was reaching for his antacids. I'd forgotten what a worrier Mel was.
“Anyway, I thought it would help both of us. Jake needs the work, and I need the security breaches to stop.”
“And he's misinterpreting your gesture?” When I didn't answer, Mel asked, only half joking, “Or you are?”
* * * * *
The evening went better than I expected. It helped that Mel and I had always seen eye to eye on film—and that these classics were two of my favorites. The Big Sleep with Humphrey Bogart was pretty much the film everyone thought of when they thought of Chandler, and The Blue Dahlia was the only script Chandler wrote for the screen. Everything else was mostly adapted from his stories.
It was a pleasure to see the films again and under such primo conditions—and these were primo conditions. The county museum's Leo S. Bing Theater was equipped with an amazing sound system—three amazing sound systems, if you wanted to get technical—and it looked as good as it sounded, though that was really Mel's realm of expertise rather than mine. I was all about story. Mel was more into technique. Even if I wasn't an expert, I appreciated seeing the movies on the big screen again.
“It's going to be a shame if they lose this,” Mel said during the intermission.
I agreed.
50
Josh Lanyon
The forty-year-old LACMA weekend film series was still relatively unknown, which was a shame, considering the role Hollywood and the film industry played in shaping Southern California. In recent months, dwindling audiences and lack of funds had put the program in jeopardy, but the city—and the film community—stepped up to the plate. For now, the weekend film series was saved.
I admit I was very close to dozing off at the last bit of The Big Sleep , and in fact, Mel did razz me about life imitating art.
“Would you like to stop somewhere for coffee or a drink?”
I shook my head. “As much as I'd like to, I'm bushed.”
“Another time?”
“Sure.”
“How about dinner tomorrow night?”
“ Tomorrow night?”
Mel said. “I don't want to play games. I enjoyed tonight more than I've enjoyed any night in a long, long time. I want to see you again. I hope you feel the same way.”
“I enjoyed tonight, no question,” I said. “I just…”
Mel filled in the blank. “Don't want to see me again?”
I stared at him.
“No, definitely not that.”
He leaned forward, and we kissed. His mouth was warm and pliable and disconcertingly familiar. Uncomplicated. Nice. Safe.
Our lips parted. I said, “Definitely not that.”
An Adrien English Mystery: The Dark Tide
51
Chapter Six
Early Friday morning, Natalie arrived at Cloak and Dagger to receive book shipments and complain about the music I was playing.
“What is that?” Her expression was as pained as though an air-raid siren were going off.
“That's Glenn Miller. 'The Nearness of You.'”
“I don't mean the song. I mean…what kind of music is that? Classical is bad enough. This is…old-people music.”
“You say that about the Beatles. You say that about the Pretenders.”
“Yes, okay, this is…ancient-civilization music.”
I made a dismissive sound. “I like it.”
“Warren says…”
I turned the volume down on her and glanced over the bills of lading—which I'd practically had to arm wrestle her for.
Shortly after ten thirty the front door on the other side of the building opened, and Natalie and I watched two plainclothes detectives—presumably one of them was the detective I'd spoken to on the phone first thing that morning—enter. We were acknowledged with a flash of badges.
The detectives went upstairs.
“What now?” Natalie asked.
I shook my head. I was waiting for Detective Alonzo to make an appearance; to my relief, there was no sign of him. It seemed to be only the two detectives. “Maybe it's the postinvestigation walk-through.”
“The what?”
“Exit procedures for the detectives in charge of a crime scene. At the
“Anyway, I thought it would help both of us. Jake needs the work, and I need the security breaches to stop.”
“And he's misinterpreting your gesture?” When I didn't answer, Mel asked, only half joking, “Or you are?”
* * * * *
The evening went better than I expected. It helped that Mel and I had always seen eye to eye on film—and that these classics were two of my favorites. The Big Sleep with Humphrey Bogart was pretty much the film everyone thought of when they thought of Chandler, and The Blue Dahlia was the only script Chandler wrote for the screen. Everything else was mostly adapted from his stories.
It was a pleasure to see the films again and under such primo conditions—and these were primo conditions. The county museum's Leo S. Bing Theater was equipped with an amazing sound system—three amazing sound systems, if you wanted to get technical—and it looked as good as it sounded, though that was really Mel's realm of expertise rather than mine. I was all about story. Mel was more into technique. Even if I wasn't an expert, I appreciated seeing the movies on the big screen again.
“It's going to be a shame if they lose this,” Mel said during the intermission.
I agreed.
50
Josh Lanyon
The forty-year-old LACMA weekend film series was still relatively unknown, which was a shame, considering the role Hollywood and the film industry played in shaping Southern California. In recent months, dwindling audiences and lack of funds had put the program in jeopardy, but the city—and the film community—stepped up to the plate. For now, the weekend film series was saved.
I admit I was very close to dozing off at the last bit of The Big Sleep , and in fact, Mel did razz me about life imitating art.
“Would you like to stop somewhere for coffee or a drink?”
I shook my head. “As much as I'd like to, I'm bushed.”
“Another time?”
“Sure.”
“How about dinner tomorrow night?”
“ Tomorrow night?”
Mel said. “I don't want to play games. I enjoyed tonight more than I've enjoyed any night in a long, long time. I want to see you again. I hope you feel the same way.”
“I enjoyed tonight, no question,” I said. “I just…”
Mel filled in the blank. “Don't want to see me again?”
I stared at him.
“No, definitely not that.”
He leaned forward, and we kissed. His mouth was warm and pliable and disconcertingly familiar. Uncomplicated. Nice. Safe.
Our lips parted. I said, “Definitely not that.”
An Adrien English Mystery: The Dark Tide
51
Chapter Six
Early Friday morning, Natalie arrived at Cloak and Dagger to receive book shipments and complain about the music I was playing.
“What is that?” Her expression was as pained as though an air-raid siren were going off.
“That's Glenn Miller. 'The Nearness of You.'”
“I don't mean the song. I mean…what kind of music is that? Classical is bad enough. This is…old-people music.”
“You say that about the Beatles. You say that about the Pretenders.”
“Yes, okay, this is…ancient-civilization music.”
I made a dismissive sound. “I like it.”
“Warren says…”
I turned the volume down on her and glanced over the bills of lading—which I'd practically had to arm wrestle her for.
Shortly after ten thirty the front door on the other side of the building opened, and Natalie and I watched two plainclothes detectives—presumably one of them was the detective I'd spoken to on the phone first thing that morning—enter. We were acknowledged with a flash of badges.
The detectives went upstairs.
“What now?” Natalie asked.
I shook my head. I was waiting for Detective Alonzo to make an appearance; to my relief, there was no sign of him. It seemed to be only the two detectives. “Maybe it's the postinvestigation walk-through.”
“The what?”
“Exit procedures for the detectives in charge of a crime scene. At the
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