Mystery

“The inevitably wooden Stu Bretton, Leona. He really did stink as an actor but what makes him fascinating has nothing to do with technique. It’s his striking resemblance to someone.”

The facial tic slid down to her torso, eels running riot beneath her skin. Her entire body shook. Her head bowed.

I said, “Stu was a big guy, beefy, handsome, that nice head of thick, wavy dark hair. Which describes your son Phil to a T. As a matter of fact, Phil could be Stu Bretton’s clone. The timing fits: Phil was born a year after Death Is My Shadow was filmed. Nothing unusual about a leading lady bedding her leading man, it happens all the time. What makes Phil’s paternity interesting is that he’s got a twin who’s the spitting image of Mark. Now, how could that be, Leona?”

She buried her face in both hands.

I said, “Big puzzle, but here’s where my training paid off. Take a look at this.”

I held out the same faculty card I’d flashed at Magda.

She did nothing at first, finally spread her fingers, peered through.

“I may be a whore, Leona, but I’m a highly educated whore and working as a med school professor has exposed me to all sorts of interesting things. The incredible fixes people get themselves into. You know what I’m talking about.”

She began breathing hard.

I said, “Superfecundation.”

Her shoulders heaved. She moaned.

“Big word but a simple concept, Leona. A woman has sex with two men during a brief period of time and has the bad luck to drop two eggs during that particular cycle. The result is fraternal twins with the same mom but different dads. It’s not that unusual in so-called lower animals, rarer in humans but probably not as rare as we think. Because what woman, even if she figures out what happened, is going to divulge her secret? I’ve seen it at least twice in a medical setting: people coming in for tissue typing and we get results that are … thought provoking.”

She hunched lower. Gustave Westfeldt’s female counterpart.

I said, “Your problem, Leona, was that you couldn’t keep it a secret. Mark figured it out. Probably when the boys started puberty and Phil started looking like a man and the resemblance slapped Mark across the face. Because he’d seen all your movies, maybe even socialized with Stu Bretton. Big problem for you, Leona. But also Mark’s problem because by that time he’d come to love both boys and the thought of rejecting Phil because of your screwup was unthinkable. Good for Mark, very noble. But being good old horndog Mark, he also decided to capitalize on the situation. As in, we’ll stay together, Lee, go on like nothing happened. But I get to screw all the girls I want and throw it in your face to my heart’s content. In fact, Lee, not only do you have to tolerate it, if I want you to participate, you’ll damn well participate.”

Her hands flew away from her face. She smiled. Wet-eyed. Wild-eyed. “You think you’re so brilliant? Mark didn’t figure it out. I told him. Before Philip became a man, when the boys were seven. Because I’d seen pictures of Stu as a child, knew what was coming, knew I had to deal with it. And don’t kid yourself, you stupid punk, Mark didn’t need an excuse to jam his pecker in every available hole. He cheated on me during our honeymoon.”

“Then I stand corrected, Leona. But the result was the same. Your confession gave Mark a lifetime of leverage and molded the relationship you two shared for over forty years. Maybe it wasn’t so bad. Once you get past those silly taboos, what’s the big deal about a threesome, a foursome, an anything-some? Who cared what got stuck where as long as you ended up with the house, the cars, the toys? And, heck, Leona, you found out you like chasing youth as much as Mark did. Enter Steven Muhrmann. And Tiara Grundy. I am curious about one thing: Did Stu Bretton ever find out about Phil?”

She tightened up, readying a retort. Shrugged.

“He had no interest in paternity?”

“Stu was shallow,” she said. “That’s why he couldn’t act his way out of a paper bag.” Wagging a finger at me. “He wasn’t greedy. The only time he wanted to see Phil was after he got sick with cancer. Not to make trouble, just to see him. I took Phil to lunch at Spago. Stu had a table across the room. Stu was a ghost, didn’t look like himself anymore. Philly and I had a lovely meal. Foie gras mousse on kumquat tart.” Licking her lips. “Fava bean bruschetta … Stu picked at a salad. He left first. Our eyes met. He blew me a kiss when Philly wasn’t looking. A week later, he was gone.”

“Peaceful passing,” I said. “Private room at the actors’ hospice.”

“You bastard! You’ve excavated us?”

“More like surface digging. I found a picture of you and Mark at a fund-raiser for the hospice. Found Stu’s obituary in Variety.”

“All that smoking we did on screen,” she said. “It’ll probably do me in one day.” She laughed. “When the boys were real little, before I told Mark, Phil had always been his favorite. Bigger than Frankie, stronger, more athletic. ‘The kid’s Hercules, Lee, where the hell’d he come from?’ And I’d chuckle along with him. Then I’d go off to my room and cry.”

She demonstrated, let the tears flow silently. Maybe it was Method Acting. It seemed real. I could’ve felt sorry for her. If she was another person.

I said, “Did Mark’s attitude change after he knew?”

“Not one bit,” she said. “Mark was a prince.”

“A prince who betrayed you.”

The tears ceased. She made an ugly, guttural sound.

I said, “You orchestrated Mark’s retirement, figured with enough fun for all, maybe he’d relax and take you on a damn cruise. Unfortunately, just the opposite happened. Mark veered from the script and improvised. He grew to like Tiara. She amused him. Even her fake British accent amused him. He started to see her as more than a sex toy and began sneaking around you. Funneling her more money than you’d agreed upon. Gave her a diamond watch way above her pay grade. And Stevie Muhrmann was no better, going along with it. A bigger cut for Tiara meant a bigger cut for him. The problem with improv, though, is that actors can run amok. A director’s worst nightmare. But you never saw how serious the problem was until Mark had the poor judgment to die unexpectedly and you had the even worse judgment to cut off Tiara’s funds.”

“I’m the bank?” she said. “Fuck her.”

“Actually, you were the bank, Leona. And banks run into problems when they’re faced with Too Big to Fail. Which is exactly how Tiara had come to see herself. Because Prince Mark had armed her with a ton of leverage by divulging Phil’s paternity.”

I stopped.

She breathed hard and fast. Growled. “Bastard.”

Hard to know who she meant. Maybe everyone.

I said, “Maybe it was pillow talk, maybe intentional mischief on Mark’s part. Whatever the case, the damage was done and Tiara took the knowledge seriously. There’s a pathologist who’d been testing her for STDs for years and she asked him if he also did paternity testing. She wanted science on her side in case you went into denial mode.”

“Bitch,” she said. “Pushing me, pushing me after I warned her. She was trailer trash, cheap, clueless, stupid. Didn’t even know how to order a drink when I met her.”

“The whole Pygmalion bit, down to the accent,” I said. “Talk about My Spare Lady. Maybe her poor judgment had something to do with her own mother dying, some people don’t grow up until they’re orphans. Or maybe it was just the faucet turning off, no more style to which she’d grown accustomed.”

“Bitch.”

“Entitlement’s a nasty addiction,” I said. “No rehab for it and cold turkey sucks. Tiara’s ultimatum was clear: Pay me a whole lot of money or I go straight to your sons and give them a little genetics lesson. Talk about button-pushing, Leona. Your crowning accomplishment was raising brothers who love each other. Would the boys’ relationship survive the truth? Maybe, but you couldn’t risk finding out. So you agreed to Tiara’s demand but told her as long as I’m paying, I’m staying, honey. You slept with her a few more times. You even let her stay at your house on Old Topanga when she got tired of paying rent. Then you set up a final date. Back to the Fauborg, where you