The Barbarous Coast

Chapter 7

ANTON’S windows overlooked the boulevard from the second floor of a stucco building in West Hollywood. The building was fairly new, but it had been painted and scraped and repainted in blotches of color, pink and white and blue, to make it look like something from the left bank of the Seine. You entered it through a court which contained several small arty shops and had a terrazzo fountain in the center. A concrete nymph stood with her feet in its shallow water, covering her pudenda with one hand and beckoning with the other.

I climbed the outside stairs to the second-floor balcony. Through an open door, I saw a half-dozen girls in leotards stretching their ligaments on banes along the wall. A woman with flat breasts and massive haunches called out orders in a drill-sergeant’s voice: “Grand battement, s’il vous plaît. Non, non, grand battement.”

I walked on to the end of the balcony, trailed by the salt-sweet odor of young sweat. Anton was in his office, short and wide behind the desk in a gabardine suit the color of lemon ice cream. His face was sunlamp brown. He rose very lightly, to demonstrate his agelessness. The hand he extended had rings on two of the fingers, a seal ring and a diamond to go with the diamond in his foulard tie. His grip was like a bull lobster’s.

“Mr. Archer.”

Anton had been in Hollywood longer than I had, but he still pronounced my name “Meester Arshair.” The accent was probably part of his business front. I liked him in spite of it.

“I’m surprised you remember my name.”

“I think of you with gratitude,” he said. “Frequently.”

“What wife are you on now?”

“Please, you are very vulgar.” He raised his hands in a fastidious gesture, and while he was at it, examined his manicure. “Number five. We are very happy. You are not needed.”

“Yet.”

“But you didn’t come to discuss my marital problems. Why do you come?”

“Missing girl.”

“Hester Campbell again?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Are you employed by that big naïf of a husband?”

“You’re psychic.”

“He is a fool. Any man of his age and weight who runs after a woman in this city is a fool. Why doesn’t he stand still, and they’ll come swarming?”

“He’s only interested in the one. Now what about her?”

“What about her?” he repeated, offering his hands palms up to show how clean they were. “She has had some ballet lessons from me, three or four months of lessons. The young ladies come and go. I am not responsible for their private lives.”

“What do you know about her private life?”

“Nothing. I wish to know nothing. My friend Paddy Dane in Toronto did me no favor when he sent her here. There is a young lady very much on the make. I could see trouble in her.”

“If you could see all that, why turn her husband loose on Clarence Bassett?”

His shoulders rose. “I turned him loose on Bassett? I merely answered his questions.”

“You made him believe that she was living with Bassett. Bassett hasn’t seen her for nearly four months.”

“What would I know about that?”

“Don’t kid me, Anton. Did you know Bassett before this?”

“Pas trop. He would not remember, probably.”

He moved to the window and cranked the louvers wider. The sound of traffic rose from the Boulevard. Under it, his voice was sibilant: “But I do not forget. Five years ago, I applied for membership in the Channel Club. They refused me, with no reason given. I heard through my sponsor that Bassett never presented my name to the membership committee. He wanted no dancing-masters in his club.”

“So you thought you’d make trouble for him.”

“Perhaps.” He looked at me over his shoulder, his eye bright and empty as a bird’s. “Did I succeed?”

“I stopped it before it happened. But you could have triggered a murder.”

“Nonsense.” He turned and came toward me, stepping with feline softness on the carpet. “The husband is a nothing, a hysterical boy. There is no danger in him ”

“I wonder. He’s big and strong, and crazy about his wife.”

“Is he rich?”

“Hardly.”

“Then tell him to forget her. I have seen many like her, in love with themselves. They think they aspire to an art, acting or dancing or music. But all they really aspire to is money and clothes. A man comes along who can give them these things, and there is the end of aspiration.” His hands went through the motions of liberating a bird and throwing it a good-by kiss.

“Did one come along for Hester?”

“Possibly. She seemed remarkably prosperous at my Christmas party. She had a new mink stole. I complimented her on it, and she informed me that she was under personal contract to a movie producer.”

“Which one?”

“She did not say, and it does not matter. She was lying. It was a little fantasy for my benefit.”

“How do you know?”

“I know women.”

I was ready to believe him. The wall behind his desk was papered with inscribed photographs of young women.

“Besides,” he said, “no producer in his right mind would give that girl a contract. There is something lacking in her – essential talent, feeling. She became cynical so young, and she makes no attempt to hide it.”

“How did she act the other night?”

“I did not observe her for very long. I had over a hundred guests.”

“She made a telephone call from here. Did you know?”

“Not until yesterday. The husband told me she was frightened of something. Perhaps she drank too much. There was nothing at my party to frighten anyone – a lot of nice young people amusing themselves.”

“Who was she with?”

“A boy, a good-looking boy.” He snapped his fingers. “She introduced him to me, but I forget his name.”

“Lance Torres?”

His eyelids crinkled. “Possibly. He was quite dark, Spanish-looking. A very well-built boy – one of those new young types with the apache air. Perhaps Miss Seeley can identify him for you. I saw them talking together.” He pushed his right cuff back and looked at his wristwatch. “Miss Seeley is out for coffee, but she should be back very soon.”

“While we’re waiting, you could give me Hester’s address. Her real address.”

“Why should I make things easy for you?” Anton said with his edged smile. “I don’t like the fellow you are working for. He is too aggressive. Also, I am old and he is young. Also my father was a streetcar conductor in Montreal. Why should I help an Anglo from Toronto?”

“So you won’t let him find his wife?”

“Oh, you can have the address. I simply wished to express my emotions on the subject. She lives at the Windsor Hotel in Santa Monica.”

“You know it by heart, eh?”

“I happen to remember. I had a request for her address from another detective last week.”

“Police detective?”

“Private. He claimed to be a lawyer with money for her, a bequest, but his story was very clumsy and I am not stupid.” He glanced at his wristwatch again. “If you’ll excuse me, now, I have to dress for a class. You can wait here for Miss Seeley if you wish.”

Before I could ask him any more questions, he went out through an inner door and closed it behind him. I sat down at his desk and looked up the Windsor Hotel in the telephone directory. The desk clerk told me that Miss Hester Campbell didn’t stay there any more. She’d moved out two weeks ago, leaving no forwarding address.

I was masticating this fact when Miss Seeley came in. I remembered her from the period when Anton divorced his third wife, with my assistance. She was a little older, a little thinner. Her tailored pinstriped suit emphasized the boniness of her figure. But she still wore hopeful white ruffles at her wrists and throat.

“Why, Mr. Archer.” The implications of my presence struck her. “We’re not having wife trouble again?”

“Wife trouble, yes, but nothing to do with the boss. He says you may be able to give me some information.”

“My telephone number, by any chance?” Her smile was warm and easygoing behind her lipstick mask.

“That I could do with, too.”

“You flatter me. Go right ahead. I can stand a smattering of flattering for a change. You don’t meet many eligible males in this business.”

We exchanged some further pleasantries, and I asked her if she remembered seeing Hester at the party. She remembered.

“And her escort?”

She nodded. “Dreamy. A real cute thing. That is, if you like the Latin type. I don’t go for the Latin type myself, but we got along just fine. Until he showed his true colors.”

“You talked to him?”

“For a while. He was kind of shy with all the people, so I took him under my wing. He told me about his career and all. He’s an actor. Hello-Graff Studios have him under longterm contract.”

“What’s his name?”

“Lance Leonard. It’s kind of a cute name, don’t you think? He told me he chose it himself.”

“He didn’t tell you his real name?”

“No.”

“And he’s under contract to Helio-Graff?”

“That’s what he said. He’s certainly got the looks for it. And the artistic temperament.”

“You mean he made a pass at you?”

“Oh, no. Not that I’d permit it. He’s stuck on Hester anyway, I could see that. They were at the bar after, drinking out of the same glass, just as close as close.” Her voice was wistful. She added by way of consolation to herself: “But then he showed his true colors.”

“How did he do that?”

“It was awful,” she said with relish. “Hester came in here to put in a telephone call. I let her have the key. It must have been to another man, because he followed her in and made a scene. These Latins are so emotional.”

“You were here?”

“I heard him yelling at her. I had things to do in my own office, and I couldn’t help overhearing. He called her some awful names: b-i-t-c-h and other words I won’t repeat.” She tried to blush, and failed.

“Did he threaten her in any way?”

“You bet he did. He said she wouldn’t last a week unless she played along with the operation. She was in it deeper than anybody, and she wasn’t going to ruin his big chance.” Miss Seeley was a fairly decent woman, but she couldn’t quite restrain the glee fluttering at the corners of her mouth.

“Did he say what the operation was?”

“Not that I heard.”

“Or threaten to kill her?”

“He didn’t say that he was going to do anything to her. What he said–” She looked up at the ceiling and tapped her chin. “He said if she didn’t stay in line, he’d get this friend of his after her. Somebody called Carl.”

“Carl Stern?”

“Maybe. He didn’t mention the last name. He just kept saying that Carl would fix her wagon.”

“What happened after that?”

“Nothing. They came out and left together. She looked pretty subdued, I mean it.”