. . .

THE DISPATCH INQUIRY
Chapter Thirteen

Unfortunately, Amy did not have time to dwell on any possible lies Howard had told. After typing her notes, quickly and with crumbs from her sandwich falling between the keys, she had to write her daily dispatch for The Herald, based upon another official report given to her Kripke. Today's felt especially thin, and, she thought, overly optimistic as to the state of the investigation, but her job was only to report the facts and quotations as the Inspector presented them to her. And now that she knew he was putting more work into the case than it seemed she was determined to treat him with more respect, even in her thoughts. The article was not her best work, but she had to hurry downstairs to call it into the newsroom as her appointment with Penny was nigh.

Back upstairs, Amy read all the remaining door tags before knocking on the one labeled Dr. & Mrs. Hofstader.

"Come in!" called Penny's clear voice from the other side.

The couple's suite was the largest room Amy had seen outside of the drawing room, with a central sitting room and a bedroom leading off each end, one decidedly more feminine than the other from what she could see. Rooms fit for an Earl and a Countess. The sitting room was large enough for a sofa and two chairs before the fireplace and a several other pieces of furniture along the edges. The window was especially large, and Amy ascertained by the view that they were above the very center of the portico.

As Amy entered, there was an alarming amount of clothing spread around, visible not just in one of the bedrooms, but even on the furniture in the seating area. Surely any maid would not have left the room in this state; had Penny made this mess in a single morning?

"Oh, Amy, come in, come in," Penny called as she came from the bedroom. "I was just cleaning out my dressing room, deciding what to take home and what to donate."

"You're packing? I thought you usually stayed for weeks."

"We've got an appointment in London in a couple of weeks, so we'll stay on extra for the shows and the shopping. But we'll come back after that. So I'm just sorting out some things I don't really wear anymore. The more room I make in my trunks, the more I can buy. Here -" she held out a cream-colored garment - "this looks like you. Take it."

It was a jumper, but in the softest, plushest thread Amy had ever felt. As with all of Penny's clothes, it was simple but elegant, the neckline forming a graceful knot.

"Thank you. It's beautiful." Amy folded it carefully and set it down on the coffee table next to her notebook and looked at the pile of clothing on the sofa. On top was the pink peignoir the actress was wearing the night of the murder. "You're getting rid of your pretty nightgown? Why? Bad memories?"

"What? Oh." Penny glanced over from studying a long dress in pink and black stripes. "When Leonard came running into my bedroom and tripped that night, I tore the matching dressing gown trying to help him up. It's just a rag now."

It explained why she wasn't wearing the dressing gown downstairs, although Amy would have preferred a torn gown to none at all. But then she didn't have Penny's figure. And why not keep the peignoir, at least? It wasn't a rag; it still looked like the finest piece of lingerie Amy had ever seen in person. "No, of course not." She hoped she hadn't offended her new friend. They were friends of a sort, weren't they? If she could be friends with a murder suspect. "Are you ready for our interview?"

"Of course. Do you mind if I keep doing this while we chat? Otherwise, I'll never finish."

As Penny sorted through her clothes, seemingly making a larger mess than before, Amy sat and asked her the questions she'd been given by Mr. Clayton, faithfully recording Penny's answers in shorthand. She wasn't surprised that nothing titillating was revealed; the questions were meant to avoid any mention of her marriage or last name or even her presence at this conference. Penny answered each question almost by rote, with none of the vivacious joy Amy had seen in previous conversations.

Finally, Amy closed the cover of her notebook. "May I ask you something off the record?"

"Sure. Do you want a drink? All this sorting has made me thirsty." Without waiting for an answer Penny opened a cabinet nearby and started to mix two cocktails.

"How did you and Dr. Hofstadter meet?"

"I moved to L.A. to be in the pictures - I was sick of off-Broadway plays and those traveling shows - and he was across the hallway. At first, I wasn't interested, so I thought I'd play hard to get. But gradually I realized he was genuinely nice and different from other men. He wanted to talk about me, not just himself or how pretty I was all the time. We actually had more in common than I thought. I like to joke he wore me down, but, really, it didn't take long. Here."

Amy took a sip of the offered cocktail and coughed. "Strong." She sat it down as Penny curled up on a chair across from her. "If I may ask, what do you have in common?"

"In Hollywood, an actress should be either demure or sexy. Or - if she wants to be really famous - somehow manage to do both at the same time. But never, ever, should she be smart, no matter what." Penny sighed softly and, for the first time, Amy thought she saw a wave of sadness pass the normally happy face. "But not Leonard. He asked my opinion, listened to my ideas, helped me make my dreams a reality. It wasn't that he just opened the door for me, because he's a man and I'm a woman. It's that he stood back and let me pass through first." She paused, and, as quickly as it fell, her bright happy mask returned and Penny waved her hand with a smile. "Gah! How sappy! Listen to me getting carried away, talking romantically about my husband like we just met. He lets me shine on the big screen and that's the most important thing to me."

"That sounds lovely," Amy said, referring to the serious interlude, not the light-hearted ending. "So Dr. Hofstadter is your manager, as well? Is that the word?"

"No, I have another manager."

"But you said he helped you with your career, helped to make your dreams come true."

Penny smiled. "I just meant he's supportive, that's all." She paused. "My first movie was this horrible Tarzan film and I played a woman who turned into an ape. I know, it's awful and you haven't even seen the fake fur! But Leonard gave me some good advice on how to get out of it. So it was never finished and never released. Anyway, he's a good man. Maybe it's not important what we talk about. It's that he listens and he helps me when I ask. He doesn't stand in the way of my dreams, but he also doesn't let my dreams lead to stupid decisions."

Amy tried not to be stabbed by jealousy. "I've always wanted to marry a scientist. Not like Dr. Hofstadter, though; he's a little peculiar. I'm glad you scooped him up. He might have tried to chat me up me here, and I can't think of a more strange scientist than him."

"Gee, thanks. And really? You can't think of anyone weirder?"

"Well, Mr. Wolowitz, but is he a scientist or an author?" Amy paused. "No, definitely not him."

"So, no opposites attract for you?" Penny asked. "Aren't you limiting your choices?"

Shaking her head, Amy said, "Honestly, I haven't had that many choices. I'm happy for you, but you're beautiful. All I have to offer is my brain. And interest in other brains. Most men don't look at me twice. But a fellow scientist . . . maybe he would see me for who I am. I know it worked for you, but I'm not really sure opposites attract works out most of the time. Sometimes the chasms between two worlds are just to great to overcome. At least here in Britain; you Americans are more free with your love."

"Nonsense," Penny said sharply. "Something is only a chasm if you let it be one. You said you want someone to see you for who you are. What if he's looking from the other side?"

Amy took another swallow of her cocktail, as it was growing on her the more she drank, and leaned forward. "Let me tell your story, Penny. The real you. Let me tell the world about your happy marriage."

"Why?"

"Because I think it's sad that you have to hide away who you truly are from the world. They should love for you who are. And love the man who already does."

"Hmmph," Penny said, "trust me, the world cannot handle who I really am."

"I think they can. Everyone loves a handsome couple in love. And, well, Dr. Hofstadter may not be handsome, but surely you're beautiful enough for the both of you. And your story is heart-warming."

Penny shook her head. "You don't understand. The studio owns me. I signed an exclusive contract for ten films. There are morality and behavior clauses. I signed it before I was married. So no marriage for me. At least, not a public one."

Her comment made Amy wonder if Penny were her real name. It had crossed her mind before, for how else would she keep her marriage so secret? Winking at reporters was one thing; skirting the technicalities of a legal contract was another. "Wouldn't this be the best way to get out of that contract, then?" Amy asked.

"No." Penny got up and fixed another pair of cocktails. "The studios in Hollywood, they're like the mob. They run everything. Yes, I could break my contract that way, but then I'd be blackballed and never work again. They don't just pay me for my films; they pay me to own me. It's not worth it." She held out another drink.

Amy took it. "Not even for true love?"

As Penny arranged herself on the sofa this time, she answered, "Sometimes admitting to love also requires you to admit other things about yourself. Surely you understand that."

Amy took a drink. "I've never been fortunate enough to experience love. But I should like to think I would only love without reservation."

"It's not a reservation about Leonard or my love," Penny said. "It's just a compromise. Every relationship has them. So, no, it's not a perfect situation. Of course, I want to be free and open about Leonard. But the point is that I get to be free and open with Leonard, and that's the most important thing." She paused and Amy considered her next question as they both drank more of their cocktails. But it was Penny who leaned forward. "You've really never been in love? No one has ever made your heart beat faster? No one has made the room seem cold when they leave it? You've never locked eyes with a mysterious stranger and lost yourself?"

Gulping down the rest of her cocktail, Amy said, "I don't believe in love at first sight. I wrote an article about it."

"Ah, I see." And the beautiful actress said it as though she truly could see something Amy couldn't.

"Never mind, then," Amy said quickly. "About your story. It was just an idea, that's all." She shrugged. "To change the subject, Lord Cooper -"

"Bingo," Penny murmured into her glass.

" - what do you think Dr. Hofstadter thinks of him?"

"He loves Sheldon like a brother and that means they spend a lot of time acting like children, teasing each other. I mostly just let them fight it out. But there's love there. They really are best friends, although neither of them would probably admit it."

"But that also means they would protect each other."

"Sure. Of course."

Penny's eyes narrowed slightly, and Amy felt her openness slipping away. She did not want to endanger this friendship. "Does it bother you that you have to come over here so often, especially if they're just fighting it out?"

"I like the quiet. It gives me time to relax. And, well, Sheldon . . . he grows on you. But I mean what I said to the Inspector, you just have to stand up to Sheldon." She paused. "He's a scientist, you know . . ."

Before Amy could reply there was a knock on the door. Penny yelled, "Come in!" and Bernadette entered. "I hope you don't mind," Penny explained. "I thought we'd be done with the interview."

"Oh, oh." Amy stretched for her papers and notebook. "Of course, just let me gather my things -"

"No, silly, stay," Penny said.

"Yes, stay," Bernadette added. "You are usually too busy to join us."

Amy brushed her hair back. "I've never done this before. Socialize with such beautiful women. What do we? Varnish each other nails? Have a pillow fight?"

"Um, no," Penny said. "We just chat. And drink."

Chat they did. Chat because it wasn't serious, talking about clothing and shopping and then slipping into more mean-spirited celebrity gossip than usually passed at the dinner table. Amy tried to join in when she could, but the truth was she'd never had the discretionary time or income to enjoy the things Penny and Bernadette had.

Feeling low about her station and tipsy from the cocktails, Amy was completely lost as Penny shared the shocking conquests of an actor she didn't know. But Bernadette was clearly thrilled at being told such salacious gossip. So, at a break in Penny's tale, Amy blurted out, "Howard Wolowitz had sexual intercourse with Dr. Nowitzki!"

"What!?" Penny and Bernadette shrieked in response and Bernadette was so shocked she even spilled her cocktail glass.

Savoring the looks on their faces, Amy explained, "Mr. Wolowitz. His room is next to mine. I heard them, the first night. She knocked, came in and giggled, and then they knocked in a whole other way."

"No way!" Penny said.

"Absolutely not. It was not her," Bernadette said.

"Why not?" Amy asked. "And who else would it be?"

"Yikes!" Penny said. "I can't imagine anyone having sex with that twerp."

"Nein!" Bernadette yelled as she stood up. "Do not insult him -" her breath caught "- with English words I do not know."

"A twerp," Penny explained, "someone small and jumpy and Howard-like."

"He is a famous author, you know," Bernadette pointed out, calm again, and slowly sitting down.

Penny rolled her eyes. "Ugh. Famous to the other odd people in this house, you mean? Leonard was so excited to meet him, it was all he talked about the whole way here."

Amy looked at the smaller blonde woman. "What's he like? He said you become friends in Warsaw."

Bernadette laughed, but sharp like gravel, and Amy didn't feel it was sincere. Then she got up and starting mixing another cocktail, looking down at her hands as she worked. "I would not say we are friends. We were acquaintances at the university during my fellowship. We met once or twice at faculty events."

"But he said you met at some café," Amy pressed, "one that served some type of cake."

"Of course. I forgot." She passed around another set of drinks. It was even stronger than the first two, and Amy sat it down after a single sip. Something about Bernadette's comment made her realize how woozy she was; not addled enough that she couldn't realize something was off, but too addled to determine what. "There is a bakery near my grandmother's house, they make Shavuot cakes -"

"What's that?" Penny asked as she took a gulp without hesitation.

"A cheesecake. For the Jewish holiday," Bernadette supplied. "But other things, also, that I went to buy. Yes, I saw him there once, in line. We spoke. I forgot. It was unremarkable."

"Isn't it so strange?" Penny suddenly mused, and Amy noticed how much the drinks had affected her, too; she was practically reclining on the sofa.

Amy asked, "What is?"

"It's a small world, isn't it? Sheldon said he was inviting a new group of people but they all already knew each other. Bernadette and Howard in Warsaw. Raj knew Bert, you know? Egyptian rocks or something like that. And, you know, the rest of them, they've known each other for years . . . Wow, what did you put in here, Bernadette?"

The biochemist replied, but Amy didn't hear her. She stood, and she couldn't decide if it was the alcohol or the new suspicion creeping at her mind that made the room spin around. "Excuse me," she murmured, grabbing her notebook, "those cocktails were strong. I'm going to lie down."

She left Penny's suite in a rush, ignoring the cries of concern about her well-being from behind her, reaching out to touch the walls as she found her way to her room. Her hands fumbled with the door key and even more as she opened the drawer in the desk where she kept her copies of the interview transcripts. Digging through, the pages crinkling in her rush, she pulled out Leonard's interview and reread it.

All those Americanisms. All those hesitations and colloquialisms. Amy whispered to herself, "Except they weren't, were they?"

To be continued . . .

Under the "star system" used by all five major Hollywood studios at the time, an actor was given an exclusive contract that included several so-called morality clauses. These clauses dictated everything about the actor's public image: what they looked like, how they dressed, who they were dating, where they were seen and with whom, etc. It was common for gossip columnists to be paid by the studios to cover certain events or sightings - or to ignore others with additional hush money. Breakage of these clauses by the actors would result in unpaid suspensions. The star system finally began to fail in 1943 when Olivia de Haviland sued Warner Brothers and won. However, Warner Brothers was successful at blacklisting her for two years after. Of note, Bette Davis also sued Warner Brothers in 1937 and lost.

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