Dream Town

Chapter 52

Archer headed west to Culver City, where the MGM studios were located.

He had learned from Callahan and his own work in Hollywood that MGM had been late to the game on talking films, but had quickly come to dominate the movie business in the 1930s with films such as Gone with the Wind and The Wizard of Oz. They had also pretty much invented the studio system whereby stars were basically owned by their studios but could be loaned out to other studios by mutual agreement with cash or other benefits exchanged.

It was ironic, he had thought, that arguably the greatest studio in Hollywood had never been in Hollywood, but seven miles to the southwest in Culver City, closer to Marina Del Rey than Tinseltown. Archer also didn’t really care about that right now. He was interested only in Samantha Lourdes, MGM’s big star.

He pulled in front of the enormous edifice that occupied a chunk of Washington Boulevard’s frontage. The classical colonnade setup was barely a few feet deep, which was the most perfect representation of the town Archer had ever seen. There was literally nothing behind it except back lots with more facades and no depth, other than the actors acting, and even that was all over the place.

He wrote a note on a slip of paper and handed it and a five spot to the guard at the gate. The guard was tall and thin and old and looked beaten down, barely able to carry the weight of his cap and uniform or his holstered Colt .45. He looked at Archer warily when he told the man whom he wanted the note delivered to and that he was a friend of hers.

“You know how many of these I get a day for that gal?” he barked. “You know her like I know Dwight D. Eisenhower, fella. And for the record, I’ve never met the man.”

“Lourdes owns a silver Rolls-Royce and her driver is an old guy named Alan. She knows me, pal. Bet on it. And that note will bring a smile to her face. Who knows, you might even get a little kiss out of it.”

This new information seemed to clinch the deal. “Okay, buddy, she is here today. But they’re filming.”

“They have to turn off the cameras sometime. And what do you have to lose?”

The man called another guard over to work the gate and stalked off while Archer waited.

And waited. An hour, two smoked cigarettes, and vigorous fedora twirling later, the man came back. He seemed amazed beyond all reckoning.

“Damn, you were telling the truth, fella.”

“I try to at least once a day, Pops.”

The man gummed his lips in his astonishment. “Miss Lourdes said she’ll meet you at the Formosa at seven o’clock tonight. You know it?”

“Yeah, it’s on Santa Monica across from Sam Goldwyn Studio.”

“She said to wait for her in the trolley car and order her a Gibson with three pearl onions. Trolley car? Do you know what that means, because I sure as heck don’t.”

“I do. Thanks.”

Archer checked his watch and contemplated what to do until then.

He dipped into a drugstore and called Dash’s room at the motel where they were staying. There was no answer, so he called Connie Morrison long-distance and told her everything he had learned both in town and out in Malibu from Peter Bonham and Sylvia Danforth.

“Fill him in when you can. If I see him, I’ll do the same. He mentioned going to see Jake.”

“This case is getting curiouser and curiouser,” commented Morrison.

“Just what I needed today, a little Alice in Wonderland,” replied Archer, which made him think of Alice Jacoby and all her lies.

He drove to West Hollywood and then north to Sunset. He had a late lunch at Greenblatt’s Deli and took his time over a sandwich, fries, and coffee.

He knew F. Scott Fitzgerald had walked into Greenblatt’s in 1940, bought a Hershey bar, carried it back around the corner to the apartment where he was staying, and dropped dead of a coronary next to the fireplace mantel. He wondered if the man had any inkling his end was coming.

Archer took a bite of a fry and contemplated his own sense of doom.

I almost died in the lousy desert. Maybe I’m not good enough to make it in this racket. Maybe my end is coming faster than I would like it to.

He paid his bill and made a call to the Ambassador Hotel from a phone booth. The maid answered and relayed Archer’s request to Gloria Mars. The maid came back on the phone and told Archer that Mars would see him now.

He cut a diagonal across midtown to Wilshire, wondering what sort of reception he’d get from the woman.

Maybe the warrior will run me through with her lance.