CHAPTER 4: Curtain Call
Maxwell sat at the edge of Starlet's canopied bed and listened to the water running in the next room. The sound was making his head vibrate in brand new and deeply painful ways. Dubonnet, he decided, was the newest drink that he would never, never have again. The list was getting long.
He reached down, ignoring the throbbing behind his eyes as he leaned over, and twitched aside the rumpled mint-green coverlet that was spilling onto the floor.
There was one shoe. It was a start.
He was tugging it on and considering the pain involved in going down on his hands and knees to search for its mate when the water shut off and Starlet stepped into the room.
Ever since the balcony, she'd apparently decided even the robe was too much trouble. It was amazing, he considered, how true the phrase "too much of a good thing" could be.
"Why are you all dressed, baby?" she said. "You going so soon?"
"Soon?" he said and glanced toward the window. Hard desert light was streaming in onto the shag carpet. "Starlet, honey, we overslept. Won't Johnny be here any minute?"
"Oh, I can handle Johnny," she said, waving a hand at the door. "You just hang out here 'till I get home later and we'll have some fun. I got this new French Maid costume you're gonna love."
She tugged open the drawer of her bedside table and fished inside.
"Starlet, sweetheart," he said carefully. "That sounds great, but I didn't come here for fun."
She pulled a pack of gum out of the drawer and watched him as she peeled open the wrapper, pulled out a stick, and folded it into her mouth.
"I mean," he said quickly. "I did have fun. You were terrific, honey."
"Yeah," she said grinning as she smacked her gum. "You, too. I noticed your hands before. You sure know how to use 'em. Are you double-jointed?"
"Uh, yeah," he said blinking, "Thanks. Anyway, I gotta get back to LA and you gotta get to your photo shoot and-"
"Oh, that won't take long. I'll be back by lunchtime. You like Chinese food?"
"Starlet," he said slowly, pushing up from the edge of the bed. "You're not listening, honey. Try to follow me now. I can't stay."
"Oh," she said, a slight frown creasing her forehead. "Okay."
"Okay," he said. He started casting around on the floor. "You know, I can only find one shoe-"
"So when are you coming back? This weekend?"
He looked up in surprise. She was leaning against the bedside table, her arms folded across her chest. She was still frowning.
He considered his next words very carefully.
"Starlet," he said at last, "The truth is, I could never share you with Johnny. It'd tear me up. As much as I want to stay, believe me, it's better if I leave now. Right this minute."
She stared at him for a long moment. The only sound was the brisk snapping of her gum.
He was glad he hadn't heaved a sigh. A sigh would've been too much.
At last, just as he was beginning to wonder if she'd even heard him over the gum, she blinked.
"Bill Maxwell," she said slowly, uncrossing her arms and stepping toward him, "That was absolutely the most beautiful thing I ever heard. Take me with you."
"What?" he said intelligently.
And she gave a little jump and leapt into his arms.
He was standing there with his hands full of naked, wriggling showgirl when the doorbell rang.
"Starlet," a deep voice called from the hall. "Daddy's home. You ready to go, doll?"
Even then, he didn't start to feel the cold sweat on his back until he heard the key turning in the lock.
Johnny "The Dancer" Damanti might be a dime store hood, but he was a dime store hood who knew where his gun was, which was more than Bill "One Shoe" Maxwell could say.
"Starlet," he hissed, "Get down, sugar. I need a place to hide before your boyfriend walks in here."
"Don't worry," she whispered, her legs still wrapped tightly around his waist. "You can hide in the library."
He stared.
"You got a library?"
She jumped down to the floor and took his hand, pulling him toward a door in the wall opposite the bathroom.
He spotted his gun and holster on the vanity table and scooped it up as they passed. The shoe was nowhere to be seen.
Starlet pushed open the door, revealing her "library." This was apparently Starlet's inner sanctum. A fuzzy green bean bag chair occupied the center of the room. Surrounding it were waist-high stacks of Cosmopolitan Magazines, a rolling makeup cart full of nail polish and manicure gear, an open bag of Oreo cookies and six or seven thick paperback novels with long-haired, shirtless men on the cover.
"I'll get rid of Johnny and we can leave this dumb town and go to your place in LA," Starlet murmurred, then she paused.
"Well," she went on. "After the photo shoot. It is People Magazine, after all."
She stretched up to press a kiss to his lips and backed out the door. As it closed, Maxwell found himself staring at a matched pair of seascape paintings on black velvet on either side of the door.
It was then he realized, he was in hell.
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Maxwell shrugged into his shoulder holster as he listened to the sound of Starlet welcoming Johnny home. It was a very warm welcome. It sounded like it might go on for a while.
He was just beginning to consider whether he could actually sit in a bean bag chair and, if he did, whether he could get out again, when he realized the light illuminating the pair of black velvet paintings wasn't coming from the ceiling.
He turned and saw sunlight spilling out from behind heavy brocade drapes. Stepping carefully over the litter of magazines and gum wrappers, he moved to the drapes and twitched them aside.
The long window opened at the bottom. He craned his neck to peer out and almost groaned with relief. There was a ledge.
He had the window open and was already maneuvering one leg out when he heard Starlet's voice outside the door.
"All right, keep your pants on," she called. "No, seriously, Johnny, keep 'em on. I'll make you some eggs before we gotta leave for the shoot. I'll be there in a minute."
He was halfway out when the door opened and Starlet's head appeared. Her eyes went wide and then narrowed.
"Bill Maxwell, if you go out that window, we're through," she hissed.
Maxwell sighed.
"Starlet, honey," he said. "You wouldn't like my place. It's a dump. Not like this. All this gorgeous stuff you got here…"
His eyes flicked involuntarily to the velvet paintings and he looked away quickly.
"It'd never fit, sweetheart. I couldn't take you away from all this."
Starlet opened her mouth and for a long time after that day, Maxwell wondered what she had been about to say. It didn't matter in the end because at that instant Johnny's voice sounded from the bedroom behind her.
"What's going on, Starlet," he said, the sharp tone undercutting his casual words. "You're not hiding some guy in here are you, baby?"
Maxwell gave a her a little smile of regret and slipped out onto the ledge. Starlet stared after him for an long moment before she turned and pulled the door shut behind her.
"Don't be silly, Johnny," she said from the other side of the door. "What d'ya got there? Oh, hey, I been lookin' for that shoe."
Maxwell had the foresight to close the window behind him. When he heard Johnny's voice in the "library" a few seconds later, he was already rounding the edge of the building.
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On the drive back to LA, Maxwell had to admit, Vegas hadn't panned out. No dope on Johnny, no lever to break open his gang, and no reimbursement for the roses since he'd driven out on his own time.
Plus the evening he'd spent at "Oh! Sinderella" was 110 minutes of his life he'd never get back.
About the only thing he had to show for two day's work was a hangover that'd stop a buffalo. That and one less shoe.
Overall, he decided, Vegas had been a bust. Still, Starlet had been fun, in her own feather-brained way. So maybe you couldn't find her IQ with a searchlight. They had made a connection, he was sure. And you never knew about these things. Maybe sometime it would come in useful.
He had a good feeling about Starlet Wild. He had an idea he'd be hearing from her again. And maybe, just maybe, she'd make him proud.
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- end -
"Prelude to a Hit"
Thanks for reading!
and… roscoe