I tried to focus on keeping still. Although I did feel a flicker of fear, what Nora’s mother was implying did not surprise me. Harriet was, in fact, one of the primary suspects in Tyler’s death. Now I knew her motivation. “I’m not sure what you mean, Mrs. Cole.”
“You should be ashamed, Nakayama. She told me all about it. How you found her in the woods by the river. How you lay with her on the rock. I know it was you, and had I known six weeks ago, it would be you and not Ashley Tyler who was dead.”
I breathed deeply, waiting to answer until I could keep my voice even. “Why are you telling me all this, Mrs. Cole? What’s to keep me from ringing up the police?”
She scoffed. “I’ve admitted nothing. And don’t think of going to anyone. The police won’t help you, anyway. They answer to me.”
This did nothing to calm my nerves, but then she let out a genuine laugh. “You don’t have to look so frightened, Nakayama. I don’t plan to kill you—one death is enough, don’t you think? But if you ever go near my daughter again, I will come after you, and damn the consequences.” She sipped her tea and gave me a cruel little smile. “Don’t think you’ll get any protection from the legal system, either. The D.A. is a close friend of mine, and he’ll keep that little rube Detective Hopkins under control. They won’t do anything, Nakayama. They’ll never do anything. The best thing you can do to keep yourself out of trouble is to leave well enough alone.”
I exhaled. “I appreciate you coming to visit, Mrs. Cole. I will do anything I can—discreetly, of course—in terms of helping the baby.”
She put the cup down and folded her hands together. “You will do nothing of the sort. You will not even see the baby. And don’t think I’m letting you get away with this.” She lifted one hand and curled her fingers, examining the nails. “My daughter’s career is ruined; she may never make another film. If you make one false move, I’ll tell everyone in Hollywood about how you took advantage of her.”
I sat up straight. “I did not take advantage of her, Mrs. Cole.”
She scoffed. “I realize that Nora can be stupid and headstrong, but she would never have a Jap for a lover.”
“But Mrs. Cole, when I went searching for her, my intentions were honorable. I never meant—”
“Are you saying my daughter is a whore?”
“No! I’m simply saying … it was not a situation of force.”
She arched her eyebrows and looked down her nose at me. “You disgust me with your sneaky Jap ways. Insinuating yourself with everybody. You think you’re something, but let me tell you, no amount of money or fame or fancy clothes can change what you are underneath. Those fools who run the studios let everything get out of order, but I’m going to set things straight. And if I ever see your face on the big screen again, I’ll make sure that everyone knows what you did to my daughter.”
I looked off toward the doorway, careful not to make eye contact with Phillipe. “Mrs. Cole, is this really necessary?”
“She’s paying, and even your little slut Elizabeth’s paying, and you’re the one who caused this mess to begin with. So yes, it is necessary. You’re through, Nakayama. If you try to work in pictures again, I’ll ruin you.”
Mrs. Cole’s threats did have an effect on me; they were the immediate reason I canceled my appointment with David Rosenberg that week. Yet it would be untruthful to say she was the only thing that kept me from returning to Perennial. While I certainly couldn’t put it past Mrs. Cole to “come after” me—the fate of Ashley Tyler was enough to prove that her threats were credible—I did not believe that she would ever expose my connection to her daughter. For the news of our tryst, and word of the pregnancy, would hurt Nora even more than it would damage me. Her mother couldn’t go to the public—to do so would kill whatever remaining chance Nora had of resuming her career. I knew—and I think I knew this even the day she came to call—that Mrs. Cole would kill me before she’d ever reveal me.
If Mrs. Cole alone did not keep me from working, then the question remains of why I did not work. Even after I canceled my meeting at Perennial, David tried to reschedule, going so far as to call upon me at home to try and convince me to come back to the studio. But I declined every overture, until he finally relented, and at that point I knew my career was really over. Although this may seem shortsighted in retrospect, the reason for my refusal was simple: In my heart of hearts, I did not believe that I deserved to work again. Consider all the damage I had wrought. One brief lapse, one fleeting moment of weakness, had resulted in a pregnancy, a murder, the destruction of four careers, and one of the biggest scandals ever to hit Hollywood. It seemed only appropriate that I should suffer as well, beyond the self-inflicted suffering of guilt. I thought I should be punished, and if there were no cause for the law to punish me, then I would have to dole out the penalty myself. This may seem like a severe line of thinking, but I was actually being lenient. Had we been in Japan—or had I been a more honorable man—I would have hastened my death with my own hand. But we were not, and I was not, and this was the best that I could do. I was finished the moment I lay with Nora on that rock.
And then there is the other matter, the question of the child. While it is possible that the child was fathered by someone other than myself, simple
