“With what?” Malone said, blinking, and wishing the bartender would bring the beer.
Jake said solemnly, “It was one of the greatest things that ever happened to the theatrical world.”
Gilda leaned across the table, giggled, and said, “Didn’t you ever hear about my hoax, Mr. Malone?”
Malone looked her straight in the eye and said, “Great hoax from little acorns grow!”
He was fortunately interrupted by the arrival of Lew Browne with the beer and a saucer of raw hamburger.
The mutt sniffed at the hamburger, looked displeased, rose wearily to his feet, placed his front paws on the table, sniffed again, this time not scornfully, and gave a low-pitched, hopeful whine.
“That dog,” the bartender said, “I betcha’ that dog’s a beer hound. I seen a dog once before was a beer hound.” He waddled over to the bar, found another saucer, filled it with draught beer, carried it back to the mutt and laid it on the floor. The mutt cleaned out the saucer in two gulps, laid his nose on his paws, and went contentedly to sleep.
“See what I mean?” the bartender said as he walked away.
Malone sighed and said, “Maybe we just better talk about the hoax.”
“You must have read about it,” Jake said earnestly. “The beautiful red-haired French singing star, the toast of Paris, the toast of Rio, the toast of Australia, the toast of Honolulu—”
Malone did remember it, vaguely. The girl had been a brief—but very brief—sensation, and then vanished from sight.
Jake turned to Gilda, “If you’d just told me you were only fifteen at the time,” he said savagely, “it would have saved a lot of bother.” He lit a cigarette and flipped the match halfway across the room. “Of course,” he added, “there was the fact that she couldn’t sing, and couldn’t speak French.”
“To you, as a press agent,” Malone said, “those things would not have been handicaps.”
“No,” Jake admitted, “but just after we’d finished having her coached and I’d arranged her first appearance at the Chez Paris, what did she do? She went off and got married.”
“And had twins,” Malone said gloomily. “Six twins.”
“Tell it your own way,” Jake said. He lapsed into an insulted silence.
Gilda gazed into his eyes and said, “Mr. Justus, you know something? My name isn’t really Gilda—”
Malone rose with great dignity, picked up his beer with one hand, took Helene’s elbow with the other and said, “I suggest we adjourn to the bar, where there’s a chance that we may be able to enjoy some intelligent conversation.”
The mutt rose, shook himself, yawned and followed Malone to the bar.
“Two beers in glasses, and one in a saucer,” Malone told the bartender. He turned to Helene and said, “Suppose you give me the low-down on these people, including the six twins.”
Helene said, “The important thing is Gilda’s personality.”
“Let’s don’t be catty,” Malone said hastily.
“Gilda,” Helene said, “has always been an impulsive child.”
Malone reflected that impulsive might he stretched to fit Gilda’s personality.
“Her family had millions of dollars,” Helene said, “millions and millions. The first time I saw her she was three years old. My mother went over to call on her mother, between divorces. My mother’s divorces, I mean. The Lacy family doesn’t believe in divorce unless they can benefit by it. She had two nurses and one of them made me wash my hands and face before I could play with her. They finally permitted her to go to a very select school for little girls, but her governess brought her there and called for her.”
“Sounds dull,” Malone said.
“Not for Gilda,” Helene assured him. “There was a public school just around the corner and Gilda used to sneak out the gymnasium window at recess time and go play in the public school yard. But eventually her family began complaining about skinned knees and elbows, mud on the pretty little white dresses, and occasional visitations of insect life in the pretty little red curls. After the inevitable investigation, there was a new governess and Gilda stayed home from school. I could describe her career in boarding school, but I think you can guess.”
Malone nodded. “And then her family lost all their money. I remember that.” His eyes narrowed. “Her father, who must have been a swell guy if he named his daughter after Gilda Gray, and Abby Lacy’s husband, who evidently was one of the same, were brothers. Both of them lost every blessed cent they had in a crooked stock market deal. Gilda’s uncle had a rich wife, but all Gilda’s father had was an open window in a forty-four story building.”
“I thought you’d remember,” Helene said softly.
Malone relit his cigar. “Then came the hoax,” he said.
“She didn’t want to be dependent on Abby Lacy,” Helene said, “so she decided to earn a living. But Kenneth Fairfaxx came along and didn’t want the girl of his dreams to earn a living, and they ran off to Crown Point and got married.”
“The family must have loved that,” Malone said. He took a fresh cigar from his pocket and began unwrapping it. “How old did you say she was then?”
“I didn’t say,” Helene told him, “but she was sixteen. The family started to arrange for an annulment right away. Abby Lacy was her guardian and trustee.”
Malone nodded solemnly and said, “Trustee for the money which Glida, pronounced Gilda, didn’t have any of. Did the annulment take?”
“The annulment,” Helene said, “was called off abruptly.”
“I know,” Malone said, “twins.” He signaled to Lew Browne and prayed that Jake would offer to pay for the drinks.
“They settled the young couple in a charming little bungalow in the suburbs,” Helene said. There was bitterness in her voice. “Abby Lacy’s lawyers found Kenneth a job of sorts as an assistant to an assistant of a vice-president. And Abby Lacy helped out by coming out every day to help Gilda with the management of the little cottage, and to see that the dishes were clean, the beds made and the groceries ordered. If they weren’t, she very kindly explained to Gilda just what mistakes she was making and how to avoid them in the future. The impediment to the annulment finally arrived and Abby Lacy was outraged. No one in any of the associated families had ever had twins, and she considered it a disgrace.”
“Whereupon,” Malone said, “two years later, Gilda had another pair of twins, probably just to spite Mrs. Lacy.”
“That shows how much you know about women,” Helene said scornfully. “Gilda adores children, and she adores her husband—ex-husband—I mean.”
“That brings up another point,” Malone said, “How did husband become ‘ex’?”
Helene scowled. “I’m not sure of the details,” she said slowly. “I just know that somehow Kenneth discovered his pretty young wife was running around with other men, drinking heavily, and losing a lot of his hard-earned money at the races. For some reason, Gilda refused to defend herself. The last set of twins was born after the divorce. Kenneth hasn’t any money, you know, but I don’t think she’d have taken a cent from him if he’d been the richest man in the world. She refused any support from the Fairfaxx family or the Lacys. Even before the last twins were weaned, she had a job and she’s kept it ever since.”
Malone gazed across the room at the red-haired girl and said, “What kind of a job?”
“She’s a hat-check girl,” Helene said. “She owns a flock of concessions now, and has half a dozen hat-check girls working for her.