The Fame Thief Read Online Free PDF

weight. “That’s Winnie. His entire life he’s been looking at the world, seeing a problem, and fixing it. I doubt it’s ever occurred to him there’s anything he can’t fix.”
    I stopped staring at her and said, “Winnie.”
    “Irwin,” she said. “Winnie. I can’t call him Irwin. It makes him sound like an accountant.”
    “Winnie’s got its problems, too.”
    “I’ve known Winnie since 1948,” she said, and disagreement intensified the quiver in her voice. “I’ve known you two minutes.If you don’t mind, I’ll let things drift along as they are. What’s your name?”
    “Junior Bender. And no, Junior’s not a nickname, it’s my given name. My father was named Merle and he wanted to name me after him, but after a lifetime of being called Merle, he thought it over and just named me Junior.”
    “Well, you’re not really in a position to criticize anyone’s name, are you?”
    “Who’s Anna?” I asked.
    “Oh,” she said. Her mouth tightened for an instant in what might have been irritation. “Anna.”
    I waited. When it was evident I’d be allowed to wait quite a while, I said, “I ask because you seemed to suggest she was escorting me down the hallway, but I didn’t see anyone.”
    “No,” she said. “You wouldn’t. Maybe you’ll see her later.”
    “She’s very small?”
    “She’s … shy.” Dolores La Marr cleared her throat as a punctuation mark.
    “All right,” I said. “Let’s talk about your problem.”
    “I don’t have a problem.”
    “Well, I’m glad to hear it. Would you mind calling Dressler and telling him? I’d kind of like to go home and forget all this, if you really don’t care.”
    Something sparked in her eyes, and I caught a glimpse of the humor I’d seen in the
Life
cover. “It’s not that easy. Nothing is ever that easy, certainly you’ve learned that by now. What are you, thirty-eight?”
    “Thirty-seven.” Maybe, I thought, I should be using my girlfriend, Ronnie’s, moisturizers.
    “Sorry. You have an air of maturity, if you’ll accept that as an excuse for thinking you’re older than you actually are.”
    “No problem. Why isn’t it that easy?”
    She leaned across to extend a very white hand and tapped my knee with the tip of her index finger. I looked for the Norma Desmond talon but was surprised by the bitten nails; also by the swollen knuckles and curling fingers of advanced arthritis, the most telling sign of her age. Two rings bit into one of her fingers, almost disappearing in the flesh. “Because it’s
Winnie
,” she said. “Winnie has
decided something
, and when Winnie decides something, it’s like gravity. You can try to ignore it, you can try to deny it, but if you trip you’ll still fall down.” She looked around the room as though searching for someone, and I had an impulse to turn and look for myself. “So here’s the situation as I see it. You don’t want to do this and I don’t particularly want you to do it, but Winnie does. So the best thing for me to do is to give you whatever I can to make it easier for you, and then say goodbye. If you find anything out, you can tell Winnie, not me. I stopped caring fifty years ago.”
    “Is there something you want?”
    “Many, many things, my dear. But why do you ask?”
    “You keep looking around as though you hope the butler has come into the room. Do you want me to get you something?”
    “Aren’t you perceptive?” She clapped the crooked hands once. “In the kitchen, which is through that door, you’ll find an old-fashioned cold pantry, and in the pantry are some very nice bottles of Pouilly-Fuisse. Why don’t you get one and a corkscrew and a couple of glasses, and bring them all back in here. At least we can lubricate the next hour or so, even if we can’t skip it.”
    The door led through a substantial formal dining room with an oak table that seated twelve, uncovered. It had a dull oakish gleam, but the corner nearest the kitchen door was quite