Make Believe

“What a horrible thing to say!”

“I’m pragmatic, Miss Ferber. You know what kind of man I am. I’m being realistic. That’s all I can be.” He smiled. “But I’m only half serious. I’m hoping he’ll marry the lovely Liz Grable, cosmetician to the starry-eyed. I’m hoping he’ll straighten out. And the two of them will hole up in her studio apartment and…”

Liz and Tony stirred. Probably sensing they were the subject of our talk, they ambled over to my table. Suddenly it was a party. They pulled up chairs and we sat in a circle. Tony wore a hangdog look of a soul battling a fierce hangover. He said nothing, just nodded at me, a sliver of a smile on his face for a second. Liz glanced at the bartender who shuffled over and poured seltzer into a glass, placing it before Tony. He sipped it slowly, then touched his right temple, as if he had a headache. Which he probably did-and deserved.

“How are you, Miss Ferber?” he asked out of the blue, and I almost missed his words because his voice was so soft, breathy.

I said nothing.

Liz said something about leaving, and Tony looked at her. I found myself staring at him-there was something simple and boyish about the face, bloated through it was. Out of that carnival sequined sports jacket and wearing a simple blue dress shirt and khaki slacks, he looked like an average Joe, the man who pumped your gas. He’d been a handsome man, I could tell, a face that probably charmed and sometimes even dazzled. Dissipated now, florid, spent. A dreaming boy who became a failed man. Listening to Liz, he cocked his head, glanced at me, and I saw wariness there, hesitation. Through slatted eyes, he betrayed a sly regard for the world that made him a figure of fun.

He finished the seltzer.

“Well,” I began, stretching out the word.

Tony spoke over my one word. “You know, I’m afraid what’s gonna happen to him.”

“What?” From me, stupefied. “Who?”

“Frankie. You’ve heard the rumors. Everyone’s talking about it.”

“I don’t follow you, Tony.”

He leaned forward in his seat. “You know that dumb thing Frankie said the other night-that nonsense about killing Max. Murdering him in a heartbeat. That bitch Parsons picked up on it and now it’s all over town. He threatened to kill Max. That can’t be good. He’s, like, wanted to kill others.”

Ethan frowned. “No one takes that stuff seriously, Tony.”

Liz grunted. “The police do.”

“It seems to me…” I began.

Again, Tony stepped all over my words. “Frankie ain’t popular with the cops.”

“The police will investigate. He must have an alibi…” My words trailed off. I really didn’t care for this conversation. A mistake, my traipsing into this dive.

Tony looked puzzled. “A man like Frankie don’t need alibis. His word is his word, Miss Ferber.” A child’s avowal of faith.

Frustrated, Ethan spoke evenly, looking into my face. “He says he had a fight with Ava and drove out into the desert. Just drove around by himself. All night long. He does that, you know. It cools him down. The emptiness…”

Tony’s voice rose. “People are saying he didn’t shoot Max himself but, you know, he had someone else do it. I heard that on the radio.”

I sipped my wine while planning my words. A few seconds passed. “I find it disturbing,” I said in an acrimonious voice, “that we’re talking about Frank’s sullied reputation and Tony’s last job and no one here is talking about Max, a dear man, now murdered. You all knew him for a long time.”

Silence at the table. No one looked at me.

“Of course, we’re sorry,” Ethan said finally, matter-of-factly. “We’re not barbarians.”

“Really, Miss Ferber,” Tony said. His bloodshot eyes clouded over. “That’s all we’ve been talking about.” But then he bristled. “You’re a little unfair.”

“Really?”

Liz crossed her arms and muttered under her breath. She’d dabbed some whitish powder on her face, covered it with rose-tinted blush, and in the dim light, she looked garish, a platinum-blonde geisha girl gone to seed. A smear of red lipstick blotted a front tooth, giving her a jack-o’-lantern look. “Max ruined all of our careers,” she said.

“Come on, Liz,” Ethan pleaded.

She pouted. “It’s true, Ethan. Dammit. You know it. Me and Tony. Tony was a bright, clever comic. Variety mentioned him once. Max booked him into fleabag venues.”

Ethan held up his hand and said to me, “Tony forgot to show up for work.” Then to Liz, “You know that. The drinking. He took Lenny’s death…it got to him. And let me remind you that Tony was the one who fired Max.”

“There was a reason,” Tony blustered. “When Alice married Max…”

Liz barreled on. “What about me? I quit but he’d already really dropped me, you know. I could have had bigger parts, but he kept saying this was wrong, that was wrong. He said he took me on as a favor to you two. Baloney!”

Ethan was shaking his head back and forth. “Now’s not the time.”

“And you too, Ethan. You wanted to be famous. He wouldn’t circulate your script. He said it was lame. Remember.”

Ethan glanced at me and his eyes twinkled. “‘Lame’ is a gentle word for my script, Miss Ferber. Like every other person in this town, I came to Hollywood to make my fortune. A passing dream. But it won’t be from scenarios, I’m afraid.” He smiled. “Real estate, though not this lovely bar.” He waved his hand across the dim room. “Numbers for me-not words. And he was right about you, Liz.” He drew his lips into a cruel, razor-sharp line. “You have no talent.”

She screamed. “How dare you! You…use…Tony. You made him believe all kinds of nonsense. You made him-angry all the time. You, dammit.” She stifled a sob.

Tony patted her wrist. “Oh, Christ! Leave her alone, Ethan. Ruin one life at a time, okay? You want to hear my theory about Max, Miss Ferber? I’ll tell you. It’s something Liz and I talked about earlier. Alice killed him. Just like she killed our brother. She’s not that cheerful lady I seen you with here last night. Little miss housewife out with the girls. Lenny was going to divorce her, so she pushed him over a railing. And Max knew it. She shot him before she got here. Planned it all.”

“Ridiculous,” I thundered. “For what reason?”

Tony’s voice had a metallic tone now, cold and sharp. “Maybe killing husbands has become a habit for her. It gets into the bloodstream, you know. Maybe he got on her nerves. The pinko stuff. She married a Communist. Maybe she didn’t like being pointed out as the wife of a card-carrying Moscow boy.”

“Shut up, Tony,” Ethan said.

“No, I won’t.”

Liz was talking to the back wall. “Max ruined us all.”

“Shut up, Liz,” Ethan said.

I stood, tired of the bickering and noise. Enough. “Good night. You’ve all been delightfully charming.”

Ethan scoffed, stood, and touched my elbow. “We all know who killed Max, Miss Ferber.”

That surprised me. “Frankly, I don’t.”

“It wasn’t Alice, despite what Tony says. He can’t get past Alice who’s his bogeyman for all his horrors. Alice is not going to risk murder twice in this town. Max was treading dangerous territory these days. That letter he wrote infuriated people. The timing was perfect for throwing gasoline on an existing fire. Timing is everything, Miss Ferber. An actor knows timing. Hollywood is built on timing. Here Max is in the land of timing, and he misreads the signals. His timing was off. The America First crowd. The HUAC. The D.A.R. The American Legion. He got hate mail. Death threats. Max was a filthy Communist. You know who killed him? A patriot, Miss Ferber. Yeah, a misguided, crazy person. But a patriot nevertheless. In some stupid way some lunatic thought he was saving America from Max. Max asked for it.”