Scruples (75 page)

“I am a devil with women,” he admitted, beaming, “Hey, you know how to play footsie?”

“You can teach me, as long as that’s all you have in mind,” she said judiciously.

“Dolly, I am pure of heart and besides, anything else wouldn’t be good for the baby.” Lester felt a strong bond with the force that gently pummeled and prodded him every night, as if trying to make friends in a necessarily difficult situation, like the Prisoner of Zenda tapping through the walls of his prison.

“Let’s play footsie later,” Dolly said.

Lester sighed and returned to his copy of the
Herald-Examiner
, Los Angeles’s afternoon newspaper. “Jesus! I just don’t believe it.”

“What happened?”

“There was a fire at Price Waterhouse this morning. They put it out, thank God, and all the final Oscar results have been removed elsewhere for safekeeping—that’s what it says here. Can you imagine the freak-out there would have been if everything had gone up in smoke?”

Dolly was unimpressed. Her mind was on food. “Come on, Lester, Mrs. Higgens invited us for dinner tonight. She’s worried that I’m not eating right.”

“I brought in Chinese food every day this week, just the way you wanted,” Lester said, aggrieved.

“That’s the point. She’s afraid it might not have the right things in it for the baby—all that MSG and stuff. So she’s made corned beef and cabbage.”

Lester brightened. He hated Chinese food, although he’d never told Dolly. It might have upset her. “Wonderful—absolutely wonderful!”

“If I’d known you were a corned-beef addict I would have made it while I still could,” Dolly pouted angelically.

“Ifs not just that.”

“Then what’s so wonderful?”

“Everything.” He gave a great contented sigh and came to kneel By the side of Dolly’s chair, his nose pressing her nose, peering at her through his glasses as if he were trying to merge their eyes. Giving up, he compromised and kissed her at length on the lips. Kissing was still allowed, as much as he liked.

Dolly hummed pleasurably. Lester Weinstock was coming along very nicely indeed. And he was one terrific kisser.

Dinner was delayed because Mr. Higgens, known as Chief, was late. Finally, they started without him. He arrived just as second helpings were being served.

“Sorry folks, but we had a hell of a day, and I had to hang around until everything was settled.”

“I know you put out fires, Chief,” Mrs. Higgens said with some exasperation, “but I didn’t think you had to ‘settle’ them.”

“Some fires are more unusual than others,” he retorted, looking mysterious.

“What was it, Chief? A fire in a house of ill repute, the house of a city councilman’s girl friend, Hugh Hefner’s mansion—sounds like monkey business to me.” Mrs. Higgens spoke with the air of worldly wisdom she put on to hide her pride at her husband’s position. “We’ll read about it in the paper anyway.”

“Not more about this one, you won’t It’s being played down.”

“Ah ha—funny money,” said Lester knowingly.

“Oh no,” said Dolly, looking stricken. “I bet it was in an orphan asylum or a maternity hospital.”

“Aw, hell,” the Chief grinned, “I shouldn’t have brought it up at all, but there’s no harm—just between us. Anyway, Dolly, you do something in pictures, don’t you? This should give you a kick. The fire was at a place called Price Waterhouse, an office downtown—you know, these fellers who give out the Oscars every year—”

“My God,” Dolly interrupted, “did somebody get hurt? They didn’t put that in the papers.”

“Nothing like that. Nobody injured. But it was damn funny. Some crazy stunt man set it—they found him there fanning the flames and laughing like mad. He said it was his revenge, he’d been waiting years for them to give an Oscar for stunt men and this was to call attention to the injustice of it. Had to take him away, crazy geezer. Burned out half the office, smoke damage something terrible, some of the floors are unsafe to walk on.”

“But what happened to the ballots?” Lester asked impatiently.

“Oh them, I think they keep them in a computer or something. No sweat. But all the final scores or whatever, they were kept in a special safe in the office that had the most damage, so we had to move them to another place.”

“Say, that’s really interesting, Chief,” said Lester, eyes gleaming. “Maybe I could get you in the papers, ‘Noble Fire Chief Saves Oscar Envelopes,’ stuff like that.”

“Les, the Inspector says we treat this very carefully, don’t want to give people ideas about arson, you understand.”

“Yeah. OK. But it’s a shame. Tell me more about what you did—it’s really a great story.”

The Chief was delighted to oblige. It was seldom that anyone showed a genuine interest in the details of his work. They tended, he felt, to take fire fighters all too much for granted until they needed them.

An hour after dinner, Dolly and Lester were back upstairs in her apartment finishing a half bottle of framboise. Dolly had a theory that any drink made from fruit couldn’t possibly hurt the baby because it contained vitamins. Lester bought her peach brandy, plum brandy, Cherry Heering, triple sec, blackberry wine, but something about the bottle of framboise—raspberry liqueur—had caught his fancy. The price, perhaps, because it was very expensive and he yearned to give Dolly expensive things. He didn’t know that it was very old, very rare, and very lethal, and even a Frenchman wouldn’t dare to take more than two or three tiny glasses of the precious stuff. Raspberries sounded very healthy to both Dolly and Lester, and the drink, crystal clear with almost no taste but a delightful fragrance, went down easily and in quantity, almost evaporating on their tongues as they lapped it up.

“I think we should do it,” he anounced after a long, pensive silence.

“What?” Dolly was mildly curious.

“Take the strain off you. It’s not good for the baby for you to be under all this strain.”

“Lester, what strain?”

“Of not knowing about the Awards. I’m aware—don’t think I’m not aware—that you’re under considerable, abnormal, not at all unsinister, strain,”

“You’re so adorable when you’re drunk. Take your glasses off and kiss me a whole lot.”

“Excessive, unrelieved, unrelenting, untidy, unnatural, unprovoked, incessant, constant, permanent, unendurable,
intolerable
strain!”

“Silly boy—come here.”

“Well, if you’re not, I am under considerable strain, and it’s not good for the baby either. He is under strain, so he wakes me up and then I start to worry. He wouldn’t want that to happen, but he can’t help it. Let’s do it.”

“Sleep in different beds?”

“Never! What a terrible thing to suggest. Dolly, apologize!”

“I’m sorry, Lester. What were you talking about? Why did I apologize? I think I’m drunk, too. How could raspberries make you drunk?”

“Let’s—let’s just take a lil’ drive down 606 South Olive Street where the Chief said the envelopes were kept and take a lil’ peek at ’em. Put you out of your strain, get a good night’s sleep for a change—be fresh for tomorrow night If you know you didn’t win, you’ll be relaxed tomorrow, not fair for a poor pregnant lil’ person to have to go through the strain of not knowin’—cruel and inhuman, I say.”

“That would be cheating, I think, or something else bad.”

“I don’t care. Goin’ to do it anyway. Now, just sit there and I’ll come and help you up, poor, helpless girl.”

“I’m perfectly able to get up myself,” Dolly said, heaving herself out of her chair and swaying slightly.

“Problem is, getting downstairs holding you up,” Lester muttered. Dolly was already halfway down the stairs and came back when she heard him talking to an empty room.

“Lester! Over here, the door, see it, now just walk in this direction, that’s right Are you sure this is a good idea, Lester?”

“Stroke of genius. Simply brilliant. Shoulda thought of it myself.”

“You did.”

“Oh? Good show, good show. Wait a minute, Dolly, I’ll help you with your seat belt—buggers didn’t consider poor pregnant people when they designed it.”

By the time Dolly and Lester reached South Olive Street, they were considerably less drunk yet far, very far, from sober. They had reached that particular plateau of drink in which an idea conceived earlier now seems to have been chiseled on stone tablets by Moses himself. It was a self-evident duty to put Dolly out of her strain, something no right-minded citizen would question. They were gifted with raspberry-inspired cunning and determination.

There was a guard sitting at a table in the lobby of the office building. Half-asleep and totally bored, he was mesmerized by Dolly’s stately progress toward him. Lester waved a case full of plastic cards under his nose and said authoritatively, “I’m from Price Waterhouse. Come to check on things.”

“Identification, please,” the guard said. Lester presented him with his Visa and Diners Club cards.

“No, Price Waterhouse identification.”

“Damn, got so many of these things kicking around, where did it go to? Wait a minute, it’s probably in my wallet—”

Dolly clutched her belly and gave a sudden grunting howl. The guard and Lester stopped dead and looked at her helplessly. “My God, sweetheart, I’ve simply got to pee—at least I hope that’s what it is.”

“Jesus! This is an emergency, fella,” said Lester. “I’ve got to get her up to my office—there’s a ladies’ room there. Damn fucking office dragging me out with her in this condition! But I couldn’t leave her at home alone, could I?”

“No sir!” said the guard, pointing to an open elevator. “Need some help?”

“Nah, I can handle her. Dolly, talk to me, Dolly. Can you just hold it in, hon?”

“Oh, Lester,
hurry.”

As the elevator doors closed behind them, Lester turned anxiously to Dolly. “Are you all right?”

“Had you convinced, didn’t I?” she smiled with mischief. “Was that method acting?”

“I’m not sure, but I doubt it—you’re not allowed props.”

On the third floor the offices were just as the Chief had described them. Lester bypassed the charred double wooden doors with the name of the company emblazoned on them and went directly to the fourth door on the left, the one the Chief had told him about. He took out his Swiss Army knife and worked intently on the lock for a minute.

“Are you sure you can do this?” asked Dolly.

“Please, a lil’ respect, you’re talking to the champ. Lock picking is my middle name.”

“You rich kids have all the advantages.”

“Jus’ how many hours a day can you play tennis in tennis camp?” Lester continued to work the lock. Three long minutes passed. “Damn jerk, that Benny Fishman, he must have left something out when he taught me. Don’t worry, Dolly, I’ll get it open if I have to kick the door in.”

“Lester, we don’t have to—”

Abruptly Dolly shut up and Lester put away his knife as a cleaning woman appeared from around the corner. “Good evening,” Lester said, sounding businesslike.

“Evening. Some mess, huh? And nobody even told me till just now. Nice thing to find when you get to work, soot all over, cinders, everything soaking. Wattsa matter. Key won’t work? Big deal—leave the place in a mess and don’t even tell you which key.” She opened the door with one of the many keys she carried. “Don’t try and go into the other rooms—they’re not safe.”

Lester thanked her and he and Dolly went into the room and closed the door behind them. Lester switched on the light by the door for the benefit of the cleaning woman and then, after a few seconds, switched it off as he heard her continue down the corridor. Raspberry cloud or no, he had brought his glove-compartment flashlight with him and with its aid, he went directly to the filing cabinet in one corner.

“This I can do—I think. Dolly, hold the flashlight.” He fumbled a minute and finally opened the tall filing cabinet. They looked at each other in consternation. It had five drawers, all jammed with papers.

“Now what?” whispered Dolly. “How can we ever go through all that?”

“It’s obvious. They’ll be under ‘A’ for Awards. Just hold the light and don’t make a sound.” Lester didn’t find anything under Awards, so he tried “M” for Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. Nothing. Back to “A,” smiting his head as he realized that it was the
Academy
of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. Academy proved fruitless. “Shit! I’m stupid. Naturally they’ll be under ‘O’ for Oscars.” But they weren’t.

“I’d say,” Dolly hissed, “if I were going to file them, I’d have put them under ‘E’ for envelopes.”

And there they were. All twenty-one stiff white envelopes containing everything but the Honorary Awards and the Thalberg Award. Lester fumbled among them, blaspheming under his breath. “Fuck—Best Screenplay Based on Material from Another Medium—cock-suckers, Best Foreign-Language Film—damn it to hell, Best Original Song Score and Its Adaptation—who the hell gives a flying shit—”

“Lester, I think I hear somebody coming.” Dolly quavered in a terrified semigiggle. She put out his flashlight and laid it on the floor, while Lester grabbed all the envelopes in both hands, and they both stood absolutely still as two men passed by the door of the office. When they didn’t return, Dolly peeked out. “Nobody—keep looking, Lester.”