Beverly Hills Dead

4

At noon Rick left his office with a picnic lunch prepared by the studio commissary and drove down to Santa Monica, then out the Pacific Highway to Malibu.

At the insistence of Eddie Harris, Rick had started investing in real estate not long after getting his medical discharge from the navy in early ’44, at first borrowing money to do it. As his income rose, he bought more, among the properties three beach lots in the village of Malibu. After the war he began thinking about building on the beach, and, as materials became more available in the postwar environment, he and Glenna had hired Peter James to design a house for them.

The lots were half a mile south of the Malibu colony, an enclave of movie stars and the very rich, which together fronted four hundred feet on a gorgeous stretch of beach and stretched for more than three hundred feet from the highway to the beach.

A pile driver had been set up, making tremendous noise every time the weight was hoisted and fell. Half a dozen piles were already in place. He found Peter James in conversation with a man who appeared to be the foreman and greeted both men. Glenna was nowhere in sight, though it was twelve-thirty.

“They’re making really good progress,” Peter said, “and we’re going very deep, as you asked. A couple more days of this, and we can start framing.”

Glenna drove up in Rick’s old 1938 Ford convertible and got out. “Piles!” she yelled over the noise. “How exciting!”

Peter took them over to where a tabletop had been set on a pair of sawhorses and spread out the plans. He pointed out the changes that Glenna had asked for, and Rick agreed with everything.

“One more thing, Peter,” Rick said. “The room on either end that we were going to build later? Build them now.”

“Oh, Honey!” Glenna shrieked. “You’ve made my day!”

“What the hell,” Rick said, “we’ll go the whole hog.”

They talked for a few more minutes about the way the house would sit on the land, then Glenna said, “I’m hungry; did you bring lunch?”

Rick went to the car and got the picnic basket and a blanket, and Peter walked over to the foreman and told him to break for lunch. The noise abruptly ceased.

“Let’s go down to the beach and eat there,” Rick said, and he led the way. As he reached the edge of the sand he looked back to see Glenna in conversation with one of the workmen. Wearing a baseball cap and naked above the waist, he was tall and well-muscled. He was also deeply tanned and bathed in sweat from his work. To Rick’s surprise, she indicated that he should follow her, and they began walking toward the beach.

“Rick,” she said as they approached, “I want you to meet somebody; this is Vance. Vance, this is my husband, Rick, and our architect, Peter. I’ve asked Vance to join us for lunch.”

“Sure,” Rick said. He was mystified about this, but Glenna had her reasons, he supposed. The young man was very handsome; maybe that had something to do with it. He felt a little jealous.

Rick spread the blanket, and Glenna distributed the food and drink from the basket, then they settled down to eat.

“Vance is an actor,” Glenna said, and then Rick understood.

“Where are you from, Vance?” Rick asked.

“England, a small village in Kent.”

“I don’t hear an accent.”

“It’s better with the crew if they think I’m American.”

Rick laughed. “I understand. How long have you been in L.A.?”

“About four months.”

“Looking for work?”

“Mostly, I work at this,” Vance said, waving a hand toward the pile driver. “I only get weekends off, and to tell you the truth I don’t have much of an idea about how to look for acting work.”

“Have you had any experience?”

“I ran away from home when I was fifteen and joined a touring repertory company. Mostly, I moved scenery around, but now and then I got a small part with a few lines. After a year or so, I got bigger parts and stopped moving scenery.”

“Did you ever make it to the West End?”

“I got a second lead in a comedy that ran for a year; then, when they brought the production to New York, I came with it. It ran for five weeks, then closed. The troup went home, and I stayed to look for work on Broadway. I found nothing, and it was bloody cold in New York, so I came out here. At least, I’m not freezing to death.”

They talked for a bit longer, then finished their lunch, and Glenna began putting the dishes back into the basket, while Peter dealt with the trash.

“Do you know who I am?” Rick asked Vance.

“You’re her husband,” Vance said. “I certainly know who she is.”

Rick laughed and handed him his business card. “Tell you what, Vance,” he said, “you tell your boss that your career in the construction business is at an end, then be in my office at eleven tomorrow morning. Do you own a suit?”

“I do.”

“Wear it, and bring your English accent, too. I’ll leave a pass for you at the front gate. Do you have an agent?”

“No.”

“I’ll recommend a couple of people.”

“Thank you very much, Mr. ...” he looked at the card, “Barron.”

“What’s your last name, Vance?”

“Calder.”

“Vance Calder. That sounds pretty good. What’s your real name?”

“Vance Calder.”

“How old are you?”

Vance looked around to see if anyone could hear him. “Nineteen.”

“Jesus,” Rick said, “I thought you were twenty-five.”

“I’ve always looked older. When I was fourteen, people thought I was eighteen, and so on.”

“That’s an advantage at your age. From now on, don’t tell anybody how old you are; they’ll just think you’re lying about your age, the way everybody out here does.”

“All right.”

“See you tomorrow.” Rick joined Glenna and walked her back to her car. “Thanks,” he said.

“You didn’t notice him, did you?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“I think he’s stunning, Rick; very sexy, too.”

“He’s probably queer, like half the boy actors in L.A.”

“Don’t you believe it for a moment,” she said.