The Laughter of Carthage (21 page)

‘Of course not. Merely mention the fact that I am a qualified engineer, that I have patents on a number of practical inventions for saving money in the oil business, that I was educated in St Petersburg and have worked with important companies in France, Memphis . . .’

She raised a plump hand. ’‘Ang on, Ive, fer Gawd’s sake. I can’t remember the ‘ole CV. Ya fink ‘e can do yer some good, right?’

‘He must have connections with the important oil men. All I ask is an early introduction.’

‘You sure that’s it?’

‘I swear!’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘Okey-dokey, if yer say so. Yore schemes ain’t usually that simple. What we do fer bloody love!’

Once again that night I gave her my all. She responded with magnificent acting. ‘Mucker’ sat doubled up in his seat, squirming with admiration, ecstatic in the knowledge that his dream would soon come true. We took three curtain calls (this time without the aid of the Klan) and came off in a mood of cheerful elation. ‘Yore reely pullin’ the stops art, Ivan. I got ter admit I don’t mind doin’ this fer ya, as it appens. A favour fer a favour, I orlways say.’ She was dressed specially for the high-class restaurant, in one of her hats. This was primarily of green and yellow satin. Her dress was midnight blue with lighter blue beading at throat, arms and knee. Her yellow shoes were a close match to her hat. ‘Wot d’yer fink, Ive?’ She admired herself. ‘A stunner, if it’s me as sez so!’ She took a deep breath, which threatened the security of her chest. ‘’Ere goes, then. See yer later, I ‘ope.’ She placed her hand on her hip in parody of a modern fashion model, picked up her jet and chrome beaded bag, and waltzed off to keep her date.

I became agitated almost as soon as she had left. I kept crossing my fingers, then uncrossing them because I felt foolish. I thought I would go mad simply waiting for her report, so I went into the next room where Mabel and Ethel were pulling on their stockings and asked if they had plans. ‘Nuffink spesh,’ said Ethel. She nudged her friend. They had always enjoyed our ‘romps’ in the past. When heavily made up and in high heels, their skinny little bodies could be almost attractive. I took them, one on each arm, along the boardwalk in the fizzing light of the fairground. The sea was black and still beyond the beach. I could hear the oil pumps, steadily grinding away, and I wondered how many lovers used the noise and the darkness as cover. Huntington Beach was at its best now, coming fully alive. Huge, crudely painted heads nodded above booths which popped and clattered or tinkled with tiny bells. The barkers yelled in a language of their own, more ancient than Romany, and the harem girls, if anything even less attractive than my two, wriggled their mean protruberances to the sound of some
fartsayrik
Edison cylinder. The stink of oil came off the beaches and mingled with the stink of oil from the fairground, with the smells of hamburgers and hot dogs, toffee apples, pink cotton candy and sugar-sticks. The ground, often covered by bouncing planks where it had become too muddy, was a museum of California’s
glanlsik
garbage, the vivid colours of bottles, boxes and paper bags already beginning to fade. My theatrical colleagues were sharing a room with Mrs Cornelius. I thought it imprudent to go there, in case she decided to leave her date prematurely. I took them back to my own room, on the other side of the fairground. It was as if we had not left. The lights flashed and winked, the music churned out with mechanical cheer the waltz tunes of a more elegant century, and Ethel moved her skeletal, almost androgynous carcass up and down on my misleadingly trimmed member while Mabel, unusually for her, lowered a not oversweet vagina towards my head, then dropped with a slight yelp, full on my lips. I did what I could before my conviction that I was suffocating got the better of me. I had not forgotten Esmé. I could see her sweet, virginal face even as Mabel ground herself next upon my shoulder. It was astonishing how like Lillian Gish Esmé was. She would have no trouble at all finding movie parts if that was what she wished. I began to hope I might be responsible for giving the world two wonderful new stars. The temptation to remain in the acting profession was considerable, but I knew I could not resist my destiny any longer. I had other gifts to offer the world. I had my
luftshif
and boats and household appliances. Ultimately they led to my dream of maximum freedom, my aerial cities.
Eybik, fargesn, ikh blaybn lebn.

I escorted the ladies back to their own boarding house, a couple of blocks from mine. They made coffee for me and chatted about films they had seen, men they had dated, advertisements which had attracted them. By three in the morning they had crawled into bed together and fallen asleep. Mrs Cornelius, when she returned, was mildly surprised to find me there. She gave a little jump and then hiccupped. ‘Beg pardon, Ivan. Wot the ‘ell are you doin’ up, and in my room!’

‘I wanted to hear how everything went.’

‘You ain’t me granny.’ She frowned, ‘I still carn’t work art yore angle.’ Then she grinned, removing her hat. ‘E’s loverly, reeliy. Soft as butter, an’ orl! Didn’t lay a finger on me, like ‘e said.’ She was impressed by this. ‘An’ ‘e’s fixin’ up a screen test wiv ‘is mates at Lasky’s. I ain’t complainin’. A bit’v a barn, that hotel, though. I expected somefink more flash. An’ no bloody booze, would yer believe it. Woman ‘oo runs it’s a reformed madam, I fink.’

I was genuinely pleased for her, but I needed to know what she had done on my behalf. ‘Did you manage to slip in something about my inventions?’

She sat down on her narrow bed and began carefully to roll down her fine silk hose. She grew bright red. The frame shook and creaked. She was laughing silently. ‘Anyone c’n read yer like a bleedin’ book, Ivan. Orl right, I carn’t ‘ang on ter it! If yer must know yore “engineer” wiv a bit o’ spare cash is John Ewart Hever-Junior. Not on’y is ‘e a bleedin’ millionaire wiv oil fields all over California an’ Texas. ‘Is bleedin’ dad’s a millionaire. Thass J.E.H. Senior, is fuckin uncle’s a millionaire. An’ when they wanna go slummin’ they orl get in a big Rolls Royce and piss over ter William Randolph ‘Earst’s gaff ter see ‘ow the ovver ‘arf lives.’ She enjoyed the astonishment on my face. She reached over and patted my arm. ‘I carn’t say I ain’t grateful fer the intro, Ive. Mucker reckons ‘e’s ther main tip as Republican nomination fer Guv’ner, next time rahnd. Fink I’d make a proper firs’ lady o’ the State?’ And she released her laughter this time, waking her room mates who asked her to put a sock in it.

‘But you didn’t mention my stuff?’

‘We’re ‘avin’ dinner agin tomorrer. Some place darn near Laguna Beach, I fink. Fish restaurant. Orl on ther legit, eh?’ She winked again. ‘I’m lookin’ arter ther value o’ me assets, like I said. But I’ll do it tomorrer night, Ive, I promise. It jes’ didn’t work art this time. Off yer go, love. See yer at ther show. I’ve gotter get me beauty sleep, in ‘I?’ And humming a few bars of
Knock Em In The Old Kent Road
she waved me towards the door. I left, but I felt she had at very least failed to understand the urgency of my situation. Although glad things went well for her and grateful for the intelligence of Hever’s enormous wealth, for some reason I was seized by an additional sense of panic. Perhaps I suspected she might betray me (I should have known better) and claim Hever entirely for herself. It would be like an Indian who, having hunted down one of the last buffalo, refused to tell his tribe. Hever belonged to me quite as much as he did to Mrs C.

That was why, next morning, I boarded a powerful Red Car inter-urban trolley rumbling the coast-road tracks to Marina del Rey. From near Venice’s huge indoor Bathing Pavilion, I took a Yellow local inland. It was a remarkable public transport system and a model to most other cities. The Huntington class tram cars were St Louis-built, superbly engineered and designed to live a century. They were named after the line’s owners, that old wealthy family established in California since she was ruled by Dons. I saw almost the final run of the
Descanso,
the big silver-grey Funeral Car, last of her kind. Unable to compete with the rapidly multiplying automobile, she was extinct within the year.

The South Western Mineral Company was easily found. They had an entire building on Wilshire Boulevard, some twenty storeys high, standing in what was virtually a small park. I gave my name to the clerk at a vast reception desk which occupied the ground floor. He was greatly impressed when I was asked straight to the top. A pretty secretary met me outside the elevator, leading me through cool, grey corridors crowded with potted palms and ferns. We came at last to a massive door which was thrown open and there was ‘Mucker’ himself, as untidy as ever in his pale suit, virtually embracing me. It was as if an elephant calf had risen on its hind quarters in imitation of
homo sapiens.
‘So happy to see you, Pallenberg.’ He was, even in his native environment, acutely nervous and consequently expressing embarrassment with every clumsy movement. ‘Nothing wrong, I hope?’ He was growing whiter even as he escorted me inexpertly through mahogany opulence towards his antique desk squatting before the shaded window and a view of the sea. From here the city looked curiously incomplete, like an unfinished jigsaw, with patches of irregular green, abrupt asymmetrical mud lots or exact squares of glittering concrete. It was as if this part of Los Angeles were in the almost organic process of reforming herself. Hever put his broad back to the view, offering me a chair, a cigar and a ‘pop’ with one brief, hesitant wave. I lowered myself into deep, Victorian leather, looking up at his worried eyes. ‘You’ve brought a message from Mrs Cornelius, I take it?’

I shrugged, smiled and shook my head. ‘She said she had a delightful dinner. She’s looking forward to this evening. Laguna Beach? I doubt you’ll find me acting as an intermediary from now on. Mr Hever. Mrs Cornelius is her own woman.’

He turned his head in a peculiar sideways movement which suggested approving assent. ‘Strong-minded.’ He beamed. This was his favourite subject. ‘A woman of so many wonderful aspects.’ He grinned like a half-trained puppy. ‘I thought you were here to tell me I’d flopped the prelims. She’s no goop, that gal. If you want it straight, Pallenberg, I’m pretty much of a ham with the ladies.’ He sat back with a self-approving sigh, as if he had just made a courageous revelation. He continued to lounge at this uneasy angle, his expression fixed as he waited for me to speak. I have met his type since, but he was the first millionaire I had encountered. He had none of the characteristics I would have expected to find in someone who controlled the fate of thousands. I think nobody liked to tell him how much power he had: it would make him speechless, wondering in panic what so many individuals expected of him. It was hard enough for him to deal with one of us at a time. In raising the main subject I felt like an assassin; yet, for Esmé’s sake, I was determined to continue.

‘Actually, Mr Hever, we’ve met before.’ I hesitated. ‘We discussed the future of engineering for a little bit. But mainly we talked about our mutual enjoyment of the movies. I recall you mentioned some Germans. Pabst? Murnau?’

He glared at me in innocent panic; his fear was purely social.

‘At Klankrest? In Atlanta. Mr Hever? A party given by Eddy Clarke, a couple of years ago? You told me how you’d made a big donation to the Klan.’

Suddenly his massive body rose like a wild balloon. Hand to the side of his head he glanced at me in fear. From white he quickly grew bright red. Then he inhaled enormously, slumping his unhappy bottom against the edge of the desk. ‘Mrs Cornelius knows all this?’

‘Why should she?’

'So she -' The words became a groan of pain. Obviously he was wondering if the love of his life had only agreed to go out with him to set him up for me. Another massive breath. He began to roam aimlessly over the carpet as if he thought he might find the elephant's graveyard. I turned my head to follow him, saying urgently. 'Mr Hever, sir. I think you have the wrong idea.’

'You're not blackmailing me, are you Pallenberg, for God's sake.’ He had ascended to Heaven only to find it inhabited by the Devil. I wanted to pat his hand and assure him his happiness was not attacked. 'The friendship of Mrs Cornelius means a lot to me. You can't know what I went through . . .' Again his manner apologized for this self-reference.

I was offended. 'I won't deny my finances are currently nonexistent, Mr Hever. But,' (I was enjoying my increasing familiarity with the slang.) 'it will be a cold day in Hell before I try to put the bite on a pal. Please relax.' I knew how nervous he must be. He still could not believe his good fortune. He had been born a millionaire, had known nothing but privilege, yet he expected happiness to be snatched away from him just as if he were a child in the slums of Kiev who knew from experience that nothing of value was ever his for more than a chance moment. Hever actually expected to have his dream destroyed. I went on: 'Nothing which I say in this room will ever be conveyed to Mrs Cornelius. Whatever exists between you two can't be harmed by me.'

He looked at me with that same expression of gratitude which had been on his face when I first told him he could see his idol. But he was puzzled. 'Then why are you here?' He was in the early stages of a love affair. The rest of the world and its inhabitants currently scarcely existed.