Chapter 4 — Jaws of Deception
A Tale of Two Times: Volume 5 ~ The Wild Way
~ 1 ~ Alberto had drawn from Scott, over a period of time, a considerable volume of intriguing new Knox Aviation story information. After giving a temporary home to the suddenly homeless mathematician, he had been able to learn from him about Rhoda’s suspicions regarding the Arch Company and Alice, about Isabel and her mathematical prowess, about the Aviation Week article (which Alberto had not bothered to read), about Dr. Kane, and about Het’s appointment to a position within the Keep. The newsman had recorded all of these things and more in his notebooks.
Scott had moved out of Alberto’s cramped space after beginning to receive better funding for his work, through Het, but Alberto had by then obtained a new source of information for his story: Dr. Reginald Steuben.
“Did you know, Reginald, that our campus newspaper editor’s father was a confidant of Juan Perón? Alberto Mendoza’s father was a newsman, too, and he was a member of a large literary family.” Fr. Aden Haldane was talking with Reginald Steuben over lunch, on a day which would be followed not much later by Aden’s adventure in England with Mortimer Kane, Esmeralda Montgomery and Bridget Lamb.
Being an admirer of one of the authors among the members of Alberto’s extended family, Steuben had questioned Alberto about the man. Alberto, who had met that literary figure only once or twice, managed to leave Steuben with the impression that he knew the man well. Then, by corresponding with his father, Alberto was able to learn more. His father, suspecting that Dr. Steuben wished to acquire the man’s manuscripts as a legacy, had contacted his author cousin, who had responded, “Only for a million dollars would I consider adding to my will, the designation of a north American institution to receive my literary papers.” Alberto reported to Dr. Steuben that the man was willing to negotiate. Discussions followed, in which Steuben sought the aid of Alberto’s father in also securing manuscripts from several other South American writers.
It was through his family’s new camaraderie with Dr. Steuben that Alberto learned about Greystone Castle in Germany, which Arch Company had restored in the early 1930s. After mentioning Greystone in a letter to his father, Alberto learned from him that his father had spent some time in Europe during the years in which the salon of the Countess Thersa of Greystone Castle, in Switzerland, had been a gathering place for major political figures, technocrats and artists of the day.
“My son, I was touring Europe as a journalist, sending stories back to the Argentine to pay my way, when I scented a story of intrigue which involved this lady and her castle. By a stroke of luck, and by my theatrical skills, I obtained a butler’s position there, which I lost after only a few weeks, having been exposed as a journalist by being an indiscrete butler. I had learned there only that the intrigue was dark, secret and international. I am enclosing a small photographic portrait of the Countess Thersa, which I purloined there. In the Castle, I saw also a portrait of a Countess of Greystone Castle which had been painted during the era of the French Revolution. It could have been a portrait of the living Countess Thersa, the similarity was so great. Rumor among the staff was that she was, in fact, the same ‘deathless’ woman! However that may be, she was truly a living Aphrodite. I have never before or since perceived such a union of power and beauty in one woman. She was a person who lived above the touch of all intrigues—or she was the sure mistress of them all. Please inform me of any rumors of her which you encounter.” Alberto did not share this information with Dr. Steuben.
The cellophane envelope containing the photograph of Thersa, he carefully taped into his current notebook. Then he looked for a new lead by reviewing all of his notes from the day of the apartment fire. There: Rhoda had made a striking impression while dancing the tango with a big, blond waiter at Mickie’s by the Sea in Santa Barbara. Alberto would spend his next free day looking for the waiter.
In Mickie’s, Alberto bought a beer at the bar. Chatting with the young female bartender, he said offhandedly, “A friend told me to look up a buddy of his who’s a waiter here—a big guy with blond hair. I’ve forgotten his name.”
“Your buddy’s name?”
“No. The blond guy.” Alberto leaned across the bar and said softly, “The buddy is actually a girl I know. She wanted to know if he was still here so she could look him up again.”
“Really? What’s her name?”
“Rhoda.” Alberto crossed his fingers.
“David comes in at six. Your beer is free. I like your hat. What did you say your name is?”
“Alberto.”
“Nice Panama, Alberto. It’s your style”
Paydirt! “Thanks, uh…”
“Madeline.”
“Thanks, Madeline. You’re from Brazil?”
“Good guess, Alberto.”
“I’m from Argentina.”
“I could tell you’re not a gringo. Oops! It’s time to resume my bartender’s smile. See you later, Alberto.”
Alberto, waiting in his car, was studying his copious notes when David’s big blond head caught his eye. After catching up with him outside Mickie’s, he soon learned that David had arrived early in order to spend a little time at the beach, and had over an hour to spare.
“Yeah, I’m as poor as you are, David. You know, I think there’s some kind of scandal story here. Maybe corruption in military contracting? I don’t know. But I promise you a quarter of my fee if I can sell the story. Because of all the beautiful women involved, I think I’ll try the Hollywood Rag. Sometimes, you can even get an advance for a story like that.”
“If that works, maybe you can help me break into acting. I know I’ve got the talent, but breaks are hard to come by. Because I’m not a Jew or gay, I can’t work those angles. But I hear a lot of stuff at Mickie’s. If you get a foot in the door with the Rag, you can help me more by pushing my name, than you can by giving me a quarter of your fee. I’m just making it with this job, while I keep on auditioning for roles.”
“Okay, let’s shake on it. Actually, I do have my foot in the door with the Rag. Let’s go somewhere for a beer. I’d like to hear more about Alice and Jerrod Cunningham, and Alice’s boyfriend, Het.”
“Let’s take our beer with us and patrol the beach. In the time I’ve got before I go on duty, there’s a fifty-fifty chance I can point out Alice to you. She always wears a competition swimsuit, and—get this—she wears an ankle sheath with a dagger in it all the time. She even swims with it, and I think she must have polar bear blood because I’ve seen her swim out there for at least an hour.”
They set off across the soft, dry sand of the beach with their beer, Alberto feeling comfortable in his beach shorts and his Panama hat. “David, this was my dad’s hat. He was a big newsman in Argentina. When he told me to get a signature hat so people can recognize me, I begged him for his. Now, if I begin to develop a reputation, my hat will make me easy to spot in public and stories will come to me. It’s been working on the University campus.”
“Well, Alberto, my father’s only advice was not to be an actor. He started as a bank teller and worked his way up to loan officer, and he’s told me a thousand times that actors’ accounts are bad accounts.” Near the water, they stood for a moment watching the mild surf. “I remember the evening you’re interested in, Alberto. I even came outside to see the party off.” They began walking along the firm surface of the wet sand near the water. “I danced once with Alice, and several times with Rhoda and Marge, the lady captain. My boss had assigned me to their table only, for the whole evening, and when Miss Knox paid the bill she gave me a really nice gratuity. I enjoyed serving them; the whole bunch were really sharp-witted folks. When I watched their cars pulling out of the lot, I saw a big sedan and a big windowless van leave right behind them, and the guys in the sedan looked military, so I guess they were protection for General Robert and Captain Marge—the lovely lady captain that Rhoda had me dance with. I swear, if any one of those ladies is a big Hollywood agent, I’d have no objection to a couch interview with her. It’s pretty hard for me to believe Marge is a military intelligence officer. And I wouldn’t have believed Rhoda Knox is some kind of tech wizard except that Aviation Week showed up to interview her. As for Alice, she’s a beach fixture around here, so she must be rich. She claims to be a history buff; she sure seemed to know a lot of stuff about Dr. Kerrigan’s family.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“That they’re descendants of Russian aristocrats, and Het’s uncle was some kind of agent for Stalin.”
“Hey, this story is going to sell! I can feel it, David. But how do all these things fit together?”
“Well, I can tell you something. I know most of the beach people that hang around out here, and because that night was warm, with a full moon, a few of my friends were on the beach doing drugs. (Not my scene). I hung out with them for a little while trying to find out what Miss Knox and some of the others had been doing outside. They’d left the restaurant separately. Get this: My friends told me the general and Miss Knox went for a walk on the beach, him with a briefcase. Beforehand, some men from the van had fanned out along the beach and up on the sand ridge above it—scaring my friends; they thought at first it was a drug bust.”
“The general must be a big one.”
“I guess so, Alberto. I’ve learned that he’s the commander of the Coastal Air Base. You know, our regular patrons were talking for several days about the party of folks I served. They asked me a lot of questions because I served them and danced with the ladies. I was surprised by all the curiosity, but interest has been waning lately, and before you got here I’d decided to just brush off the whole event as another day in the lives of rich Californians. A regular parade of celebrities comes through Mickie’s, and none of the people you’re interested in are well-known.”
Alberto’s excitement was rising, and he felt that his luck was rapidly improving.
“There’s the volleyball area right ahead, where the beach curves. That’s where we might see Alice.”
“Okay, let’s climb up on the ridge then, David. Maybe we can spot Alice from there and I can get some candid photojournalist shots.”
The grassy sand ridge was just high enough to allow them a better survey of the volleyball games. After scanning the games for a few moments, David grabbed Alberto’s arm and pointed. “Alright! You’re a lucky man Alberto. She’s playing in the second game beyond the base of the ridge. Wow! Rhoda Knox is with her, too!” Alberto dropped down on the sand to steady himself and took several pictures. After he had returned his camera to its case, David squatted down next to him. “Well, it’s about time for me to go to work. Do you want to stay here?”
“No. I don’t know enough to be able to ask the right questions. Tell me about that necklace business again while we walk.”
“Okay. Rhoda examined it carefully, and then she told Alice it was worth millions.” David described in detail the somewhat erotic transfers of Alice’s necklace. Then he suggested to Alberto, “Since Alice and her friends usually drop by Mickie’s for a drink after playing, why don’t you hang out there for a while and get a closer look.”
“I’ll do that. I’ve spoken a few words with Madeline. How long does she work tonight? She was pretty helpful after I said a girl I know named Rhoda asked me to ask about you: She didn’t charge me for beer, and she told me you come in at six. It was a shot in the dark, and she’ll know I was lying if Rhoda comes in.”
“Oh, she probably knows already you made it up. She was there that night, and she knows that a guy who’s happy to get a free beer probably doesn’t know a lady who can buy two five-thousand-dollar bottles of wine on a blank check. Madeline’s trying to break into acting, like me. She was probably playing along for the fun of it.”
“That’s a challenge, David, to prove her wrong.” Standing now outside Mickie’s, Alberto said, “I’ll wait on the bench here and see if I really do know this rich girl.”
Alberto sat down, resettled his Panama hat, and began jotting a few more notes in his journal. He felt again that luck was with him that evening.
There they were: Alice and Rhoda were among a group of people walking along the beach in his direction. In a deliberately leisurely manner, he rose from the bench and drifted casually toward them, admiring the elegant swimsuit coverups worn by the two ladies. The garments were designed in an unusual style and they were fashioned from a fabric which he had not seen before. The purses hanging from their shoulders were similar to each other, and each of the two women carried a dagger sheathed on an ankle strap. To Alberto, the daggers looked both ancient and deadly. The two beautiful women, very different from each other in appearance, both looked highly unapproachable. They’re women of formidable beauty.
But Alberto was a newspaper reporter. When the objects of his interest were two strides from him, he stepped up to Rhoda. “Miss Knox, my name is Alberto Mendoza, and I’m an honest columnist for the Hollywood Rag. I understand that you deal in high-end jewelry…”
He had expected her to ignore him or suddenly increase her pace. Instead she stopped abruptly, grasped his head between her hands and searched his face. The disturbing sense of her peering deeply into his mind was accompanied by shock at seeing that she was slightly taller than he.
Rhoda released him suddenly and beamed an amused smile at him. ”An honest columnist for the Rag is an oxymoron,” she said, chuckling. “For the New City University Review it’s a possibility. Take my arm, Alberto, and come have a drink with Alice and me. We can talk for a few minutes about the jewelry market.”
Smugly, Alberto winked at Madeline as the trio approached the bar, conveying the message, “What did you expect?”
Rhoda and Alice at once engaged Alberto in a general discussion about his background as a newsman. They made it so difficult for him to steer the conversation in the direction that he desired, he soon understood that their greater interest was in sizing him up. They had little interest in answering his questions. And it seemed to him that they were carrying on a discussion between the two of them while they were talking with him.
Their parallel conversation became apparent to him after he managed to work a question into their conversation, and Rhoda responded by confirming that she had made an offer to Alice for the Necklace of Charlemagne. Alice looked at her and said, “And I’ve accepted the offer,” to which Rhoda nodded in agreement. To Alberto, it seemed that Alice had just then decided to accept Rhoda’s offer.
The women claimed that the necklace was the most ancient and the best-authenticated of any privately-owned object of personal adornment. After Alberto asked its age, Alice answered, “Well over two-thousand years, and it has been in my family since the days of Charlemagne."
“Is bankruptcy forcing you to sell it?" he asked.
"Not really, but everything has its season and its value. Don't you think so, Alberto? Home Construction—a company that belongs to Rhoda's family—will build me a stately home in the mountains above New City University, to serve as a salon for international discussions of world cultural issues.
“Is that in lieu of a cash payment for the necklace?”
“That is correct, Alberto, and I will be carrying on the tradition of my great aunt Thersa, the Countess of Greystone Castle, whose salon in Switzerland was the last outpost of reason before the madnesses of world war. I think that I shall call my salon ‘the Eyrie’.”
"Is your great-aunt still living?” My God! That old photograph! Alberto tried to recall more clearly the photograph belonging to his father. Did Alice truly resemble so closely, its image of Countess Thersa?
"She perished in an automobile accident, at the beginning of the Second World War, in Switzerland."
“The Countess's name is Thersa?"
"Yes. It's an old family name. It’s my middle name, actually, but I just use the initial, ’T’.”
"Who were the people who frequented Thersa's salon?"
Alice smiled. ”Alberto, they were the highest-ranking government officials, politicians, sports celebrities, scientists, actors, artists, writers and other notable persons from all of the nations of Europe.”
"Even heads of state?"
"All, even Hitler, Stalin and Mussolini—early in their careers. My great-aunt’s salon was a much more neutral ground than the United Nations is now for frank, informal discussions between opposing interests.”
"Are you two ladies pulling my leg?" Alberto regarded the two young women with a suspicious grin, thinking of Madeline’s teasing.
"Alberto, you can find the guest lists—and gossip reports—in old Geneva newspapers. The more popular papers were not unlike your Hollywood Rag.
“Are you both going to host this new salon?"
"Only Alice,” said Rhoda. “There is never more than one Countess Thersa. It’s not my line at all. But I may be present occasionally among the other guests."
“Countess? You’ve just said that she is dead.”
“I have a perfect right to call myself by that name.”
"Okay, but how will you get today's movers and shakers to your new salon?"
“I assure you that with Rhoda’s help, I will have no trouble in attracting a few important people to my opening; the rest will follow.”
“May I ask who?”
“You may ask.” Rhoda smiled. “The individuals will arouse powerful emotions, controversy, and intense interest in the international scene.”
Alice smiled brilliantly at him. “Alberto, you can help me, if you wish, by writing some things in your new column in the Rag. You can report some speculation about me and my salon. You should do a little investigative work beforehand, of course, because the best story is unearthed by one’s own hands, is it not?”
"Yes, of course. That’s what makes news work exciting. But why should I promote your salon?”
“Surely you must know that it is necessary for a newsman to promote the right persons’ interests in order to advance his career. Your father must have taught you that. Well, until the next time, Alberto. You have your work to do, and we have ours. By the way, I think the color of your hat suits you and your work: Neither black nor white.”
Having been dismissed, Alberto took his leave of the two women and went to hover near Madeline.
Alice glanced over at a woman who had been sitting at the bar, looking over their heads toward the ocean. While Rhoda was paying their bill, with a good tip for Madeline, the woman came to Alice and said softly, “I have everything prepared for the meeting, my mistress.”
“Good. I am finished here, Giselle. Before we leave, let me introduce my new business acquaintance, Miss Rhoda Knox.”
Leaning against the bar, Alberto had heard their every word.
~ 2 ~ A few days later, Alberto’s review of his notes caused him to grow curious about Victor, whom he understood to be one of the in-group around Rhoda. He had learned about Rhoda having flown Victor around to several locations in the desert. He decided to interview the young researcher, telling him that he wanted to write a story for the University’s newspaper about Victor’s study of desert plants. He dropped in at Victor’s office, and found Esther.
She said, “Oh, you want to know about Rhoda Knox’s airplane.”
At once, Alberto was sure that he had hooked a big fish. Esther apparently did not recognize him from his presence near her table in the Student Union on the day of his eavesdropping. Today, he was wearing his Panama hat.
“I’ll bet you’re more interested in Miss Rhoda Knox and her aircraft, than you are in Victor and his plants. Victor’s kind of boring. Have you met Miss Knox?”
“Yes; I interviewed her a day ago, but the subject of her aviation business did not come up.”
“I understand that Aviation Week did an interview with her. Have you read it?” Now that she had knocked Alberto off balance, Esther was ahead of him and she was reading him like a book.
“No. I didn't know.”
Esther saw that he was lying. “Where did you interview her?”
“In Santa Barbara.” A fact was a fact. Alberto would not be able to sidestep Esther’s question if he wanted to continue talking with her. Clearly she knew things that he did not.
“At Mickie’s by the Sea?”
Alberto hesitated, with a reporter’s natural reluctance to disclose more than necessary about his sources. “Yes, we talked at Mickie’s.”
Grinning in satisfaction, Esther asked, ”Alberto, who else was there when you interviewed her?” Something about the way in which he had said “we” had prompted her to ask.
Alberto had recovered his wits; he was aware now that Esther’s interest in his story was as great as his own, and she was trying to learn things from him that were unknown to her. Needing to offer something, he chose not to lie. “There was another young woman named Alice T. Cunningham.”
Bingo!
Alberto saw the deep interest in Esther’s face, and a flicker of envy. “Do you know Miss Cunningham?” he asked
“I’ve never met her, but I’ve heard her name.”
Esther seemed to be talking more to herself than to Alberto, and he saw an inward look on her face. “I can show you what she looks like,” he said, pulling from his camera bag an envelope of photographic prints. “I’ve just picked these up at the campus photo booth. They do better work there than I’ve found off campus.”
“Thanks for the tip, Alberto. I do a lot of photography, too.” Esther’s political instincts told her that they had reached a first level of mutual confidence. They were interested in the same “story”, each from a different angle. For now, the difference did not matter.
“Here’s a picture of both of them on the beach. If it looks like a paparazzi shot, that’s because it is. I have a column in the Hollywood Rag.”
Taking the picture from his hands, Esther looked up at him. “You’re that Alberto!”
Alberto was unable to hide his satisfaction as Esther smiled at him with enhanced interest. Then he watched her looking at the photograph, seeing in her facial expression a confirmation of the envy that he had earlier suspected. Full steam ahead. “Esther, if you had been on the beach with them, I’d have here a picture of the Three Graces.”
Esther was flattered. Why is he looking at me like that? Crap, I’m not wearing a bra! She had been on her way to Het’s place, and she had stopped at Victor’s office to double check Victor’s schedule. She wanted to be sure that he had gone to the desert and would not be back tonight. Because Victor’s office was hot, she had removed her light jacket, which was now hanging on a hook behind Alberto. She had not expected company here. Well, I know I look pretty good, and Alberto’s not bad himself. Another time? Returning Alberto’s look, she said, “Flattery is appreciated, Alberto, but I can’t talk much longer. I have a personal appointment that I must keep.”
Alberto returned his facial expression to reporter’s neutral. “Esther, let me show you one more picture. It’s an old one my father sent to me after I wrote to him about the story I’m working on.” From his notebook he removed his father’s photograph of the Countess Thersa.
Esther looked from that photograph to the photographs of Alice. “There’s a strong similarity.”
“I think so, too.”
“What’s the connection, Alberto? Why did your father send it to you?”
“My father is an old-time Argentinian newsman. He obtained the photo when he was in Europe in the 1930s, and he said the lady had something to do with the Arch Company.” Alberto noted another flash of interest in Esther’s face as, volunteering nothing, she glanced at the wall clock behind him. He continued, “My father said the lady was known as the Countess Thersa of Greystone Castle. The Castle is in southern Germany near the Alps. It had been restored for the countess by the Arch Company. My father said he visited there and saw her, and he also saw a portrait from the time of the French Revolution, of a woman also named the Countess Thersa of Greystone Castle, who looked a lot like this picture. Both women had been known for their salons which were frequented by the rich and powerful of all of Europe.”
“So?”
“It’s just a strange coincidence, I guess. But, Esther, when I interviewed Miss Knox and Miss Cunningham they told me Alice is planning to set up a salon near New City University, with Rhoda’s help. They assured me that the rich and powerful will come.”
“Alberto, will you trust me with these two photographs for a few days? Let me try to find out something about them from someone who knows Alice. I’ll share with you anything I learn about them.”
Alberto answered slowly, “Well, …okay.”
“You’re curious about who ‘someone’ is, aren’t you?”
“Of course.” Alberto smiled. “It’s my business.”
“Well, since you were in Santa Barbara, you must know who Dr. Kerrigan is.” Why am I telling him so much?
“Yes. Actually, I met Dr. Kerrigan because of that big apartment building fire. I happened to be on the scene of the fire, so I took pictures and I wrote the front-page feature story in the Herald of the City. After I learned Dr. G. K. Scott was one of the people reported missing, I located him the next morning in the Natural Sciences building, and Dr. Kerrigan came to his office when I was getting ready to leave after our interview.” Esther responded in no way which was detectable by Alberto, either to his mention of the fire, or to Scott’s name.
“I’d forgotten about that fire. …I remember your story now. Well, Alberto, I really do have to go.” Esther slipped quickly past him, snatched her jacket from the hook, slipped it on and zipped it up before facing him to say goodbye.
Alberto opened the door for her, giving her his card. “Call me, Esther, when you’ve finished with my pictures, and let me know if you learn anything interesting.”
Victor’s office door had been ajar upon Alberto’s arrival, so he discovered only when he closed it after Esther’s departure, that it was designed to automatically lock when closed. He knew then that Esther must have used a key in order to enter. He recalled boldly walking in after knocking, and seeing her looking at the wall calendar. Examining the calendar himself, he saw that Victor had expected to be, today, about halfway through several days of research in the desert. Thinking of the familiar way in which Esther had sat at Victor’s desk while they were talking, he looked at its surface and saw on it a photograph of Esther.
Alberto smiled to himself. Dr. Kerrigan.
~ 3 ~ "'Where will my relationship with Rhoda take me? Should I offer again to buy her a drink?’ What kind of stupid question was that, Het?” Esther’s greeting to Het quoted his question for the I Ching which Hans had not bothered to read aloud at the stone cabin party. Hans, too, had thought it stupid. ”Victor’s out in the desert again for a few days, wringing numbers from his joshua trees.” Esther kicked off her shoes and curled up barefoot on the sofa. “I brought a bottle for each of us, as usual. Will you please pour drinks for us? Then let’s talk for a while.” By quietly setting down a grocery bag on the kitchen counter, she had signaled that she was alone.
Esther and Het had maintained a discrete relationship since before she and Victor had been ‘married’ three years earlier.
"So why are you ‘marrying’ Victor?” Het had asked her after she had told him.
“Partly because if I ever have any kids, he will be a reliable father. (Neither you nor Gil would be any good at fatherhood.) Mostly because it pleases my mother to hope for my marriage to a Jew with a good inheritance. It makes family favors—like the Mammoth cabin—flow to me.”
"Esther, I thought you were the one with money, and he was a poor adopted war orphan or something. Vic's not a rich student, as far as I can tell.” Het was wondering about her implication that Victor had a 'good inheritance'.
"Well, mother was putting pressure on me to marry a good Jewish boy. She seems to know who I’m sleeping with, and everything about you guys. I tell you, she and her friends could start a successful intelligence business if they wanted to. She knows all about you and Gil and Victor and a couple others from my undergrad days. Anyway, Victor was her choice. She said, ‘He is Jewish, Esther, and he will be rich when he comes into his inheritance.’ She told me his inheritance is a secret, even from Victor. I can't tell you any more, except that he’s the out-of-wedlock child of a rich Jewish girl. He was taken in 'like an orphan,’ as he says, but the mother’s family set up a trust for him when he was five, and it has been paying for his education through graduate school. So, Het, my deal with my mother is that Victor and I will live together with the intent of getting married. She can hope, and I’m not stuck. Until he’s officially married, Victor’s parents will support him frugally from the trust, so he can pursue his endless postdoctoral education. As long as that lasts, I can do my thing and keep my mother happy.”
“I’ll keep my mouth shut,” Het had promised.
Removing the bottles from the bag, Het said, “Hey, these are both hard liquor. Where’s your wine?”
“Well, Het, wine can be kind of slow, you know.”
He looked at her, carrying their drinks slowly. On the university campus, and when she and Victor shared dinner and beer with Het, Esther always dressed modestly—except for her nicely-fitting tight jeans. Tonight, she was not dressed modestly. He sat close, feeling her body heat, and offered her a drink in a shot glass. They toasted silently.
“Okay,” he said, “what are we going to talk about?” Their usual conversation was about whatever book Esther was currently reading. Book discussions with Victor had been always disappointing to her, but Esther had discovered that Het invariably found her full-body book reviews far better than reading the original. Because Victor was sometimes aware of her having spent time with Het, Esther had told him that Het was just her literary friend—deliberately making Victor feel bad about his lack of interest in fiction. Victor’s conversations with Het confirmed Het’s far greater knowledge of Esther’s reading.
This evening, Esther did not begin with a literary topic. “I want to talk about your girlfriend, Alice,” she said.
“Alice? Hey, we have a deal!”
“Be calm, dear. I’m not jealous. We know what we’re like.” Esther sipped at her drink, smiling over it with her eyes. “I’ve been talking with Alberto Mendoza. Do you know him?”
“No.”
“He's a handsome journalism graduate student who is editor of the New City University Review.”
“Oh. Yeah. I met him in Scott’s office on the day Scott’s apartment got torched. He’s the guy who wrote the newspaper report. Wears a Panama hat?”
“That’s Alberto. He showed me a photograph of Alice on the beach that he took recently. Het, guess who she was swimming with.”
“Rhoda? She was interested in Alice’s necklace. Did I tell you that Rhoda bought a collector’s necklace from my mom for two-hundred thousand?”
“No. Really? How much did she offer Alice for hers?”
“Rhoda didn't make an offer, but she said the necklace was worth millions.”
“Alberto showed me another picture. It might be Alice too, but probably not.”
“Show me the photographs,” demanded Het.
“Alice does have strikingly attractive features; don’t you agree?”
“So do you.”
“Thank you, dear. I know you appreciate me. But that’s not my point. Get me my purse. Alberto loaned me the photographs, and I’ll show them to you.” Esther had left her purse on the counter with the bag of liquor. Het got up to fetch it, feeling not at all sure that the evening was going to play out as he had expected. Then Esther said, “Please, Het, do turn off the room lights. This lamplight over the sofa is all we need for viewing the photographs. Double-lock the door too, dear.”
Esther drew Alberto’s photograph from her purse and passed it to Het.
Het studied the photograph for a moment. “That might be Alice, too, although I’ve never seen her dressed like that. She’s usually beach-casual.” Handing it back to Esther, he asked, “Was she in some Hollywood movie?”
“Let’s talk about it in the morning. I have another photograph for you to look at then. Fill my glass and I’ll tell you about the book I’m reading.”
Het happily filled her glass. “So,” he said, after kicking off his shoes and lifting her legs onto his lap, “what’s the title?”
“Ship of Fools.” …
“Delicious! Esther, if we were married, you could make these sweet rolls for me every morning.”
“Nope. Victor’s my home base; remember? You’d get tired of them in two weeks, anyway. I make this breakfast for him on Sundays; he cooks on the other six days, just like God.”
“So, what are you saying?”
“That it’s almost time for you to go. But first, look at that photograph again in the daylight.” Esther pushed it across the table to Het.
“Yeah; she looks like Alice—but different, too. She looks stately, like a European aristocrat, and Alice is California casual.”
“Turn it over and check out the photographer’s stamp.” Esther watched Het’s face while sipping her coffee.
"'1932. Geneva, Switzerland. Jacob LaRoche Photography.’ Looks authentic, too. Alice’s mother?” Het turned back to the photograph and studied it. “Interesting. So why did Alberto give you this?”
After passing to him Alberto’s recent photograph showing Rhoda and Alice in a volleyball game, Esther replied, “He’s onto a story about Rhoda. I didn't talk to Alberto for very long, but I learned a few things to pass on to you. Besides editing New City University Review, Alberto writes a column for the Hollywood Rag, and he called that beach picture a paparazzi shot. I don't know how he got started on this or why he went there, but he interviewed Rhoda and Alice in Santa Barbara. So I think you’re somehow caught up in the story he’s working on. In your new position, maybe you’re part of a juicy intrigue or a scandal story—through Alice, not me. I’m a nobody on the West Coast.”
“Right, Esther. Your father is only a long-time U.S. House Representative who’s on important committees. I know you want to avoid any scandal that might damage his career. Do you have anything else about Alice? I’ve got a meeting with Steuben coming up soon. Maybe the Rag man is after him, too.”
“You know, that might be! The Alice look-alike in that old photograph is the Countess Thersa of Greystone Castle. Greystone Castle was restored for the Countess by the Arch company, no less, according to Alberto. He got the photo and that information about Arch from his father, who’d been to Europe in the 1930s. He also said his father saw a portrait of a prior Countess Thersa of Greystone Castle from the time of the French Revolution, and she looked just like the Countess of 1932.”
“Arch and Alice? That’s news. I’ll call Alice right now and ask.” Het dialed her number. Greystone Castle? Steuben mentioned it.
“Alice, me. …I know it’s early. I’ve got some questions. Rumors about you. I want to know what I can believe. I’m looking at a photograph of Countess Thersa of Greystone Castle in Germany. It looks just like it could be a Hollywood movie picture of you, but it also looks like a genuine original dated 1932. …It’s a striking resemblance! …Your great-aunt? …Okay. Now, Arch Company? …You didn't say anything then. …You really don’t? …Just the money when you need it? You don’t seem that rich. …No, I didn't hear about that. …How much? … Can I tell Winthy? …A salon near here? Where? …Say that again. I don't believe it! …With Rhoda’s help? …Okay, it makes sense, if it’s a family thing. …I hope your salon works out. Will I get invited? …Okay. …I understand. Bye.” Het slammed down the telephone receiver.
“Holy shit! Esther, did you know all of that?”
“Know all of what? You had the telephone receiver glued to your ear. I could hear only what you said. So what’s going on with Alice?” The real concern in Esther’s voice quieted Het.
“Alice strongly resembles her great-aunt whose wealth she has inherited. The wealth is Arch Company. She’s the majority owner, but she has no hand in running the business. Business is boring, and she has a competent agent who represents her. She said she was surprised to be told at Mickie’s that my research is supported by the Arch Foundation.” Het had been speaking calmly. Now he exclaimed, “She was costing me a lot already! And now that I know she’s not beach poor, she’ll expect me to treat her according to her normal standard of living."
Esther smiled to herself. Goodby, Alice. “What’s to tell Winthy?”
Het replied sulkily, "Rhoda bought from Alice the neckless that she’d estimated to be worth millions.”
"Rhoda must have paid her millions. Het, if all this is true, then Kane must know Alice, or at least know of her."
"What are you saying?"
