I was a young reporter for a newspaper in New York City, trying to find a story that would make my editor take notice of me. I was tired of writing about the city dump overflowing (how was that even news?) or the latest puppy adoption at the shelter.

I looked at the latest assignment and cringed. I was supposed to go to an old folks' home and interview an old man who was a has-been B-list actor from the 1940s. It'd be a fluff piece at best, and not at all what I thought I’d be doing when I studied journalism at Ithaca College.

My old man said it was a foot in the door, and I should be grateful for the job.

“It’ll pay your bills until something better comes along, son,” he told me.

It’s not that he was wrong. I just didn’t like the fact that, once again, he was right. So, here I was, sucking it up and doing my best with each article I wrote, hoping the editor would notice I actually had some talent.

I took a taxi since the newspaper would reimburse me. There was no sense taking planes, trains, and automobiles to get to The Watermark at Brooklyn Heights. Besides, it was hot outside, and I didn’t want to show up looking like a sweaty pig. I may not have been excited about the interview, but I didn’t want to appear disrespectful.

The Watermark was swanky as fuck, and I felt a little underdressed in black jeans and a gray shirt with a light jean jacket. But the woman who greeted me didn’t seem to look at me with judgment in her eyes, so I decided not to give it another thought.

“Who are you here to see, dear?” she asked kindly.

“I’m here to see Walter Brown,” I said, checking my notepad quickly for the name.

“We actually have two Walter Browns here. Which one do you mean?”

Fuck! How the hell should I know?

I went with my gut. “The actor. I’m here to interview him.”

“Oh, yes, of course! He’s been talking about that all day to anyone who will listen. He’ll be so excited that you’re here. Hang on just a moment.”

If he’s been talking about it all day, why the confusion about which Walter Brown I was there to see?

Martha, as her nametag revealed, walked briskly down the hall. A few moments later, she returned and said, “I’ll show you to the library.” The aid in his section will bring him to meet with you shortly.”

She showed me to an impressive room with stylish, comfortable couches and books that rose near to the ceiling. “Thank you for being here. It’s been a long time since Walter has had anyone visit him.

Her eyes welled up a little, and I felt a pang of awkwardness. But I nodded and smiled as I sat on a brown leather sofa, waiting.

Moments later, the door swung open, and a nurse’s aide named Carl wheeled Walter Brown into the room.

“Do you want to get out of the wheelchair, Mr. Brown?” Carl asked politely.

“Sure thing,” the frail man with the kind eyes answered. “I do so enjoy sittin’ on the Davenport.”

I resisted an impulse to roll my eyes. Patience wasn’t my strong suit. Neither was talking to old people. But Walter seemed like he had his faculties and his hearing, so maybe this time with him wouldn’t totally suck.

Once Carl had settled him on the couch, he said, “I’ll come back and check on you in a bit. Would you like any refreshments?”

Walter smiled sheepishly. “Some lemonade and cookies would be nice since I have a guest.”

“I’m on it,” Carl assured him.

I wanted to say that I wasn’t a guest, but I kept quiet. There was no need to be rude. Besides, I like cookies and lemonade.

“So, Mr. Brown,” I started.

“You can call me Walter. What’s your name, boy?”

“My name is Jeff Daniels,” I said.

“Like the actor?” he asked, laughing.

“Um, yeah, yes, like the actor.”

“Good, you seem like a nice young man. What on earth could you ask me that would be interesting enough to publish in a newspaper? Walter asked, the sound of Brooklyn dripping from his voice.

“It’s a special interest feature about your life as an actor and such, Walter.”

“That wouldn’t yield more than a paragraph or two, Jeff Daniels.” And nobody would bother to read it. Do you want a real story? A juicy story? One I’ve never told a single soul before now?”

The temptation to roll my eyes returned, but I resisted.

“Mr. Brown. Walter. My editor sent me to do a piece on your acting career.”

Walter sighed. “Okay, I was a B-list actor in a handful of movies. However, I was more prudent than some of my colleagues, and I invested wisely. Now I live in a fancy-ass retirement home and spend my days in a wheelchair flirting with old broads who either can’t hear me or don’t remember who the fuck I am. End of story. Did you get all that? Wasn’t that scintillating?”

Carl came back with a pitcher of lemonade, two glasses, and a tray with an assortment of cookies.

“Miss Nadine from the kitchen says to enjoy your visit, Mr. Brown. I will come back and check on you in about an hour. Pick up the house phone and dial seven if you need me to come sooner.”

An hour? What the hell would we talk about for an entire hour when Walter had basically told me all there was to tell?

I poured two glasses of lemonade and handed one to him.

“So, what movies were you in, Walter?”

“Listen, kid, we both know you can Google that shit and probably already have. We can waste your time and mine, or you can listen to a story that will blow your mind while we enjoy some of the best damn cookies in New York.”

“Can I record this?” I asked, hoping it didn’t come across as lazy on my part.

“Son, I think you’d better. You’re not gonna want to miss a single word.”

I laughed, pulled out my tape recorder, pressed the red button, and said, “OK, Walter, blow my mind.”

“Funny, that’s pretty much what Kay said.”

“Kay who?”

“Kay O’Connor, the most uncredited actress of our time.”

“What does that mean?”

“You gonna interrupt me, kid? Or ya gonna let me tell my story?”

I raised an eyebrow at Walter and let him talk.

“From 1944 to 1946, Kay O’Connor appeared in seven movies, six of which were uncredited. She worked with some of the biggest names in Hollywood, including Perry Como, Vivian Blaine, Gene Tierney, Vincent Price, and a host of others. But they don’t notice her because she had bit parts. A secretary or a telephone operator, that kind of small stuff.”

I nodded and took another cookie. This wasn’t the story I came for, but maybe I could spin some of what he was telling me into the human-interest piece I was supposed to write.

“The one movie she did have a credited part for, she played a woman named Kay. Well, if that weren’t a disappointing kick in the ass. Those writers and producers didn’t even bother to give her a fancy name like Sophia or Cecilia. Just Kay, her own damn name. Although her birth name was Katherine.”

I was starting to fear that this was going to be a bunch of nonsense when Walter’s eyes bugged out.

“But the joke was on them. Kay wasn’t just an actress playing extra parts and being ignored. Ya know what happens when people think you’re invisible, Jeff?”

“No, sir.”

“When you blend into the woodwork, people say the damnedest shit in front of ya. Like stuff they shouldn’t be repeatin’. Like some behind-the-scenes stuff that wasn’t exactly on the up-and-up.”

I took another sip of my lemonade. The least I could do was hear him out. Maybe there was a story here after all.

“Kay was more than just a pretty face; she was a smart dame. And she weren’t above cozyin’ up to some of the scariest of the bunch to find out information for the FBI.”

“She was a spy?” I asked, suddenly intrigued.

“She sure as shit was, and a really good one at that.”

“How do you know this?”

“How else do ya think, kid? I was bangin’ the dame.”

I nearly spit out my lemonade.

“You were bangin’ her?”

“Yeah, ya know, I was putting the dick to her.”

“Yes, I know what you meant.”

“Good, glad to see you catch on quick. Anyways, I knew she was spreadin’ her legs for some of the baddest apples in the bunch, but I weren’t lookin’ for love, if ya know what I mean. Just a good lay now and then. And she had the tightest…”

“Oh, well, I don’t think we need to go into details about that,” I interrupted. “But tell me more about the spy stuff.”

“Yeah, sure, kid. So, anyways, one night after she practically broke my dick, she starts mumbling something about a party she’d been to the night before with some high stakes poker goin’ on in the back. She wasn’t there as a guest; she was serving drinks and such. She never told me how she scored that gig; she just said that some of the other extras were working the party. I assumed she tagged along. She said all kinds of things were happenin’ that would make my head spin.”

I nodded and noticed Walter’s Brooklyn accent growing thicker as he took me back in time with him.

“So, I asked her like what, and she tells me some of the girls that was workin’ the party was real lookers. Ya know, the kind with an itty-bitty waists and huge knockers. And they were liftin’ their skirts in the rooms upstairs if you catch my drift. Kay says she got invited upstairs by a guy says his name is Jack Dragna. You’re gonna wanna look him up. He was a bad character.”

“Criminal?” I asked, taking notes.

“Mafia. If he was who he claimed to be, he was the head of the L.A. family. Like most Mafia families back in the day, they gained power by bootlegging alcohol during Prohibition and continued to grow in the forties and fifties. They was never as big as the New York or Chicago families, mind you, but they was big enough.”

“So, what did Kay have to do with this?”

“Well, turns out the guy had whiskey dick, so they played a little grab-ass and he sucked on her tits for a bit until she said she had to get back downstairs.”

My patience was wearing a bit thin, but it wasn’t like I had anything better to do with my time. Walter might be long-winded, but he was entertaining. So, I grabbed what I promised myself would be my last cookie and said, “What happened next?”

“Well, she only made it halfway down the stairs when a slick-looking guy asked her to follow him up to one of the rooms. She was still feeling a little hot to trot and figured this guy could deliver the goods, so she ducked into a room right quick so the other guy wouldn’t see.”

I was fully engrossed in the story and asked, “Did he scratch her itch?”

Walter laughed. “I like you, kid. In fact, he did not. Turns out he’s an FBI guy and wants to recruit her for a job. Kay told him she had a job as an actress and he told her he wasn’t offering like a real job to actually work for the bureau, but to do some light spy work.”

“It wasn’t a real job offer?”

“Nah, kid, not officially. The bureau didn’t start hiring women until the seventies. Besides, she was busy getting ready for auditions. But she told the guy, Jesse Striker, that she was real good at blending in and overhearin’ stuff. He said he would contact her the next week and see if she had anything interesting to report. He said her code name would be Extra and his would be Hammer. It was all very exciting.”

“Was she supposed to tell you all this?”

“Hell no, but she knew I could keep my mouth shut. I think she probably needed someone she could tell who wouldn’t squeal. That, and I never left her itch unscratched.”

I grinned. That's very interesting, Walter. I’ll see if I can weave that into the story.”

“I’m not done, kid. Did I blow your mind yet? Sit down and keep listening.”

~~~~~

“Walter, you didn’t need to wait for me,” Kay said, flashing me her movie star smile. “But I’m awfully glad you did. I’m starving; take me to dinner, and then we can have some dessert at your place.”

“Anything for you, doll,” I said, taking her arm and helping her down the steps to the subway. Just that simple contact with her made my loins ache.

I kept my arm around her protectively but was careful to be a perfect gentleman. There would be plenty of time later to enjoy cupping her breasts or groping her ass. I slipped two dimes into the turnstile, one for each of us, and scurried toward the train. The sooner I fed Kay’s hunger, the sooner she’d satisfy mine.

The ride took damn near a half hour, but it was a short walk from the subway to Bamonte’s Restaurant on Withers Street. They had the best Italian food around, plus I didn’t want to be a cheapskate when it came to buying dinner for such a classy dame.  I told her to order whatever she wanted on the menu and fantasized about what we would do when we were alone.

Before long, I was opening the door to my duplex, trying to be quiet so my roommate wouldn’t hear us coming in. Sal was a nice enough guy, but he was a real sociable sort, and I didn’t want to waste another minute on small talk.

After successfully sneaking up the stairs to my room, we tore each other’s clothes off like we’d been deprived of sex for years.

“God, yes, Wally! Touch me everywhere!” Kay panted.

“I intend to make sure I don’t miss a spot,” I teased as my hands relieved her of her slip. My fingers worked their magic on the hooks of her brassiere as she slid her girdle down her hips and dropped it to the floor. I followed suit, shrugging off my boxers, and watched Kay’s eyes glaze over when she saw my manhood already oozing with excitement.

“Bet that tastes real good, baby,” she said coyly.

“Get down on your knees and find out,” I said, giving her bottom a playful slap.

Kay wiggled her eyebrows and sunk to the floor.

“Oh, fuck, you do this real good, dontcha Kay? What a talented mouth you got, baby. Oh, yeah, that’s right, keep lickin’ and suckin’ my dick, but watch those teeth, doll.”

After worshipping my cock like it belonged to the King of Siam, Kay looked up and asked, “You want to finish in my mouth, Wally? Or do you wanna go south of the border and pound into my honeypot?”

Although Kay was what you’d call an icing expert with that talented mouth, I’d have been a fool not to slide into that sweet broad. I told her to climb on the bed with her back end sticking up to give me a good angle. When I plunged into her, she was hot to trot and dripping like a faucet.

“Oh, sweet Jesus, Kay, you feel so fuckin’ good!”

I pumped into her while she moaned and writhed, and soon enough, my balls were ready to burst.

“Where do you want it, Cookie?” I asked, trying to be a gentleman.

“Keep it in me, Wally. I want to feel that spunk shoot inside me.”

“I don’t wanna make no babies, you see, so where do ya want it?”

“I can’t have babies, Wally. Just stop talking and do the deed.”

Well, knowin’ it was safe to spew my goo inside that tight, wet dame made my balls ache until they let my swimmers loose. I filled her up and had her moaning like crazy.

~~~~~

We were interrupted by Carl, who brought a sweater for Walter in case he got chilled. Carl’s brow furrowed when he saw Walter looking flush.

“I’ll leave the sweater just in case, but you seem like you’re overheating. Are you okay, Walter?”

Walter grinned mischievously. “Never better, Carl. Now shoo! This young man has a deadline to make.”

Walter winked at me, and I nodded, playing along.

“Pour me some more lemonade, Jeff Daniels. Storytelling is thirsty work.”

Chuckling, I got up and walked to the table, filled two glasses with lemonade, and grabbed a cookie for each of us.

“Okay, so you and the actress got your freak on, and then what?” I said, munching on yet another cookie.

Walter looked around to make sure Carl was no longer in earshot. Then he grinned.

“Then I grabbed us a couple of beers from the icebox, sat down next to her, and listened intently as she opened her mouth and shared things I knew she shouldna been squealing about.”

“Such as?” I asked, hoping he wasn’t just dragging me along and yanking my chain.

“Such as the illegal gambling going on in secret rooms in various locations around town. Not just poker, mind you: high-stakes betting and such. Dragna had connections from his bootleggin’ days before probation was repealed. Since moving illegal liquor weren’t a thing anymore, he moved on to other illicit activities.”

“Such as?” I repeated.

“Such as Jack Dragna and his people weren’t too happy about the fact that his competitor, Bugsy Siegal, was horning in on his territory. Bugsy was silver-tongued and managed to weasel his way into the Hollywood scene. He was rubbing shoulders with up-and-coming movie stars and producers and managed to worm his way into several movie industry unions. Then he started extorting money and was makin’ a fortune.”

He paused. I wasn’t sure if he lost his train of thought or was getting tired.

“And…” I prompted Walter to continue

And some folks say that a falling out between Bugsy and the New York Mafia families over the Flamingo Hotel led to his demise. But the rumor Kay heard was that Jack Dragna ordered the hit.”

“The hit?” I asked, trying to get Walter to elaborate.

“Assassination, kiddo. Course, there was no way to prove it. Kay wasn’t s’posed to be listening. She fed the information to Jesse Striker, but without proof, they couldn’t pin it on Dragna.”

“Isn’t most of this well-known?”

Walter frowned. “I’m not done, kid,” he chided, eating a bite of cookie and washing it down with the lemonade. “While nabbing Dragna was a bust, Jesse Striker hinted that they might be able to use Kay on some other cases if she were willing to, ya know, let guys feel around under her skirt and such. Thugs and thieves can get stupid around a dame, especially when they start thinking with their dicks.”

“So, did Kay agree?”

“Not at first. She didn’t like the insinuation that all she was good for was a quick lay. But she came to me one night and asked me what I thought.”

“Wally, what do you think I should do? I mean, it’s good money the FBI is offering, but doesn’t that make me kinda like a prostitute?”

“Kay, you’re too classy ever to be considered a whore. You like sex, right?”

“Right.”

“And you don’t want no steady thing with a man, right?”

“Right again.”

“So the studio ain’t gonna pay yous near as much as the Feds will. And, I think yous kinda get a kick outta the spy stuff.”

Kay grinned. “You do have a point.”

“’Course I do. And you got two good points. Hows about you let me play with ‘em for a while.”

“Only if you fuck me good and hard afterward, Wally.”

“You can always count on me for a good fuck, doll.”

~~~~~

“So, that night, after I jackhammered her sweet pussy, she decided the spy thing was a good gig. And the part that excited her the most? Being able to play parts where her name wasn’t Kay, finally. She would call herself Sylvia, Gloria, or even Annabelle. Sometimes, when she would come to my duplex after prying some information out of some dumbass, she’d tell me to call her by one of those pretend names. I told her I’d call her whatever she wanted if she kept comin’ back to have more fun.

“Eventually, after raking in a fortune doin’ the clandestine cockin’ around, she decided she wanted to focus on her acting career again. She figured if she could fool a bunch of criminals into spilling their dirty deeds, she should give the acting one last shot. But she hired a better agent, see. A guy named Salvatore Feldman, better known as Sal.”

“Sal the Pal?” I asked.

“That’s the one, kid. He told her she needed to change her look if she wanted to be taken seriously. Sos she bleached her hair, started wearing fake eyelashes, dropped the Brooklyn accent, and changed her name.”

Wally’s eyes lit up, and his voice got quieter. He leaned forward and said, “That’s when Estella Branford was born.”

“Estella Branford? THE Estella Branford?” I asked excitedly.

“Shh, keep yer voice down, kid,” Wally admonished me. “Yes, the one and only Estella Branford, Hollywood darling and socialite. She made a buncha movies and became a big star. All she had to do was leave Kay O’Connor behind.”

There was a tinge of something in his voice. Sadness? Regret? I suspected that Kay wasn’t the only one left behind.

“She was too big a star after that to be seen with the likes of Wally Brown. But she did come knocking on my door one night, all done up in disguise. She said she wanted to have a romp with me, for old times’ sake. I shoulda been offended. But I couldn’t say no to her. I never could.”

~~~~~

“Wally, baby, I know I’ve been a bad friend. But I’ve missed you so much. Please don’t turn me away,” Kay said.

“I could never turn you away, doll. Come inside, and let’s make the night count.”

~~~~~

“We went upstairs and stripped each other naked; then our hands were all over each other. We sucked and fucked until we could barely move. I remember thinking it was the best night of my life. It wasn’t until shortly after dawn when Kay put her disguise back on and slunk out into the night, that I realized I was in love with her. But she was Estella Branford now, and I was just Walter Brown, B-lister. So, I let her go without telling her how I felt.”

He'd told me a lot, and, yeah, some of it blew my mind, but I felt like the story was missing something. So, I waited patiently, and Wally continued.

“Five years later, I see a picture of her in the newspaper with her husband, Jack Stone, and their son, Walter.”

He paused, so I spoke. “Wow, she named her son after you? That was something special, huh?”

Wally looked at me with misty eyes. “I guess she figured her son should have his father’s name.”

MIND BLOWN!

“Oh, gosh! Walter Stone is your son? Holy moly…”

Walter grinned. “Wait, it gets better, kid. Turned out Jack Stone was gay, a secret he took to his grave, and he let her come to see me so I could knock her up on purpose.”

“Oh, my God! Wait, didn’t she say she couldn’t have babies? And if Jack Stone took the secret to his grave, how do you know he was gay?”

“I knew I liked you, kid. You pay attention to details. When Kay became Estella, she could afford fancy doctors and went to see a specialist who helped her with endo… well, whatever was wrong with her lady parts.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Look over there on the wall, Jeff Daniels. There’s a plaque you should read.”

I got up and walked over to where the plaque hung on the wall and read it aloud,

“In Memory of the talented Miss Kay O’Connor, who spent her final years here at The
 Watermark. May those who enjoy this library remember her fondly.”

“She lived here? As Kay?”

“She did indeed,” he said wistfully. “And though eventually, as her dementia grew worse, she didn’t remember much, she did recognize me and told everyone here that I was the love of her life. The one that got away.

“Her son, Walter, registered her here under her original name to protect her privacy. He figured out quickly enough that I was his father, the resemblance being undeniable and all. We forged a tentative friendship since we saw a lot of each other when he’d come to visit his mother. His annoyance at being lied to all these years lessened when I told him that I’d kept his mother’s secret out of respect for her and for Jack Stone. Back in those days, actors couldn’t be openly gay, or they’d never be cast in any starring roles again.

“Anyway, in her more lucid moments, Kay told me that she had loved me too but that marrying Jack was good for her career. Plus, she never knew I wanted to be more than just a fuck buddy.”

“Wally, if I write any of this in the article, won’t it upset Walter Stone? I mean, he was trying to protect his mother’s privacy. Won’t this screw that up?”

“It doesn’t matter, kid. Walter Stone passed away several years ago. Had a heart attack in his sleep. It wasn’t too long after that when Kay slipped away as well. She missed her boy’s visits, I suppose. Most of those people I told ya about are long dead. It probably won’t be too long before I am, too, kid. I’m not exactly a spring chicken.”

I smiled. “You’re so much more than just a B-list actor from Brooklyn. Thank you, Wally; you may have just given me a story that will make my editor take notice of my writing.”

“He knows you’re talented, Jeff Daniels. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have sent you here to interview me.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Your editor is Walter Stone’s son – my grandson. I asked him to send me someone who wouldn’t just see a doddering old man but would take the time to listen.”

“So, you set this up? It wasn’t my boss’s idea?”

Wally looked at me sheepishly and shrugged. “I had a story to tell.”

I shook my head and laughed. “I’d like to think it was patience that allowed me to stay and listen long enough to get the full story, Mr. Brown, but honestly, you’re one of the most interesting people I’ve ever talked to.”

Wally raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure it wasn’t the cookies and lemonade, kid?”

I laughed. “They might have helped, too.”

We said our goodbyes, and I promised Wally that I’d bring him a copy of the story when it made the paper.

The article was a success and led to a book deal. Wally wasn’t sure why anyone would be interested in publishing a book about him, but he insisted that I be the one to write his story. We chose the title together: "Cookies and Lemonade – Afternoons with Walter Brown" by Jeff Daniels, the author, not the actor.

It was my first New York Times Best Seller.