“What about Lorna?” I blurted.
The withered old woman looked at me as if I were nuts. “Miz Lorna done moved out years ago.”
“Sorry,” I said, peering through the crack in the door, scanning a living room furnished in old wood and rich fabrics. Somehow I felt that the place might be a treasure trove of wonder, even in Lorna’s absence. I paused, then said forcefully, “Wake up Siddell, will you, please? I have an important message from a friend of hers.”
The old woman eyed me suspiciously, then opened the door and gestured toward the living room. “You waits here,” she said, “I get Miz Siddell.”
The maid trotted upstairs, leaving me alone in the richly appointed room. I noticed some framed photographs above the red brick fireplace, and went over and looked at them. They were individual portraits of Big Sid, Siddell, and Lorna. Sid beamed proudly, Siddell looked as slender-faced as a good photographer could make her, and Lorna looked grave and abstracted, wearing a graduation gown and cap. There was another, larger photo of the family trio: Big Sid clutching his omnipresent cigar, Siddell looking sullen, and Lorna leaning on a cane. I noticed that her right leg was withered and deformed, and felt a nervous flush come over me. I shook my head to clear it, then recalled: Lorna had remained seated during our one meeting. But where was Mother Weinberg?
Lost in my reverie, I felt a sharp tug at my coat sleeve and turned to find Siddell Weinberg pushing herself against me. “I know what you must think of me,” she was saying, “but I don’t do those kinds of things all the time . .
I held the feverish-looking woman at arm’s length and took a stern tack, the better to secure the information I now _had_ to have. “Well, I do, Miss Weinberg, so it’s not really a big issue. But you should call Wacky. He’s fond of you, and wants to see you again.”
“I know, but I can’t! You have to tell Herbert not to call me here. Daddy thinks that anyone interested in me is just out for his money. Besides, I’m engaged.”
“Does Big Sid approve of your fiancé?”
“No, not really, but at least he’s Jewish, and he’s in graduate school. He’s got a future.”
“And policemen don’t have futures?”
“I didn’t mean that!” Siddell wailed. “Daddy likes you, but he thinks Herbert is crazy.”
I led Siddell to a plush red leather couch next to the fireplace. “Your father is right,” I said. “He is. Are you in love with this guy you’re going to marry?”
“Yes, no! I don’t know!”
“Then call Wacky. He’s in the phone book–Herbert L. Walker, 926 South St. Andrews, L.A. All right?”
“All–all right. I’m going out of town next week, but I’ll call Herbert when I get back.”
“Good.” I patted Siddell’s hand, then started fishing around for conversational lead-ins to get to the real purpose of my visit. Finally, I got one: “This is a hell of a nice house, Siddell. Your mother obviously puts a lot of time into it.”
Siddell lowered her head. “Mama is dead,” she said.
“I’m sorry. Was it recently?”
“No, it was in 1933. I was nine and Lorna was thirteen.”
“That’s a long time ago.”
“Yes and no.”
“You mean you still feel it?”
“Y–Yes … but mostly, Lorna does.” Siddell’s voice had taken on the resonance of a person explaining a profound truth.
I prodded gently. “What do you mean, Siddell?”
“Well, Mama died and Lorna got crippled at the same time, so Lorna hates and loves Mama at the same time. They were driving down Sunset. Mama was pregnant again. It was raining, and Mama skidded into a tree. Her stomach hit the steering wheel. She lost the baby, but aside from that she wasn’t hurt. Lorna went through the windshield. Her pelvis was crushed, that’s why she walks so funny, and why her right leg is so skinny–all the nerve endings got torn up. Anyway, Mama wanted another baby, really badly. She knew Daddy wanted a son. She held the baby in there; she wouldn’t believe it was dead. She was supposed to go to the hospital to get labor induced, but she didn’t. The baby infected her stomach, and she ran away. They found her dead, up in the Hollywood Hills. She had made a little nest for herself up there, with all these baby clothes she bought from Bonwit Teller. She couldn’t believe the baby was dead.”