Neilan laughed harshly, mistaking his meaning. ‘Good question. I never saw them busier in publicity. Wearing out the phone lines, churning out pap for the papers. Keeping the panic at bay, I guess. All I know is I’m pulling my neck in till the storm passes.’
With that, he gave Tom an odd look, as though he had just dredged something else from the alcohol-soaked recess of his memory. ‘You might want to think about doing similar yourself, Tom. You better be careful. There’s a lot riding on this. You don’t want to be the one gets in the way.’
Tom took a step back. ‘What’s that supposed to mean, Mickey? What are you saying? Or not saying, more’s the point?’
Neilan laughed as if he should know better than to ask, but said nothing. It was too late anyway. Neilan had spotted something over Tom’s shoulder and was walking away. ‘Just remember what I said. Watch your step.’
He strode away, arms extended, bellowing a welcome to a mass of people moving through the lobby, at its center a woman so short she would have been invisible but for the cascades of flaming color flashing off a headdress that could only have been borrowed from a DeMille costumer.
‘When Gloria Swanson enters a room, all the guys go into a swoon.’ Half sung, half whispered in his ear, Fay’s voice wiped all other thoughts from his mind as he turned to find her behind him.
He caught his breath as she leaned into him and proffered her lips in greeting. He threw his arms around her, kissed her, consumed by her proximity. So much, he had to break off, hold her at arm’s length, drink in the sight of her. A gown of sea-green silk stitched with whorls of silver beadwork and pearl. Her auburn hair, pinned up, glimmered under the light of the chandeliers. She looked like an earthbound deity. As she took a step back, delighting in his admiration, half a heaven of reflected light scattered across her tall, trim figure.
‘Checking out the competition?’ She nodded back towards the clique surrounding Swanson but kept her cool green eyes fixed on his, a smile playing on her lips. ‘She’s out of your league, you know.’
‘Sure she is. I’m not bothered. What worries me, if she’s out of my league, what chance do I stand with you?’
‘I guess it couldn’t hurt to encourage you a little.’ Fay put a gloved hand up to his cheek, noticing the bruises for the first time. ‘What happened to you? Have you been sparring at Jeffries’ Barn again? Honestly, I can’t leave you alone, can I?’
He smiled at that. ‘Maybe you better not leave me alone.’
She turned away, laughing, surveying the fashionable throng and drawing glances from half the men in the lobby. From a good few women, too. Tom caught the eye of Louis, the Palm Court’s maître-d who was standing by the entrance to the dining room, and received a friendly nod in reply.
‘Come on, let’s go in,’ Tom said, steering Fay towards the door. ‘You’re making me very hungry.’
TWENTY-EIGHT
Louis gave them a good, comfortable table off to the side, promising to move them closer to the dance floor once they finished eating. Already the high vaulted room, with its exquisite yellow and blue Tiffany roof light, intricate stucco panels and frieze, was filled to capacity with chattering diners. For now the dance floor was deserted, the stage empty but for three tiers of straightback chairs with a purple Paul Whiteman banner draped behind, and a journeyman quartet cranking out some old-time tunes to fill the room with sounds more melodious than the clatter of cutlery and the babble of other people’s voices.
Tom watched how Fay accepted the waiters’ attention. In a town more awed by fame than wealth, Fay reckoned she had come about as far as she was ever likely to go and was happy to enjoy it. Tom drank in the calm of her presence like cool water on a desert walk. She nattered happily across the table, telling him the tattle from New York, who she’d seen and how they’d been, what was in the theaters, and the scandal caused even there by the Taylor murder. Tom updated her on all things West, including his involvement with Sennett and Taylor, skirting the more unpleasant details.
She could no more see a pattern in what had happened than he, and through her eyes it all seemed suddenly, reassuringly, absurd. He loved how she was amused by the scrapes he got into, and often wondered how he would have coped without her support. It was Fay who convinced him he had the wherewithal to set up on his own. It was she who provided him with the best and only reason to stay strong, to make sure he didn’t fail.
As they were finishing their meal, he saw Fay look up in surprise across the rim of her glass at something over his shoulder. A buzz of excitement was sweeping the room and he turned to see a compact figure bounding like bundled electricity in the direction of their table, beaming a smile that occupied half his deep-tanned face. Douglas Fairbanks, the biggest movie star of them all, was heading towards them, arms outstretched in greeting.
‘Tom, old man.’ Fairbanks took him by the hand and worked his arm like a rusty old water pump. ‘I can’t quite believe it. I was singing your praises to Mary only this morning.’
‘Doug.’ Tom struggled to his feet. ‘I didn’t think they let you out on your own anymore.’
Fairbanks hooted. ‘Ha-hah, too right, old man. Only when I succeed in giving them the slip. The slip, you remember?’
Tom laughed. It was a shared memory, a reference to a shoot they worked on together long before the great star left Lasky and set up an independent operation. Even as Fairbanks’ eyes were darting towards Fay, he made the introduction.
‘I am more than usually enchanted, Mrs Parker, I assure you.’ Fairbanks lived up to his reputation as the industry’s most charming man. ‘Regrettably, I am in a greater hurry than usual also. Would you allow me to tear Tom away from you briefly? I need a word in private. Just a moment or two, I promise.’
Nothing would please her more, Fay said. As Tom turned to follow Fairbanks out of the room, she dropped her jaw at him, her expression the zenith of impressed.
Outside in the lobby, Fairbanks swished a tall wall curtain aside and ushered Tom into an alcove he’d never noticed before, containing a small table, a telephone and a chair. Fairbanks closed the curtain but remained standing, his energy as ever giving an impression of barely contained excitement.
‘I can’t tell you how pleased I am to bump into you, old man,’ Fairbanks began. ‘I heard that fool Eyton let you go from Lasky’s. A scandal in itself. But I was unsure how to get in touch. Now here you are in the flesh. It must be fate.’
Tom let Fairbanks have the floor, batting away the commiserations on his joblessness by repeating that he had struck out on his own, reaching into his jacket for a business card.
‘That’s most admirable, old man,’ Fairbanks said, pocketing it after the briefest of glances. ‘You know how big I am on self-reliance. But honestly, could this give you and that charming lady of yours the life you deserve?’
Tom wasn’t sure how to take that. Fairbanks thrust on regardless. ‘Which is why Mary and I want to talk to you. Would you be free Monday to come see us? At Pickfair? I appreciate it’s a long way out, but we have a proposal I’m certain will be of interest to you. After lunch, say, at three? Will you come?’
Tom was so baffled he could barely get the words out. ‘Of course, I will, Doug. If you want. But what’s this about?’
Fairbanks tapped his nose and beamed the trademark grin. ‘Can’t tell you more for now, old man. But suffice to say, it will be very much in our mutual interest. If you could keep it under your hat for now, too, I’ll be grateful. If anyone asks, just say I want you to join me on a shoot at Lake Arrowhead. We’re up there next month. OK with you?’
‘Sure, but won’t you stay and have a drink with us? We’re staying on for the dance. Louis always gives us a good table.’
Fairbanks was amused by that but declined. ‘Alas, no, Tom, thank you. As I said to your lovely lady, I cannot dally. I must get over to the Lasky studio. You know I hate to be late.’
‘Lasky’s?’ Tom was surprised. Fairbanks had not left the studio’s employ
on amicable terms when he broke free of his contract in 1919, to go set up United Artists with Pickford, Chaplin and Griffiths, and he had never been welcomed back. ‘What could you want there at this hour, on a Saturday?’
It was a casual inquiry, but Fairbanks appeared dumbstruck by it. Even his celebrated tan seemed to pale a tone, his eyebrows drawn in consternation, as though he had let a cat out of a bag.
‘I, eh … I shouldn’t have told you that, old man,’ he said hesitantly.
A reaction like that, Tom thought, with anyone else would have to involve a woman. An illicit liaison on an empty stage. But not Doug ‘the faithful’ Fairbanks, surely? His devotion to his wife, Mary Pickford, was legendary. Tom couldn’t bear to watch the man flounder and, remembering what Havers said earlier, laughed.
‘It’s OK, Doug. I get it. Valentino’s shooting nights out there, and Fred Niblo’s directing. He helmed you in Zorro, didn’t he?’
Fairbanks eyes widened further, then he grasped the rope Tom was throwing, his face flooding with relief.
‘Yes, uh, yes, that’s exactly it, old man.’ The grin reappeared like the sun after an eclipse. ‘You always were quick, weren’t you? Yes, Fred’s a good friend, and we are very keen to witness young Valentino enact his art in the round, if you will. You know what it’s like for us. Couldn’t be done by day without a fuss, but on a Saturday night with nobody else around, Fred thought we might slip in unnoticed. You won’t tell on us, will you?’
‘You can rely on me, Doug.’
‘Good man.’ Fairbanks seized him by the hand, working the pump again. ‘I knew you’d be the one for us.’
Tom hadn’t the first clue what in heck had just passed between them, but he was darned if he’d mess with it now the significance of Fairbank’s invitation to his home in Beverly Hills was beginning to dawn on him.
‘Until Monday, then. Toodle-pip!’
With that, Fairbanks threw back the curtain and launched himself out across the hotel lobby, the sea of guests parting before him as if he was some kind of Moses. Except Moses never worked a crowd like that, grinning and saluting all round, good will surrounding him like a halo, as he made his way out into the night.
TWENTY-NINE
‘Man alive,’ Fay said, when he rejoined her, pretending to drag her jaw off the floor. ‘You never run out of surprises, do you, Tom Collins? So D’Artagnan is your best pal now?’
‘I liked him better as the dashing blade,’ Tom said, doing his best to mimic the blinding Fairbanks grin. ‘We go back. He’s like that with everyone. Always the charmer. Even with me.’
She wagged a finger at him amiably, then linked him again, her excitement palpable wherever their limbs touched. ‘Come off it, Tom. You’re no slouch and you know it. Fairbanks, for heaven’s sake. What did he want?’
‘He has some work for me.’
‘United Artists? They would be good to get in with,’ she said, her pragmatic head on.
‘Yeah, next month, a location shoot up at Lake Arrowhead. Wants me to organize a few extra hands to ride shotgun, keep them all safe.’
‘You said yes, I hope.’
‘Absolutely, I’m not going to pass on that. He’s good to work for. Said he might have more for me, too, but couldn’t be sure of it.’
He considered whether to hold back or not, but knew she’d wheedle it out of him anyway, he was so excited by it. ‘He wants me to meet him Monday. And Mary. Out at Pickfair.’
Again she was seriously impressed. ‘My word, a royal summons.’
He had never seen her truly starstruck before, and he liked it. If she couldn’t be awed by the King of Hollywood, then she couldn’t be awed by anyone, and nobody needs that. Fairbanks’s shower of stardust seemed to have hit the waiters too, as solicitous to Tom now as to Fay while they were escorted round the Palm Court dance floor to a booth.
Settling in, Fay was not letting go. ‘Did he say what about?’
‘No. But I heard last week someone bought the old Hampton Studios out on Santa Monica Boulevard. You know it?’
‘I think so. Out past La Brea. Big old place, not much else around?’
‘Not yet,’ Tom said, thinking ahead. ‘A couple months ago there was a rumor Doug and Mary were sniffing around out there. I heard before that they wanted to set up a production arm, together – somewhere to produce movies by themselves. So, look, all I’m saying is …’ He hesitated, not wanting to get carried away. ‘Well, put that together with tonight. He was like a coiled spring. More than usual. Like he couldn’t wait to get started on something.’
He leaned in closer to lower his voice. But she got there before him.
‘They will need someone to run security.’ She laughed, unselfconscious in her delight. They had to wait a moment for the curious glances from a nearby table to die away again.
‘But that’s wonderful,’ Fay whispered. ‘If he takes you on, you’ll be much better placed than you were at Lasky’s.’
‘If,’ he emphasized. ‘Could be they just want me to man the gate.’
‘Not the way he shook that mitt of yours,’ she said. Her hand was on his shoulder now and she pressed in, lips feathering against his ear. ‘Never be afraid to want, Tom.’
The hunger in her eyes was intoxicating. They both thrilled to it, acknowledged it, and knew that here, in public, they had to pull back. She looked away, anything to break the intensity.
‘So when did you work with him before? Was it anything interesting?’
He laughed, heady with lust and optimism. ‘We’ve done some things together. I met him years ago. When he was still under contract with Zukor. Before United Artists. Even before he and Pickford were an item, officially.’
She caught the qualification. ‘Officially?’
It wasn’t as if she didn’t know the story. Or half of it, at least. Fairbanks and Pickford had the squeakiest clean image of any couple on the silver screen. Him the tanned athletic hero, her the curl-clad virgin bride. For years their immense popularity was considered dependent on it. Yet everyone in the business knew the reality was shabbier: that Doug and Mary had met and fallen in love while married to others. Shortly after the end of the war in Europe, their secret had come out in the press but it had been well managed, and they had survived more or less intact. What never came out was how long they’d been seeing each other before they put it right.
‘That was one of the reasons Zukor sent me out here,’ Tom said, pleased with the double take this provoked from Fay.
‘But you told me you came out in 1917,’ she said.
‘Sure. You know Pickford was married to Owen Moore then?’
She nodded eagerly. ‘I met him at a party, back East, not so long ago. He seemed a nice enough man, not at all as rough as I’d heard.’
If only she knew, Tom thought. ‘I heard he cleaned up. Back then he was wed to the bottle more than Pickford, a regular mean-minded bum. Couldn’t cope with all the “America’s Sweetheart” commotion around her. I’m not kidding; the more famous she got, the more he looked like a train wreck. Nasty with it – not shy of dishing it out some.’
Fay leaned in closer, aghast. ‘He beat her?’
‘Right.’ He checked the tables around. No one was paying any attention. ‘She left him, but no one got to know. Zukor moved her out to Hollywood with her mother and the rest of the family; Moore stayed in New York. Then somebody let slip about Fairbanks and it was like a bomb went off. Moore came storming into Zukor’s office at Paramount, waving a pistol, screaming, “I won’t have it! I’m gonna kill that climbing monkey! I’m gonna rip the grin off his face!” He was crazier with the drink than jealousy.’
‘You were there?’ Fay’s laugh was so scandalized he had to shush her.
‘I was having my own troubles,’ he said. ‘I’d gone to see Zukor, to make good on a promise he made me once. We were only talking five minutes when Moore burst in. I knocked him one in the gob and he dropped like a baby.’
‘But he had a gun.’
‘I dealt with worse than him every day of the week in New York. Real men, hard as nails.’ Tom accompanied that with a wink. ‘Or so Zukor reckoned anyhow. Next day I got a note from him to come in again, and when I got there, Allan Dwan, Doug’s director back then, was in the room. They were all set to start shooting A Modern Musketeer out here, but Zukor was afraid Moore would follow Doug out to Los Angeles, and do God knows what. So he packed them off to Colorado to shoot the outdoor scenes, and begged me to go along in case Moore discovered where they were. What an adventure. We were up by Grand Canyon filming for most of a month, the whole company camping out in tents. We moved on to a Navajo reservation in Arizona. I never saw anything like it. I’d never been west of Philly before. And Doug – he couldn’t have been friendlier, or done more to make me feel a part of it.’
‘He had good reason to stick close,’ Fay said. But he could see she was touched by the idea of it.
Tom slipped into familiar reverie. The parched landscapes of rock and ravine, like nothing he had ever dreamed of before, the freedom and good humor of the company, his wonder at the Navajo and their ways. Had any dumb Irish cop ever enjoyed such great good fortune?
He felt the soft tug of Fay’s stare and brought himself back. ‘Doug came straight out to Hollywood after, to see Pickford. Zukor suggested I go with him, keep a discreet eye out. Couple of weeks later, asked me if I liked the sunshine. Said he needed a reliable guy to beef up security at “Famous Players”. He never once called it Lasky’s.’ He laughed at the memory. ‘I jumped at it, naturally. Would’ve bit his hand off for it at the time, situation I was in.’
Fay took a sip and wrinkled her nose. ‘So Moore never came after them?’
‘Like I said, Moore was a drunk. And a coward. He knew it was all over with Pickford and that even Doug, who was only half his size, could probably flatten him quick as a blink if he tried anything. But all Zukor cared about was the scandal, the reputations of his two biggest stars going up in smoke – along with their guaranteed half million bucks a year each, which he’d have to pay even if nobody wanted to buy tickets to see them anymore. Moore knew how to rattle Zukor, all right. He probably got well paid for his silence.’
The Long Silence Page 16
