Chapter ElevenCLARA’S HOUSE, 512 NORTH BEDFORD DRIVE, BEVERLY HILLS, CALIFORNIA,
late January 1928
Turned out, Daddy Bow had been shacked up in Santa Monica with one of his conquests for a couple days. Sure enough, the minute he got back, he followed me around the house trying to pinch my backside, even after I’d rebuffed him at the studio.
“Come on, girlie,” he said. “We’re livin’ under the same roof now! We can be friendly, can’t we?” He ran his sandpapery hand over my bare arm and I wanted to throw up.
I grabbed a letter opener off the desk and thrust it toward him. “You stay the hell away from me if you know what’s good for you,” I said. “I’ll stick this in your gizzard as soon as look at you. I mean it.”
He backed off, but I knew it wouldn’t be long before he tried again. I had a
