“If it’s any consolation,” said Billy, “I wish I were dead.”
“I wish you were dead, too,” said Nora. “I think it would be easier for me.”
She drove her roadster wildly down the canyon turns that night, almost willing something to happen to her but knowing it wouldn’t. Even as storm clouds rumbled above her, she knew there would be no reprieve to her suffering. She was a creature who endured suffering and she would endure this, too.
In her suite in the Roosevelt, Nora was woken at seven A.M. to a furious pounding at the door. After several minutes, she realized it wasn’t going to let up. Nora located her robe and opened the door to find Halstead standing there with another man. The man’s head was turned looking down the hallway, but when he finally faced her, Nora saw, to her horror, that it was Clint.
“We’ve got a big problem, honey,” said Halstead, pushing past her, his voice hushed.
Nora looked at Clint, trying to read him. By comparison with Halstead’s rattled exterior, Clint looked calm and in control. His calm demeanor frightened her even more. From her experience, this was the windup before Clint unleashed his fury.
“What’s wrong?” Nora directed her question to Halstead.
But it was Clint who answered. “It’s your husband.”
“Oh shit.” Nora struggled to wrap the robe around her clingy satin nightgown, and both Clint and Halstead watched with mouths agape. “I meant to call about that.” She poured a glass of water and began to search for something to wear among the pile of clothes flowing from her overnight bag.
“What do you mean you meant to call about that?” Halstead’s voice had a level of concern that made Nora look up.
She saw him exchange glances with Clint. She wanted to say that she knew about Billy and Ford, but Clint was standing in her room, leering down at her bra draped across her suitcase, so she stopped. Halstead’s concern had been about hiding the relationship between his biggest male star and his rising director and keeping it out of the papers. His concern had never been for her. She pulled a cigarette out of her purse and lit it, ignoring Clint’s attempt to do it for her. This was her town, not his. She was going to stand her ground with him. “I know about him.”
“You do?” Halstead took off his hat and scratched at his thinning hair. He looked pale, purple almost.
“Yeah, Ford was at Billy’s house last night when I got there. It was a little crowded if you know what I mean.”
Halstead knew where she was going with this and frowned. “I don’t think you understand, my dear, but Billy is—”
“Your husband’s dead,” interrupted Clint. A crooked smile formed on his lips. He took great joy telling her this.
Nora felt her face drain. She looked at Halstead, who seemed to have shrunk six inches. “Is it true?”
Halstead nodded and deferred to Clint. “The studio has hired Clint here to handle this situation for us. He comes highly recommended from Palladium Studios.”
Clint interrupted. “Norma knows I fix things. Don’t you, honey?”
She looked at him with contempt and inhaled her cigarette. “I know you break things.” She leaned back on the dresser and clutched it to steady herself. This couldn’t be real. Her last image of Billy sitting on the chair in front of her and the horrible thing that she had said to him as she left. I wish you were dead, too. It would be easier for me. She’d wanted to hurt him and she had. “What happened to him?”
Clint sat down on the chair and pulled out a cigarette. “Ate a bullet.”
Halstead looked like he’d tasted something unpleasant. “Do we have to be so crass about it?”
Clint laughed. “Oh, Norma can handle crass, can’t you, honey?”
Nora turned away from him to Halstead. “He shot himself?”
Halstead nodded grimly and steadied her, steering her back on the bed. “When did you see him last?”
She gathered her robe tightly around her. “Last night.”
Halstead shot Clint a look.
“Did you argue?” Clint was measured, which was so unlike him that Nora wondered what he was playing at. Clint was a hothead; there was nothing cool about him. He’d once bragged that he’d beaten a man to death for picking up the wrong suitcase at the bus station.
“I don’t want him in the room.” Nora pointed to Clint. “I won’t talk with him here.”
Clint interrupted her. “Ford Tremaine says you and Billy were arguing when he left the house.”
“I don’t want you here, Clint.” She turned to Halstead. “I don’t want him here.”
Halstead made no move to remove Clint from the room.
“He knows everything, Norma. You see, this one here was a little mousy thing back in New York, Harold.” Clint stood up. “I found her in Akron. You wouldn’t believe the things they said about her back in New York. I heard she paid her rent—”
“Get out!” Nora pointed to the door. “Now!”
“—by sleeping with every man who would pay her.”
“That’s a lie,” said Nora. “I left you after you gave me enough bruises that I couldn’t work steady. I still have a scar from the cigarette burn you gave me.” She pulled her hair back from her cheek, knowing that the red mark was where it always was in the morning before makeup. She looked at Halstead. “I need to talk to you. Alone. You owe me that.”
Halstead looked at Clint and nodded. Clint folded his hands like an obedient schoolboy and walked out.
Nora waited for the door to close behind him, then turned to Halstead. “He’s a very bad man.”
“I know what he is,” Halstead said. “And we have a very bad situation that requires him, don’t we?” He sat on the bed, wearily. Harold Halstead wasn’t a young man, and the events of the morning seemed to have aged him ten years. “Back to Billy. You found out?” Halstead’s tone wasn’t accusing.
“I did,” snapped Nora. “And not the way I should have. My train arrived early yesterday. I walked in on them.”
Halstead sighed. His body seemed heavy. “He should have told you, Nora. I’m sorry.”
“Someone should have told me, Harold.”
Halstead sighed again. “It was going to hit the papers. They had photos. It would have ruined everyone—Billy, Ford, the studio. You were simply effervescent, my dear. From the first minute I met you. I thought that you could help. And you did, but I didn’t feel it was my place to tell you everything.” Halstead looked down at his hands. “I have something to ask you, dear. It’s delicate.”
“Yeah?” Nora took one last deep drag from her cigarette. She noticed her nails were chipped and there was dirt under her fingernails.
“Did you kill him?”
Nora spun on her heels. “What are you talking about? You said he shot himself.”
“Well, that isn’t clear. True, it was a gunshot, but whether he did it or someone else did it and made it look that way… well, that has yet to be determined. The gun was placed in his hand, but it looked staged.”
“He was a director and maniacal about details. He’d stage his own suicide.” Nora paced the room. “What do the police say?”