shirts and all that gold and black brocade he sports.”
I smiled. “Well, then they have a modicum of taste, despite their scandal-mongering. But is there more to the Jimmy story than the allegation of an unwed baby with Carisa?”
Silence. Tansi and Mercy looked at each other. Mercy cleared her throat. “Jimmy has done some indiscreet things.”
“Like what?”
Mercy sideswiped the question, lowering her voice as some people passed by, leaving the party. “America is a scary place these days. Hollywood is a whipping boy for old-style Aimee Semple McPherson evangelists—den of iniquity, sin city, you name it. Eisenhower blandness covers us. McCarthy and his witch hunt. The infernal black list.”
“And,” said Tansi, “it’s like everyone is waiting for the next explosive scandal.”
“And that might be Jimmy,” I said, flat out.
A bustle behind us, as Jimmy flew out of the room. He said nothing, though we stared, expectant. His face was scarlet, and from where I stood, I could see the veins in his neck, swollen and purple.
“Warner must have told him about the new letter,” Tansi said, scared.
“Party’s over,” Mercy said.
“Jimmy,” I called out to him.
He bumped into some men smoking cigarettes, and then, almost blindly, he rushed out of the hallway, headed to the street.
“My God,” Tansi said, edgy. “I’ve never seen him like this.” She turned. “I need to get inside. I have to powwow with Warner and Jake.” She hurried away.
Mercy’s eyes followed Tansi. “Edna, I’m worried about Jimmy.” I shook my head. I was thinking about Confidential , and the vague, amorphous accusations. What was I missing here? “I don’t want to go back in there,” Mercy added. “Not now. Jimmy took the party with him. What do you say you and I grab a bite at Jack’s Drive-in on the Strip? The food is wonderful and we’re way overdressed, although on occasion I’ve seen some Beverly Hills matrons there in mink coats ordering hot dogs with chili sauce.” She hesitated. “Unless you have obligations in there.”
“No, I’m ready. But I sense you have an agenda, Mercy.”
“Of course. You and I, I’ve decided, need to plan our visit to Carisa. That new letter is too scary.”
***
I returned to the party to say my goodbyes, but I couldn’t locate Stevens or Warner. Even Henry Ginsburg, I discovered, had left. Tansi was walking in circles. When I saw Jake approaching me, I fled, but I realized he was also sneaking out, maneuvering himself toward a side door. That made me smile. Mercy waited in the lobby, and then, with me as a passenger, we drove to the eatery to plan our assault on the hapless Carisa Krausse. “Our commando raid,” Mercy termed it.
“More like,” I countered, wryly, “the charge of the frightened brigade.”
I savored a massive hamburger slathered in avocado and mayonnaise; the bun crisp and chewy; and fried potatoes cut so slender I thought them wood shavings, with a trace of sea salt, perhaps; and a dish of peach ice cream, speckled with huge chunks of red-gold fruit the color of a good sunset. Good food at last, I told Mercy. “In California most food, I’ve found, is filtered through sunshine and dabbled with greasepaint.”
Mercy laughed. “Edna, you have to come to my home for a home-cooked meal.”
“Well, this is a good start.” I bit into the hamburger.
“So,” Mercy began, “let’s talk about Carisa.”
Suddenly, I blanched. I’d just been thinking how restful I felt, tucked into the booth, when the image of Jimmy and his mountainous rage flooded me. “Oh, Mercy,” I cried out.
“What?” Alarmed.
“I just had a horrible thought. You don’t think Jimmy would go there now —to Carisa’s. He’s in such a foul mood. You don’t think…”
Mercy covered her mouth for a second, looked scared.
“We’re going there.” I stood up.
“It’s a dreadful neighborhood,” Mercy said, hesitating. “Skid Row. And it’s
I smiled. “Well, then they have a modicum of taste, despite their scandal-mongering. But is there more to the Jimmy story than the allegation of an unwed baby with Carisa?”
Silence. Tansi and Mercy looked at each other. Mercy cleared her throat. “Jimmy has done some indiscreet things.”
“Like what?”
Mercy sideswiped the question, lowering her voice as some people passed by, leaving the party. “America is a scary place these days. Hollywood is a whipping boy for old-style Aimee Semple McPherson evangelists—den of iniquity, sin city, you name it. Eisenhower blandness covers us. McCarthy and his witch hunt. The infernal black list.”
“And,” said Tansi, “it’s like everyone is waiting for the next explosive scandal.”
“And that might be Jimmy,” I said, flat out.
A bustle behind us, as Jimmy flew out of the room. He said nothing, though we stared, expectant. His face was scarlet, and from where I stood, I could see the veins in his neck, swollen and purple.
“Warner must have told him about the new letter,” Tansi said, scared.
“Party’s over,” Mercy said.
“Jimmy,” I called out to him.
He bumped into some men smoking cigarettes, and then, almost blindly, he rushed out of the hallway, headed to the street.
“My God,” Tansi said, edgy. “I’ve never seen him like this.” She turned. “I need to get inside. I have to powwow with Warner and Jake.” She hurried away.
Mercy’s eyes followed Tansi. “Edna, I’m worried about Jimmy.” I shook my head. I was thinking about Confidential , and the vague, amorphous accusations. What was I missing here? “I don’t want to go back in there,” Mercy added. “Not now. Jimmy took the party with him. What do you say you and I grab a bite at Jack’s Drive-in on the Strip? The food is wonderful and we’re way overdressed, although on occasion I’ve seen some Beverly Hills matrons there in mink coats ordering hot dogs with chili sauce.” She hesitated. “Unless you have obligations in there.”
“No, I’m ready. But I sense you have an agenda, Mercy.”
“Of course. You and I, I’ve decided, need to plan our visit to Carisa. That new letter is too scary.”
***
I returned to the party to say my goodbyes, but I couldn’t locate Stevens or Warner. Even Henry Ginsburg, I discovered, had left. Tansi was walking in circles. When I saw Jake approaching me, I fled, but I realized he was also sneaking out, maneuvering himself toward a side door. That made me smile. Mercy waited in the lobby, and then, with me as a passenger, we drove to the eatery to plan our assault on the hapless Carisa Krausse. “Our commando raid,” Mercy termed it.
“More like,” I countered, wryly, “the charge of the frightened brigade.”
I savored a massive hamburger slathered in avocado and mayonnaise; the bun crisp and chewy; and fried potatoes cut so slender I thought them wood shavings, with a trace of sea salt, perhaps; and a dish of peach ice cream, speckled with huge chunks of red-gold fruit the color of a good sunset. Good food at last, I told Mercy. “In California most food, I’ve found, is filtered through sunshine and dabbled with greasepaint.”
Mercy laughed. “Edna, you have to come to my home for a home-cooked meal.”
“Well, this is a good start.” I bit into the hamburger.
“So,” Mercy began, “let’s talk about Carisa.”
Suddenly, I blanched. I’d just been thinking how restful I felt, tucked into the booth, when the image of Jimmy and his mountainous rage flooded me. “Oh, Mercy,” I cried out.
“What?” Alarmed.
“I just had a horrible thought. You don’t think Jimmy would go there now —to Carisa’s. He’s in such a foul mood. You don’t think…”
Mercy covered her mouth for a second, looked scared.
“We’re going there.” I stood up.
“It’s a dreadful neighborhood,” Mercy said, hesitating. “Skid Row. And it’s
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