wait, don’t jump to—”
“You can’t have it both ways. Maybe you weren’t friends, but you knew her secrets.”
“Well, look at it that way—”
“Maybe easier for someone who knows the secrets but
isn’t
a friend to sell the other person out.”
He sat up straight, or at least that was what he seemed to be trying to do. “I never sold out anyone in my life.”
“No matter how much was offered?”
“Wouldn’t have made any—”
“Or who was offering it?”
He started to cough again, but abandoned it halfway through the first one, so the medicine might have been helping. “That’s more like it, if I ever did. Who, not how much. But I didn’t. Terrible for business. It gets out one day—and sooner or latereverything gets out in this town, even if it’s only to certain people—and you’re marked dirty for life. Never get another client, not if you walked down Hollywood Boulevard with a sandwich board, said, PUBLIC RELATIONS , CHEAP .”
“But you knew about her—her dates.”
“Well, sure, sure. Everybody did, but listen, listen to me, you gotta understand. I was second-rate, okay? I was the first guy people hired, on their way up, and then they either dropped out of sight or got billed above the title, and either way, I lost them. But Dolly, Dolly was different.” His face lit up when he said her name, and he looked thirty years younger. “I was really
doing
it for her. I got her the
Life
cover, I made a huge noise about her reviews in
Hell’s Sisters
. I
arranged
some of those reviews. I had every photographer on the West Coast lined up to shoot her. I was hounding Max Zeffire to offer her a picture, and he would have. You gotta believe this, Dolly was going to be a star, and she knew that I was the one who was making it happen. She woulda stayed with me. She woulda been my first real star client. My whole life would have changed.” He blinked, and his eyes softened. “I’d have been big.” He coughed once, not even bothering to cover his mouth. “And she was a nice girl.”
I didn’t say anything. Pinky glanced toward the outer office and then came back to me, and I realized I hadn’t heard a peep out of Edna for a while.
He lifted a hand and let it fall on the desk. “So.”
“So,” I said. I got up. “Did you maintain a clip file on Dolores La Marr?”
“Sure. I maintained a clip file on everyone.”
“I want to see it.”
“That’s sixty years ago.”
“I know, but I doubt you threw it away. That was your best shot, as you’ve just finished telling me.”
“It’s not here,” he said, sulking. “In storage.”
“Can you or Edna get it?”
“You mean, today?”
“Why not? It’s not even two o’clock.”
Edna cleared her throat sharply in the other room.
“Yeah,” Pinky said. He licked his lips and blinked. Then he patted his palm on his forehead, which was damp with sweat. “Tell you what. Give me your phone number and I’ll call you when we got it.”
“Today.”
“Sure, yeah, today. Jesus.”
“Great,” I said. I got up. On the way out, I said, “Thanks, Edna.”
While the door was still closing behind me, I heard the buzzer on Edna’s desk. I let the door close and put my ear to it.
“Okay, okay,” Edna said. “I’ll get him for you. Hang onto your horses for a minute.”
I double-timed it down the hall and then slowed, almost to the elevators, as I heard the door open. It stayed open for a moment and then closed, and I knew that Pinky was making his call. Maybe later in the day, I’d find out to whom.
There were no orange trees here, but Dolly was in love with the way the leaves on the California sycamores that rustled just outside her windows, held the light. Three months ago, when she moved into the upper floor of the big Hancock Park duplex, what had caught her attention was the space—seven big, graceful rooms, all hers. But after a few days, she began to see the leaves through the tall, inward-opening windows in
“You can’t have it both ways. Maybe you weren’t friends, but you knew her secrets.”
“Well, look at it that way—”
“Maybe easier for someone who knows the secrets but
isn’t
a friend to sell the other person out.”
He sat up straight, or at least that was what he seemed to be trying to do. “I never sold out anyone in my life.”
“No matter how much was offered?”
“Wouldn’t have made any—”
“Or who was offering it?”
He started to cough again, but abandoned it halfway through the first one, so the medicine might have been helping. “That’s more like it, if I ever did. Who, not how much. But I didn’t. Terrible for business. It gets out one day—and sooner or latereverything gets out in this town, even if it’s only to certain people—and you’re marked dirty for life. Never get another client, not if you walked down Hollywood Boulevard with a sandwich board, said, PUBLIC RELATIONS , CHEAP .”
“But you knew about her—her dates.”
“Well, sure, sure. Everybody did, but listen, listen to me, you gotta understand. I was second-rate, okay? I was the first guy people hired, on their way up, and then they either dropped out of sight or got billed above the title, and either way, I lost them. But Dolly, Dolly was different.” His face lit up when he said her name, and he looked thirty years younger. “I was really
doing
it for her. I got her the
Life
cover, I made a huge noise about her reviews in
Hell’s Sisters
. I
arranged
some of those reviews. I had every photographer on the West Coast lined up to shoot her. I was hounding Max Zeffire to offer her a picture, and he would have. You gotta believe this, Dolly was going to be a star, and she knew that I was the one who was making it happen. She woulda stayed with me. She woulda been my first real star client. My whole life would have changed.” He blinked, and his eyes softened. “I’d have been big.” He coughed once, not even bothering to cover his mouth. “And she was a nice girl.”
I didn’t say anything. Pinky glanced toward the outer office and then came back to me, and I realized I hadn’t heard a peep out of Edna for a while.
He lifted a hand and let it fall on the desk. “So.”
“So,” I said. I got up. “Did you maintain a clip file on Dolores La Marr?”
“Sure. I maintained a clip file on everyone.”
“I want to see it.”
“That’s sixty years ago.”
“I know, but I doubt you threw it away. That was your best shot, as you’ve just finished telling me.”
“It’s not here,” he said, sulking. “In storage.”
“Can you or Edna get it?”
“You mean, today?”
“Why not? It’s not even two o’clock.”
Edna cleared her throat sharply in the other room.
“Yeah,” Pinky said. He licked his lips and blinked. Then he patted his palm on his forehead, which was damp with sweat. “Tell you what. Give me your phone number and I’ll call you when we got it.”
“Today.”
“Sure, yeah, today. Jesus.”
“Great,” I said. I got up. On the way out, I said, “Thanks, Edna.”
While the door was still closing behind me, I heard the buzzer on Edna’s desk. I let the door close and put my ear to it.
“Okay, okay,” Edna said. “I’ll get him for you. Hang onto your horses for a minute.”
I double-timed it down the hall and then slowed, almost to the elevators, as I heard the door open. It stayed open for a moment and then closed, and I knew that Pinky was making his call. Maybe later in the day, I’d find out to whom.
There were no orange trees here, but Dolly was in love with the way the leaves on the California sycamores that rustled just outside her windows, held the light. Three months ago, when she moved into the upper floor of the big Hancock Park duplex, what had caught her attention was the space—seven big, graceful rooms, all hers. But after a few days, she began to see the leaves through the tall, inward-opening windows in
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