The Prince of Beverly Hills (4 page)

5

CLAD IN BORROWED ELEGANCE— a finely tailored mohair tuxedo, silk shirt and waistcoat and gleaming alligator shoes— Rick arrived at the Bel-Air address of Eddie and Suzanne Harris at ten minutes past the hour. He hoped he was only fashionably late.

His car was parked by an attendant, and he was greeted at the door by an English butler who was dressed as well as he. Rick had been in houses as impressive as this Greek Revival mansion, with its marble entryway and sweeping staircase, but usually when the owner had either been robbed or was lying facedown, bleeding into the Aubusson carpet. He tried to adopt the mind-set of a guest, instead of an official intruder.

The butler showed him into the living room, where the Harrises and another couple were standing before a cheerful fire.

“Ah, Rick,” Harris said, coming toward him, a martini glass in his hand, “good to see you.” He drew Rick toward the fire. “You met Suzanne earlier, of course.”

“I’m so happy you could come, Rick,” she said, offering her hand.

“So am I,” Rick replied.

“Rick,” Harris said, “I’d like you to meet our boss—or God, as we sometimes call him. This is Sol Weinman and his wife, Rebecca.”

“How do you do, Mr. Weinman, Mrs. Weinman,” Rick said, shaking hands with both.

“I’ve heard much about you from Eddie,” Weinman said. He was short and plump, with a fringe of white hair circling a hairless dome. “He’s needed someone like you for some time now, and I’m glad you’re coming aboard. You must drop by my office for a chat soon.”

“Thank you, Mr. Weinman, I’d like that,” Rick replied.

“And you must call me Sol. Everybody at Centurion is on a first-name basis. We don’t stand on ceremony like Metro and some others I could mention.”

“Thank you, Sol.”

A waiter appeared at Rick’s elbow with a tray of martinis, and he took one. As he did, two other couples were being shown in, and Rick found himself being introduced to Sam Goldwyn and William Wyler and their wives. The party was completed when Clark Gable and Carole Lombard arrived, accompanied by an attractive older woman, who turned out to be Sol Weinman’s sister, Adele Mannheim. He was in illustrious company, and he was finding it easy to get used to the idea.

After another half hour of chat, they were called to dinner, twelve around a table of glistening china, silver and crystal. Rick sent a silent prayer of thanks to his mother, who, when he was a boy, had drilled him in his table manners and which fork to use. He was seated between Carole Lombard and Adele Mannheim, and as dazzled as he was by Lombard, he was smart enough to pay a lot of attention to Mrs. Mannheim, since he had clearly been invited as her dinner partner.

“I was widowed earlier this year,” she confided, “and the Harrises have made a point of inviting me over regularly.” She leaned over and whispered, “I must say, I’m having more fun than when my husband was alive; he didn’t like going out.”

Rick listened closely to her every word and tried to charm without flattering too much. When she excused herself for a moment, he turned to Lombard, and was disappointed to find her engrossed in conversation with Wyler, who sat on her other side.

When dinner was concluded, the ladies went somewhere with Suzanne Harris, while the men remained at the table over coffee, port and cigars. Rick declined a cigar; he despised them.

“Sam,” Sol Weinman said to Goldwyn, “what do you think about this television thing? Do we have anything to worry about?”

“I don’t think so,” Goldwyn replied, in accented English. “A fuzzy little picture of baseball games and puppet shows is not going to take anybody away from a big screen in Technicolor, and you can say I didn’t say so.”

“Clark,” Wyler said, “would you act on television?”

“In what?” Gable replied. “A baseball game or a puppet show? And you can say I didn’t say so.”

Goldwyn wrinkled his brow. “That didn’t sound right, Clark.”

Everybody laughed except Goldwyn, who seemed surprised to find himself funny.

Rick took it all in, speaking only when he was spoken to, which wasn’t often.

They eventually joined the ladies in the library for coffee, and as ten o’clock chimed on a large clock in a corner, people began to leave. In five minutes, they were all gone. Harris had indicated that Rick should stay. They said good night to Suzanne, and she left them.

“Let’s take a walk,” Harris said, taking Rick’s arm. They left the rear of the house through French doors and followed a path around a high hedge until they came to a large swimming pool, lit from underneath. A cabana was at one end, and another building across the pool. “That’s one of the guest houses,” Harris said. He led the way around the pool and down another path, and shortly they came to a cottage, ablaze with light. “This used to be the gardener’s cottage before we bought the place, when the grounds were twice as large. Suzanne has done it up as another guest house, but we don’t really need it.” Harris opened the front door with a key and they walked through the cottage. There was a living room with a dining table at one end, a kitchen, a bedroom and a small room that had been done up as a study, with a desk and bookcases. “You like?” Harris asked.

“It’s beautiful,” Rick said.

“How would you like to live here?”

“I don’t understand.”

“I travel to New York on business now and then, and Suzanne wants somebody on the place besides the servants, who live in an apartment over the garage, and she likes the idea of an ex-cop being here. There’s a little garage out back, and another drive that goes directly to the street. You can come and go as you please, and we promise you privacy. I’ll charge you, say, a hundred a month? You’ll pay the utilities and the phone, of course.”

Rick turned to him. “Is this place the home number on my new business card?”

“I thought you’d like it,” Harris said, grinning.

“Like you say, Eddie, you’re a good judge of character.”

Harris handed him the keys. “And don’t even think of fooling around with my wife. She’s got a gun in her bedside drawer, and she’s a hell of a shot.”

Rick laughed, but he took it seriously.

“Come on, I’ll walk you back to the house. You can move in tomorrow.”

They strolled back up the path, arm in arm. “Let me tell you a couple of things about this business,” Harris said. “It’s a candy store, where women are concerned, and nobody expects you to be a priest, but try and be discreet. Sol doesn’t approve of his people getting blow jobs in their offices, and he’d like to think that every starlet who gets a walk-on part didn’t get it on the casting couch with one of his executives, and you’re one of his executives now.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Rick said.

“By the way, you were smart to talk a lot to Adele tonight. She has Sol’s ear, and he respects her opinion about just about everything.”

“That was easy. She’s a charming woman.”

“I want you to take tomorrow to get moved in, and I want you to buy some clothes with some of that money I gave you. You’ll need to dress better than you did when you were a cop. If you didn’t, Sol would notice.”

“Thanks, I’ll do that, and thank you again for the money. You’re very generous, Eddie, and I appreciate it.”

“You earned it. The day after tomorrow you take on your first assignment from me.”

“And what is that?”

“Clete Barrow. He’s got another three weeks on this picture, and last night scared the hell out of me. I want you to become his friend, which is easy; he’s a nice guy. You don’t have to keep him sober, which is impossible, but I want him in one piece and at work on time every day. Understood?”

“Understood.”

“I don’t mean to turn you into a babysitter, but this is probably the most important picture we’ve made so far, and we have hopes for a few Academy Awards. A lot depends on Clete, and that means a lot depends on you.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Say, the tux looks great on you! Keep it. I’ll square it with wardrobe.”

“Thanks again,” Rick said as they reached the front of the house. His car was waiting. “And thank Suzanne again for such a wonderful evening.”

“Don’t worry, there’ll be more. Now she’ll have a bachelor on the premises, an odd man for dinner parties.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” Rick said. He drove away into the cool California night, the top down, inhaling the fragrant Beverly Hills air. He had a new job, a new home, a new car and five grand in his pocket. Tomorrow, he’d have a new wardrobe. Life was looking good.

Then he began to think about Clete Barrow. How the hell was he going to handle that problem?

6

RICK TOOK MOST OF THE following morning to clean out his furnished apartment, amazed at how much junk he had collected in the two years he had lived there. He threw away everything he would not need in his new life, and when he was done, there were only a few items of sports clothing, some files, a few personal effects and his new evening clothes. He left a large pile of cardboard boxes filled with his old things for trash pickup. Everything he took with him fitted into the convertible. He wrote the landlady a generous check and left it in her mailbox with a note.

An hour later, he had moved into his new cottage, had everything put away and had been confronted by his empty closets. He went down to Rodeo Drive and into an old-line Beverly Hills men’s shop and, inside of an hour, had chosen suits, jackets and odd trousers, two dozen shirts—dress and sport—half a dozen pairs of shoes, plus ties, socks, underwear. While the shop’s tailors worked like beavers to cuff his trousers—the only alterations needed, since he was a perfect 42 long—he chose tennis whites, golf shoes, three hats and a trench coat for chilly evenings. It was an orgy of shopping, and he had never enjoyed anything more that hadn’t involved sex. He paid in cash, which took a big bite out of his five thousand dollars. At a hundred and fifty bucks for a suit, it added up. He put on a new outfit and ordered everything else delivered to the cottage before the day was out. Then he went grocery shopping. That night, he grilled himself a steak, had a swim in the Harrises’ pool, listened to the radio for a while and turned in early.

NEXT MORNING, HE WAS AT Centurion bright and early. He waited while the gate guard affixed a sticker to his car window—artwork of a Roman centurion—then drove to the administration building and entered his new office. Jenny was already at work.

“Good morning, Rick,” she said brightly. “Your office is ready. I’ve cleaned everything out.”

A cardboard box sat on her desk with what had apparently been John Kean’s desk contents. Rick picked up a framed photograph of a couple, beaming at the camera. “Is this Kean and his wife?”

“Yes,” Jenny said. “Her name was Helen. Pretty, isn’t she?”

Rick nodded.

“Oh, one thing,” Jenny said. “I spent all day yesterday trying to get the safe opened, but our usual lock and safe people couldn’t do it. It’s a Schneider, a German model, and apparently it’s impossible to open without the combination. I looked all over the office, thinking John might have hidden the combination somewhere, but I found nothing. You want me to have it hauled away?”

“Leave it,” Rick said. “I think I may know somebody who can open it.”

“Good luck,” she said. “Oh, Eddie Harris said to let him know when you came in. Shall I call him?”

“Sure.” Rick went into his office and arranged his desk, placing an old photograph of his parents on the desktop. They were wearing flying clothes and standing in front of an old World War I Jenny. Then he looked up a number in his address book and dialed it.

“Jah?” a gutteral voice said.

“Hans, it’s Rick Barron. I’ve got a safe I want opened.”

“Rick,” the man replied plaintively, “you know I’m not doing dis no more. I’m an honest man now.”

“Don’t worry, it’s strictly legit,” Rick said. He gave him the address.

“All right,” Hans sighed. “I’ll be there in an hour.”

“It’s a Schneider,” Rick said. “Can you handle it?”

“Please, Rick, not to be insulting me. You vant a new combination?”

“Yes.”

“Give me some numbers.”

“Okay. Ten, fifteen, twenty.”

“You are having no imagination, Rick, you know dis?”

“I’ll leave twenty bucks with my secretary.” Rick hung up in time to greet Eddie Harris, who was walking through the door, followed by a middle-aged man in a business suit. Rick recognized his old boss from the LAPD immediately.

“Welcome aboard, pal,” Harris said, pumping his hand. “I want you to meet somebody. Rick, this is Chief Davidson of the LAPD.”

“Chief, how are you?” Rick knew the man had held the job for less than a year, and rumor had it he was already on his way out.

“Pretty good, Rick. Raise your right hand.”

“What?”

“Do it, Rick,” Harris said.

“Do you swear to uphold the laws of the city of Los Angeles and the state of California and to protect and defend the people of this city?”

“I guess I do,” Rick replied.

“You’re now a lieutenant on the LAPD,” Davidson said, handing him a gold badge in a wallet. “If you’ll excuse me, Eddie, I’ve gotta run.”

“See you around, Brian.” Davidson left.

“I thought the badge might come in handy,” Harris said to Rick. “The chief sells them to the right people for a hundred and fifty bucks. You ready to go to work?”

“You bet.”

“Come on, then.”

Rick paused at Jenny’s desk. “A little German man is going to show up to open the safe. Watch him and see that he doesn’t take anything out of it.”

“He’s a thief?”

“He used to be. Don’t worry, he’s harmless.” He handed her twenty dollars. “Give him this when he’s finished.”

Harris grabbed the money and handed it back to Rick. “Get that from petty cash,” he said to Jenny.

She handed him a pad of chits, and he signed one.

“You’ll be able to sign, yourself, after today,” Harris said. “Don’t spend your own money on studio stuff. Now come on.”

“Where will you be?” Jenny asked.

“I’ve no idea,” Rick replied.

Harris led him to the electric cart and began driving. “Sleep well last night?”