Lone star

But in that brief moment, staring at Polly’s face, I saw something: melancholy, sadness, some regret. Polly, sensing my probing eyes on her, became self-conscious, broke a piece of bread into pieces and scattered the pieces on the tablecloth.

“What about his other circles?” I asked, sitting back. Amazing, I thought, how easy it is to let people talk when you just tap into their anger.

“The bikers,” Polly said. “Sometimes Jimmy rides the night away with his motorcycle buddies.”

“Like Max Kohl, Carisa’s friend?”

“I’ve only seen him a couple times. A scary guy, built like a longshoreman,” stammered Tommy.

“But they had a fight,” Polly said. “So I heard from Jimmy. I don’t know why.”

“He’s into race cars. Fast bikes. Like Jimmy.”

“I heard that Max Kohl has been calling on Lydia.”

Polly spoke up. “Yeah, Lydia told me. She’s none too happy.”

“But you don’t know him?”

Both shook their heads.

“I think he did bit parts for a while, but I’m not sure,” said Polly.

“Why am I not surprised?” I smiled. “Hollywood is the land of bit parts.”

Tommy’s eyes narrowed. “You make it seem like a crime.”

“Only if it leads to murder,” I said.

Tommy and Polly looked at each other, then back at the tablecloth, suddenly fascinated with the fine linen.

For a while they talked of Jimmy’s movie-lot friends, the crew members he associated with, carpenters, best boys, and not so good boys and girls, usually drawn into Jimmy’s temporary kingdom by a shared interest in race- car driving, late-night revelry, interest in jazz music or oriental philosophy or bullfighting. Like a shuffled deck of cards, Polly noted. “Each time a new hand is on the table, there are different face cards.” She smirked. “And older women. Geraldine Fitzgerald. Mercy McCambridge, and his agent-his ‘Moms,’ he calls them. The only women that really matter to him.”

“Why?” I asked, seeing myself in that unwelcome covey.

They both shrugged.

While they talked, Tommy drank. Occasionally Polly glanced at him, tried to get his attention, and, once, nodded at the wine bottle. I ordered a second bottle of my nefarious prop for this one-act play. I barely sipped my drink and scarcely touched my food. But Tommy and Polly ravished theirs. At another time I would have been pleased, for I value souls who understand the delights of the kitchen. I would have routinely condemned Tommy, had I not seen the beneficial results of getting him drunk.

When Tommy excused himself to go to the rest room, I was waiting. “Polly, what’s your involvement with Jimmy?”

The question caught the young girl by surprise, for she actually jumped, then looked at Tommy’s disappearing back.

“What?”

“I thought I saw something in your eyes when we were discussing Jimmy’s less-than-decent relationships with women.”

She smiled. “I underestimated you.” She sighed. “I could lie to you, Miss Ferber, but I’m not going to. Jimmy and I had a moment-one moment, that’s all. A moment of weakness on my part, but a moment of sheer cruelty on his. Jimmy takes possession of other people’s property. I’m Tommy’s, and even though Tommy has nothing-no hope, no future, not even me some day-Jimmy had to be cock in the hen coop.”

“So,” I sympathized, “a moment. But you still seem to have a lot of emotion.”

“What?” She whispered the word.

“It was more than a moment for you, Polly.” The declarative sentence, I thought, more powerful than the interrogative.

Polly started to say something, but then, gulping, started to sob. “I thought I did it for revenge,” she mumbled. “You know, Tommy does whatever Jimmy does. Don’t get me wrong. I care for Tommy. I do. But something was said, an overheard remark, that led me to suspect that Tommy had a…a moment with Carisa Krausse.”

“Carisa!”

“She was Jimmy’s in Marfa. But Tommy has to have what Jimmy has. A rumor I never mentioned to Tommy. Carisa likes to sleep around with any…” She paused. “I’m not being very nice.” She dabbed her moist cheeks. “It’s probably something I just imagined.”

“But you thought you’d get back at her,” I said, focusing.

She ran her tongue over her upper lip. “I’m lying a little. You see, I’ve always had a sort of crush on Jimmy. Of course, you can’t tell him. I just can’t shake it. You see, when we first got here, I wanted Tommy to be Jimmy- ambitious, focused, and handsome.”

I smiled. “And since that moment with Jimmy, nothing.”

“I’m back to being wallpaper.”

“Is it possible Carisa’s baby was Tommy’s?”

Polly blanched. “Oh, my God!”

“And Tommy never…” I stopped. Tommy staggered back to the table. Polly, nervous, started munching on a roll, her tear-strained face turned away.

“Talking about me?” he asked, slurring his words.

“Yes,” I confessed. “I’ve gathered that Jimmy has yet another circle. I talked with this fellow Josh MacDowell today, a friend of Sal Mineo.”

Polly shot a quick glance at Tommy, who’d turned pale.

“What did I say?” I asked.

“Josh is very musical.” Tommy grinned.

“Stop it.” Polly glared at him.

“Musical?”

Polly, confidentially, “In Hollywood when you suspect any man likes, well, other men, you ask if he’s…musical. Like a code word for a touchy subject.”

Tommy bellowed loudly, “Jimmy doesn’t like swishy guys.”

“Yet Josh was a drinking buddy.”

“For a real short time. Now Josh has his sights on Sal Mineo, who’s sixteen and doesn’t realize he’s musical.” Tommy thought his line hilarious, and started laughing, but stopped and said with a sneer, “A bunch of freaks.”

Polly turned to me: “The one area Tommy will not imitate Jimmy.”

“Meaning?”

Tommy announced, “Jimmy’s an experimenter. He got all his breaks in California and New York through a sissy named Rogers Brackett, some queer radio producer with connections. Jimmy lived with him in New York. He met other men who got him parts on Broadway. Jimmy did what he had to do.”

“So you mean he sleeps with men?”

“Well, somebody hinted him and this Max Kohl had something going on, but maybe not. Because Jimmy likes to hang out with tough guys. He goes to parties in the Valley, homes of movie execs and hot shots who are that way, where there are guys who experiment.” Tommy was speaking too loudly, but sloppily, dragging the words out. “But I think Jimmy likes it too much.” He waved his hand in the air. “Who knows?” He hiccoughed.

I listened closely, realizing that Josh MacDowell had used the same word: experiment. Jimmy experimented with other worlds. The portrait of a young man in search of…of what?

Polly, glancing at her blotchy face in a compact mirror, left to repair the damage. Tommy stared at me. “So that’s our Jimmy,” he smirked. “You feed us and we give you his story, at least the part with the warts. Which is why, I guess, you fed us. But he’s the biggest star on the lot. Can you believe it?”

“You resent him, Tommy.” Another wonderful declarative sentence.

“No, I love him. He’s my buddy.”