diamond earrings, she added generous portions of powdery tones to her cheeks and forehead, giving her aged face a natural, youthful hue. Eye shadow, rouge and blood red lipstick completed the mask; she examined her handiwork critically. Finally, came the expensive auburn wig, she slipped it on ceremoniously, like a queen donning her crown. Perfume, lotions, jewelry and a lavish monogrammed dressing gown completed her preparation... she posed in the brightly lit mirror. Through years of training, practice and performing she knew exactly how to slightly turn her head, intentionally affect a steely glint in her eyes, and transform from an aging, dowdy recluse to a lady of power and influence. As she studied her reflection, she lifted her chin slightly and turned the head in one-quarter profile, satisfied finally, she was ready.
Fallon had warned her that the police would soon trace phone and bank records to her home in their search for clues in the homicide of a girl that her son had been involved with. She believed in her heart that Frankie wasn’t a killer; Lord knew he had his faults, but hopefully, being a murderer wasn’t one of them. A detective from the Hollywood division had called several times and she had let the machine pick up. They’d be here soon, the curtains would rise, the lights would be shined on her and the cameras would roll again. It would be tabloid fodder that a once famous movie queen was involved somehow in a tawdry murder mystery. Vivian Valentine’s youth and beauty might be faded, but her sense of dignity and professionalism were intact. She was prepared. She hoped Fallon found Frankie before the police.
* * *
Fallon found a parking spot on the street near the hotel and rode the creaking elevator to the third floor. It had been a long, exhausting day and she was looking forward to getting out of her damp, crumpled clothes and into a warm bath. When she entered the cheap hotel room that they’d rented just that morning, she was amazed at the transformation. Kwan had taken her shopping trip to Chinatown seriously and a few minor improvements had changed the once dingy room into a comfortable temporary home. Simple bamboo shades covered the peeling paint of the windows, fresh linens, a fluffy comforter and a few throw pillows made the worn bed inviting and colorful. A little table lamp with a red shade warmed the once stark lighting. A tattered, much played with teddy bear sat contentedly in the corner, along with a few second-hand toys. A light trace of gladiola incense traced the air and an inexpensive clock radio played soft music from the nightstand. A casserole steamed on the hot plate and Kwan greeted the stunned Fallon with a hot cup of jasmine tea.
Kwan herself was a picture of elegance. She was dressed in a midnight blue, tight-fitting Chinese hostess dress with a dangerous slit up one side. Her hair shone bright in the soft light and her face was carefully made up and perfect. Her eyes, deep and dark and sparkling, radiated warmth and caring. Fallon was nearly speechless and in complete awe. Kwan took her coat and hung it on the bathroom door near the heating vent to dry. As she shook it out, she wrinkled her nose. ”You smell like cigarettes, too much smoking.” Kwan admonished.
Fallon sniffed her blouse sleeve, Joanie was right, she needed to cut back. ”I can’t believe what you’ve done with the place!” Fallon said. ”You did all this with a hundred dollars?”
”Chinatown discount shops and thrift stores. When they found out I spoke Cantonese, I got the best deals.” Kwan answered brightly. ”Get out of those wet clothes and take a bath, dinner’s almost ready.”
Fallon complied. The tub filled quickly with hot water and she lathered her hair with shampoo, washing off the day’s grime and the oily massage parlor lotions. After toweling off and wrapping in a terry cloth robe, Kwan served her a plate of heavily spiced chicken and rice and a glass of red wine. She ate the delicious concoction greedily and leaned back on the bed admiring Kwan’s efficient movements. Kwan stood before her, patiently waiting for judgment . ”You like?” Kwan asked.
The
ambiguous question hung in the air like a butterfly flittering over a spring
meadow. Fallon didn’t know if she meant the decorating, the food, or the
way she looked in the stunning dress, but regardless, the answer was all the
same. ”Oh yes, I like very much!” Fallon said sincerely.
Kwan smiled warmly. ”You don’t think it’s too tight?” Kwan asked. She coyly scratched an exposed thigh with wickedly long fingernails. It sounded like a sickle cutting ripe wheat stalks. Fallon was mesmerized by Kwan’s subtle movements and intense magnetism. She was all things good, wrapped in a pretty package with a bow on top. Virtuous, wholesome domesticity with the soul of a nymphomaniac tigress. Untamed passion flowed dangerously through her veins, daring the unsuspecting to fall into her trap. Like the irresistible mermaid luring lost sailors to the breathless depths, Kwan’s beauty radiated desire and lust and abandonment of all that’s moral and familiar. Fallon wondered, not for the first time, if she knew the power she wielded. She searched Kwan’s eyes for recognition. There was no hint there, no way to tell. Fallon wasn’t wise enough to make that call. That kind of wisdom only came from years of worldly experience. Some of her recent experiences were valuable lessons that she would be able to draw upon later for assistance in unraveling life’s mysteries. She was learning that she would have to put aside old prejudices and judgments to be able to be open to the lessons.
”Come here Joanie, I want to show you something.” Fallon said. She began massaging Kwan’s toes and feet the way the massage girls at Magic Carpet had done, firmly and deliberately. Kwan responded affirmatively.
”Oh...that’s nice.” Kwan purred. ”Where’d you learn that?”
”From the pro’s.” Fallon said while she continued kneading. ”I stopped off at Magic Carpet Massage on the way back. That’s the MCM, O’Farrel Street forwarding address on Jake Barne’s mailbox contract. They wouldn’t even talk to me unless I was a customer, so...”
”How was it?” Kwan asked.
”Really nice.” Fallon recounted the day’s events as she massaged Kwan’s feet and hands and shoulders, including the tense moments at the east bay wharf and her inability to make any headway on either Frankie or Jake Barnes. ”Tomorrow I’m going to talk to Mr. Dearing at the Broadway office of Heartline Productions, or try to anyway.”
”What about the other leads Vivian gave you?” Kwan asked.
”The Broadway office is one of them. I checked the phone number, it’s the same as one of the leads on the list. The third is in one of the bank office buildings in the financial district, I’ll try to follow that one up tomorrow as well.” Fallon drifted for a moment, thinking strategy.
”What about Jake Barnes?” Kwan asked.
”I’m not sure. I couldn’t get anything out of anyone at the massage parlor, it’s like another world over there. I’m not even sure they speak English, or at least that’s what they act like when it’s convenient for them.” Fallon explained.
”Are they Chinese?” Kwan asked.
”I don’t know for certain, I can’t tell the difference. But both the girls I talked to, or tried to talk to, spoke the same language.” Fallon said.
”I should go in!” Kwan said. ”If they speak Chinese, maybe they’ll talk to me.”
Fallon thought for a moment. ”Maybe...but they seem reluctant to talk to outsiders, regardless if you’re Chinese, you’re still not in their circle of trust.”
Kwan continued. ”The name on the mail drop contract, Wong, that’s Chinese.”
”You can’t just go in and start asking questions about Jake Barnes, I don’t think that would work. And once we scare them, they’re for sure gonna clam up on us.” Fallon said. Both girls retreated into their own thoughts. Kwan cleaned up the dinner dishes and Fallon rested on the bed, finishing her wine.
Kwan broke the silence. ”I could go in undercover.”
Fallon raised an eyebrow. ”At a massage parlor?”
”Sure, it makes sense. I’m new to the city, need a job, need money... they’re going to hire me for certain. They’re always looking for new girls. I get in, look around, keep my ears open...I could do it!” Kwan said excitedly.
”No way!” Fallon said firmly. ”We don’t even know if this is a legit forwarding address for Jake. He might have just jotted it down from memory, he might have just been a customer there once for all we know. I’m not going to let you go snooping around someplace like that alone, who knows what trouble you’ll get into.”
”Soon enough I’ll find out Jake’s connection to the place, if there is one. Besides, it’s the only lead you’ve got.” Kwan said.
”Joanie, it’s a whorehouse!” Fallon said. ”I mean, sure, they give legit massages at times, but on the whole, it’s still a front for prostitution. Guy’s are going in there paying for sex, there’s no way I’m allowing you to put yourself in that position.” Fallon was steadfast.
”It’s just sex.” Kwan stated matter-of-factly.
Fallon snapped her head around to face Kwan. ”You can’t be serious! Just sex? Those girls have to do whatever with whoever pays...there’s no telling what goes on behind closed doors.”
”It’s nothing I haven’t done before.” Kwan said with a straight face.
It was a cold splash of reality in Fallon’s face. She remembered where Kwan had been working up until only a few short days ago, in the Dragon Lady bar as a bargirl, dancing and performing acts of prostitution to pay off the smugglers who had brought her to the U.S. Fallon’s own puritanical upbringing and way of seeing life was a far cry from the world in which Kwan had been raised, and lived in. She had put all of that in the furthest reaches of her consciousness and realized she was seeing Kwan in the light in which she herself was familiar with. Fallon knew it would never be so easily dismissed and forgotten by Kwan though, she didn’t even want to think about the things the beautiful Joanie had seen and done.
”Joanie, as far as I have anything to do with it, you’ll never have to do anything like that again.” Fallon said seriously.
Kwan liked hearing that, she was half a world away from family and friends and since Fallon had saved her life they’d been nearly inseparable. She felt close to her and protected. She rolled over on top of Fallon unexpectedly and rubbed noses. ”We’ll see.” Kwan said. She jumped up energetically and posed provocatively, straightening her hair and dress. She stood over Fallon on the bed, looking down at her tauntingly.
”Me love you long time A-mer-i-can girl...you like-ee?” Kwan suggestively swayed her hips and hiked up her dress. Fallon laughed heartily and Kwan fell to the bed giggling. They wrestled like schoolgirls at a slumber party, enjoying a few moments in remembrance of a childhood that Fallon knew had been short-lived by Kwan. The little teddy bear in the corner watched stoically, the scattered toys bought in Chinatown thrift shops, a valiant attempt by a grown woman to cling to fleeting innocence that came and went like spring’s first bloom. The memories faded and seldom called upon, left to disappear like ghosts in the fog...hazy and dim and carefully rationed. The conscience on vigilant guard against nostalgic sentimentality, the subconscious thirsty for the rain of tears that a scratching of the tender wounds of reminiscence might bring.
For the moment, for the night, all was well and good and the world was kept at bay by paper thin walls, a two-dollar chain lock and friendship and trust.
Out on the street, life wasn’t so warm and fuzzy for the young prostitute, Cherry Bomb. She’d been riding with Mudcat Jones since late last night, accepting every joint, snort and slam he’d offered. She’d also complied with his every urge and command, knowing that to refuse would mean certain violence. As far as she could tell, Mudcat hadn’t slept. He kept awake by smoking crack and stewing in the juices of his hatred for the skinny white ho he’d been following around day and night. Cherry wondered absently what the girl had done to deserve Mudcat’s relentless attention, but under the heavy pall of the combination of narcotics, her mind wasn’t functioning properly. Mudcat had her working the street in front of the white girl’s hotel, just the one block. Customers had to park within eyeshot or she would do ’em in a recessed doorway on the side street across from where Mudcat was parked. All the money went directly to Mudcat and she was busy all night turning tricks. She only took time out to pee or get a fresh high. By morning she was sweaty and sticky and used and bruised and needed a shower and some sleep.
Mudcat allowed her some baby wipes and bottled water from the Walgreen’s around the corner and a hot breakfast from the cafe next door to Fallon’s hotel.
She hungrily munched on a bacon and egg croissant before passing out in the backseat. She was going to have to plan her escape soon, for now though, all she could think about was grabbing some shut-eye. She dreamed she was on a merry-go-round, the wooden horses had blazing eyes and large fangs. The calliope music droned ominous and the sky was dark and foreboding. As she went around, grabbing at the brass ring, bats and snakes and a big-headed clown in a grim reaper hood all bit and scratched at her, tearing her clothes and hands and arms. It was terrifying, but she kept on trying to get that ring. On the last pass, they pulled her off the horse, the snakes crawling all over her, the bats clawing at her eyes and tangling in her hair, the clown hovered over her laughing. Behind the make-up it was Mudcat’s face and she fought to get away. She tried to run, but her feet wouldn’t move. She tried to scream, but no sound came out.
Cherry woke up crying with the bright sunlight hitting her face. For a moment, she didn’t know where she was and groggily looked around in confusion. They were parked on Broadway in North Chinatown. She knew the area well, it was known for its peep-show houses and girlie shows. Mudcat was hitting the pipe and watching another doorway intently. Nothing had changed, life continued as before. She fell back asleep, relieved that the dream had been interrupted but recognizing that her true-life nightmare continued.
* * *
The Broadway office of Heartline Productions took up the whole upper floor of the two-story brick building. The street level storefront advertised ”25C PEEP SHOWS”, San Francisco’s finest. James Dearing was waiting at the top of the stairs and welcomed Fallon cordially.
”Miss Hunter, a pleasure to meet you...do come up and join me.” He said.
”I’m terribly sorry to have missed you yesterday.” He motioned for Fallon to follow him to a small office in front where the light from the windows glared harshly off a large chrome and glass desk.
The other rooms appeared to be photography and film studios, probably audio and editing rooms as well. Dearing was an older, gentlemanly type. His white hair and carefully tended beard framed a thin face, that matched his equally slender physique. The large, hooded eyes seemed to be evaluating Fallon, behind a painted smile.
”Thank you for seeing me Mr. Dearing, on such short notice.” Fallon said.
”Well, any friend of Vivian...When you called this morning, I have to admit, it peaked my curiosity.” Dearing began. ”If you don’t mind me saying Miss Hunter, you seem young to be a private investigator.”
Fallon deflected the back-handed compliment by ignoring it. ”Thank you.”
”What brings you to the city?” Dearing asked.
”I’m looking for Frankie Valentine.” Fallon stated directly. She closely observed Dearing’s demeanor. He didn’t blink, his expression didn’t change.
”I see.” Dearing pulled a cigarette from a silver case and deliberately lit it with a large, crystal case desk lighter. ”Oh, I’m sorry...do you mind?” He asked Fallon.
”No, it’s fine.” Fallon said.
”Would you care for one?” He offered the case to her.
”No thank you, I’m trying to quit.” She said.
Dearing nodded and added. ”Tough one to break.”
Fallon smiled slightly. ”The bad ones always are.”
Dearing gave her a long look. ”Is Frankie in some kind of trouble?”
”His mother is concerned, she wants to know he’s alright.” Fallon said.
”Have you reason to believe he’s in San Francisco?” Dearing asked.
”It’s a possibility. Vivian said if he were to come here, he might contact you.” Fallon waited, he didn’t respond. ”How long have you known the family Mr. Dearing?”
”Oh, Viv and I go way back, back to the old days. Have you seen her pictures Miss Hunter?” Dearing asked.
”Photographs?” Fallon said.
”No, feature films.” Dearing said.
”Of course, who hasn’t.” Fallon responded.
”She was quite a movie star you know. I was her personal assistant during the heyday. After the big pictures became small, acting given way to posing, chase scenes and explosions replacing quality story-telling, I left. Moved up here and took up producing. Small time really, commercials and the like. It was Vivian who set me up with everything. I couldn’t stand to stay and watch the decay of a once glamorous Hollywood.” Dearing concluded wistfully.
”So, Vivian is a business partner of sorts?” Fallon asked.
Dearing clammed up suddenly, then said. ”Miss Hunter, if you don’t mind, I just remembered I have an important business call to place, will you excuse me?” He asked politely.
”Of course.” Fallon said.
Dearing left the room and disappeared into another office down the hall. Fallon strained to hear, but couldn’t make out a word. She suspected he was calling Vivian Valentine for a reference, to make sure Fallon was who she said she was. When he returned, his manner had shifted. The calm, self-assured demeanor was replaced with an edginess.
”Miss Hunter, I’m terribly sorry. Something has come up, a business emergency that I must attend to. If you leave your number, I’ll call you if Frankie turns up.” Dearing spoke hurriedly.
”Then you haven’t seen him?” Fallon asked.
”No, I haven’t...but if I do, you’ll be the first to know.” He said.
Fallon was rushed out and found herself standing on the sidewalk, perplexed and analyzing what had just occurred. She had underestimated the difficulty in locating someone who didn’t wish to be found. Was Dearing’s sudden change in mood relative to her inquiries? Or, just as he had said – a business emergency?
The bright sunlight felt warm on her face, Fallon pulled off her coat and took in a deep breath of fresh, clean air. It was going to take awhile to adjust to the new climate. Fallon knew that the weather wasn’t the only adaptation she needed to make. She’d only been a P.I. a few days, but, it had become readily apparent that she was going to have to learn quickly to recognize when she was being lied to, and more importantly, why.
From the back of the studio of Heartline Productions, Frankie Valentine cautiously appeared. ”Is she gone?” He asked Dearing.
They both peered out from behind the curtains, looking down at the street.
”Yes.” Dearing said.
”What did she want?” Frankie asked.
”You.” Dearing said.
”Who’d you call’? Why do you look so pale?” Frankie asked.
”I called Vivian for a reference. Frankie, there’s something I have to tell you.” Dearing hesitated. ”The housekeeper answered, she said the police had been there...looking for you. While they were questioning Vivian, she had an attack...she collapsed...a heart-attack or stroke. They transported her to Cedars-Sinai.” Dearing said solemnly.
Dearing stared at Frankie, waiting for the flood of emotions and concern that were sure to overwhelm him. After all, his own mother lying in a hospital, possibly dying, it’s only natural that her only offspring would be beside himself. Regardless of the treacherous minefields of family history, in such monumental circumstances all the bad feelings are swept under the rug in deference to maternal – filial attachment.
When Frankie spoke, his voice was cold and emotionless and his words made Dearing wonder what brand of heartbreaking anguish it had taken to turn Frankie’s heart of blood and flesh to stone.
Frankie simply said. ”Is she dead?”
* * * * *
