That next night, I was at the Hickory with Bess. My face was still swollen from Benny’s gun and his fist, and the cuts he had left were fierce, red wounds. Bess looked at me the way she did whenever I was hurt. She touched my face, gently, but I winced, and she looked at me like I was an injured child.
She told me her story got the big play on the Morning’s front page, and she had the most complete story in all the trades. And a better one than any big paper. She had even got McCarty to confirm, on the record, that he was dropping all charges against Bill Croft because of information uncovered by his lawyer, Clifford Ramsey. Cliff would like that. Even if it wasn’t true.
I told her the LAPD had opened Blinder’s safe earlier that day and had found Clayman’s necklace. She was surprised there were cops who could crack safes.
“Where do you think I learned to open locked doors? It wasn’t in Galesburg, Bess.”
She said she didn’t understand why Clayman wanted fake jewels. I said I wasn’t sure, but I had a hunch Clayman suspected what Blinder was up to after he discovered the pearl earrings were phony. He wanted to trap him. Or maybe fool him. Both explained the quality of fakes he wanted.
But I said it also might have been a tax dodge. I told her Clayman had been burned by the IRS after he sold some stuff, and he could have been looking for a way to avoid the taxes he’d owe when he sold these pieces. Maybe he wanted the fakes to be found once he was dead, and everyone would think he’d been swindled all those years ago. For that to work, though, they had to be high quality fakes.
But both were nothing but blind guesses.
Still interested in the jewels, Bess asked, “Are they as beautiful as they say?”
I pulled the ring David Henschel had given me from my pocket and handed it to her.
She looked it over, turning it around and around, and watched it catch the light. She looked at me and said, “That’s something.”
“And it’s nothing compared to the real thing.”
She handed it back to me, and I put it on the table.
We talked some more, and ate, and after a while, I said, “Ed’s closing the office. Moving down on Wilshire.”
“Will you go?”
“No. He’s going alone.”
“What will you do?”
“I haven’t figured that out yet. He only told me a few days ago.”
“Will you stay downtown?”
“I don’t know.” I let that sit for a minute and then said, “Ruth sent me a letter. A long letter. About mom.”
Bess’s eyes focused on mine and became curious. Reporter’s eyes, I guess, but maybe something else.
“She’s not been doing well since dad’s been gone. And it’s getting worse. Ruth says, mom’s dying of loneliness, day by day, and needs someone to care for.” I finished my drink and added quietly, “Ruth thinks I should come home.”
Bess looked at the table and at the ring and said, “Oh.” And then she looked up, smiled weakly, and said, “We all need someone.”
“I don’t know, Bess. I’ll be thirty-five soon and have been on my own for a while now. I like my independence.”
Her face lost everything soft, and her voice went hard. “Independence? That’s a big word to hide behind.”
I wasn’t sure what to do with that, so I let it drift away.
“Ruth says she had the piano tuned. And she cleaned out one of the bedrooms.”
“That’s nice.” But her voice was still cold and rigid, compressed like snow into ice.
We were both quiet. Maud came by, cleared the dishes, and asked if we wanted anything else. Bess said, “No. I have an early day tomorrow.”
I looked at her. Her voice had softened but it still sounded distant and off, and I couldn’t find anything in her eyes or in her face.
I asked, “Nothing? Not even coffee?”
“No, Phil. I think I should go.”
The way she said that made my gut twist.
I picked up the ring and said, “This is for you.” Something about the way she was sitting, or that passed across her face, made me add, “If you want it.”
She smiled a little. “It’s lovely, but it’s not for me.”
Maud was still standing there, waiting, and asked, “Nothing more?”
Bess shook her head, and I said, “No, thank you.” And we were alone.
Bess’s eyes were now distant and cloudy. “Let me know what you decide. About your mother.” She looked over my shoulder, across the room. “I think you should do it. It might be good for you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means what I said, Phil.” Her voice was blank, emotionless. She looked at me and smiled a small, feeble smile. “Nothing more.”
She started to stand, and I reached across the table and took her hand. “Stay. Please.”
She pulled her hand away, stood up, and shook her head. “I think you need to get out of L.A. Phil. You need to get away from the crooks and the cops and the clients who want you to solve all their troubles. It’s doing you no good.”
Marie Redmond’s words went through my head, and I had to admit Bess was pretty. But even more than that, I liked her company. She was smart and could make me laugh about nothing, and there was no darkness with her.
But instead of telling her all that, I said, “It’s what I know how to do Bess. Maybe all I know. So, what would I –” I stopped before finishing the thought.
She stood there. Looking at me with her light blue eyes – eyes I had seen smile and cry and laugh – she said, “Maybe it’s time to do something different, Phil.” She took a deep breath and said, “Your sister says your mother is dying, little by little, because she doesn’t have anyone to care for. But I’ve been watching you die, little by little, too, Phil. Mostly because you’re afraid, I think.” She stopped. “Afraid you’ll fail. Afraid someone will make you a fool. Or someone will make you hurt.” She turned her face away.
And, without looking at me, she said, “I’m sorry. But I do think you should go home. Go take care of your mom. You won’t be her fool. And she won’t let you down.”
She turned back to me. Her eyes were wet. “Just do one thing for me. Play the piano for her.”
And she walked away.
I sat there, not knowing what to do. After a good long time, I waved Maud over. She came, and I said, “A double scotch and some soda, please.”
Lettres d'un Inconnu 