1980 - You Can Say That Again Page 3

  So I sat down.

  ‘How nice of you,’ she said, staring at me with her dark blue, hard eyes. ‘Tell me, Mr. Stevens, is your mother alive?’

  ‘She’s been dead for the past five years,’ I said curtly.

  ‘Sad. Mr. Stevens, I am quite sure, if she were living, she would have done what I did. The man we are asking you to impersonate is my son.’

  I thought of my mother: a kind, homely body without a brain in her head, but with a God fearing conscience.

  ‘My mother wouldn’t have drugged a man and kidnapped him,’ I said coldly. ‘Let us leave her out of this.’

  She played with the poodle’s ear.

  ‘One never knows with mothers,’ she said, still smiling. ‘In trouble, they can rise to unexpected things.’

  This was beginning to bore me. I shrugged and said nothing.

  ‘I want you to believe, Mr. Stevens, that I do admire your work and your talent,’ she said. ‘It makes me very happy that you have agreed to cooperate. Your help will be more than appreciated.’

  ‘I’m getting well paid,’ I said woodenly.

  ‘Yes. I understand that money is important to you.’

  ‘Isn’t it to most people?’

  ‘I’m afraid you are still a little hostile, Mr. Stevens. Do please relax. You will be doing a most helpful job and when it is over, you will have quite a lot of money.’

  She smiled. ‘I am doing this for my son. Please understand.’

  But I couldn’t relax. There was something about this old woman that scared me as Durant scared me, but I made an effort. I forced a smile.

  She nodded.

  ‘That’s better.’ She patted the poodle. ‘I’ve so often thought, when watching your movies, what a nice smile you have, Mr. Stevens.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Well, now, let us get down to business as my son so often says. You have been kind enough to give us your whole hearted cooperation.’ For a brief moment, her smile became fixed, and the steel in the dark blue eyes showed. ‘That is right, isn’t it?’

  ‘Frankly, I’m getting bored with that phrase,’ I said. ‘I told Mr. Durant, I agreed to his terms. Do we have to go over and over it again?’

  She gave a light little laugh.

  ‘You must forgive an old woman, Mr. Stevens. Old women are inclined to be repetitive. Oh, incidentally, do call me Harriet. Let us be informal. May I call you Jerry?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘This afternoon, Jerry, we will begin. I have a good make-up man who will transform you as nearly as possible to resemble my son. Please be patient with him. He is a perfectionist and I must admit, a little tiresome. We want to be sure that you will resemble my son so closely no one viewing you from a distance won’t know you are not my son. Is that understood?’

  ‘That’s okay with me.’

  ‘Do call me Harriet.’

  ‘Okay, Harriet.’

  She lifted one of the poodle’s ears, rubbed it between her fingers making the dog whine with pleasure.

  ‘Then there will be other sessions. There will be other things for you to learn, but I am sure you are a quick study. Most actors are.’ She smiled at me.

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ I said.

  ‘Of course you will. Nothing difficult, but it is important.’ She paused, then went on, ‘Are you married, Jerry?’

  This unexpected question surprised me.

  ‘Divorced,’ I said curtly.

  ‘So many people in the film world are divorced. Where is your wife?’

  ‘Does that matter?’

  She shook her head and gave me a playful smile.

  ‘Please, Jerry, be cooperative. I need your answers to the questions I am going to ask.’

  ‘She’s in New York. She married again.’

  ‘You don’t see her?’

  ‘I haven’t seen her for the past five years.’

  ‘Children?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘Your mother is dead. Your father?’

  ‘He’s dead too.’

  ‘Your relations? Brothers? Sisters?’

  I began to get a creepy feeling up my spine.

  ‘Now that you mention it,’ I said. ‘I have no relations.’

  ‘How sad!’ She didn’t look sad. ‘So you are quite on your own.’

  ‘That’s it.’

  She nodded.

  ‘Now, an attractive man like you must have a girlfriend. Tell me about her.’

  ‘An actor worth one dollar and thirty cents doesn’t have a girlfriend.’

  Again she nodded.

  ‘Yes, of course, but very soon, Jerry, with thirty thousand dollars in your bank, you will have many girlfriends. It is all a matter of patience.’

  She was right there. I had all the girlfriends I needed when I had been making money. With thirty thousand dollars in the bank, I would only have to whistle.

  ‘Now that we have your wholehearted cooperation, Jerry,’ she went on, after a pause, ‘I want to tell you about Mazzo.’ She spent a moment fondling the poodle. ‘I really don’t know what I would do without Mazzo. His appearance is deceptive, but there is nothing he wouldn’t do for me . . . nothing.’

  I looked blankly at her.

  ‘You have already met him. Mazzo is my loyal and true servant who brought you that delicious meal that I had ordered specially for you.’

  I gaped at her.

  ‘You mean that — that Ape of a man?’

  She patted her poodle.

  ‘You mustn’t speak unkindly of Mazzo’s looks. No one can be as handsome as you, Jerry. Mazzo is going to be your constant companion, Jerry. He will help you in many things. Without him by your side, I don’t think you would succeed in impersonating my son. For years now, Mazzo has been my son’s bodyguard. When you are seen together, it will be assumed you are my son.’

  The thought of having that Ape as a constant companion gave me goose pimples.

  As I was about to protest, she went on, ‘Changing the subject, Jerry, have you ever met Larry Edwards?’

  ‘Why, sure,’ I said, surprised by the question. ‘Why do you ask?’

  I certainly remembered Larry Edwards. He was like me: an unemployed bit-part actor. We often met at Lu Prentz’s office, both hunting for work. We hadn’t much in common, as both of us wondered if one of us would get a job the other was hoping for, but we did have an occasional beer together and moaned about our hard times.

  ‘I was just wondering. He was rather like you in appearance: tall, dark,’ Harriet said, smiling. ‘He hadn’t your personality, of course. We did consider him for the job you have now accepted. In fact, we brought him here and discussed the idea with him, but he wouldn’t cooperate. He raised all kinds of difficulties. I am so very glad you aren’t going to be difficult, Jerry . . . so very glad.’

  I stared at her, feeling a chill move over me.

  ‘You are talking about him in the past tense,’ I said.

  ‘Yes . . . sad.’ She rose to her feet. ‘I’ll ask Mazzo to bring you some books. Please tell him what you would like for lunch.’ She made for the door.

  ‘What’s happened to Larry?’ I asked, my hands clammy.

  She paused at the door.

  ‘Oh, didn’t you know? He had an accident. Something wrong with the brakes of his car, I believe.’ Her dark blue hard eyes fixed me. ‘He’s dead.’

  The door slid open and she was gone.

  * * *

  An hour later, the door slid back and Mazzo came in, carrying a number of paperbacks. These he set on the table.

  ‘You want something to read?’

  This was the first time I had heard his voice and the sound startled me. It was husky and soft whereas I expected a growl of a bear.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said.

  He stalked over to the chair Harriet had been sitting in and sat down. He grinned at me, showing small white teeth a rat might envy.

  ‘We’re going to live together, palsy, so we may as well get acquain
ted, huh?’

  ‘Why not?’

  He nodded his shaven head.

  ‘There’s nothing to it, palsy, so long as you do exactly what I tell you to do. It’s dead easy money, but don’t ask with the questions. I tell you to blow snot, you blow it. Get it? I tell you to look left, you look left. Get it? I tell you to look right, you look right. Get it? I tell you to run fast, you run fast. Get it?’

  ‘You have made your point,’ I said.

  He wrinkled his forehead.

  ‘You mean you get it?’

  ‘I get it.’

  ‘Okay. The other jerk didn’t get it.’ He lost his smile and looked like a tiger regarding a prospective meal. ‘Too bad for him.’

  My mouth turned dry.

  ‘I heard he had a car accident.’

  ‘Sure . . . jerks like him often have car accidents.’ He smiled at me. ‘You’re smart, palsy. You won’t have a car accident.’

  I didn’t say anything. The hint was there because Larry Edwards hadn’t cooperated, he had been murdered. I couldn’t accept this, but the hint was there.

  ‘Now, this afternoon, palsy, we start business. Just go along with it, huh?’

  I nodded.

  ‘A creep will come and work you over. Just sit still and let him have his way. Get it?’

  Again I nodded.

  He smiled.

  ‘You know, palsy, you and me are going to get along fine together. I saw that movie of yours: The Sheriff of X Ranch. I thought it stank.’

  ‘So did I,’ I said hoarsely.

  He widened his smile.

  ‘See what I mean? We’re going to get along fine.’

  ‘Mrs. Harriet liked it.’

  ‘Sure . . . women! They like anything that moves.’

  He got to his feet. ‘Whatcha want to eat for lunch, palsy? You name it, you have it.’

  My stomach was churning. The thought of food made me cringe.

  ‘I had a fine breakfast. Nothing, thanks.’

  He released a soft laugh. It sounded like someone stepping on a pair of bellows.

  ‘Take it easy, palsy. You have nothing to worry about. I’ll have something light fixed for you, huh?’

  He moved his great body to the door, turned, smiled his rat smile and went away.

  Could Larry have been murdered?

  I sat there, sweating.

  Something went wrong with his brakes.

  No, I couldn’t believe it. I pushed the frightening thought out of my mind.

  So I just sat still. I didn’t even get up to look at the paperbacks. I had this frightening thought that now I had committed myself and had accepted the first payment, I would have to do whatever these people told me to do.

  He had an accident. Something wrong with his brakes. He’s dead.

  I thought of Mazzo’s rat smile.

  Man! I thought. What the hell have you walked into?

  Can it be possible, that unless you go along with these awful people, if you don’t do just what they want you to do, you could finish up dead?

  I sat there, working myself up into a monumental panic.

  At 13.00, Mazzo wheeled in a trolley.

  ‘Take something, palsy,’ he said. ‘It’ll be a long afternoon.’ He regarded me. ‘You feeling okay?’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t want anything.’

  ‘You eat something. Get it?’ There was a sudden snarl in his soft voice. ‘You’ve work to do,’ and he stalked out.

  So I ate some of the lobster soup because I was scared not to. It was so good, I finally finished it, then sat away from the trolley, fighting the inclination to throw up.

  Then action began.

  Mazzo came in, inspected the empty tureen, smiled at me and wheeled out the trolley. Then Harriet, minus the poodle, came in, followed by a short, fat man in a short sleeved white overall, carrying what looked like an expensive vanity box.

  This man was something to see. His hair, thick and long, was dyed the color of apricots. His eyelids were tinted pale blue and his lips were shell pink. He paused as the door slid shut and gave me a half sly, half roguish smile.

  ‘Jerry, dear,’ Harriet said. ‘This is Charles. He knows just what to do. Do, please, be cooperative. I want to make sure you will pass as my son.’ She turned to the fat little man. ‘Charles, this is Jerry Stevens.’

  ‘My dear boy!’ Charles gushed, bounding forward. ‘I can’t tell you how thrilled I am to meet you. I have seen so many of your wonderful movies! What talent! The Sheriff of X Ranch! I was overwhelmed!’ He seized my hand and shook it. ‘It is my great, great pleasure to meet you!’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, not believing a word of this gush.

  ‘Charles!’ A curt note in Harriet’s voice made him stiffen. ‘You are wasting my time!’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course.’ He gave her a cringing smile. ‘We mustn’t waste time.’

  I saw tiny sweat beads on his forehead.

  ‘Then get on with it!’ She moved to the door. ‘Ring when you have finished.’

  Both Charles and I watched her leave, then when the door slid back, I said, ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Sit down, please, Mr. Stevens.’

  He went to the box, opened it to display a complete make-up kit. From it he took a pair of calipers, a scratch pad and pencil.

  ‘I have to measure your face, Mr. Stevens. Forgive me for inconveniencing you,’ he said.

  I held my head still while he took measurements, noting the results on the scratch pad.

  As he was taking the measurements between my eyes, I became aware that he was whispering. Between his gush and his whispering, his conversation went like this: ‘Marvelous eyes, so full of personality. I’ve been kidnapped! Who are these people? Mr. Stevens! Your features are so regular! This dreadful woman terrifies me! I have been a prisoner for more than two months. Now allow me to measure your ears. Just turn your head to the right. Who is she? Please tell me. That’s perfect. Now the left ear.’

  I realized this aged queer was in the same predicament as I was. He had been kidnapped to turn me into Harriet’s son.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I whispered. ‘I’m supposed to impersonate her son. I ‘ve been kidnapped too.’

  Then looking beyond him as he was measuring my left ear, I saw Mazzo had come in silently. The sight of him, staring at me, scared the hell out of me.

  Charles, seeing my change of expression, looked over his shoulder. I felt his fat frame tremble.

  ‘Ah, Mazzo!’ he exclaimed in a thin, shrill voice, ‘I have finished. All will be perfect!’

  Mazzo moved into the room. On his arm, he carried clothing. He gave Charles his hungry tiger look, then he showed his rat teeth at me in a smile.

  ‘Put these on, palsy,’ he said.

  He tossed a suit onto a chair.

  ‘Of course,’ Charles said. ‘The clothes.’

  Aware that I was now sweating, I stood up, stripped off my clothes and put on the suit Mazzo had tossed on the chair.

  This was some suit: a dark grey mohair that must have cost a bomb. It fitted me like a glove. Charles, his eyes frightened, fluttered around me, patting the suit, then he drew back.

  ‘The clothes will be no problem.’

  Mazzo smiled at me.

  ‘You’re lucky. They didn’t fit the other jerk.’

  I took off the suit and put on my own clothes while the two of them watched me.

  My mind was darting around in sick panic, Jesus! What have I walked into? I thought. I looked at the wilting, sweating Charles who was smiling at Mazzo like a dog expecting a beating.

  ‘The hair,’ Charles said. ‘That needs attention. I must do that. Please sit down, Mr. Stevens.’ He went into the bathroom and returned with a towel which he draped around my shoulders.

  From his box, he produced a comb and scissors. He began to snip while Mazzo prowled around the room. Between the snips, and while Mazzo was at the far end of the room, Charles breathed words, leaning forward, his lips ne
arly touching my ear.

  ‘They are paying me so much! I’m so frightened! What has happened to the other man? I put in hours of work on him.’

  Then Mazzo came back and stood over us, and he remained standing over us so this frightening one-way conversation had to cease.

  Finally, Charles stood back and surveyed me: his tinted lidded eyes pools of fright.

  ‘Yes! Perfect!’ he exclaimed. ‘Now, the limp. Mr. Stevens, please give me your right shoe.’

  I took off my right shoe and gave it to him. He went to the table and sat down. From the box, he took a small screwdriver and levered off part of the heel of my shoe. Again from his box, he produced a leather wedge which he screwed to the heel.

  All this took a little time. I just sat, watching him, while Mazzo stood watching me and Charles.

  ‘Let us see,’ Charles said. ‘Please put on the shoe and walk to the window and back.’

  I put on the shoe, stood up and walked to the window. The thick wedge he had screwed to the heel of my shoe threw me slightly off balance. I found I was walking like a man with an injured leg. I limped back and stood, waiting.

  ‘Perfect,’ Charles said.

  At this moment, the door slid back and Mrs. Harriet came in, carrying the poodle.

  ‘Well, Charles?’

  ‘The hair. Please tell me.’

  Her dark blue eyes surveyed me for a long moment, then she nodded.

  ‘Excellent,’ she said. ‘You are a great artist, Charles.’

  He began to simper, then the simper turned into a grimace. I could read his fears. He was a kidnapped captive as I was.

  ‘And the walk?’ Harriet said.

  ‘That has been arranged.’ Charles gave me a pleading look. ‘May I ask you, Mr. Stevens, to walk to the window and back?’

  So I limped to the shuttered window and back.

  ‘Please do it again, Jerry,’ Harriet said.

  So I did it again.

  ‘Yes, it will do,’ she said. ‘Now, we are getting somewhere. Take Charles to his room, Mazzo. Charles! We must not waste time. Get working on the mask.’

  ‘Of course.’ He walked before Mazzo and out of the room.

  Harriet sat down.

  ‘Now, Jerry, you have to earn the money we are paying you. So far, so good. Now you have a more difficult task. You must to able to forge my son’s signature.’