Pearl didn't trust the old adage that you couldn't judge a book by its cover. A book, maybe, since it's an inanimate object, a thing designed to entertain and move copy and possibly receive a film adaptation. It couldn't change its mind, couldn't dissemble, couldn't hide any secrets that aren't discovered by the final chapter. It couldn't lie, in other words. It couldn't betray you.
A person, though, was something different. Just by looking at their dress, their surroundings, their manner of speech, you could tell a great deal. Maybe it was the actress in Pearl talking; how easily her directors coded characters with elaborate dresses and spiffy suits and different colored outfits. How in one picture she'd be a heroine in virginal white, in another a temptress wearing a scarlet dress. But she found that it was a fairly reliable rule in real life, even if there were nuances that films didn't always capture. Even if you had to sort out dishonesty from truth using observation.
Fortunately, with Peridot Mulwray, what you saw is basically what you got. A blunt, opinionated woman who kept a messy office, with peeling striped wallpaper and a few perfunctory pictures, who dressed in mannish outfits and smoked constantly and liked putting her feet on the desk (yet her blonde hair always seemed immaculately spiked). Pearl didn't know whether she loved or despised her.
"Dear Christ, Pearl, you're like the eighth person asking me about this today," Peridot said, absently blowing smoke rings in the air. "Some corporate bigwig gets drilled just before a land deal goes through. You think you'd be the only one asking questions about this? Big deal. Same business as usual in L.A. County. Someone gets involved in grift, has a change of heart, then welches and gets killed. Probably some out-of-town hoods brought in special for the occasion.
"And you know what's gonna happen? Nothing. Zilch. Not a damn thing. Nobody's gonna go to jail for it. Nobody's gonna find out who did it. Might get a few headlines until some money changes hands and then even they dry up and find some broken-down starlet to cry over. And whatever awful grift was going on goes through anyway. The fat cats benefit and everyone else gets hosed. Story of L.A. Story of America."
Peridot leaned back and blew another puff of smoke into the air, letting it dangle overhead. Pearl watched her with some annoyance, trying to puzzle out the appropriate response. She wished that she didn't have to play head games with Peridot every time they spoke.
"You should write a book," Pearl said finally.
"You can't pay for my kinda wisdom," Peridot replied.
"Well, I didn't come here for your cheapjack cynicism," Pearl insisted. "Could get that from a bar stool anywhere. I came here because I want your help. And you know I wouldn't come to you, of all people, if I didn't need it."
"Yeah." Peridot said, in a blank tone carrying the weight of their history together. She finished her cigarette then leaned forward, rubbed out the butt in an ashtray and put on a pair of thick, awkward-looking spectacles.
"So what's your connection to this case?" Peridot asked, immediately slipping into Detective Mode. "You know Schroeder? Know the Diamonds? Have some stake in the land? Angry you won't be able to film another Western in San Gabriel? Tell me, because I'm curious. Sincerely."
It seemed more a challenge than a request. Pearl realized she needed to sell her acquaintance on the case quickly and succinctly.
"The Diamonds," she muttered. And Peridot's face immediately scrunched into a scowl.
"Yeah?"
"What do you know about them?"
Peridot thought about this for a moment, then shook her head. "Sweetheart, if it's Diamonds you're after, get 'em yourself. You couldn't pay me enough..."
"Oh, I wasn't planning to pay you at all," Pearl said.
Peridot's eyebrow arched. "How's that?"
"I wasn't planning to pay you," Pearl repeated, smirking sardonically. "I figured that you'd be intrigued enough about the case to take it pro bono."
"Have we met?" Peridot asked, acting deeply offended. "The only thing I like more than a good smoke is a nice fat buck in my pocket."
"I don't think so," Pearl responded, challenging her. "I remember you helped that girl who was being hounded by the Vice Squad..."
"That was different," Peridot snapped.
"Or that EPIC worker who had their house torched by the Klan..."
"They couldn't pay me. That was the difference then."
"Or those Okies who had their life's savings stolen by a crook with the WPA..."
"All right, all right, all right! But you're missing the thread here. Those were all people who couldn't pay, and who needed help. Maybe I have a heart somewhere inside here-" She dramatically tapped her chest, subconsciously licking her lips. Pearl smiled more broadly, knowing she'd struck a chord with Peridot, whether or not the little blonde admitted it.
"But you just come to me asking me to investigate a high-profile murder that has some bigwigs involved with no obvious connection to you...just because you're curious. Now, you see the difference?"
"I hoped the novelty of my request might intrigue you."
Peridot became stone-faced, not sure how much Pearl was pulling her leg. Pearl retained the same smile as before, challenging her acquaintance to make a decision.
"Besides," Pearl added, "it isn't just curiosity. You might say I have a personal interest."
She absently stroked her nose twice with one finger. Peridot didn't seem to notice.
"And if this is what it looks like, it could be something...much bigger than just land."
"I'm not good with 'bigger,'" Peridot grumbled, slipping back into her chair. "Gimme a routine surveillance of an unfaithful husband any day..."
She considered it for a moment, then stood and walked over to a cabinet. Muttered something under her breath, then opened the second drawer and pulled out a folder.
"The Diamond Company," she recited, "incorporated in 1912 by Eustace E.H. Diamond of Anaheim. Currently based up in Fullerton with about 60 full-time employees and numerous agents and operatives. Company nominally headed by Mr. Diamond's widow, Bianca Diamond, who is incapacitated and headed by her eldest daughter Aurelia. Sits on a board with her two sisters, River and Rose. She's a tough cookie, a pill. A bitch, in common parlance. Very politically involved. Very Republican in the Ham Fish, Du Pont way, not the Wendell Willkie way. Very big in L.A. and southern California. Knows everybody important, gives money to a lot of them for different things, even pretends some of them are friends when it suits her. Lives for her business and nothing else. Wants to prove that she's a bigger man than any man."
"I don't need the Freud," Pearl said. "Just tell me about them."
"The Freud's indispensable, sweetheart," Peridot insisted. "No other way you can discuss this. Talk about a messed-up family..."
"Misogyny isn't any more appealing coming from you than anyone else," Pearl snapped. "I'm up to my ears in people acting like the mere fact of women owning a company is queer..."
"Oh they're queer all right, but maybe not in the way you mean." And Peridot produced a self-satisfied smirk at her little pun. Pearl didn't dignify it with a response.
"Aurelia doesn't give you much humanity. No husband or squeeze of any kind, so far as I know. Was engaged when young to a boy who died in the Great War, which apparently shriveled her up. No sense of humor. Not even the ability to smile from my experience with her. Treats everyone like dirt beneath her feet, whether they're employees or fellow businessmen or politicians. Most imperious woman I've ever met. Probably deeply unhappy, but that's my amateur, not clinical opinion.
"Now River. I know she is deeply unhappy. She's been to a sanitarium outside the city a few times for, what they call melancholy. Tried to kill herself, I think. Definitely had shock therapy, I've seen the records...Oh, don't look so surprised. You know I know this stuff, that's why you're here, isn't it? That's why you asked me."
"Well yes, but...I don't expect you to delight in it," Pearl chastised.
"I don't delight, I report," Peridot snapped, rolling her eyes. Enough sentimentality.
"But yes. She lost her fiancee in a car wreck back in '32 and never stopped crying. I mean, she can barely keep it together so she's not in public much. Don't know if she cares about politics or business the way her sister does. Only met her once or twice and didn't get much out of her aside from a forced smile followed by a torrent of grief. Feel like Aurelia has to keep things together for everyone."
"You said there was a third one?"
"Oh, yeah," Peridot said. "Well, she's not as important."
"Well, tell me about her anyway," Pearl said impatiently.
"Rose," Peridot responded. "The baby of the bunch. Very cute little redhead. Used to be a socialite, went around town in a souped-up car like a spoiled brat. Still pretty young I think, at least compared to her sisters, and her position seems more symbolic or honorary than doing anything. She used to be very high-minded back in the day. She gave money to Upton Sinclair in 1934 and...well, word on the street is Aurelia chewed her out for it. Big time. Hasn't done or said anything political since. But she still finds ways to get attention..."
Peridot reached into her cabinet, beginning to pull out a folder. Then stopped herself.
"There are, um, some pretty explicit things I could show you..." she began, uneasily.
"I don't need to see it," Pearl assured her. Peridot sighed with relief and shut the door.
"Well, let's just say...she's not as chaste as her sisters. Her main squeeze is a hack screenwriter who's one of my sources. Don't know if he's ever actually sold a script, but he writes a lot of garbage and hangs around movie sets. But she's quite the pillow talker. And very, umm...If we're being clinical here, let's say sexually active. And doesn't seem to have a preference..."
"That's not what I came here for," Pearl cut her off.
"Well, okay. You want to know if the Diamonds are agents of Adolf Hitler and the Liberty League. Possibly, but if so they've done a pretty good job covering their tracks. It's not a crime, sadly, to have retrograde politics in this country, particularly if you're rich. Does that help? No. Didn't think so."
Peridot sat back down at her desk and clutched her hands together, all businesslike.
"So what do you want from me?"
"Do some legwork," Pearl said. "Investigate the murder. Find out what Mr. Schroeder knew and why they got rid of him. You know, your job."
"Okay," Peridot said, thinking on it. "Sure. But if I could ask, why don't you do it? I mean, it's not like you're wanting for free time these days..."
"Because I have a different part to play."
"Oh yeah?" This intrigued Peridot.
"Of course. You didn't think I would let you do all the work, did you?"
Pearl dropped her bombshell smile on Peridot, who shivered. It was still effective, whether on a poster or in person.
"Okay, now I am intrigued," Peridot admitted. And her right hand started to tremble for want of nicotine; she held it in place with the other.
"Well, I'm not really much of a detective," Pearl admitted. "But there are things I can do. Talk. Charm. Act. Whether or not you think I'm Myrna Loy, I can do all those things."
"Uh-huh. I'm not George Cukor, so spell it out for me."
"One thing the Diamonds like? Women. In more ways than one." And Pearl threw Peridot's little "queer" smirk from earlier back at her. "They like to show themselves as successful, right? I know that much about them. And that it's not a mistake to have women run a company. That's why most of their employees, or at least the high profile ones, are ladies like them. So I go to work for them."
Peridot's jaw practically hit the floor. "You? What on Earth are you gonna do for them?"
"Do you really think they're gonna say no if Pearl White walks into their headquarters and asks for a job?"
"Jesus Christ, somebody's self-confident."
"I try."
"So you get to do all the glamorous spy stuff from the inside while I'm out here doing all the hard work. Sounds fair."
"If you want to be cynical about it...I mean, think what they might do to me if I'm caught."
And Pearl let those words hang there for a long moment, as both of them soaked in the seriousness of their situation.
Finally, Peridot gave in and snatched another cigarette from her desk.
"All right, Pearl. You've sold me. I won't charge you anything...upfront. Maybe we can work something out later. Amazingly enough, I do like to be paid, especially for something that's likely to get me killed...But I suppose that money won't do me any good if I'm dead."
Pearl nodded. "Sounds fair. And hey, if we bust this thing wide open..."
"...We'll have lawyers and cops and corporate goons after us from here till Christmas. Dunno know about you, but I'm not looking forward to it."
Pearl did feel a stab of fear. She didn't look forward to it. But this struck her as too important to let human failings win.
"I'll take my chances," she said firmly.
Peridot, a little impressed, took a puff on her cigarette and smiled. "That's what I like to hear."
The mood felt a little too grim, just that moment. Then Peridot let out a little snicker, laughing at a private joke. Pearl felt a little awkward until Peridot decided to let her in on it.
"You know what they used to call me?" Peridot said. "Hell, for all I know it's what they still call me. The Dick Without a Dick."
She burst out laughing at her comment. Pearl didn't find it that funny, but forced a few polite chuckles.
"Because a woman detective was such a weird concept to them," Peridot continued, gesturing and waving her cigarette around. "They couldn't understand it! Couldn't conceptualize it! Might as well have told them I was a gem being from another Universe! So it took me awhile to get clients until they realized, well, a woman can be just as coarse and vulgar and dishonest as a man. And boy, did I prove that to 'em or what?"
She laughed at her joke again. Pearl just nodded.
"Of course, some people still don't think I'm a threat. Well, I might not have a dick, but!"
She reached into her desk and pulled out a Smith and Wesson revolver with an oversized barrel. It reminded Pearl of those old Buntline revolvers she'd seen in a prop department once.
"This will have to do."
Pearl's face went wide, then twisted in disdain. She hated guns, even if she'd had to use them in one or two of her movies.
"How on Earth do you even carry that thing around?"
"It's not my preferred weapon," Peridot admitted, laying the gun on the desk, pointing at Pearl. "A .38's usually fine. But this one's good when I really want to scare some people."
"It certainly scares me."
"Well, I imagine they won't let you into corporate headquarters with a rapier."
"More's the pity. All those months of fencing lessons gone to waste."
"Yeah." Peridot suddenly went glum. "Bad luck about your last picture."
"Yeah."
"You got a bum deal."
"Thanks."
"But people are shit. Cowardly, craven, money-grubbing coprophages. That's one thing I've learned from living in this city. Maybe they're shit everywhere, they certainly were in Chicago and Detroit, but...L.A. seems to bring out the worst in everybody."
"You aren't wrong."
Peridot stared at Pearl, less starstruck than a friend. And Pearl felt a little more comfortable.
"You worked with Fred Cavens, right?"
"I did! He's quite the taskmaster, but gave me all the lessons I'd need to wield a sword and carry a film..."
Pearl seemed both proud and sad at once, thinking of all the sweat and tears and cramps and hard work she'd put into a movie that would never see the light of day.
"He's the one who did Captain Blood, right?"
"Yep."
"Wow. To think, if the chips had fallen a little different, you could have been the lady Errol Flynn."
Pearl shook her head, the same confident smirk returning. She inclined her head in profile, posing for the camera.
"Thanks. But I'd have rather been Pearl White."
Peridot walked Pearl outside. Her office occupied a small office annex with a little central lobby. Late afternoon sun shone harshly through a large window overhead. A few people darted about inconspicuous.
"Well Pearl, I like your moxie. But be safe, all right? This is gonna be a big job and it might hurt both of us."
"Thanks. You too."
"You never know who you'll run into...Hey, speaking of which!"
Pearl turned and froze, spying a tall blonde woman in a brown overcoat walking past them.
"Jasper Jensen!" Peridot greeted her, seemingly unafraid. "Imagine seeing you way out here!"
"Peridot," Jasper growled without inflection. Pearl saw a deep scar under her left eye and flinched.
"Old acquaintance of mine from Chicago," Peridot said. "Still Jake Guzik's alibi?"
"Get lost, twerp."
"My office is here. What's your business here?"
"Need to use the john."
"Wow, you traveled 2,000 miles to take a piss. Must have a strong bladder."
"Fuck off." Jasper looked ready to punch Peridot. And Pearl figured that it would only take one punch to kill her.
"Keep an eye on this one, Pearl," Peridot said. "She's liable to break your heart before she breaks your neck."
Jasper grumbled something else and stalked down the hallway. Peridot looked after her.
"Well, that's not a good sign."
"What?"
"She's not somebody who's likely to travel all this way for nothing." Peridot clasped Pearl's hands and looked at her with an earnestness she rarely showed.
"Remember what I said. Be safe. Don't do anything stupid."
Pearl started to make a joke, a show of bravado. But she just nodded affirmatively.
"Knock 'em dead."
And the two broke apart, Peridot hurrying back to her office, leaving Pearl in the hall with the sunlight dappling over her.