The Man Who Died Laughing (23 page)

“Kind of touchy, aren’t you?”

“For somebody who’s getting dumped?”

“You’re not getting dumped. It’s … I just can’t live in your movie anymore.”

“Try
hell!”

She whirled and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

I went after her. Lulu, a sentimentalist, went right for the caviar.

I caught up with Wanda at the top of the stairs and took her by the arm.

“Let me go!” she cried. “Let me go!” She yanked her arm free and ran down the steps and out the front door of the house, stark naked, screaming “Motherfucker!”

I let a curse of my own go. And then I followed her out there.

She was on the lawn, screaming “Motherfucker! Motherfucker!” in the general direction of the house. She was quite hysterical, and the cops guarding the place were getting quite a free show. I tried to grab her, but she took off on me. She was quick on her feet. I chased her around the reflecting pond. I chased her
through
the reflecting pond. I followed her into the orchard. And out of the orchard.

I finally intercepted her over by the log arbor. I tackled her around both legs. The two of us thudded to the grass and lay there, cold, wet, panting.

“Everything okay there?!” one of the cops yelled.

“Fine!” I yelled back, my chest heaving. “Just a disagreement!” She was sobbing now. I held her until she stopped.

“Feeling better?” I asked.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to make a scene. Not very sophisticated of me.”

“I’d better check into a hotel.”

“No, don’t. Please stay, Hoagy. I’ll … I’ll make up another bed for you. Okay?”

“Okay. Thanks.”

I got to my feet, held my hand out to her. She took it. I pulled her up.

“Still pals?” I asked.

“Still pals.”

I smiled. “Ex-pals?”

She smiled back. Then she shook her head. “No, ex-lovers.”

(Tape #2 with Connie Morgan. Recorded in her dressing room at the Burbank Studio, March 20.)

M
ORGAN
: IT’S NICE TO
see you again, Hoagy.

Hoag:
Same here. Good to be back at work?

Morgan:
Very. Everyone has been so kind and understanding.

Hoag:
That looks like a new knitting project.

Morgan:
Yes, it is. No point in … in finishing the old one.

Hoag:
Sorry I mentioned it.

Morgan:
Don’t be. That’s the worst thing you can do when you’re grieving—avoid the subject. You have to keep it out in the open, talk about it, let your feelings flow. Otherwise … I’m sorry, what did you want to see me about?

Hoag:
A sensitive matter. To do with Sonny’s book. With… with the past. It’s a matter he had difficulty talking about. But, I believe
was
going to talk about. …

Morgan:
Go on.

Hoag:
The last thing I want to do is cause you further pain, Connie. I want you to know that. I’m … I’m going to raise a subject. If you feel like talking about it, that would be great. If you don’t, we’ll drop it. And consider leaving it out of the book entirely. Okay?

Morgan:
You’re talking about the breakup, of course. About the fight.

Hoag:
Yes. You mentioned to me before that your marriage to Sonny was on shaky ground for a long time before you divorced him. You mentioned that he had a number of affairs. What we didn’t discuss was whether you yourself had any.

Morgan:
What are you getting at?

Hoag:
That you and Gabe Knight were lovers for several years. That the affair came to Sonny’s attention and caused the fight. That they broke up because of you.

Morgan:
This is what you want to put in the book?

Hoag:
I’ve been asked to finish Sonny’s book, and finish it as he intended to finish it. I want to do that. But not at your expense. So …

Morgan:
You’re leaving it up to me.

Hoag:
Yes.

Morgan:
I appreciate that, Hoagy. I really do. You, I suppose, got this from Wanda?

Hoag:
She feels it should come out. No more secrets.

Morgan:
A worthy sentiment. I understand it. I understand your side, too, I think. Arthur was killed before he could say this to you. But he wanted to say it, and it represented the final breakthrough of your difficult collaboration.

Hoag:
Yes.

Morgan:
Have you spoken to Gabe about this?

Hoag:
I intend to. However, the vibes I’ve gotten from Gabe so far aren’t exactly positive.

Morgan: (silence)
He was a sweet man, you know. A bit of a rat on the surface, but nice underneath. From the beginning, on the set of
BMOC,
there was an attraction between us. A look, an awareness. But Arthur was the one who pursued me. I was Arthur’s. And Gabe was married. Not that it meant anything to him. For a long time nothing happened between us. Not until we all came back from New York and Arthur took up with Jayne and moved out, and I was alone a lot. Believe me, I … wanted to tell you about this before, Hoagy. It’s been on my mind that I wasn’t completely truthful with you. It’s bothered me.

Hoag:
You’ve had other things to worry about.

Morgan:
Try to understand, please. The way I was brought up—it’s all been very difficult for me. Difficult to … to start up with Gabe. And to talk about it now, even after all of these years.

Hoag:
I understand. And I repeat, you don’t have to if—

Morgan:
I was the lowest I’d ever been. My husband had chosen to be with someone else. He didn’t want me anymore. It gave me a very low opinion of myself. Especially because I wasn’t being offered parts anymore. There were younger, prettier girls around town now. I was an old hag who had nothing to offer. I was vulnerable. Gabe called me one night, suggested we have a drink and talk about our problems with Arthur. We met at a small club in the Valley and ended up pouring out our troubles to each other. You see, Arthur was making Gabe’s life just as miserable as he was making mine. Gabe felt useless, untalented, unappreciated, too. We were two unhappy people, both of us groping for the nerve to break it off with him, both of us loving him. We felt better talking about it, sharing it. And soon we were also talking about those looks on the set a long time ago, and the next thing I knew Gabe was telling me he loved me. We … he took me to an apartment he kept near there for his trysts, I suppose. And he made love to me. I didn’t enjoy it. All I kept thinking was … I wish this were Arthur. But I continued to see him. And gradually over the next few months, I did begin to enjoy it. His attention. His passion. He wanted me. My husband didn’t.

Hoag:
I keep getting the feeling something happened that night at Sonny’s birthday party. Can you tell me what it was?

Morgan:
I’m not proud of it. It’s the one thing I’m most ashamed of. The drinks were flowing and … Gabe and I got reckless. He … we … I let him corner me and convince me to run upstairs for a quick … a quick fuck. That’s really the only proper word for it. I followed him up there, feeling wild and wanton. We went into the bedroom, Arthur’s and mine, and … lord, we were drunk, mad. Maybe we were hoping to get caught. We ripped open a few zippers and buttons and he began to take me right there on the bed, with hundreds of people downstairs. My husband. His wife. The door was locked. We locked it. But the door to the bathroom wasn’t. It connected to a sitting room on the other side. And … I’ll never forget this. I opened my eyes at one point and looked over his shoulder and there she was. Wanda was standing there in the bathroom doorway, in her little ruffled white dress, staring. I screamed. She screamed. And then she was gone. She ran off to tell Arthur. And before we could straighten ourselves and get out of there, Arthur broke down the hall door and found us in there together.

Hoag:
The other guests … ?

Morgan:
They didn’t hear us. There was an orchestra playing. Laughter and noise. Arthur grabbed Gabe by the neck. I thought he was going to kill him. After all, I was still his wife, even if he didn’t want me anymore. And I was … so
ashamed.
I convinced him that violence wasn’t the answer. Then he ordered Gabe out—out of his house, his life. Gabe said wait, we have to talk this out. Arthur relented. They chose a public place, Chasen’s. Ironic, isn’t it? Lovers often pick a public place to break it off. It helps to avoid a messy scene. Only, Arthur and Gabe
had
their messy scene. And that was the end of the team.

Hoag:
Did you go on seeing Gabe?

Morgan:
No. Arthur and I had a long, serious talk about it. You see, it destroyed Wanda. She went into a deep depression that she just wouldn’t come out of. She’d had problems, but this was much worse. She had to be hospitalized this time, for several weeks. When she was ready to come home … well, we decided her health was more important than anything else, so Arthur cleaned up his act, I stopped seeing Gabe, and we maintained the semblance of a happy home for the next several years. It helped her a little. Not much, but a little. Arthur and I kept up appearances until he met Tracy St. Claire and lost his head over her. That’s when we split up. That’s the truth, Hoagy. That’s what happened. It’s sordid and awful and I’m terribly ashamed.

Hoag:
That’s the secret that’s been hidden all these years?

Morgan:
Yes. This may surprise you, but Arthur was a gentleman. So is Gabe. Gentlemen don’t discuss these sorts of matters. Heshie knew, but he’d never betray a client’s secret. No one else knew, except Wanda of course. It wounded her deeply. She shut it out for a long, long time. When she came home from the hospital, she acted as if it had never happened. It wasn’t until she was older that she could begin to confront it, but then she started experimenting with drugs and had to be hospitalized again.

Hoag:
Is there still anything between you and Gabe? That attraction?

Morgan:
No. It’s over.

Hoag:
Did Sonny tell you he was going to discuss this with me?

Morgan:
Yes.

Hoag:
When?

Morgan:
That night. I was there. Heshie and I were both there.

Hoag:
He didn’t say anything to me about you being there.

Morgan:
Heshie’s my agent. He was being discreet.

Hoag:
Does Lamp know this?

Morgan:
Yes. Not about Heshie, but about me. Arthur called me and asked me to come up. He said it was very important. He sounded upset. Heshie was already there when I arrived. Arthur had been drinking and was in a vile humor. You know how he was when he got like that. He told me he intended to tell you. Then he proceeded to taunt me. He told me I was so old it couldn’t possibly trash my reputation any for the truth to come out. He said it would probably help it, the public finding out that once, long ago, somebody still… still
wanted
me. His language was much more colorful than that. He said he’d been waiting a long time to get even with Gabe and now he would. He was hoping to kill Gabe’s political future. Gabe would be finished, he said. I told him flatly that I was against it, that it was horrible of him to even consider it. So did Heshie. Arthur wouldn’t listen to either one of us. So we left. We stood by our cars discussing it. We were both upset. Heshie for me and for himself—Arthur intended to reveal his past associations, as you know. We honestly didn’t know at that point what he would do. I suppose he phoned you soon after we left.

Hoag:
Do you know if Gabe was also there that night?

Morgan:
Not that I know of. Arthur may have phoned him. I don’t know. Vic was there. Wanda was still out.

Hoag:
Who with?

Morgan:
This is out of personal interest?

Hoag:
Perhaps. We’ve become good friends. Started to talk. She’s … she’s not exactly a snap.

Morgan:
I know. Wanda’s delicate. I love her dearly.

Hoag:
Perhaps the truth coming out will help her. She seems very decided about it being the right thing.

Morgan:
Possibly.

Hoag:
What do
you
think?

Morgan:
I think the important story of Arthur’s life is his victory over his personal demons, not this. This thing … this was an incident, a tragic one. But a personal one. I wanted to tell you about it. Actually, it comes as a relief to tell you. But I’m not going to tell you what to do with it, Hoagy. I think whatever you decide to do will be the right choice. If you believe it’s important to the book, I’ll understand. I leave it up to you. You and your good judgment.

Hoag:
Thank you.
(silence)
I think.

(end tape)

M
AYBE GABE FOLLOWED ME
to the Burbank Studio from Sonny’s house. Maybe Connie told him I’d be there to talk to her. Either way, he was waiting there for me in the backseat of his limousine when I got to Wanda’s Alfa in the studio parking lot.

He lowered his window when he spotted me. “Now,” he said, “would be a good time for a chat.”

I was going to ask him if I should hop in or follow him in the Alfa when I noticed that his bodyguard was pointing a gun at me from behind the wheel.

I figured we were carpooling.

We zipped right on through Toluca Lake and into Encino. One flat, dreary strip of shops after another lined the wide boulevard, broken up occasionally by a fast-food place, a gas station, a motel. We didn’t talk.

Gabe rode next to me with his hands folded in his lap. He wore a lavender polo shirt, khakis, white bucks, and sunglasses. A pink sweater was knotted around his throat. All dressed up for a game of golf, or for the murder of the first major new literary voice of the eighties.

I stared out the darkened window at the scenery and marveled at the irony. Just a few short weeks ago, I would have welcomed death, provided it came swiftly and painlessly. But now—now I didn’t want to die. Not with the juices flowing again.