Chapter 17

July 30, 1996

Tuesday noon

Junior and I met at the Coffee Cup, which was east of Redondo so I didn't get there much. It was a breakfast and lunch place, kind of like the Park Pantry, which meant I'd usually just go to the Park Pantry since it was closer. Inside, the place was rustic and beaten up, with old menus pasted to the walls instead of wallpaper. Junior was already sitting at a table in the back.

I sat down and said, "So you like this place?"

"You haven't lived until you've had their mashed potato omelet."

Somehow, I doubted that. Honestly it sounded like a mouthful of mush. The waitress set two cups on the table and offered us coffee. When we said yes, she told us there was cream and sugar right there in the basket. "Do you know what you want?"

Junior ordered the mashed potato omelet, while I chose a cheeseburger with bacon and avocado. When the waitress walked away, Junior said, "All right, I'm dying to know. Why did you ask me to lunch? Are you throwing me out?"

"No. Nothing like that."

"Oh, thank God. Homeless isn't a good look for me."

"I wanted to ask you about Rocky Havoc. Do you know who she is?"

"Of course I know who she is. I'm surprised you don't."

"I've heard that before. The thing is, I've only been in Long Beach a few years."

"Well, she isn't only about Long Beach, but, whatever. Rocky Havoc is a legend. She's been fighting for LGBT rights since the nineteen-fifties—back when it was just G and L, and not very friendly G's and L's. She did a lot up in Los Angeles before she moved to Long Beach in the seventies to bartend at Que Sera. The Center practically started in her living room."

"Do you know where she is right now?"

"She took a fall at Ghetto Vons and broke her hip. There's a nursing home on 7th. I think we drove by it. That's where she is. Why are you asking about Rocky Havoc? And by the way, I'm sure Ronnie knows about her too."

"I didn't know she was connected to The Center, so I didn't think to ask him."

"You might want to repeat this conversation with him. So he's not offended."

"I think he'll be okay," I said. "He doesn't offend easily."

He stared at me for a moment, and then said, "I'm waiting. Why are you asking about Rocky Havoc?"

"I've been told she was in love with Vera Korenko."

"Really. Now that's interesting."

"I went to her apartment earlier today and her neighbor said Rocky talks about Vera a lot."

He narrowed his eyes and asked, "Small girl, buzz cut except for a tuft in the front?" I nodded and he continued. "Her name's Jo Miller. She does everything for Rocky. Speaking of unrequited love. If Rocky was even ten years younger they'd be a match made in heaven."

"Do you think we can get in to speak to Rocky?"

"We can try. You really think she knows something about Vera's murder?"

"According to Jo, Rocky has a pretty good idea who killed her."

"Putting two and two together… Someone's husband?"

"Jo couldn't remember. But probably."

"Well, that's exciting. Don't you think?"

The waitress brought our meals and then swung around to refill our coffees. When she left, I asked, "You mentioned a murder in the late sixties. Do you remember much about that?"

"Maybe. I don't know. I do remember the sex I had in the sixties. My God! It was so amazing. There was something about it being illegal and forbidden that just made it so much better."

"I bet you could recapture that feeling if you moved to Texas."

He looked aghast for a moment, then said, "On the other hand, maybe the excitement came from the fact that I was in my twenties."

"The murder?" I prompted.

He'd taken a bite of his omelet, so he chewed for a few moments. "Let's see. She was in her early twenties; her body was dumped near a golf course in South Pasadena. I'm pretty sure she'd been beaten and raped."

"Can you narrow down the date?"

"Oh my, I'm not even sure…"

"Where would you have heard about it?"

"Well, it was years before fag rags were freely available… I suppose it must have been in The L.A. Times."

"And they said the woman was a lesbian?"

"They probably wouldn't have, no. But The Sisters of Artemis staged a candlelight vigil in West Hollywood. I'm pretty sure I went—though after the eighties I do tend to get my candlelight vigils confused."

"They claimed her as a lesbian?"

"She went to the meetings."

What I was looking for was something I could use to search a newspaper. A key word that might lead me to an article with the woman's name. He wasn't giving me much to go on. Then:

"Oh, wait. I think it was 1968. I remember going to something up in West Hollywood. A vigil. I was driving a two-year-old Dodge Charger I'd gotten a deal on. What a car. A fastback that was open all the way to the back bumper. The backseats folded down and there was all this space. The things I did back there. Or rather, the men I did back there."

1968. That helped. That and South Pasadena might get me somewhere.

I began eating my burger in earnest. It was pretty good, as burgers go. Hardly the pinnacle of fine dining, but tasty.

"Have you talked to Ronnie about my getting your room when you move?"

"I've been a little busy. Why don't you talk to him?"

"No offense, but I think he'll raise my rent."

"I'm sure he'll raise your rent."

And he wanted me to go to bat for him. I didn't see any reason to do that. On the other hand, there was no reason not to give Junior some good advice.

"When you moved in, you said you had a section eight voucher. If you do all the work, Ronnie will probably accept that. You might be able to work it so we get more money, you pay less, and you get the room you want."

He thought about it for a moment, then said, "You might be a genius."

"I've heard rumors to that effect," I said, facetiously.

We finished our lunch and decided we'd try to get in to see Rocky Havoc at her nursing home. As it turned out, there are two nursing homes on 4th Street. We found the one that was down near Temple first, but when we checked at the door they had no idea who we were talking about. I asked Junior if he was sure she was in a home on 4th in front of the receptionist and she sent us back down the street to a nursing home that was two blocks east of The Coffee Cup. That was where Rocky Havoc was recovering from her broken hip; and had been for months.

Oceanview Rehabilitation Center was a modest building of one story about three hundred feet wide. Aside from the absurdity of its name—it did not have anything resembling an ocean view—from the street it didn't look like it could house more than six patients at a time.

Walking through the glass double doors, we stopped at an ultra-mod reception desk and asked for Rocky. Without asking who we were the girl said, "She spends most of the day in the courtyard."

That's when I realized the interior glass wall faced out onto a large courtyard overgrown with tropical plants. I could see that the building was actually quite large and probably went through to 5th Street. Junior and I walked through another set of glass doors and followed the winding path until it brought us to a grizzled, overweight woman in her late seventies sitting in a wheelchair. In one hand she held a cigarette; in the other a plastic-coated paper cup she used as an ashtray. It was full.

I introduced myself, leaving Junior something of a mystery. "I want to ask you what you remember about Vera Korenko."

"You say you're investigating her murder? You're not police though. You would have said."

"No, I'm not."

"So, who's paying you?"

It's not always a good idea to tell people who your client is, but in this case I decided it was. "I'm working for the family of Patrick Gill. Did Vera ever talk to you about him?"

"He's still alive, then?"

"Yes, he is. You knew that they were engaged?"

She chuckled. "I'm not sure that's what you should call it."

"What would you call it?"

"A lie. A fantasy. A cover story. I doubt they planned to go through with it."

"How long were you friends with Vera?"

"The last couple years of her life."

"I've heard she liked straight girls. Do you remember any of them?"

"I remember all of them."

"There were a lot of them?"

"Four or five while I knew her. She didn't get to bed them all." She crushed her cigarette in the cup and immediately lit another.

"I'm told you think you know who killed Vera. Can you share that with me?"

She smiled. "You talked to Jo."

"I did, yes."

"Sometimes I drink too much."

"Does that mean you don't know who killed Vera?"

"At the end she was running around with a girl named Gigi. I don't know her last name. She was married. Although you wouldn't know it if everything Vera said was true. They spent a lot of time together. They double dated with Patrick and his lover, Ivan."

"Did you ever meet Gigi?"

"I never met any of them. I would see Vera at The Sisters of Artemis meetings. We'd have a few drinks afterward. That's how we became friends. Eventually, she didn't come to the meetings much, but we still talked on the phone for hours. Every few days."

"Can you tell me anything about Gigi?"

"I don't remember much. Honestly, I don't think I wanted to know much about Gigi. She was married. Her husband was awful. He'd push her around sometimes. She told Vera she was going to leave him."

"Did she?"

"I don't know. I never heard anything about her after Vera died."

"You talked to Wallace Philburn for his book."

"Asshole."

"Care to elaborate?"

"Nothing he wrote in that book was true. He made it sound like she was just another girl who came to Hollywood wanting to be a star and ended up getting chewed up and spit out. That's not what happened. She didn't want to be in the movie industry. I don't even think she liked movies. She liked sunshine. That's why she was here. She didn't die for a dream. She died because men are evil." She looked from me to Junior, then added, "No offense."

I shrugged and said, "A lot of men are evil. Some days I'd say most."

She looked me up and down and said, "You've been around."

Then Junior, who'd been suspiciously quiet said, "Rocky, I want to thank you for everything you've done for gays and lesbians everywhere. You're a real hero."

"Want to know a secret?"

"Oh I love secrets. I promise I'll never tell."

I was sure it would take him less than an hour to break that promise.

"Being in all those groups in the fifties and sixties… best way to get laid. Better than a bar."

I had to laugh. "So, you did it to get laid?"

"You bet your ass."

"Well, you're still a hero in my book," Junior said. "I have to admit the things I did to get laid weren't always as noble."

I turned the conversation back to business. "There was another murder in nineteen sixty-eight. Do you remember that?"

"Yeah. I knew that girl, too."

"What was her name?"

"Shirley Kessler."

"How did you know her?"

"I was bartending at a place in Studio City. We met there."

"And you became friends."

"I was never as close to her as I was to Vera. But when she was killed, well, it struck a chord, you know? I did get involved in trying to get the police to do more to find her killer. Didn't work."

"Do you think there was a connection between the murders?"

"There were similar, we all knew that. But I don't know what the connection would be. There was almost twenty years between them."

"Maybe there was no connection," I said.

"A serial killer, is that your guess?"

I shrugged. "It's possible."

"Then you'll probably never know, will you?"

We left shortly after that. As I dropped Junior off at the house, he said, "That was amazing. Thank you so much. I can't believe I got to meet Rocky Havoc."

I wasn't sure what to say to that. I'm glad you had a good time? I mean, I was there to interview her about a murder, it shouldn't be a good time. It shouldn't be so easy to forget why we were there.

I drove back to the office. There were only a few hours left. I spent most of that time catching up on the letters we get from prisoners. There weren't a lot, but I did take the time to really consider them. None were particularly compelling, though. Mostly, we looked for prisoners who could be exonerated by DNA testing. One of the letters was from a gentleman who'd been recently convicted using DNA. He wanted advice on how to prove it fallible. I was tempted to toss it, but then I went ahead and put it in the next box. The way he asked the question intrigued me. Maybe it would intrigue Lydia as well.

I tried the Markers again before I left. There was still no answer. Eventually I was going to have to drive out to Eagle Rock. It was about a forty-minute drive. Obviously, I wasn't doing it before Monday. We'd be in Palm Springs until Friday night. I could do it over the weekend, but I should really put in some time working on the co-op. I didn't want Ronnie to feel like he was doing everything himself, even though he basically was.

When I got home just before six, I found John and Junior in the living room reading take-out menus. After a bit of haggling, we agreed on pizza. We ordered two large pizzas, a meat-lovers and a mushroom and black olive. They'd arrive in forty minutes.

"I have a surprise," Junior said. "I went to the video store."

"That's surprising?"

"You were talking about Ivan Melchor, so I rented The Girl From Albany. Ronnie said you haven't seen it. We have to watch it."

John rolled his eyes and said, "That calls for a cocktail."

"Me too, me too," Junior said.

We went into the kitchen. They made cosmopolitans, while I got a Calistoga out of the fridge. Of course, they made the drinks all wrong. A cosmopolitan is basically a kamikaze with a generous splash of cranberry juice. Theirs were really just Absolut Citron, Rose's and cranberry juice shaken and strained into martini glasses.

"Should we make popcorn?" Junior asked.

"We're having pizza."

"As an appetizer. I'll throw some in the microwave," he scooted over to the pantry and pulled out the Orville Redenbacher. "It's just not a movie without popcorn."

"Shouldn't we wait for Ronnie?"

"Oh, he's seen it already. Besides, there's no law that says we can't run it twice."

I wasn't sure I wanted to see it once. As it turned out, it was just okay. The Girl From Albany was basically the story of a sweet girl from upstate New York who wants to be a Broadway star. She moves to New York City, and through a series of implausible coincidences makes her debut on Broadway. In many ways it was the same story Wallace Philburn was trying to tell, except this one ended in an extravagant sequined production number while that one ended in a beautiful girl being beaten and broken and left in an arroyo.

Junior couldn't help singing along to all the musical numbers. After a second cosmopolitan, John joined in—though he didn't know the words as well as Junior.

Ronnie arrived home about ten minutes after the pizza came. We were in an intermission, the titled girl, played by Wilma Wanderly, had just arrived in New York and met a Broadway producer when his car splashed mud on her only good dress.

Ronnie kissed me, grabbed a slice of pizza then went upstairs to change. I tagged along.

"What are you doing? You should eat your dinner," he said through a mouthful of pizza.

"I already had two pieces."

"Okay," he said, skeptically. He set his half-eaten piece on our dresser then stripped off his clothes. To be honest, it was a much more interesting show than the movie. "Everything's set for Palm Springs. I got us a room in a little hotel with a pool. It's off season, so it was scandalously cheap."

"I'm charging it to the Karpinski brothers. It doesn't matter what it costs."

"I'm excited about this place though. They give you breakfast."

"Okay. Just letting you know that cost is not important.

He was putting on a tiny pair of shorts that were out of style anywhere but a gay bar.

"Junior and I met Rocky Havoc this afternoon. I didn't realize you knew her."

"I don't know her, I know who she is. And I've heard things about her. She hasn't been active at The Center for years."

"She knew Vera Korenko."

"Do you think she killed her?"

"Why would you say that?"

"I heard she could be rough on her partners."

"Rough as in violent?"

"It's a rumor. I don't know that it's true."

"It's a terrible thing to say about an old lady."

"Not if it's true," he replied.

"Are you going to say terrible things about me when I'm old?"

"Are you going to do terrible things?"

"I'm not making any guarantees."

He shook his head and picked up his pizza. We went downstairs to watch the movie. We ended up starting it again, mainly because Junior loved Wilma Wanderly's number "I Love the White Way," which pretends to be an innocent ditty about the lights of Broadway but could also be interpreted in a very racist vein.

The world is always changing and yet somehow is always the same.