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  Conor watched her walk toward the elevators then followed the clerk to the mirror. The measurements didn’t take long and Conor retrieved his jacket and put it on then wandered among the mannequins looking at the clothes. Soon Annie appeared carrying two small white paper bags with pink stripes.

  “What have you there?” Conor asked.

  “Our lunch! Let me check us out and we’ll go to the park have this outside.”

  Conor followed along as Annie found the clerk and reviewed the bill trying to make sure Conor could not see the numbers. She signed the bill then instructed the clerk, “Have this entire order delivered to me, Mrs. Anna Burke, at the Biarritz Country Club. I understand this should only take a week. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, Ma’am. A week it should be. And thank you as always for your patronage at Bullock’s Wilshire.”

  Annie smiled at Conor as she turned from the counter. “Let’s go celebrate our successful clothing safari! Come along now!” She reached out for his hand and led him to the elevators.

  The clerk watched them walk away, smirked and shook his head.

  Conor felt her hand in his and again felt the thrill course through his body. “Annie, I can’t thank you enough for the help you’ve been to me.”

  She looked up and gave him a smile that lit her eyes. “I think you just have.”

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  Chapter 16

  Westlake Park

  Wednesday, May 7, 1930

  They waited only briefly at the entrance for the valet to bring Annie’s car around. Annie tipped him a quarter as he opened the driver’s door for her. Another valet opened the door for Conor and the two got in and drove out the drive, turned left, then right onto Wilshire Boulevard. It was only a few blocks down the street that they came to Westlake Park.

  They turned right on South Parkview. Annie parked the car and went around to the back and opened the trunk. She put her purse in and took out a green plaid blanket. She walked to the passenger side of the car where Conor stood. He held the two paper bags in one hand and took her free hand in his. They crossed the street and went into the park. They found a spot by the lake in the circled shade of a palm tree and spread the blanket out. They sat down and opened the bags. Annie had brought them shrimp salad sandwiches on toast along with two apples. They ate their lunch in quiet sitting cross-legged watching the ducks and swans glide around the lake.

  When he had finished Conor folded up the paper bag and put it to the side. He took off his jacket. He stretched out his legs and leaned back on his elbows. He looked down at the blanket and remarked, “Ye know, this pattern is very much like the St. Patrick tartan in Ireland – shades of green with a little yellow running through it.”

  “Really?” Annie asked, still sitting cross-legged with her hands palms up in her lap. “I thought tartans were only Scottish.”

  “Nay, there are to be some Irish tartans, most of them named for places and counties. Just a few are for families.”

  “That’s interesting. I just got it because I liked the green with the yellow. Tell me, do you ever miss your old country, Ireland? It must be beautiful there.”

  “I miss some people – my sisters and some friends I had. And the land is indeed to be pretty. But it’s been some years now that I’ve been here in the States and I know this is where my future is to be. It’s still a place of opportunity no matter the hard times now. I belong here. ‘Tis where I’m to make my fortune still.”

  They fell silent again for a few moments. Conor reflected on the stark differences between their lives. He thought about the assurance and ease with which Annie had handled their shopping trip and how uneasy he had been in such a place and in the presence of people used to money. He could deal in deference to such people on the golf course, but in the real world it was different. He would have to learn.

  Annie used the quiet to move next to Conor and take the same pose. She had an overwhelming urge to be near him. She thought about how lost he had seemed in the store. He obviously was not used to the finer things, the kind of things she now took for granted. But through that she could see his strength and composure. She hoped she hadn’t hurt his pride in taking over as she had.

  “Tell me something, Annie,” he said finally breaking the quiet. “Why are you to be helping me so? Why are you here with me today? I am not but a caddie and you – well, you are a lady – a fine lady to be sure. But I don’t know why.”

  “I told you. I am your friend.”

  “Aye, you did. But friends know one another and I’m hardly to know you, Annie. I know you golf. I know you have a friend in Meg Graves. And I know you’re married to a very rude man. And that seems to be the sum of it."

  "Well, what do you want to know about me, Conor?"

  "What is it you do all day? I'm to mean, all I know is that on Tuesdays you're to be golfing."

  Annie paused a moment. "I write."

  Conor turned and looked at her. "You write? What is it you write?"

  Annie again paused. These were simple questions, but the answers were difficult and involved truths no one could know. Maybe it was time for the truth… and with this man. "I write screenplays. For the movies."

  "Really? So you do the same thing as your husband?"

  "In a way, I suppose. It's complicated."

  "You've said that before. Complicated you called it. Is that what you're to be saying when you don't want to answer? If I'm to be your true friend, should you not be telling me more?"

  Annie paused and bit her lower lip. "You're right. I'll tell you. But you must swear to keep this a secret. No one else in the world knows this or can know this. Promise?"

  Conor nodded. "Promise I do. And cross my heart, too."

  Annie pulled her knees up, leaned forward and wrapped her arms around them. Keeping her gaze out over the lake she told Conor her story; Franklin's failure, the drinking, the cheating, her rescue of his career, the secret that bound them, the lie her life had become.

  Conor listened intently. As she talked he heard her anguish. He sat up and moved close to her and put his hand on her shoulder.

  Her eyes began to well. She bowed her head as she finished, her voice trailing off. "Perhaps now you can understand… I need a friend… and you are… you are more… I think… you are what I…" and so she stopped talking.

  He pulled her close. She felt his warmth and strength and took comfort in both. They sat silent again for a time.

  "Annie, 'tis a sad story you tell," he said softly. "If it's a friend you need then I will be that. And would I could be more."

  She raised her head up and looked at him. "Yes," she whispered. She paused as if thinking of something. Then she slowly moved out from his embrace to turn and face him. She brightened and tried to change the moment. "Well, it may be a sad story, but here I am with you, my friend, on a beautiful day in a beautiful place. Come on, let's go feed the ducks."

  She stood up and reached down with her hand to help him up. She picked up the bag with the uneaten crusts of her sandwich and they walked to the edge of the lake. She tore off little bits and threw them into the lake. Soon they had a dozen mallards clustered around looking for handouts. The bread ran out with the ducks still quacking for more.

  "Let's walk," Annie said taking his hand. "We'll circumnavigate the lake like grand explorers."

  They walked quietly for a time before Conor spoke up. "There is something here, between us, isn't there?" he said softly.

  "Yes. I know." Annie squeezed his hand. "There is."

  "What are we to do about it?"

  "Right now, walk hand in hand in the sunshine just like we're doing."

  "And then?"

  "I don't know. It is so very complicated."

  Conor chuckled and shook his head. "Complicated again. 'Tis indeed I suppose."

  They were halfway around the lake when Conor saw the flowerbed encircling a monument to the city founders. He let go of Annie’s hand and walked over to it. He bent down and picked
a yellow tulip and brought it back to her. “Here ‘tis a golden flower for the fair lady with the golden hair.”

  “Oh, my,” she breathed. “A yellow tulip. My favorite. How did you know?”

  “I was not to know. But you wore a blouse with them upon it the last I saw you.”

  “You remembered that?”

  “Aye, there’s not much of you I’m not remembering.”

  Annie smelled the flower then tucked it into the top of her blouse. “And I shall keep this to remember you.”

  She took his hand and they continued their walk until they returned to the blanket. Conor put on his jacket and picked up the empty lunch bag and put it in his pocket. Annie folded the blanket and they walked back to the car.

  On the drive back to Biarritz they talked about the Calcutta. Annie wanted to know if there was to be any special strategy for him and Billy Compton. Conor told her, "No, 'tis medal play, so every shot is the match. We simply have to play our best on every shot."

  "What happens if you win?" she asked.

  "I don't really know. I believe Robert could win a great deal of money. But I don't know what that might mean for me. We have not to talk about that."

  "Well, I have to believe he would reward you somehow."

  "Perhaps. But he's been very generous already. And thankful I am for that. I mean to play as well as I can for him."

  "Will you be nervous?"

  "No. Excited maybe. 'Tis to be just golf, you know. To get your best you just have to let your best happen."

  Annie laughed. "You make it sound easy."

  "'Tis so easy it's to be impossible sometimes," Conor smiled back.

  When they came to the service road on Spring Valley Road Annie pulled over to the curb and stopped. "Is it all right if I drop you off here?" she asked.

  "Aye, 'tis perfect." Conor reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. Annie watched as he opened it and took out two five-dollar bills and handed them to her. "I hope this is truly all the clothes cost today. If it's more you must be telling me. I can pay you later."

  Annie saw there were only a couple of dollar bills left in his wallet. "No, that's fine. I told you the best doesn't cost that much more. Why don't you hang on to this money until you have more? I can wait. It's not a problem."

  "Thank you, Annie, but no, 'tis best I pay my debts when I can. And I'm to much appreciate all you've done for me today."

  "All right, then. And thank you for letting me help."

  "When will I see you again?"

  Annie leaned across the seat and put her hand behind his head, drew him near and softly kissed him. Close against his face she whispered, "Not soon enough. But I don't think it can be until Tuesday when I play again. I am getting behind on my work."

  "Then 'til Tuesday, it is." With that he leaned to her and returned her kiss. Then he looked into her eyes and said, "You are my true friend, Annie."

  Annie smiled back as they parted. Conor slid back across the seat and opened the door. He got out and turned back to her. "Tuesday. I will see you Tuesday."

  "Yes you will," she smiled. "Goodbye… and work hard on your golf!"

  Conor waved as she pulled away. Then he watched as the Cadillac disappeared down Spring Valley Road.

  (back to top)

  Chapter 17

  Mother’s Day

  Sunday, May 11, 1930

  It was Mother's Day and Billy Compton was Charlie and Myrtle's only child. Thus it was incumbent upon him to fulfill a son's duty. Not that he minded. He loved his mother. But it had put a crimp in his Saturday night activities. Still he found himself enjoying the late morning as he drove to his parent's home in the Hollywood Hills. Actually, it was his home too, but of late he had made a habit of finding overnight accommodations elsewhere in the company of any number of willing women. At twenty-seven years of age his principal purpose in life had settled on simply having a good time.

  It hadn't always been so. When he returned home after graduating from Dartmouth he had been eager to join his father's business and become as successful as Charlie had been. He worked hard and learned much. He soon became engaged to his high school sweetheart. But a month before they were to be married she informed him the wedding was off. She had found someone else, someone who didn't spend so much time working, who had even more money and could spend it and his time on her in ways Billy never could. His name was Sterling Babcock. Billy knew him and knew him to be a prig of the first order. It was as if the tether on his life had been severed and it suddenly began to float away. At first he stayed out partying and drinking to console himself. Along the way, though, he found he was attractive to women. And that was fun. Soon his days would start too late for work so golf and polo filled his afternoons.

  His father indulged him. Having married young, Charlie took something of a vicarious delight in watching his son sow so many wild oats. Plus he loved him and was abundantly proud of him. He was handsome and talented and young. Why not let him enjoy himself? And he had. But it had been going on for three years now and his wife was not happy with what was becoming of their son. Myrtle was a practical woman. She wanted her son's trust fund to be used on her grandchildren and not the bar bills of trollops. She had appealed to Charlie again and again. He finally listened. Her Mother's Day present from him would be to set their son straight.

  Billy met them at the house and presented his mother a giant bouquet of roses and a box of her favorite See's chocolate candy. They were to have an early afternoon dinner at Biarritz so the three went into the drawing room for coffee before they left for the club.

  They chatted for a short while about nothing in particular. Then Charlie set his cup and saucer on the side table and leaned forward. "Billy, your mother and I want to talk to you about what you're doing with your life."

  Instantly uncomfortable, Billy shifted in his chair and likewise set his coffee down on his side table. "What do you mean?" he asked with a forced smile. "My life is fine!"

  "It's fun, not fine," Charlie countered. "You're wasting it and your mother and I don't want to see that."

  "Well, I mean, if you want me to come to work again or something I can do that."

  "No, it's more than that. These are hard times and you should be aware that while we're okay, the business is tight. I can't afford you at the rate you're blowing through money right now."

  "I'll cut back then. I can do that. And after all, it's my trust fund money, right?"

  "I'm getting to that. Look, you're a talented young man. But it's obvious you're not going to use those talents when you don't have to. So here's what we’re going to do: we're locking you out of the trust fund end of this week. So you might want to catch up on your debts before that happens. I'm selling the polo ponies and I'll give you half as soon as I do. You'll have that. And if you're lucky enough to make some money at the Calcutta you'll have that. But that's it. You're on your own."

  "You can't be serious! You're only giving me a week?"

  "I'm dead serious. And so is your mother. Look, when we were married I didn't even have a week's worth of money. And we made it. You can too."

  "But where will I live?"

  "You haven't seemed to have any problem finding places to stay lately. But you can continue to live here for a short time. At least until you get settled. What should that take? A couple weeks?"

  "But the trust fund? What if I need the money? What if it's an emergency?"

  "The trust fund will be there when we can trust you with it. Until then you'll have to find your own way. It's time you grow up, Billy."

  Billy went silent for a moment trying to absorb the shock. "So I don’t even have a job with the company?" he asked finally.

  "No. Like I said, I can't afford you right now. But I'll ask around for you."

  Billy sprung from the chair, his face turning bright red. “This is bullshit! Utter bullshit! Who are you to tell me how to live my life?”

  “Watch you mouth in front of your mother. Stop acting l
ike the spoiled brat you turned out to be. And let me tell you who I am. I’m the guy that put the money in your pocket in the first place. Money I earned, not you.”

  Billy spun around to put his back to his father trying to control himself, trying not to explode further.

  Myrtle spoke up. "It's best for you, dear. Honestly, you're killing yourself now. It's breaking my heart. We only want the best for you. We'll always be here for you. But your father is right. It's time you make it on your own."

  “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me. I’ve done nothing wrong. I don’t deserve this.” He turned back around to face his parents. “That’s my money!” he fairly screamed. “That’s my money. It’s mine! I need it!”

  “It’s not your money till you earn it. For Pete’s sakes stop the whining. You sound like a woman,” Charlie shot back losing patience.

  “You have no idea what this means! You can’t do this to me. You just can’t.”

  “We can and we just did. Get over it. Now calm down. It’s Mother’s Day for crying out loud. Show some respect to your mother.”

  Billy turned away again. “All right. Give me a second, will you?”

  “Take your time. But we’re heading to the club now. So get yourself ready. I’ll drive. I’ll even buy you a drink when we get over there. It’s time you learned other people besides yourself can buy drinks."

  * * *

  The Graves family had just taken their seats in the main dining room at Biarritz when the Compton’s walked in. Charlie saw Robert and motioned Billy and Myrtle to follow the hostess to their table while he said hello. Charlie took the unlit cigar he’d been chewing from his mouth and smiled as he approached the Graves’ table.

  “Hello, Robert,” he beamed. “And happy Mother’s Day to you, Meg!”

  “Why thank you, Charlie, she said. “How are you and Myrtle?”

  “Just fine, thanks, just fine. Listen, I’m sorry to bother you, but I’d like to have a word with you later, Bob. It’s about Billy and the Calcutta. Perhaps after dinner we could share a quick drink? Is that okay with you and the girls, Meg?”

  “Oh you men with you and your Calcutta.” she laughed. “I swear there’s more skullduggery afoot than in Washington, D.C. Of course you can have him for a few minutes. The girls and I would love a little time alone for woman talk.”