Blood and Oranges by James Goldsborough (top 50 books to read .TXT) 📕

his fingers, when any man snapped his fingers. She thought he looked cadaverous and wanted to find out what he wanted and get the hell out of that room. She wondered how she was supposed to get back to Los Angeles.

“We’re fine, Howard. Now what’s on your mind?”

He motioned to Schmidt. “Bring the folder on my desk, Schmitty. Then you can leave. Tell the others to leave. Lock the door to the garden.”

She didn’t like it. She felt better with the goons hanging around.

“Maybe I will eat something. Could your friend phone for a chicken salad sandwich and a beer for room 209?”

He glanced at Hughes.

“Have it sent here, Schmitty. Wait till it comes. We’re going to be here a while.”

“Doing what?”

“That depends on you.”

“Howard, you’re crazy.”

“Not entirely.” He took the folder Schmidt handed him. He smiled for her. “Have a look.”

There it was, the letter Cal had asked for on official stationery of the Hughes Tool Company. She read slowly, taking her time with each sentence, each paragraph. It was clear enough, though she wondered what possible legal value it would have. The places for dates and signatures were blank.

I, Howard Robard Hughes, sound of mind and body on this date as witnessed by the under-signed, do stipulate that pursuant to the contract signed between Hughes Tool Company and executors of the former Mull Oil Company, that the following is my intention:

That the land now occupied by Hughes Aircraft Company, a newly created subsidiary of the Howard Hughes Medical Institute, shall remain part of Hughes Aircraft Company in my lifetime. The land in question, located in the city of Los Angeles, is bounded by Lincoln and Jefferson Boulevards, Centinela Avenue and the Loyola bluffs.

That in the event of my death or incapacity and the sale of the aforementioned land, the new owners will make all necessary efforts to maintain it as an airfield.

That if for some future reason an airfield is no longer practical on the designated land, that it shall be returned to its original state as part of the Ballona wetlands and so maintained.

That the land between Lincoln Boulevard and Falmouth Avenue, bounded by Culver Boulevard and the Playa del Rey bluffs, owned by Hughes Aircraft Company pursuant to the aforementioned contract with the executors of the former Mull Oil Company, land which is at this time undeveloped, shall remain in its present state.

“That good enough?” Howard asked.

“To my un-lawyerly mind it looks like what we wanted. When is it to be signed?”

“When I’m back in L.A.”

“Which is when?”

“I don’t know. My lawyers tell me it’s not legally binding, but they still hate it.” He paused a moment and looked across the room. “Don’t you, Schmitty?”

Schmidt, moving silently around the room, stared back, but did not respond.

“My Mormon minders,” said Hughes. “Never happy. Happiness is for the next life. They’re going to get me to the next life, did I tell you? Got their own planet. Schmitty can get me there even if I don’t want to go, which I don’t. Baptism of the dead they call it, and you can’t do a damn thing about it because you’re already dead.”

Maggie looked at the man she’d taken for a bodyguard. A lawyer factotum. She wondered how much Howard paid him to be humiliated. She heard a knock, and Schmidt admitted a waiter, directing him to the table by Maggie’s chair. Hughes nodded and Schmidt left with the waiter. The door clicked. The French doors were closed and the shadow gone.

She began eating, uncomfortable under the scrutinizing eye of her former lover and present employer. It was a long time since they’d dated, and this was not the same man. That Howard had liked restaurants and company and people buzzing around and a photographer or two so he could see his picture in the papers the next day with the sexiest Hollywood girl available. He’d been with so many of them—Hepburn, Russell, Peters, Crawford, Gardner, Sheridan, Rogers, Tierney, Davis, Fontaine, her sister de Havilland. Sisters, Maggie thought, how strange. Why would sisters want to do it? Lizzie certainly wouldn’t.

This was a creature she didn’t know. The man she’d dated didn’t need a flying squadron of Mormon lawyer/goons to protect him. That man was attractive and sexy and, yes, fun. This man was a mess. The fingernails alarmed her, and she was not easily alarmed. Why would a man as fastidious as Howard Hughes let his nails grow like that? She was aware of his stare as she wolfed down her sandwich. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was. She chug-a-lugged the beer and wanted nothing more than to get up and get out.

“Don’t see much of you anymore, Maggie.”

“Well, drop around sometime. I work at Hughes Aircraft.”

It was the same laugh, deep and genuine, a bit of a surprise to people who judged him by the slightly cynical smirk that was the natural set of his face.

“I wish I could. The TWA business is eating away at me. It’s the bankers, goddamn it. Time calls me the world’s richest man, and the goddamn bankers put a lien on my airline before they’ll lend me enough to buy a few Convairs. Now why would the world’s richest man need a bank loan to buy planes?”

Again he laughed.

“I have to go, Howard. It’s been a long day.”

“Live in the moment, my dear.” He tried a smile. “Why don’t you stay here tonight?”

“I am staying here tonight.”

“I mean with me.”

She knew it would come to that, but still it astounded her. It didn’t shock her; she knew Howard too well to be shocked, but it astounded her, yes. Some things shouldn’t have to be said. Terry Heyward was his friend. Moreover, what woman would get in bed with something like this? Be shredded by those claws?

“I’m married, Howard.”

“What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

“Maybe nothing for you. For me, for women, it’s different.”

“For women? Christ, I haven’t dated a single woman since I met you in Washington. I