The Spellmans Strike Again Read Online Free PDF Page A

with Morty ended, just in time for me to phone my friend Len and warn him about my impending arrival.
    “Hello,” he answered, having no idea that this phone call was going to change his entire life—or at least his immediate life and bank account.
    “Isabel here. I have a proposition for you.”
    “Oh, Isabel, why is it that all your propositions are either illegal, ethically questionable, or at the very least offensive?” 1
    “Are you still an unemployed actor?”
    “Are you implying that unemployed actors have no right to integrity?”
    “No. I was merely making sure you weren’t busy, because I have an acting job for you.”
    “You have an acting job for me?”
    “Mostly.”
    “Do I get to keep my clothes on?” Len asked skeptically.
    “Oh, yes. In fact, formal wear will be mandatory.”
    •   •   •
    I was across the bridge and at Len and his lover Christopher’s Oakland loft in an hour (although it should have taken only forty-five minutes). Christopher had just returned home from work; he’s a decorator at a tiny firm in the city. Like Len, Christopher was once an actor (they met at ACT), but reality set in, which included news from his wealthy mother in England that she would no longer be supporting their “habit,” as she liked to call it. On the surface Len and Christopher are quite similar—black, lean, handsome, with impeccable taste and manners. But their backgrounds could not be more different. Christopher was brought up in the English boarding school system and his childhood home had wings . Len, by contrast, lived in the San Francisco projects on and off and was once a drug dealer (by financial necessity more than choice).
    Len, aka Leonard Williams, and I met in high school. Our relationship began, like so many of mine, with a secret. I accidentally discovered that Len was gay and kept it to myself. The longer the secret remained a secret, the more Len realized that he could trust me. Other than the secret, we had nothing in common. This seems like a fragile beginning for any relationship, but for whatever reason it stuck. Even as Len grew to become a respectable member of society and my maturity level flatlined, we remained friends. Eventually his secret came out. (Did it ever.)
    In the past, I’ve asked Len and Christopher to put their considerable acting skills to questionable uses, but this time my request was legitimate. I was offering real money and a true test of his craft. And from the looks of things, Len needed a break from his life of leisure.
    I found my old friend swathed in a luxurious bathrobe, being warmed by a cup of tea and an old Bette Davis movie on television. There was a scent of lavender in the air, as if a bath had recently been run, and I could catch the smudge of a face mask on the edge of his forehead. Len was clearly well rested, well groomed, and the picture of idle good health. Christopher, just home from work, observed the same particulars (using the set of detective skills that seem to come with any intimate relationship).
    The partner with the job instructed Len to get me a drink from the kitchen—the traditional domestic roles firmly in place, in part because one person had spent the day doing nothing at all. Len hopped to his feet, happy for the company and the diversion. Christopher got off his feet and looked at me with a note of pleading.
    “Tell me you’ve got a real job for him and not one of your nonsense, no-pay pranks.” 1
    Once I’d provided a feature-length version of the assignment, both Len and Christopher were entirely on board, even though the job was Len’s alone.
    “Can I use my British accent?” Len asked.
    “Mr. Winslow was raised in London, so I wouldn’t use it unless it’s really good,” I cautioned him.
    Len turned to Christopher for his approval.
    “It’s good. We’ll have to determine which dialect would be the most appropriate, but I think you can pull it off.”
    I handed Len Mr. Winslow’s card with the