The Last Don - Mario Puzo [181]
Falene leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. He could smell her perfume, which was heavy and erotic, and then he felt the grateful hug for his goodwill. Then she leaned back. “I have to tell you and Claudia something but in secret. I don’t want to get into trouble, especially now.”
Claudia, sitting at her computer, frowned and did not answer. Cross took a step away from Falene. He did not like surprises.
Falene noticed these responses. Her voice faltered a little. “I’m sorry about your father,” she said. “But there’s something you should hear about. Marlowe, the guy who supposedly mugged him, was a kid I grew up with and I knew him really well. Supposedly that detective Jim Losey shot Marlowe who supposedly shot your father. But I know Marlowe never had a gun. He was scared shitless of guns. Marlowe did small-time drugs and played the clarinet. And he was such a sweet coward. Jim Losey and his partner, Phil Sharkey, used to pick him up sometimes and ride him around so that he could spot dealers for them. Marlowe was so scared of jail, he was a police informant. All of a sudden he’s a mugger and a murderer. I know Marlowe, he wouldn’t harm a soul.”
Claudia was silent. Falene waved to her and went out the door, then came back. “Remember,” she said, “it’s a secret between us.”
“It’s all gone and forgotten,” Cross said with his most re-assuring smile. “And your story won’t change anything.”
“I just had to get it off my chest,” Falene said. “Marlowe was such a good kid.” She left.
“What do you think?” Claudia said to Cross. “What the hell could that be about?”
Cross shrugged. “Druggies are always full of surprises. He needed dope money and he does a stickup and he gets unlucky.”
“I guess,” Claudia said. “And Falene is so good-hearted she’ll believe anything. But it is an irony, our father dying like that.”
Cross looked at her stone-faced. “Everybody gets unlucky once.”
He spent the rest of the afternoon watching scenes being shot. One scene showed the hero, unarmed, defeating three armed men. This offended him, it was ridiculous. A hero should never be put in such a hopeless position. All it proved was that he was too dumb to be a hero. Then he watched Athena do a love scene and a quarrel scene. He was a little disappointed, she seemed to do little acting, the other actors seemed to outshine her. Cross was too inexperienced to know that what Athena was doing would register much more forcefully on film, that the camera would work its magic for her.
And he did not discover the real Athena. The acting she did was only for a few short snippets of time, and then there were long intervals in between. You could not see any of the electricity that would flash across the screen. Athena even seemed less beautiful when she was acting before the camera.
He said nothing of this when he spent the night with her that night in Malibu. After they had made love and she was cooking their midnight supper, she said, “I wasn’t very good today, was I?” She gave him her catlike grin, which always sent a shock of pleasure through him. “I didn’t want to show you my best moves,” she said. “I knew you’d be standing there trying to figure me out.”
He laughed. Always he was delighted by her perception of his character. “No, you weren’t much,” he said. “Would you like me to fly with you to Paris Friday?”
Athena was surprised. He knew she was surprised by her eyes. Her face never changed, she was in control. She thought it over. “That could be a big help,” she said. “And we could see Paris together.”
“And we’ll be back Monday?” Cross asked.
“Yes,” Athena said. “I have to shoot Tuesday morning. We have only a few weeks to go on the picture.”
“And then?” Cross asked.
“Then I’ll retire and take care of my daughter,” Athena said. “Besides, I don’t want to keep her a secret much longer.”
“The doctor in Paris is the final word?” Cross asked.
“Nobody’s the final word,”