Maybe she moved there to see the redhead and gloat. She knew what my father was. She knew what the redhead had coming.
There were no L.A. directories issued for the rest of the war. The ’46 and ’47 books were missing. The Beverly Hills books were missing. We couldn’t nail the move to 459 North Doheny.
They shacked up somewhere. The Spalding divorce was finalized in ’39 or ’40. My father’s divorce was finalized in late ’45. They were free to marry then.
They were married in Ventura County. The date was 8/29/47. My mother was 32. She was two and a half months pregnant. The marriage license listed a common address. It was 459 North Doheny. The license stated that this was the second marriage for both parties.
I was born in March ’48. Jessie Hilliker died in ’50. She had a stroke and keeled over. My parents moved to 9031 Alden Drive. The marriage went bad. My mother filed for divorce on 1/3/55.
She cited “extreme cruelty.” She listed her joint property as furniture and a car. She stated her desire to be my full-time parent.
My father accepted her terms. He signed a property settlement on 2/3/55. She got the car and the furniture. She got me for my school months and part of the summer. He got two weekly visits and some summer time with me. He had to pay her lawyer’s bill and $50 a month child support.
A hearing was held on 2/28/55. My father was summoned. He did not appear. My mother’s lawyer filed a default motion. My father told me she was fucking her lawyer.
The default decree was granted on 3/30/55. It was interlocutory. The divorce would be finalized a year later. My mother filed a nuisance claim against my father. The claim summoned him to court on 1/11/56. The claim laid out her specific charges.
She said my father brought me home Thanksgiving night. He stood outside the front door. He eavesdropped. He broke into the apartment on 11/27/55. He went through her clothes and her bureau drawers. He cornered her at the Ralph’s Market at 3rd and San Vicente. He yelled insults at her as she shopped. The incident occurred in late November ’55.
My father got a lawyer. He wrote up a brief and countered my mother’s claim. He said my mother’s mode of life was inimical to my moral and social development. My father feared for my health and safety.
My parents saw a judge. He appointed a court assistant. He told her to investigate the charges.
She interviewed my father. He said Jean was a good mother five days a week. She drank two-thirds of a bottle of wine every night and “went berserk” on the weekends. He said she was a sex maniac. Her drinking went along with her sex mania. He said he didn’t eavesdrop that night. He brought his son back at 5:15. Jean answered the door. Her hair was mussed up. She had liquor on her breath. This Hank Hart guy was sitting at the kitchen table. He was in his undershirt. A bottle of champagne, three cans of beer, a bottle of wine and a fifth of whisky were out in plain sight.
He left the apartment. He decided to visit some friends in the neighborhood. He walked past the apartment again. He heard his son yelling. He heard some “other confusion.” He walked to the kitchen window and peered in. He saw his son walk into the bathroom and take a bath. He saw Jean and Hank Hart lie down on the living-room sofa. They started necking. Hart stuck his hand under Jean’s dress. His son walked into the living room. He was wearing pajamas. He watched TV. Hank Hart teased him. The boy went to bed. Hank Hart took off his trousers. Jean lifted her skirt. They had intercourse on the sofa.
My father said he went home. He called my mother. He asked her if she had no shame. Jean said she would do as she pleased. He didn’t browbeat Jean at Ralph’s Market. He brought his son home a few days after Thanksgiving. Jean wasn’t there. His son showed him how to enter the apartment. He opened some French windows. He entered the apartment. He did not look through Jean’s clothes or open her bureau drawers. He never called Jean filthy names. She phoned him and called him filthy names.
The investigator talked to Ethel Ings. She said Jean was an excellent mother. Jean paid her 75 cents an hour. She looked after Jean’s son. Jean never left her son home alone. He went to a Lutheran church every Sunday. Jean never raised her voice to him. She never used foul language.
The investigator talked to the principal of Children’s Paradise School. She said Jean was an excellent mother. The father pampered the boy and did not make him study. The father used the boy. He used him to get back at his mother. He called him every night and asked him questions about his mother. He told him to answer “yes” or “no” when his mother was nearby.
The investigator talked to Eula Lee Lloyd. She said Jean was an excellent mother. Mr. Ellroy was not a good father. She saw Mr. Ellroy several times recently. He was crouched outside Jean’s apartment. He was looking in the windows.
The investigator talked to my mother. She contradicted my father’s account of her actions. She denied his charges of sex mania and dipsomaniacal behavior. She said her ex-husband lied to her son repeatedly. He told him he owned a retail store in Norwalk. He told him he was buying a house with a swimming pool. He wanted to possess the boy entirely. Her ex-husband called her vile names. He did it in front of her son. Her ex-husband was a latent homosexual. She had medical proof.
The investigator sided with my mother. She cited my mother’s salutary work record. She said my mother seemed to possess a sound character. She did not act like a drunk or a slattern. The judge sided with my mother. He issued a formal decree. He told the plaintiff and the defendant not to annoy or harass each other. He told my father not to break into my mother’s apartment. He told him not to lurk and loiter outside it. He told him to pick me up and drop me off and stay the fuck away.
The decree was dated 2/29/56. My mother was two years and four months away from Saturday Night. The notes and records catalogued her life in misalliance. I could label the investigation successful. I knew one thing past all doubt. I did not know who killed my mother. I knew how she came to King’s Row.
31
It wasn’t enough. It was a momentary pause and a spark point. I had to know more. I had to honor my debt and pursue my claim. My will to look and learn was still strong and still perversely attuned. I was my father crouched outside my mother’s bedroom window.
