Wayne looked at him warily as Charlie extended the handshake longer than was normal. Charlie rubbed his chin with his left hand and kept the hand over his mouth so no one could read his lips as he leaned in to Wayne’s ear. “I was with the First Battalion, One Hundred Seventy-Fifth Infantry,” Charlie said quietly. “Landed at Omaha Beach. Before we shipped out to kill Krauts, we went to Fort Benning, where we learned how to kill with our bare hands. The way you fight in movies, you wouldn’t last a second in combat. In real life, it’s rabid-dog stuff.”

Wayne tried to pull away, but Charlie held on to his hand.

“In combat, you can’t be squeamish about using your teeth to rip off an ear or tear out a windpipe. Testicles, kidneys, temples, noses, Adam’s apples—anything.” He stared into Wayne’s eyes and saw sheer panic. “Now, I’m going to continue to act as if this is friendly,” Charlie said, “and you’re doing me—an actual veteran—a favor by getting the fuck out of here.” Charlie lowered his left hand. “Okay, Mr. Wayne?” he said loudly. “Thanks so much. You’re a pal.” He let go of Wayne’s hand.

Wayne looked around at the crowd and the photographers. And then, almost as quickly as the situation had ignited, it was defused. Wayne disappeared into the night. Charlie glanced at Sinatra, who breathed a sigh of relief and winked at him before being escorted to his car. Within seconds, all that remained were spectators with nothing to see.

Margaret got a little thrill seeing Charlie adapt himself so well to the alpha-dog environment, but the woman who’d rescued her seemed disappointed that the fight had broken up before it even began.

“Aw, that’s a shame,” she said.

“Why?” asked Margaret as the crowd began to dissipate.

“I’m with Hollywood Nightlife—I’m Charlotte Goode,” the woman said, handing Margaret a business card.

CHARLOTTE GOODE

REPORTER AND PHOTOGRAPHER

Hollywood Nightlife

6299 Hollywood Blvd

SCoops 4-8760

“I’m—”

“Margaret Marder, wife of the congressman who’s approaching us now,” Goode said.

“Well, that was weird,” Charlie said, visibly relieved as he approached his wife.

“What magic words did you use to save Frank’s life?” Goode asked.

“I’m sorry, we haven’t been introduced,” said Charlie.

“This is Charlotte Goode. She’s a reporter,” Margaret said. She turned to Goode. “Why don’t we buy you a drink? You can educate us.” Someone who knew Hollywood as well as Goode might be able to help her track down Violet, Margaret thought, unable to shake how lost her niece had seemed.

“I’m not going to talk to any reporters, honey,” Charlie said.