The Prince of Beverly Hills (18 page)

Soon they were inside and being shown to a ringside table. No sooner had they sat down than Hedda Hopper sat down with them.

“No girls this evening, Clete?” she said, after a perfunctory handshake with Rick.

“Not tonight, my dear. I’ve got an early call tomorrow, so Rick and I are just going to catch the first show, then head to our respective homes.”

Rick wondered why it was necessary to say that. Was Clete worried that Hedda might think them queer for each other?

Hedda asked a few more questions, then turned to Rick. “I’m seeing you everywhere around town,” she said. “You must be enjoying the new job.”

“I just go where the work takes me, Miss Hopper,” he said.

“Please,” she said, putting a hand on his arm, “you must call me Hedda. All my friends do, and a great many people who aren’t my friends.”

“Hedda it is,” Rick said, giving her a smile.

“You’re good-looking enough to be a leading man,” she said. “Have you ever considered acting?”

“Not for a moment,” Rick laughed. “I see what Clete has to put up with, and I don’t think I could handle it.”

“You seem to be keeping him out of trouble.”

“Oh, I’m just along for the ride.”

“Well, I have my rounds to make,” Hedda said. “Nighty-night.” She got up, allowed Clete a peck on her cheek and moved on.

A trio had been playing, but now they stopped, and members of the Artie Shaw band began filtering onstage, making tuning noises with their instruments.

Rick had expected an announcement, but suddenly the entire club went completely dark for a few seconds, then a spotlight came on, finding the drummer. The great Buddy Rich launched into a head-pounding drum solo that introduced “Traffic Jam,” then another spot came on and found Artie Shaw himself, who had come onto the bandstand in the darkness. He slid up to that high note, and the band was off and running on the up-tempo arrangement, with Shaw leading the charge.

They finished to a roar of cheers and applause that sounded like something from a football stadium, and when it finally died, a disembodied voice said, “Ladies and gentlemen, Artie Shaw and his orchestra, featuring Buddy Rich on drums!”

The band swung into “Begin the Beguine,” and people began to dance. A waiter brought drinks and took Clete’s and Rick’s dinner order. The set continued on through “Frenesi,” “Japanese Sandman” and “Yesterdays.”

Rick looked around the room and saw Chick Stampano seated on the other side of the dance floor. They were in exactly the same seats as the last time they had been at Ciro’s.

Clete followed Rick’s stare. “Oh, I see our old friend Mr. Greaseball is back. Is he behaving himself these days?”

“No,” Rick said, “he’s not. I had a little meeting with Ben Siegel about him yesterday.”

“Don’t stare at the man,” Clete said, “or we’ll just have another confrontation.”

“You’re right,” Rick replied. “I’ll just forget he’s there.” He turned back toward the band and began to enjoy the music again.

Shaw played a novelty version of “Donkey Serenade,” then segued into “Dancing in the Dark,” while the dancers swayed with the music.

“Good,” Clete replied.

Artie Shaw had stepped up to the microphone again and held his hands up for quiet. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “one of Hollywood’s most beautiful and promising actresses is with us this evening as our special guest singer. She’s starting a new musical at Centurion Studios next week, and we’re very lucky to have her. Here’s Miss Glenna Gleason to sing ‘Stardust’!”

The band swung into the introduction, and a lovely girl in a sequined dress came across the stage to the microphone and began to sing.

Rick was frozen in his chair. It was not the first time he’d seen Glenna Gleason, though her eyes had been covered at the hospital, but he was not prepared for the shock. The last time he’d seen that face had been in a bedroom photograph with the late Mr. and Mrs. John Kean—and, of course, with Chick Stampano.

36

RICK NOW REALIZED WHY Eddie Harris was so high on Glenna Gleason: The girl was simply gorgeous. She couldn’t be more than twenty-two, he thought, but there was a calm maturity about her. Luxuriant auburn hair fell to her shoulders, and her tall, slim body and full breasts were something to behold in the low-cut, sequined dress. The girl had a beautiful voice, and she sang with a simplicity and sweetness that was overwhelming.

Rick looked around the ringside tables and saw that everyone else was having the same reaction, men and women alike. This girl had something very rare. Clete Barrow sat and stared, like Rick, transfixed.

She finished the song, then sang another Hoagy Carmichael tune, “Skylark,” then finished with “I Get Along Without You Very Well,” accompanied only by the pianist. When she was done, the crowd was on its feet.

“Don’t worry,” Shaw shouted over the din, “she’ll be back for the second show.”

As the girl began to leave the stage, Clete rose and strode across the dance floor. He took her hand and whispered something to her, then led her back to the table.

Rick was on his feet, holding her chair.

“Miss Gleason,” Clete said, “may I present my friend Rick Barron?”

A flash of recognition passed across her face. She held on to his hand and bent close to whisper, “I owe you a great deal. Thank you so much.”

“I was very happy to do what I could,” Rick managed to reply, though he seemed to have some difficulty speaking.

Clete ordered champagne, and they all raised their glasses. “To the beginning of a big career,” he said.

Then Rick looked up and saw Chick Stampano striding toward their table, apparently to congratulate her. Rick stood and walked around the table, placing himself squarely between Stampano and the girl.

There was a moment when Rick thought Stampano would keep coming, but instead he stopped, looked hard at Rick for a moment, then changed direction and went to another table, where he spoke with some people. Rick waited for him to finish talking with them and return to his table before he sat down again.

“Thank you again,” Glenna said.

“Not at all,” he said. “If he should ever try to contact you again, please let me know immediately.”

She smiled her gratitude.

The three of them sat, talking and drinking champagne through the rest of the show, then through the intermission. The second show began, and after a few numbers Artie Shaw called Glenna to the stage again, and she gave another affecting performance, earning another standing ovation from the audience.

When she had finished, Glenna came back to the table for a moment. She put her hand on Rick’s wrist and looked at his watch. “I really must go,” she said. “I have a dance rehearsal first thing in the morning.”

“Let us take you home, then,” Clete said.

“Thank you, that’s very kind.”

They worked their way through the crowd, with Glenna accepting congratulations from many people, among them Eddie and Suzanne Harris.

Eddie whispered in Rick’s ear, “I saw that. Thanks for watching out for her.”

“It was my pleasure,” Rick replied. He left Clete and Glenna talking with the Harrises and went to get the car. When they came out of Ciro’s, he had the motor running.

The three of them sat in the front seat on the short drive to the Garden of Allah, and Rick was conscious of Glenna’s scent and of her thigh pressed against his in the close quarters. He waited in the car while Clete walked her to the door.

“My God!” Clete said when he was back in the car. “Isn’t she something?”

“She certainly is,” Rick replied. “I can tell I’m going to have to fight you for her.” He put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb.

“You’re that attracted to her?” Clete asked.

Rick was about to answer when he glanced in the rearview mirror and saw a car he recognized pulling into the place where he had parked. It took him a minute to make the U-turn in traffic, and by that time Stampano was out of the car, striding quickly toward Glenna’s cottage.

Clete spotted him, too. “And he’s got two gorillas with him,” he said, nodding in the direction of the car, where the hulking figures sat.

Rick reached into the glove compartment, retrieved his little .45 and handed it to Clete. “Stop them, but try not to shoot anybody. There’s one in the chamber.” He hopped out of the car and went after Stampano, who had disappeared around the corner of the cottage. He looked back to see Clete standing between the cottage and the two men, who were getting out of their car.

Rick turned the corner of the cottage and ran straight into a sucker punch that staggered him but didn’t take him off his feet. He saw the second one coming and blocked it, getting in a couple of quick jabs before Stampano could step back.

Stampano reached into a hip pocket and came out with a blackjack. Rick knew that if he took the thing in the head, he’d be unconscious and helpless. As Stampano started his swing, Rick, instead of stepping back or ducking, stepped into Stampano’s body, blocking the blackjack and getting in a hard right under the man’s heart that made his knees buckle.

Rick got ahold of the blackjack and twisted it from Stampano’s hand, then tossed it into some bushes. “Now,” he said, “it’s just you and me.”

Stampano circled him warily, looking around for the blackjack. “Hey, boys!” he shouted. “Get over here!”

“They’re busy,” Rick said, then staggered him with a left hook. As Stampano was regaining his balance, Rick aimed a right at his nose and felt the crunch as it sailed home. Stampano sat down on the flagstone path, blood gushing all over his white dinner jacket.

Rick grabbed him by the collar and hoisted him to his feet, then grabbed the seat of his pants with his other hand and marched him down the pathway on his toes. When he came around the corner, Clete had the two goons at bay, the .45 in his hand. “Get the back door,” Rick yelled.

Clete stepped to the car and opened the back door in time for Stampano to sail past it into the rear of the car. “Get him out of here,” he said to the two men. They got into the car and drove Stampano away.

“Well,” Clete said, inspecting a bruise on Rick’s chin, “I’m glad to see he was the one bleeding. Did you enjoy that?”

“More than I should have,” Rick replied. “I don’t think we’ll see him out in public for a few days. He’s going to have a pair of beautiful shiners, and he’ll have to have his nose set.”

Rick looked up to see Glenna standing at the corner of the house. He ran up to her, took her arm and steered her back toward her front door. “Nothing to worry about,” he said.

“I saw some of it from my door,” Glenna said. “And I have to say, I enjoyed it.”

Rick laughed.

“Once again, I’m in your debt,” she said, when they came to her door. She kissed him on the corner of the mouth, then went inside and closed the door.

Rick felt weak in the knees, but he made it back to his car.

Clete laughed. “You look sort of stunned.”

“She kissed me,” Rick replied.

“Now you’re in for it,” Clete sighed.

RICK GOT INTO BED but had trouble falling asleep. A montage of Glenna Gleason ran through his head, not excluding the photograph of her with the Keans and Stampano. He found himself wanting to do to her what Stampano was doing in the photo, but more tenderly. Or maybe not.

37

RICK WOKE IN THE morning and, in the bathroom mirror, inspected his bruised and swollen face where Stampano had sucker punched him. After he had dressed and shaved, he put an ice pack on it for a few minutes, taking comfort in the certainty that Stampano was going to see worse in his own mirror.

AS RICK WALKED INTO his office, Jenny was answering the phone. “It’s Eddie Harris,” she said.

He went into his office, closed the door and picked up the phone. “Good morning, Eddie,” he said.

“That remains to be seen,” Eddie replied.

“What’s up?”

“I had a call from Ben Siegel late last night, and he was furious.”

“Oh?”

“He says you and Clete beat the shit out of Chick Stampano last night.”

“That’s only partly true, Eddie.”

“Which part?”

“
I
beat the shit out of Stampano while Clete held off his two goons.”

“How the hell did he do that? Is he hurt? Has he got any marks on him?”

“Not a scratch. Clete showed them my gun and kept them out of it, while I dealt with Stampano.”

“What did you do to him?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure I broke his nose, and he’s going to need a new white dinner jacket.”

Eddie emitted a long chuckle.

“And did I mention that this happened outside Glenna Gleason’s house?”

“What?”

“Clete and I drove her home after her second show, and as we were leaving, Stampano and his two goons showed up. I followed him around the corner of the house, and he was laying for me, sucker punched me, then he pulled a blackjack. I took it away from him, tossed it away and hit him a few times, then I threw him in his car and we left.”

“Well, at least no gunfire was exchanged.”

“I was pleased about that, too.”

“And Clete had a gun in his hand?”

“Eddie, the guy’s a Royal Marine, for Christ’s sake. He knows how to handle a weapon.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“What exactly did Siegel say?”

“He was ranting about how you had lured Stampano into a fight. He said
you
had the blackjack.”

“Nuts! Did he mention that I had warned him a second time to keep Stampano away from our people?”

“No, but I did, and that seemed to stymie him a little. What I’m worried about is, he hinted that you could expect Stampano to get even.”

“I hadn’t thought about that, but it doesn’t surprise me. He may just be blowing hot air.”

“Maybe, but maybe not, so here’s what I want you to do: Wherever you go, until further notice, I want two studio cops with you—one in your car and one in another car, and I want them armed.”

“That’s a little overcautious, isn’t it, Eddie? I can handle Stampano.”

“Yeah, but how many of his goons can you handle all at once? And another thing, I don’t want you and Clete out on the town together for a while. If you want to have dinner, go out to Santa Monica or Pacific Palisades, and stay out of Ciro’s and, above all, the Trocadero. The Brown Derby and Chasen’s, too.”