Maddie Ellis and the Malibu Movie Colony is an old-fashioned mystery serial set during the end of the silent movie era. In chapter 17, a chance encounter leads Maddie Ellis to an unexpected rendezvous at a speakeasy. What are leading man Johnny Roberts and former child star Lulu Desmond up to in Topanga? That’s what Maddie wants to know. Join us as we travel back in time to February 1928. Editor’s note: There are stories of prohibition era speakeasies in the Topanga area. This one, however, is entirely the invention of the author.
“A bunch of the boys were whooping it up in the Malamute saloon;” Maddie recited to herself as she drove down the muddy lane at the bottom of Topanga Canyon. “The kid that handles the music-box was hitting a jag-time tune; Back of the bar, in a solo game, sat Dangerous Dan McGrew, And watching his luck was his light-o’-love, the lady that’s known as Lou.”
By the time she reached the end of the first stanza of Robert Service’s poem she had caught up with Johnny Roberts. It would have been hard to miss him. He had parked his beautiful car carelessly in front of the building. Its sleek form and gleaming chrome looked incongruous beside the unpainted shack, and the cracked and faded sign that said “Coffee and Sinkers.”
Maddie parked at the end of the row, near the big Cadillac she had noticed turning into the lane earlier. She slipped quickly out of her car, and came up behind Roberts and Lulu while they were still disembarking. Roberts had probably misplaced his tie or cigarette lighter and was no doubt fuming.
“Why if it isn’t Mr Roberts and Miss Desmond,” Maddie said. “How nice to see you again.” They stared at her in blank astonishment. “That’s a lovely car, Mr Roberts, I’ve never seen one like it.”
“It’s a Lancia Lambda Mille Miglia Zagato Spider,” Roberts told her, relishing each word. “There are very few of them, but when I saw her, I absolutely had to have her.”
“I can see why,” Maddie said. “I was told one could find refreshments here,” she added. “I have to admit it doesn’t look auspicious. I was about to turn around and go back when I saw you.”
“Oh, certainly, er, join us, why don’t you,” Roberts said, less than enthusiastically.
She smiled and followed them through the creaky screen door into a grimy space that held a counter and a couple of tables. There was a strong smell of stale coffee and overheated cooking fat and the floor had a slightly tacky texture that suggested it had not been cleaned in recent memory. The woman behind the counter looked up. She was large and gray. Her hair was gray, her dress was gray, although it might once have had a pattern of blue flowers on it. Even her apron was gray. Her face was blank and unwelcoming.
“We’ve come for coffee,” Roberts said. “Or tea, if you have it.”
“No tea,” the woman said.
“Coffee, then,” Roberts said, confidently. “And can we have it in the tea garden?”
The woman grunted acknowledgement, waddled out from behind the bar, unlocked a door at the opposite side of the room, and ushered them through. A splintery wooden staircase led down into an earth-floored cellar. The bulkhead doors were open, and from the other side came voices. They clambered out, Roberts giving the ladies a hand. There was a canvas tarp stretched above, and an assortment of tables and chairs arranged on a surface of hard-packed earth. The space was enclosed by bare willow trees. The creek ran just beyond the willows. The water was the color of whiskey. Whiskey, however, was not on the menu.
“They haven’t had any lately,” Lulu confided. “That was the ‘tea’ Johnny asked for. It’s better than their coffee.” She giggled. “But they make the coffee right here, so you know it’s fresh.”
They ordered the “coffee” at a counter near the bulkhead and carried it to an unoccupied table in chipped white mugs. Business was brisk, but this wasn’t the sort of place where people lingered for long. In an ordinary setting their trio would have looked incongruous. Roberts was dressed in a natty pinstriped suit, Maddie was attired for her day trip and wearing sensible boots, and Lulu was, once again, wearing as little as possible. This time it was a pink dress with a fluffy feather hem like a sunset cloud. She had a feather boa to match and a pert hat decorated with more feathers perched at a raking angle atop her perfectly marcelled golden hair.
Maddie didn’t recognize anyone else. It was a motley crowd: Hollywood types in spats and furs rubbed elbows with laborers in rough dungeries and patched shirts. A couple of elderly men with grizzled faces, worn hands, and fishermen’s caps, shared a table with a man in an elegant gray suit and a diamond tie pin. A pair of young flappers flirted with a man with cowboy boots and a panama hat.
The ‘coffee’ was pure home-brewed gin, strong enough to scour the rust from an old iron frying pan, Maddie thought, trying not to gag. She didn’t care for gin even when it was good, and this was far from good—and it was served at room temperature and straight up.
“What’s the matter, Miss Ellis?” Roberts asked. “Don’t like it?”
“Forgive me, Mr Roberts. I’ve spent the last five years in London. I suspect this particular type of coffee may take a bit of getting used to. Tell me, if one wanted to purchase something with a little less bite, how would one do it?”
“I’m crushed you don’t care for the home brew, but I know someone who could get you anything your heart desires,” Roberts said. “All you have to do is ask.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Maddie said. “There are times when a person might enjoy a cup of tea.” This might be a good time to change the subject, Maddie reflected, before she found herself committed to purchasing contraband from some mysterious and shady friend of the actor’s.
“What fun!” she said, gamely, raising her glass to her companions. “Gwyliwch sut rydych!
“What does that mean?” Lulu demanded.
“It’s a Welsh toast my father taught me,” Maddie replied. Actually, it was more a Welsh warning, along the lines of “mind how you go.” She doubted that her father, the son of a Welsh coal miner, would have approved of either the gin or the company, but it seemed appropriate.
Maddie repeated the phrase slowly. Lulu and Roberts both tried their luck saying it. Hilarity ensued and the ice was broken, only there wasn’t any ice. “That’s the sinkers, but they never have any,” Lulu said. “Be a lamb and get us some more coffee, Johnny, will you?”
“No more for me, thanks” Maddie said. “I have more work to do tonight.”
“All work and no play, Miss Ellis? That explains a lot.” Roberts’ voice was mocking as he left to get the drinks.
Lulu was scandalized. “But it’s Sunday evening.”
“I have a meeting in the morning I have to prepare for,” Maddie said. “And I need my wits, or most of them, about me. I’m so happy to see you again, Miss Desmond. I heard about the boat capsizing. I hope your pretty dress wasn’t ruined.”
“It was, but I made the boys pay for it. It was their fault, horsing around, but boys will be boys. I hope Miss Auclair was all right. She’s not a bad kid. A little prim and old maidish, but she didn’t deserve to be dunked in the ocean, and it was wicked of Johnny to play the pirate with her, poor little thing. He likes playacting a little too much, you know, but he doesn’t mean anything by it. There’s no harm in Johnny.”
People kept saying that about Johnny Roberts, but the more Maddie heard about him, the less she believed it.
“So, what brings you two out this way on a Sunday night?” Maddie asked. “It’s a long way to go for a cup of coffee, even if it is freshly brewed.”
“We’re going to a party,” Lulu said, confidentially. “A very special kind of party, only it’s a secret, so I can’t tell. Oh, here’s the refill! Bottoms up! That was my old man’s traditional toast.”
“Are you relieved that Sands of Afar has wrapped, Mr. Roberts?” Maddie asked, as he resumed his seat. “I know I am,” she added, confidingly.
“I liked my role,” he said. “I didn’t when you rewrote it. Not at first. I was angry, but it was better, I got to express agony and remorse,” he demonstrated both expressions. “Instead of just swinging from the battlements, although I got to do that, too. Truly, you worked a miracle, Miss Ellis. This film is going to be a blockbuster!” His sudden burst of energy and the slightly unfocused look in his eyes made Maddie wonder if he had indulged in a snort of something else that was not on the menu while he was collecting the second round of drinks.
“I may not get the girl, but there are plenty of other girls to get.” Roberts pounced on Lulu and kissed her. The actress giggled, and wound her arms around him. Maddie seized the opportunity to tip the rest of her drink out on the ground. She thanked Roberts, smiled at Lulu in what she hoped was a friendly manner, and left.
The Cadillac was gone, replaced by a dusty Ford Model T. As Maddie drove away she noticed another Model T parked at the little produce stand across from the filling station. The driver was lounging against the side, evidently enjoying a sandwich, but his body language suggested he was alertly watching the people coming and going along the lane. Maddie had written enough crime dramas to think at once of plain clothes policemen. She crossed the road and bought a bag of apples at the stand. She walked back to her Nash and ate an apple. It was a pippin, the kind that was yellow with a blush of bright red, tart and sweet, just the type she liked best. She ate another apple and continued to watch.
A minute later, Roberts’ sleek sports car turned out onto the road, and headed up the canyon. Maddie was still curious but she was also tired and not feeling reckless enough to crash two parties in the same evening. She would go home and make herself a cup of genuine coffee to take the taste of that appalling rotgut away. She drove back to Malibu deep in thought.
Was Lulu Roberts’ light-o’-love? It seemed so. But was she his, or perhaps she was simply waiting, like the lady known as Lou in the poem, to take what she could get? She was bubbly and blonde and pretty, but Roberts’ former fiancee, Isabel Flores, was more than that. She was a rare beauty who was also intelligent, and kind as well. And then there was poor, innocent Clarice. Perhaps Johnny Roberts was one of those men who wasn’t happy unless he had secured the affections of every woman he met, even when they didn’t mean anything to him. And where did Billy Worthington fit into the story? Did he know his girl was out on the town with his friend?
A curious thing happened that night. Maddie was tired from her day’s adventures but too wound up to sleep. She decided a walk might do her good and set out along the beach. The wind was up and the stars shone through rents in the fast-moving clouds. There was a strong smell of ocean from the crashing waves, and the air was cold. She was not far from her own home when she saw a flash of light from the empty house that belonged to Johnny Roberts. Perhaps he had come back here after his night on the town, she thought, but the light wasn’t from a lamp, it was the darting beam of a flashlight—furtive, secretive.
Maddie decided this wasn’t the night for a solitary walk on the beach. She hurried home, and made certain to lock and bolt the door behind her.
