Day Four
July 24, 1952
Thursday Morning
Wilde couldn’t think. The sound of Secret hanging up was a noise in his head he couldn’t quiet. Whatever relationship they had was either over or dangerously close to it. He didn’t want it to be, but if it was, he wanted to at least know for sure one way or the other.
“I have to make a run,” he told London.
“To where?”
“To see a woman.”
“With everything that’s going on?”
“Yes.” He grabbed his hat and tilted it over his left eye. “Come with me. You can wait in the car. You’ll be safer there than here.”
“Okay.”
Ten minutes later he rapped on Secret’s hotel door, expecting the usual, namely no answer. This time was different. This time the door opened.
“I thought we had something,” Wilde said.
She turned.
“Come in.”
He followed, shutting the door.
“I know you’re a model,” he said. “I know you’re big time.”
“Look, Bryson-”
“Tell me what’s going on,” he said. “Tell me if I fell in love with the wrong woman.”
“You didn’t fall in love with anyone, Bryson.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
He waited.
She studied his eyes.
Her face softened.
“I’m not who you think I am,” she said.
“I already know that.”
“No, I’m not talking about my name, I’m talking about inside, in my heart.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? I don’t get it-”
“What I mean is that I did something,” she said. “Something that was wrong.”
“I don’t care,” he said. “I do something wrong every day.”
“I don’t mean like that,” she said. “I mean something serious.”
He frowned.
“Tell me.”
She walked to the window and looked out, keeping her face away.
“It was in August of 1950, about two years ago,” she said. “It happened in Chicago. I was there on a photo shoot. My manager was with me. His name is Sam Lenay. He was in trouble. I did something to help him. At the time I did it, I didn’t realize exactly what I was doing.”
“Did what?”
“I played a role,” she said.
Wilde lit a cigarette, took a deep drag and blew smoke.
“You’re confusing the hell out of me,” he said. “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”
“I seduced someone,” she said. “I did it for Sam, to get him out of trouble.”
“I don’t care who you slept with.”
“It’s not about sleeping with someone, Wilde. It’s about doing something that makes them end up dead.”
Wilde stopped a puff halfway through.
He pulled the cigarette from his lips.
“What are you saying? Are you saying that you killed someone?”
She exhaled.
“Yes,” she said. “More than one.”
The pieces didn’t fit.
He didn’t care.
He wasn’t interested in the pieces any more.
He turned her around, took her in his arms and pulled her tight.
“I don’t know who you are and I don’t care what you did,” he said. “I do know one thing though. I know that I don’t want to lose you before I even really have you.”