Tomorrow Is Another day

Chapter 12

I called Hy. I had done some odd jobs for him over the years-tracking his missing mother-in-law, spending a night looking through a hole hi the dressing-room wall to catch an employee who was making off with the merchandise, persuading a couple of down-and-outers to make a final and complete payment for goods. I wouldn't say Hy owed me, but then again being nice to people you do business with is good business. Hy was in and was willing to give me a rate on the tuxedos. I didn't tell him money was no object.

I got in my Crosley and headed for Hy's, listening to "A Date with Judy" on the radio. "Night and day, at home or away, always carry Turns," the announcer said. I thought it was a good idea. For the next fifteen minutes, Judy Foster displayed acute anxiety to her brother Randolph about whether Oogie Pringle would call her about the most important school dance of the year.

I double-parked on Melrose right in front of Hy's shop, under the red-on-white banner reading, "Absolutely Everything Must Go Even If It Breaks Me." A cartoon of Hy, complete with sad bulldog face and suspenders over a little belly, looked down at those of us seeking a bargain at his expense.

Hy was at the door with the three boxes. I took them.

"How's business?" I asked.

"Between you and me," he said, looking around the busy shop to be sure no one was listening, "not so bad. Saturdays people buy like there's no tomorrow. I tell them there's no tomorrow. The newspapers tell them there might not be a tomorrow. And me, I lost my lease and everything must go."

"You own the building, Hymie," I reminded him.

"I am not always easy on myself. You got a formal occasion or are you gonna dress up like a waiter again?"

"Academy Awards dinner," I said.

"Ooh, Coconut Grove. The whole schmeer. Best actor's gonna be Gary Cooper. Pride of the Yankees. Two years in a row. First Alvin York. Then Lou Gehrig. Can't beat the combo. You can bet on it. My sister's husband delivers sandwiches to the Academy. He heard. Bet on it."

Hy had his thumbs in his suspenders and was rocking from his toes to his heels, Judge Priest himself.

"Can I use your phone?"

"You can use my sister if you promise to marry her."

"You've got a sister?"

"Three of them. All unmarried. Youngest is forty-one, give or take a couple years. Seriously, you want to meet them? Their offspring will be heirs to this gold mine and a couple of outlet stores in Pismo and Venice."

"I want a phone, Hy."

"A phone you got. Think about the sisters though. I'm serious."

Boxes in hand, I moved around Hy and down the aisles, past couples haggling with middle-aged and ancient salesmen and women.

"I call it a miracle," a sunken-chested old salesman with a pencil-thin mustache and badly dyed hair was saying to a young man in front of a shop mirror.

The young man had a short military haircut and darting eyes that gave him away as someone who was about to ship out.

"Fits like… I don't know what," the salesman said, stepping back to admire the young man, who was trying on a tweed jacket with leather elbow patches. A good twenty years too old for the kid. But then again, who knew if the kid had twenty more years.

The salesman-it was Jack-Jack Benoit, who used to deal blackjack in Reno-grabbed my arm. I almost dropped my boxes.

"Stranger," he said. "Does that or does that jacket not fit this young man like perfection? And the colors, textures. I'd swear it was custom-made in England for you." "Looks great," I said.

The kid wasn't so sure. Jack-Jack needed more help from me, and I knew he was supporting a lot of people on his commission. But I had no heart for even a small con. I plodded onward, the voice of Jack-Jack Benoit behind me saying, "Did I tell you or did I tell you?" to the kid in the tweed jacket. "Now we get this fitted and let's look at some real bargains, vat-dyed twill shirts for two dollars and ninety-four cents, five pair of army socks for one buck."

The place was busy, but no one else stopped me for fashion advice. I pushed into Hy's office, plunked the boxes on the floor, and sat at Hy's desk, a small jungle of pins, needles, thread, and pieces of cloth. I started calling. Everyone should be home by now if home was where they were going.

I tried Shelly at the office. No answer. I tried Shelly at home. Mildred.

"Mildred, my love," I said. "Is your husband home?"

"What does she look like?" Mildred asked.

"Who?"

"The receptionist you hired, the one you insisted that Sheldon help pay for. You know who."

"Violet?"

"Her name is Violet?" "* "My business is booming," I said. "I can't keep up with the paperwork, billing, correspondence. Mrs. Gonsenelli is experienced and I've known her family since… well, she's like a daughter to me. Mildred, don't tell me you're jealous. Not Mildred Minck."

"Sheldon doesn't need a receptionist," she said. "Sheldon needs a leash. He's run through most of our money with bad investment advice from you and I don't want him to start spending money on some kid who winks at him and pats his bald head. I'm holding you responsible."

Hy opened the door, started to come in, saw. I was on the phone, and backed out.

"Reluctantly and with a full understanding of the enormity of the situation, I accept full responsibility. Now can I talk to Sheldon or do I have to have Brink's deliver a quart of my blood to your door as a sign of good faith?"

Mildred hung up. I called back. Shelly answered.

"Toby, you're going to have to apologize to Mildred."

"If it's that or sign on with the Japs as a kamikaze pilot, I'll pack my bags for the Orient."

"Good, I'll tell her you apologize and that you're going to send her flowers."

"You're wasting your money, Shel. Listen, good news. I've got your tux and we're going to the Academy Awards tomorrow night. We're going to keep an eye on Lionel Var-ney."

"Lionel Varney?"

"The actor who… I'll drop your tux off at the office. You come for it in the morning."

"The Academy Awards dinner, you said."

"Rubbing elbows with Kate Hepburn and Ronald Col-man," I assured him.

There was a scraping of objects and the vacuum sound of Sheldon putting his hand over the phone.

"Shel?"

He came back on with, "Mildred wants to go."

"No."

"Then I'm not going," he said.

"You mean that?"

"No," he said emphatically. "Besides, Mildred was planning to visit her brother Al in San Diego tomorrow and I have to clean the office."

"You'll pick up the tux in the morning and meet me in front of the Farraday at five?"

"Yes," he said. "That I will do."

He hung up. I got through to Jeremy after two rings.

"The best laid plans have run for the border," I said. Then I told him what had happened. He agreed to join Shelly and me.

"Did you absorb anything that I told you this afternoon about doing things like this?" Jeremy asked.

"Last time," I said. "Promise. The man needs our help. The police won't…"

"The conceptual impossibility and magic of infinity is that the human mind is incapable of imagining that beyond the final barrier of space there is something which can be called nothing."

"That a fact?" I said as Hy returned, gave me a two-shouldered shrug, and pointed to his watch.

"You are incapable of conceiving nothingness, Toby. If I am present, you will ask and I will answer. I will be in front of the Farraday in the tuxedo at five tomorrow."

"Thank you, Jeremy," I said. "One more thing. Is there a phone in that model apartment you gave me the key for and do you know the number?"

There was a phone and he knew the number. I thanked him, hung up, and called Gable's house in Encino.

Gable answered on the twelfth ring just as I was about to give up. I told him about Varney, the tuxedos, the police, and the plan.

"And you want me to get you into the Academy Awards dinner?" he asked when I was done.

"You've got it," I said.

Long pause at the other end and then, "Give me numbers where I can reach you. Half hour, maybe an hour from now."

I gave him my office, home number, and the number in Jeremy's model apartment. Hy was standing there patiently above me.

"Want to say hello to Clark Gable?" I asked.

"You kiddin'? I've sold dresses to Spring Byington and three suits in twenty minutes to John Garfield. Star struck I am not. He wants a good discount, he can stop by and I'll see what I'll see."

"Good-bye," I told Gable and hung up.

When I got back out on the street in front of Hy's a uniformed policewoman was just plunking a ticket under my windshield wiper for double-parking.

"I was picking up tuxedos for the Academy Awards dinner," I explained.

She was not young and she was not impressed. "Writer? Actor? What?" she asked, holding the car door open for me.

"Security," I said, working my packages over the seat into the back of the Crosley. No mean task.

"Then you should know better than to double-park," she said.

"Excitement," I said.

She removed the ticket from under the windshield wiper, handed it to me, and said, "Reminder."

I closed the door and drove to Jeremy's model apartment after stopping at the Farraday and leaving the tuxes. When I got to the apartment and opened the door to the smell of freshly sawed wood and new carpet, I searched for the phone and found it in the kitchen. I wasn't going back to Mrs. Plaut's, not till I knew for sure what Spelling had in mind for me, Varney, Gable, and who knows who else.

Two more calls, one to Gunther, who said his tux was pressed and ready. Another to Varney, who still wasn't back in his room. I figured he was reasonably safe, at least if Jeremy was right and Spelling's clues did mean that he would go for Varney at the Oscar dinner.

It was after six by now, at least that's what I guessed. My father's watch said it was two.

I went out to a neighborhood diner for a pair of BLTs and a couple of Pepsis and talked to the waitress about her nephews in the army and the sorry state of her legs. Armed with a full stomach, the remainder of Clark Gable's advance, and the prospect of a hell of a time the next night, I got back in the Crosley, made a stop, and then drove to Anne's apartment building and rang the bell.

Anne and I had been married for five years. We'd been divorced for seven years. She had remarried Howard, an airline executive who met a death which some people thought was not untimely.

Nothing. I rang again. Beyond the glass door I could hear footsteps coming down the stairs and then I saw Anne peek around the dark-wood banister at me. She took another step and stood on the landing behind the door, about five steps up, hands on her ample hips.

I grinned and gestured at the locked knob. She didn't grin back. I pulled the bouquet of mixed flowers from behind my back and held it up to the door.

"Annie, Annie was the miller's daughter," I sang softly in a not-bad baritone. "Far she wandered from the singing water. Idle, idle Annie went a-maying. Up hill down hill went her flock a straying. Hear them. Hear them calling as they roam. Annie, Annie bring your white black sheep home."

She mouthed something. I think it was "shit," though Anne was always a lady. Then she came down and opened the door. I held out the flowers. She took them.

"Toby," she said. "We had an agreement. You call if you have to see me."

"And you say no," I reminded her.

"My right," she said.

"It's Phil's birthday," I said.

"So?"

"Can I come in?"

"I've got company," she said, blocking the way, posies in the port-arms position.

"I don't think so," I said.

"What makes you think I'm lying?"

"You're not dressed for company. You're dressed for a night in the bathtub, reading a book, listening to the radio, thinking about old times. Five minutes."

"It's never five minutes, Toby," she said, still barring the entrance.

She was wearing makeup but not much, just what she must have had on during the day. Her hair was dark and billowy and soft, but combed for comfort, not to impress.

Her blue blouse was clean but not new and she was wearing slacks.

"We talk here," she said. "We talk fast."

"You look great," I said. "You smell great. I miss you. How about dinner, breakfast, lunch, a hot dog, an ice cream, a walk on the beach, a movie? That cover everything fast enough?"

"Stop, Toby," she said.

"Did I say you smell great?"

"Yes."

"Looks like we're out of conversation."

"Looks like," she said, folding her arms, the flowers dangling. "Toby, please. I've got a new job, long hours, and I'm going to night school."

"School?"

"Law school," she said. "Ridgely Law in the valley."

"Ridgely Law?"

"I'm a little older than the others but I'm told veterans will be coming back and…"

"How did you?…"

"Marty Lieb knows some people, the dean," Anne said, shifting her eyes past me to the street behind my back.

"Marty? My lawyer?"

"I've gone to him for advice since Howard died and he's been…"

"You've been seeing Marty Lieb?" I asked.

Anne didn't answer.

"I need to make it on my own," she said. "And I don't need to go back to reminders of you or Howard. Now, I've got to go."

"Is Marty up there?" I said, pointing to the stairway.

"I told you I have company," she said. "What am I doing here? What am I hiding and apologizing for? Go, Toby.

Say happy birthday to Phil for me. Take your flowers back."

She held up her hand with a pushing motion to show that she wanted to close the door.

"I still love you, Anne," I said.

"That was never the problem, Toby. The problem was and is that you are a klutzy Peter Pan, an adult who won't grow up. A… oh, what is the use. We've been through this at least four hundred times. I've wasted too many days and nights in the forest about this. Good night."

"Ice cream at Ferny's," I tried as she pushed the door and I backed away. "What can it hurt?"

"I'm too fat now," she said.

"You are voluptuous," I said, holding out the flowers as she continued to ease me through the door.

Before the door slammed shut, she took the flowers.

"I'll call you," I said as the door clicked shut.

She stood there for an instant, eyes moist, or was that my imagination? Then she shook her head, turned, and hurried up the stairs and around the bend.

"Marty Lieb," I said aloud.

If I were a drinking man, I'd have gone out for a couple. If I had the heart for it, I would have called Carmen the cashier for a last-minute date for an Abbott and Costello and a late dinner, even if it meant bringing her son. Instead, I found a shop on Ventura where they sold radios and phonographs and albums. It was almost ten when I got to Ruth and Phil's house in North Hollywood. Ruth answered the door, gave me a hug, and touched my cheek. I was always careful when I hugged my sister-in-law, even before she had gotten sick. There wasn't much of her but heart.

"Kids are asleep," she said. "Phil's not home. Still at work. Some kind of problem."

"You feeling all right, Ruth?"

"Not bad," she said.

And she was right. More pale than usual. Thinner than I remembered. Three kids to take care of and my brother Phil for a husband.

"Come in for a coffee," she said.

She was wearing a robe and was definitely ready for bed and needing it.

"No," I said, handing her the package I was carrying, an Arvin portable in leatherette for Phil's office, if he still had one after the investigation.

"He'll be sorry he missed you," Ruth said, taking the package.

"I'll give you a call tomorrow," I said, taking a step back. "Maybe we can all go out to Levy's for dinner Monday or Tuesday. On me. Good night, Ruth."

The phone was ringing when I returned to Jeremy's model apartment. It was Clark Gable with the news that Jeremy, Shelly, Gunther, and I were to meet Mame Stoltz in front of the Coconut Grove at six-thirty.

"You'll be there?" I asked.

"I will not be there," Gable said. "But I won't leave town till you let me know what happens."

He wished us luck and I hung up, brushed my teeth with the spare toothbrush I carried in my glove compartment, and shaved with a Gillette razor I'd picked up on the way back.

And then I went to sleep. It had been a long day.