Lone star

and then Jimmy came along. She liked him. He liked her. Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

Josh waited a while before he spoke. When he did, his voice was hard. “Miss Ferber, Jimmy likes to play people. Experiment. See what they’re about. Push people. He’ll do things just to get people to, you know, go to the edge. He fools with their lives. If they fall apart, that can’t be helped.” The more he spoke the more bitter he sounded.

Mercy said, “That sounds cruel.”

“Well, he’s a bastard.”

“To you?” I asked.

“Yeah, for one.”

Sal was edgy. “Josh, this is Jimmy we’re talking about.”

Josh sneered. “Sal moons over Jimmy. Doesn’t know he’s in love with him.” He spat out the word. Sal frowned, looked around, his face becoming flushed, and he seemed ready to bolt. But Josh continued, “I’d seen Jimmy a few times, with his friends. Even at one or two parties. We drank together in bars. But then he started to avoid me. Was rude to me.”

“Why?”

Josh groaned. “You wanna know? I’ll tell you. I’m too girlish, he said. He actually said that. He’s uncomfortable around guys like me.” Josh bit his lip. “It’s not my being a male that bothers him. It’s the kind of male I am.”

“I’m not following this,” I said, exasperated.

“Jimmy likes more masculine men.”

“What are you saying?”

Nasty, his voice purposely loud, “I already told you Jimmy likes to experiment.”

Sal jumped up, twisted around. “Josh, please.” He looked down at Josh. “I’m sorry.” He backed up. “Come on, Josh.” Pleading.

Josh seemed hesitant. “You see, I don’t like Jimmy Dean. He does.” He pointed to Sal. “I’ve seen the beast in him, so I regretted that he got involved with Carisa, because I still liked her.”

Bluntly, I probed, as Josh stood, “Do you think Jimmy killed her?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me.”

“That’s quite an accusation.”

“Well,” Josh said, “he once beat her up so bad she hid away for days, black and blue.”

I sat up. “Jimmy?” I turned to Mercy. “Do you think that’s possible?”

Mercy didn’t look surprised. Quietly, “He told me he hit Pier Angeli so hard she passed out.”

I slumped back into the seat. “Mercy, what?” Fury, like a wind through me; a knife. “God, no.”

“It’s what he told me, Edna. He told me he wasn’t proud of his temper.”

“That’s barbaric.” I drummed a finger on the table. “Barbaric.”

Josh, standing, “No, Miss Ferber, that’s James Dean.”

When Josh and Sal left, an annoyed Sal muttering into Josh’s side and Josh looking oddly triumphant, I spotted Tommy Dwyer sitting by himself at a table, his back to me. I wondered when he’d arrived, and wondered, too, if he’d overheard the conversation with Josh. He seemed purposely turned away. I nudged Mercy, who shook her head. “Hard to miss that red jacket and manicured pompadour.” As we watched, Tommy scribbled onto a pad, bent over the page intently. Now and then he looked up, drank from a cup, and then resumed writing. “His memoirs?” quipped Mercy.

I mumbled. “My Life as a Shadow Puppet.”

While we watched, Tommy’s girlfriend Polly walked in, glanced around, spotted him, and rushed over. She looked angry, and he tapped the pad. Don’t disturb me, his gesture said. But Polly spotted Mercy and me and, mumbling in his ear, they both turned. Caught watching them, we waved, self-consciously. I motioned them over. Join us, I mouthed. They didn’t move. I waved some more. Reluctantly, the couple walked over.

Tommy sat, Polly didn’t. The tall redhead was wearing a crimson-colored gingham smock that accented her hair, very Victorian maiden. “Polly, sit,” I said. She didn’t budge.

“I saw you two when I came in, but I’m working,” Tommy said.

“Writing?”

“My screenplay.”

Oh Lord, I thought. The dumbbell as diarist. Alphabet soup for the grammar school crowd. Rebel without a dependent clause. I dared not ask about it. He might tell me, and I’d have to take to my bed.

“We’re concerned about Jimmy,” Mercy started.

“Why?” Polly asked.

That remark struck me as unusual. “Well, because of Carisa’s death.”

“We don’t know anything about that,” Polly said, harshly. Reluctantly, she slipped into a seat.

“You know about the letters she wrote.”

Tommy nodded. “Of course. Everybody does.”

Polly’s voice heavy with anger. “Jimmy was foolish, going out with that nut case.”

“You knew her?”

Sarcastic: “We all knew her. No one liked her. Jimmy has his fling, he always has to have his fling, and the rest of us have to dance around the story.”

“What does that mean, Polly?”

“I mean, Jimmy knew she was crazy. He just liked to see how crazy she was.”

Tommy interrupted. “Polly, no. Jimmy liked her. He told me he did.”

“She is a pretty girl who made herself available to men. Any man. Of course, he liked her. You said she was pretty.”

“She was Jimmy’s girlfriend.” Tommy looked at her. Shut up, his look told her.

“Not girlfriend, Tommy. Quickie partner, tryst, tumble in bed. I’m your girlfriend. You’re my boyfriend. There’s a difference.”

“You didn’t like her?” I stared into her slender face.

“She ignored me. She saw me as a rival. Not for men, but for parts. I’m young, good looking, and ambitious.”

“Do you think Jimmy killed her?” I asked Polly.

Tommy answered quickly, nervously. “No, never. Not Jimmy. He’s…”

Polly interrupted, matter-of-fact. “Anything is possible, but I’d say no.”

“Why not?”

“Jimmy isn’t into drugs. One of those friends did her in. Everyone is saying that. I know about the letters, but that was stupid stuff. Her drug friends-that’s where to look. Miss Ferber, Jimmy’s a coward at heart. Talk to Lydia, Jimmy’s pre-Ursula Andress, post-Pier Angeli fling. Talk to her when she’s not stoned on the ladies room floor. Ask her what she thinks. If anyone knows that crowd, it’s Lydia.” She sat back.

“Do you think Lydia’s connected to the murder?”

Polly opened her mouth to speak, stopped. Then, slowly, “I can’t say. I don’t like either woman.”

Tommy kept looking at her, shaking his head. “Christ, Polly.”

I baited her. “It’s considered bad taste to speak ill of the dead.”

Polly made a fake laugh. “I’ve never been accused of being society’s good girl. Speak ill of the dead? I didn’t like her. I don’t like most people.”

Tommy, unhappy, “You’re giving Miss Ferber the wrong impression.”

“I don’t really care, Tommy.”

Tommy leaned into me. “Is Jimmy in trouble?”