Chapter NineteenCLARA’S BEACH HOUSE,
February 1929
“Gin.”
Clara laid her cards down and popped her gum.
“Are you declaring victory or do you want another drink?” I said with a laugh.
I’d discovered that my favorite part of the job was the time spent in Malibu—enjoying the sun and the sea breeze, taking long walks through the waves, or relaxing with a good book on the cushion in the screened-in porch. Sometimes, this secretary thing definitely had its advantages.
I’d made Clara and me some ham sandwiches and orange blossoms, so we had a quick bite and were playing rummy on the terrace, enjoying the sound of the surf and the calls of the gulls. The chows were asleep at our feet.
Clara glanced toward the water and sat up straight for a moment. “Jimmy!” she called, waving her cigarette
