“Nothing changes,” I said. “Everything stays the same. It seems like it changes but it never does.”
Janis nodded and seemed to know what I was talking about better than I did.
“You think you’ve changed, but you haven’t. You’re prettier now than you were. And you’re a better actress. And you’ve got that goddamn southern accent. Where did you get that? I happen to know you were born in Utica.”
Janis smiled. “Max. Max invented the accent. Max invented me.”
“The hell he did,” I said. “I invented you.”
“Max figured out the accent. It’s distinctive. It’s not straight southern. Just a trace. Like I’d worked hard to lose it. It’s a very special accent. You can recognize it anywhere. And the best thing is it’s easy to imitate. Every cornball mimic in every broken-down nightclub can imitate three people: Hepburn, Bette Davis and me. Max’s idea.”
We ordered another drink.
They were putting tablecloths on some of the tables now, setting up for dinner.
“I owe everything to Max. He helped me. He got me jobs. Introduced me to people.”
“Nice people?”
“That’s Hollywood,” Janis said. “He invented my accent. He loaned me the money to pay the diction teacher. He got me into musicals. He made me take dancing lessons. Paid for them. He made me what I am today. I hope you’re satisfied.”
I suddenly realized Janis was a little drunk.
“Maybe we’d better get out of here.”
“One for the road,” Janis said. I signaled the waiter. “I can get sixty-five thousand bucks a picture for musicals. I can’t get a dramatic part if I work for nothing. That’s the way it is out there. I’m a hell of an actress. I’m the best damn actress in the whole bloody world. But you’re trapped. They get you in a sixty-thousand-dollar-a- picture trap. You get rich, but you can’t get out of the trap. But I’m out of the trap now.”
“Buying the Anstruther book was Max’s idea?”
Janis nodded.
“Have you read it?”
“Of course. It’s a great part. A French girl in Paris during the war. She’s the mistress of a big Nazi. But she falls in love with an American aviator. She dies in the end. It’s a hell of a part.”
“Is it a good book?”
“How would I know?” Janis said. “It’s a great part. They want it for one of the glamour girls.” She laughed. “They’ll be surprised.”
“The book is a fake,” I said. “You know that, of course. Jimmie and Walter wrote the book.”
She nodded.
“It’s a great part,” she said. “That’s all I know. That’s all I care about.”
“I hope you win an Academy Award.”
“I will,” she said very seriously. “I will.”
We had another drink. We didn’t discuss the point. We just had another drink.
“What makes Walter think Max murdered Anstruther and that girl?” Janis said. “And what makes him think I was there when he killed Anstruther?”
“Walter is fabulous.”
“No, I mean it. What makes him think so?”
“You know Walter,” I said. “He has such a nasty mind. The story is that Jean Dahl was in Anstruther’s hotel room the night he shot himself. The doorbell rang and she ran into the other room. While she was in there she claimed to have heard you come in. She said she heard you argue with Anstruther. Then the doorbell rang again, and Max came in. She heard Max kill him a few minutes later.”
“That’s pretty good identifying, darling, only I wasn’t there.”
“I didn’t think you were,” I said, “but I thought I might as well mention it.”
Janis looked at me.
“Darling?”
“Yes?” I said.
“Did you mean it when you said you were still in love with me?”
I nodded.
“I’ve changed some. But you haven’t.”
“Nothing changes, really.”
“I love you, Dick.”
“Let’s get out of here,” I said.
“I’m drunk,” Janis said. “You got me drunk for some nefarious purpose.”
“Come on,” I said, paying the check.
Janis’ face had relaxed. The tension had gone out of it. She held onto my arm until we were out in the street and had hailed an empty cab.
I gave the driver my address.
Then I kissed her.
“Oh, darling,” Janis said.
It was dark as the cab pulled up to my front door.
But not too dark to see the police car parked in front of the house.
“Keep going,” I said to the driver. “Don’t stop.”
“What is it, darling?” Janis said.
“Nothing,” I said. “A little confusion. I saw someone I didn’t want to see. Let’s go somewhere else.”
The cab hit Madison Avenue and swung uptown.
“Where to, mister?”
“A good question,” I said. It seemed as if cab drivers had been asking me where to, mister, all day. And I never seemed to know.
“What is it, darling?” Janis said.
“A little trouble. Nothing serious. Can you think of some place we could tell this nice man to take us?”
“Walter’s?” Janis said. “He’s got people for dinner. We could have the upstairs to ourselves.”
I gave the driver Walter’s address.
Then I kissed her again.
The cab pulled up in front of Walter’s, when I remembered something else. “Keep going, driver,” I said. “Don’t stop.”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” the driver said.
“There was a little trouble when I left here, too,” I said to Janis. “If I remember correctly I threw a drink at Walter, socked Jimmie, and kicked the butler.”
“You have had a busy day,” Janis said. “Did you hit him? Walter, I mean? You said you threw a drink at him. You didn’t say if you hit him.”
“Right in the mouth.”
“Wonderful. You’re wonderful. Kiss me again.”
“It was nothing, really,” I said. “It was point-blank range. It would have been hard to miss. Much more skill involved if I’d tried to miss him, actually.”
“Where can we go?” Janis said.
“Just turn the corner,” I told the driver. “We’ll get out around the corner.”
The cab pulled to a stop near the service entrance.
“This is O.K.,” I said.
I paid the driver and we stood on the sidewalk without moving until he turned the far corner onto Madison Avenue and disappeared.
“Here we go,” I said.
We walked casually up the alley to the service door. In front of the door I stopped, caught Janis’ arm and pulled her close to me. I tilted her head back and kissed her.
When the kiss was over I said, “Say, what the hell is your name, anyway?”
