Chapter 23

Thursday after work I met Mel in town for a big-screen showing of ‘The Blue Dahlia‘, the 1946 George Marshall / Raymond Chandler thriller, with Alan Ladd and Veronica Lake.

We both enjoyed the movie, but I had to agree with Mel’s opinion that they’d been much better together in “The Glass Key”. Their on-screen chemistry wasn’t quite as fresh and intense this time – probably not helped by the uncertainty caused by Chandler still not having completed the script when shooting was well under way.

(Veronica Lake’s story is a pretty sad one; she wasn’t nearly as dumb as she looked, but she kinda played up to the image of the gorgeous airhead blonde with the peek-a-boo hairstyle, and the stage persona took over her life a little more than it should have done. The nickname “Moronica” that Raymond Chandler coined for her wasn’t fully deserved, but she was generally considered difficult to work with, married unsuccessfully three times, and finally killed her liver and kidneys with alcohol at the age of 50. The shiny bright ‘Tinseltown’ life style can be every bit as fictitious and unforgiving as the movies that depict it.)

Reluctantly (the goodnight kiss was somewhat prolonged), we headed back to our separate homes for the night; we did talk on the phone for half an hour once we were in bed. I missed Mel, she missed me, and I told her that Max had been looking around the yard for his friends as well. “Oh, that’s so sweet. They seem unsettled as well. I’m sorry that I had to come back here; I promise I’ll get myself better organized so we don’t have to sleep apart.”

“It was my fault as much as yours; if we’d done some laundry when we had the chance, we wouldn’t have needed to stock up on clothes.”

She chuckled, “Honey, we wouldn’t have talked so intimately if I hadn’t been in your arms. We’ll get ourselves sorted out, and tomorrow IS Friday!”

The next morning at the hospital, I asked Helga to do some illicit personal work for me, booking a romantic getaway trip. She laughed, “Mike, I’ve been trying to pair you up for a few years now; of course I’ll give your love life any help I can. Mel’s taken ten years off your age already; you’re almost human these days. What exactly were you considering?”

I didn’t give her much detail, apart from the essential fact that only one room was required (she snorted a disrespectful ‘DUH!’ at that) and we were taking the three dogs, and she got started. A couple of hours later, she brought in two cups of coffee and a whole load of possible suggestions. I decided to run with a couple, pretty sure that Mel wouldn’t have done either of them before.

Mel came over to my place that evening; I had a lasagna and green salad delivered and we relaxed with a bottle of Pinot Noir, knowing we hadn’t got to get up early the next morning.

We enjoyed a quiet and rather more domestic weekend together; we drove the dogs over to Corriganville in her SUV mid-morning Saturday after we’d done another couple of loads of laundry, but the park was a little crowded as the Spring warmed up and people came out to enjoy the great outdoors. Walking hand-in-hand sure improved things, although the very best part was stopping frequently to exchange tokens of mutual affection. She giggled when I told her that I almost felt like a teenager again, saying that she’d missed out on that part and would I mind helping her catch up?

She explained a little more on the drive home; her high school ‘boyfriend’ didn’t do the romantic part; except when they were working on his dick, he acted as if girls still had cooties, and in his version of masculinity, it wasn’t cool to show the slightest public affection – or even politeness – to a piece of ass you were nailing. I admitted that I hadn’t been the most romantic of boys either; I’d known that I wanted to go to college and get a great career, so I had steered clear of any potential romantic entanglements, and had avoided having a steady girlfriend. I hadn’t done a whole lot of hand-holding and Public Displays of Affection either, but I had shown the girls I’d dated respect and friendship. No strings recreational sex yes, flowers and cards and hand-holding, no. Disrespect or abuse, never. My folks would have paddled my ass if I’d ever done that, and rightly so.

That evening, with time to cook from fresh, I steamed us a healthy chicken breast and Asian vegetables dish; we made up the calories with another shared bottle of wine and a few savory snacks while we watched ‘Casablanca’. Yeah, SO much more fun enjoying a classic with a knowledgeable fellow-fan than just with Max. He just looks at me oddly when I jump in with the dialogue before Bogart can get his words out. Mel at least smiles or giggles – or joins in.

The movie over, I went to the bathroom and grabbed the bottle of scented massage oil I’d picked up Friday lunchtime. “Can I interest you in a back rub, sweetie?”

A big smile, “Only if I get to do yours first!”

We covered my bed with towels; I knew from previous encounters that the oil would get most everywhere. At first her touch was a little too ‘professional’, and then she got into the swing of actually enjoying the feel of my skin under her fingers, and that got a whole lot better. Like all good things, it came to an end, and then it got even better as far as I was concerned; I got to repay the favor. Back and front. She absolutely loved it. Until she was limp and almost asleep, when I covered her up with another towel and made her comfortable.

Sunday, we took ourselves out for an early morning run before breakfast, while it was still cool out (and relatively unpolluted). It was a whole lot more fun to run with a companion; with those long legs and hair secured in a ponytail, she had no problems keeping up with me. We did a lot of smiling at each other on the way around. When we got back home, we agreed to save water by showering together once more. Great decision; luckily we were in no hurry. We had brunch afterwards; eleven o’clock is a little too late to call it breakfast.

The price of Helga’s assistance with our forthcoming trip had been our accepting a dinner invitation so she and Clifford could finally meet Mel in person. I knew that I wasn’t going to get out of that, and I very much wanted them to become friends, so I checked with Mel that she’d be okay with doing that.

“How much do they know?”

“That you were working in the adult film industry, that we’re seeing each other, and that you’re doing me the world of good. Helga told me Friday that you’d already taken ten years off my attitude to life. She reckons you’re making me human!”

“Yeah, absolutely I’d love to meet her. She’s an important part of your life. Mike, I was thinking, how about I introduce you to my agent, Lucas? He married Maya, one of his clients before I signed for the talent agency, and they seem to get along just fine. Maybe we can pick up some pointers from them?”

I admit I was in two minds about this proposal; from what she’d said, her agent was a decent guy in a world where many of them were wolves or worse. On the other hand, he’d lined her up for more than a few scenes that I hadn’t been all that happy about, so maybe he wasn’t quite as decent as all that. Whatever, I needed to know who he was, so I agreed, and she said she’d sort something.

When Helga repeated the dinner invitation Monday, I immediately said yes, pulled out my phone, and called Mel to check when she was available. She laughed at the question. “Tonight!”

I turned on the speaker. “You tell her!”

“Hey, Helga, it’s Mel. I’m really keen to meet you; Mike’s told me a whole lot about you.”

“Nothing good?”

“Yeah, that’s right, nothing good, he says you’re a real slave-driver, keeping him chained to his desk.”

My assistant visibly preened at the compliment, “He needs a good woman to make him do any work. I’ll give you a few tips on getting the best out of him. Never show him any compassion or mercy, he isn’t worth it ... You free tonight?”

My girl giggled. “If it’s not too short notice for you. Thank you, that saves me working out what to tell him to cook for dinner. What time would suit you? What color wine would you like us to bring? Do I need to dress up formal?”

Helga chuckled in her turn. “I guess that just told me what kind of friendship we’re going to have, close and informal! That sounds totally great. Come just as you are, sweetie, Clifford always dresses casual in the evening. Anything you won’t eat?”

Our evening was actually a whole lot of fun, not nerve-wracking at all. Honest. Some of the meals I’d eaten at the Szymanski house, when they’d invited an eligible lady along for me to meet, had been rather more formal and stilted, their purpose a little too obvious for comfort. Now that I’d found my own lady, the pressure was off, and we could all open up. The subject of Mel’s past was simply accepted; she told a couple of funny stories about events on set – she’d once done a scene where she’d gone for a massage and been seduced by the masseur, and they’d broken the therapy bed! It had actually collapsed while they were fucking on it! Nobody had been hurt, luckily, and they’d all had a good laugh about it, but the steel frame had buckled when a bolt had sheared, so there was a delay while they worked out what to do. She admitted that the padded bed had been a lot more comfortable than the hard wooden desk they reshot the scene with!

In turn Clifford told a few shrink jokes and tales; reinforcing my personal opinion that the phrases ‘a clinical alcoholic is someone who drinks more than his doctor does‘ and ‘you don’t have to be crazy to work here ... but it helps‘ need some kind of snappy combination like: ‘you think I’m deranged? You should see my shrink!’

Okay, ... so I have no future career as a stand-up comedian. But you see my point.

Lots of laughter and great company. I hoped we’d be repeating these dinner parties. They’re what friends are for, sharing a meal and the feeling of belonging.

Mel exchanged affectionate kisses – real kisses, not the ubiquitous fake Los Angeles ‘air’ kisses – with Helga as we left; they’d already exchanged numbers and promised to have lunch together soon.

That was good in the way that Mel now had another friend, but a little worrying for me – if my personal relationship with Mel went sour for some reason, then my professional relationship with my secretary might be affected. The solution, of course, was NOT to let anything go wrong.

Tuesday at work was just another one of those days. I had to hear a formal appeal against a dismissal for cause. They’re never fun; it’s always bad when someone has misbehaved enough for that sanction, and they always lawyer up with some jackass who promises them the world and enough compensation money to buy an estate in Malibu. Trouble is, the hospital knows its business too, and ‘for cause’ cases are always well documented, and as watertight as HR can make them. The appeal wastes everybody’s time; counsel and I have to bend over backwards to show that we listened to all the arguments, and then see our ex-employee fall apart when all their lawyer’s promises turn out to be empty. It’s like they’ve deliberately chosen to be punished twice for the same offence, and nobody wins. Bad day at work; wonderful to have Mel smiling at me over the supper table.