'Van Nuys,' he said. 'Address is on the key. I'm remodeling the apartments, upgrading when I'm finished. That's the model. One bedroom. Everything including running water.'
I took the key.
'Thanks, Jeremy,' I said.
'I'll see you in the morning, Toby,' Shelly said, waddling past us and into the afternoon.
'Alice would like to move,' Jeremy said.
'Move?'
'To San Antonio. We both have relatives, and with the current market I can get a reasonable price for the Farraday and my other property and devote the remainder of my life to poetry.'
'You can do that in Los Angeles,' I said.
He shook his head and put a hand on my shoulder. 'I cannot,' he said. 'Alice believes that you may eventually get me hurt or even killed. I've already committed one murder because of our association and…'
'That was an accident,' I said in a whisper, looking around to be sure we hadn't been heard.
'I can deceive my mind but never my soul. Toby, Alice is right. We have Natasha. It would be nice if she had a father.'
'I won't ask you for help anymore, Jeremy,' I said, crossing my heart. 'Promise.'
'But I will offer or volunteer.'
'I'll move out of the Faraday, other side of town. You can't really be thinking about leaving because of me.'
'No,' he said, removing his hand from my shoulder. 'There are other reasons, private reasons. I've shared one public one with you, the one that touches our friendship. I'm not a young man.'
'Saft?' said Mrs. Plaut, staggering into the day room with the weight of a fresh gallon of liquid in a pitcher balanced on a tray she was carrying.
Jeremy moved quickly to take the tray and place it on the table.
'Everyone's gone,' she said, looking around.
'Miss Stoltz and the man who looks like Clark Gable are on the front porch smoking,' I said.
Mrs. Plaut nodded knowingly.
'I think I put a touch too much gin in the saft,' she said to us brightly.
'How much gin was in-?'
'One fifth to three-quarters of a gallon,' she said. 'Agnes Smeed's recipe. At least she was Agnes Smeed before she married Reed Clixco. I always thought it would be more interesting if he took her name when they married so he could be Reed Smeed, but, alas, that idea was long before its time which has not yet come except for the occasional suffragette and her passive concubine.'
'I must be going, Toby,' Jeremy said. 'Perhaps I can catch Dr. Minck before he tries to drive. He drank at least a gallon of Mrs. Plaut's refreshing saft.'
'We'll talk later, Jeremy,' I said.
He nodded, shook Mrs. Plaut's hand, and went in search of Shelly.
'All in all a good tea party,' Mrs. Plaut said, pouring herself a glass of saft.
'All in all,' I agreed, pouring myself a glass.
'A toast, Mr. Peelers,' Mrs. Plaut said, holding up her glass. 'Absent friends.'
'Absent friends,' I repeated, touching my glass to hers.
I finished my glass at about the same time as Mrs. Plaut.
'It's the nectar that does it,' she said.
'I'll help you clean up.'
'Only one who I allowed to help with cleanup was the Mister.'
I went through the day room into the hallway and onto the porch, where Mame Stoltz had already departed and Clark Gable was pacing and checking his watch.
'Sorry about that, Peters,' he said. 'In there, I mean.'
'About what?'
'I got a little impatient. Hell, I lost all my patience, looked around and saw… some people trying to protect a man in uniform during a war. You've got to admit that you're relying on a quartet too old, small, or blind to be on active duty.'
'Add lame,' I said. 'I'm both too old and I've got a bad back. You were right. We're a sideshow, but we're not half bad when the wind is blowing our way and the sun is shining.'
'And the gods are looking down,' said Gable with a smile.
I told him about our conclusion that Spelling would probably go for Lionel Varney at the Academy Awards the next night. It made sense to Gable. I told him that we might be wrong and that Spelling knew where Gable and I lived, so it might be a good idea for us to get out of LA. for the night and for me to take him to whatever transportation back to England he might find on a Saturday.
'I don't hide, Peters,' he said, sitting on the white porch railing.
'Why risk getting killed?' I said, leaning against the wall and watching a pair of smiling young women tooling down Heliotrope in a convertible. 'Besides, the papers probably know you're back by now. They'll probably be waiting for you in Encino.'
Gable shrugged and turned to see what I was looking at. The girl in the passenger seat looked up and saw him. She screamed and we could hear her squeal to the driver as they roared away.
'Clark Gable. I swear. On the porch. Go around the block. Really.'
'I'm going home before they make it around the block, Peters,' he said, getting up from the rail.
'They might spot you,' I said.
'Naw, one of the nice things about a cycle is that you can wear a leather helmet and goggles and the police won't think you're about to rob a bank. Stay on the job and give me a call in the morning. I'll lock the doors and keep a gun next to my bed.'
'I think you should…'
He was already down the stairs.
'Hitler's boys have been trying to shoot me out of the sky for almost a year,' he said with a familiar lopsided grin. 'His best haven't done it. I'm not about to let a stateside lunatic give the Fuehrer some good news.'
I could hear the phone ringing inside the house. I couldn't tell if it was Mrs. Plaut's phone or the pay phone on the upstairs landing. Gable waved, a clipped little wave to the side, and hurried to his motorcycle parked at the curb. He was roaring down the street, head down, and went right past the girls in the convertible who had circled the block and were looking for the king. They paid no attention to the man on the motorcycle. I moved to the porch steps as the girls came up alongside the house.
'My friend says Clark Gable is on your porch,' the driver shouted.
'He was,' the passenger said.
'My cousin Conrad,' I said. 'Stunt man. Done some work for Gable.'
'I could have sworn,' said the passenger.
They both looked at me, a heavyset Chrysler waiting impatiently behind them for the girls to finish their conversation.
'Are you anybody?' the girl in the driver's seat said.
Her hair was long and black. Her skin perfect and tan. Her teeth as white as memory.
'No,' I said. 'I'm a plumber.'
The guy in the Chrysler lost his patience and hit the horn. The girls drove off, away from the sunset and toward Sunset Boulevard.
'For you, Mr. Peelers,' Mrs. Plaut said behind me. 'Phone. Man from the brotherhood. Upstairs.'
I thanked her and went back in the house, taking the stairs one at a time, feeling a little sorry for myself, determined to give Anne a call, a night out, some conversation, when Spelling was locked up. I picked up the phone. It was Phil.
'Can't give Varney any cover,' he said abruptly.
'Can't gi… Phil, I think Spelling's going to try to kill him at the Academy Awards dinner tomorrow night. Listen, if you read those notes carefully, you…'
'Can't,' Phil said impatiently, and I knew that if he was here standing next to me I'd either shut up now or
