She wondered why she even remembered him, but she did, more than the others she had met in her ceaseless peregrinations back and forth across the United States. She had thought him interesting and she knew he liked her—but love her? That was another matter. That meant that he would have to accustom himself to Mark, the Old Lord, Colin, Juliet, and she knew that some people even might be daunted by her father. In addition to his conjuring, he could, if he put his mind to it, raise and lower windstorms.
Kathie went slowly up the stairs to her room. Later, lying in an immense canopied bed set on swans’ wings, something that would have delighted her years ago, she listened to a chorus of crickets and frogs and wondered why she was crying. Tomorrow promised to be an exciting day. They would be going to Goldbaum-Magnum for the first time and would be meeting the producer and the director. They would also learn their rehearsal schedules and be given the scripts. She wondered how long they would rehearse and how long they would be working on the movie. She had heard that it had taken the famed D.W. Griffith six months to complete Birth of a Nation. Of course it was a very complicated movie. The Queen’s Necklace was also complicated. They were going to reconstruct the whole city of Paris in 1785. Her father was advising them on the authenticity of the sets as well as upon Cagliostro’s magic.
They little knew that he would be getting the information practically first hand from Juliet and Colin, who had been sojourning in Paris five years before the French Revolution and who, in addition to being presented to the unfortunate Marie Antoinette and King Louis XVI, had also had a nodding acquaintance with the Count and Countess Cagliostro.
“A freemason and supposedly an adept in magic,” Colin had said. “He was a very generous man and certainly not a villain. His wife Lorenza was very beautiful. They say that half the court was in love with her and the other half her lovers, but judging from what I know about her, I feel that was an exaggeration. And my dear Kathie, you far surpass her in beauty!”
“Colin!”
That was something Kathie had never let herself dwell on, either. The very thought of it frightened her. Though he had never been anything except avuncular where she was concerned and though she knew that if he had any particular preference for her above Richard, it was because she resembled her grandmother on the Veringer side, she still could not help rejoicing in their relationship. She loved to look at him. He was so slim, so elegant—his face was almost beautiful. To her mind, he bore a resemblance to the pictures she had seen of Lord Byron. She had told him so once and received a rather cool response. Colin had known the poet and, as he had told her crisply, to know him was not to respect him! Still, she did detect the resemblance, and there had been moments when he had been about to leave for some gala evening that she almost forgot his unfortunate situation.
“Oh, dear,” Kathie whispered and thought defensively of Matthew Vernon. He was similar in type to Colin, she realized, now that she allowed herself to consider them both, a pastime in which she rarely indulged. Surprise shot through her. Yes, they were similar in wee and form, both darkly and aristocratically handsome. English with a touch of the Scot.
“The border breed, my dear,” was how the Old Lord characterized Colin’s looks. Was that why she had been attracted to Mr. Vernon? Startled she glanced upwards. Had she heard a distant wail? Was it Letitia Lawrence or Molly? They sounded very much alike. She hoped it might be the actress, but no, it was Molly. She also heard the cat—but why?
Kathie put her head under the pillow to close off that mournful sound. She wondered miserably what more could possibly happen to them. She refused to speculate and defensively went to sleep.
❖
In his room, Mark, standing at the window, was beginning to feel logy and dispirited. Ignoring the palm trees and eucalyptuses under the rising moon, he glared at the chill satellite. Another two days and it would be full. As it reached that period, he felt estranged both from his family and the world. His arms and legs ached, and there was a throbbing all through his body in anticipation of the moment when he must change. He also knew that immediately upon closing his eyes this night, the dreams would come. He would see himself, sleek and furry, running swiftly over terrain he had never viewed in his waking hours. Huge trees would tower over him, their branches twisted and gnarled under their sparse coating of leaves. The ground beneath his paws was rock-strewn. There would be tall gallows bearing whitened skeletons, and the roads over which they loomed were crooked and unpaved.
As he loped along, his senses would be curiously sharpened so that he was aware of a number of scents, some delicious enough to make his mouth water and his stomach groan—rabbits in their holes, badgers in their burrows, squirrels curled in tree hollows, birds in their nests. Each had a different odor and would be delicious in its own way, but better things lay ahead. Out on an undulating stretch of moor would be sheep, which he saw not as white and woolly but lying stiff and stark on the ground, their throats torn out, their insides half-gutted, as he devoured great hunks of their flesh, their blood soaking his muzzle and himself howling with the pleasure of the kill!
It was a fantasy he never shared with anyone, not even Juliet and Colin, whom he knew could understand his craving and match it with their own. They would not really be in sympathy with him, he knew. No one could understand what it meant to be a werewolf. There were times when he felt dreadfully alone and envied Juliet and Colin because they had each other. He envied Robert even more. He could make love to a girl and often had. It was true that he never allowed himself to become serious, but at least he was not totally incapacitated for two to three days each month. He did not need to look at the moon and see it only as a threatening body that filled him with increasing dread because of the oblivion that overcame him, together with the ever-present fear that someone would let him out by accident some night and he would turn on those he loved, which he had been warned was the nature of the beast. Coupled with that fear was a new dream in which a small, dark woman came and jeered at him while he was chained in the cellar.
“The son of a witch and a werewolf ought to have more gumption,” she had said.
In that dream, she loosed his chains and guided him through the cellar, up into the house and out into the moonlit night. He had been experiencing that dream ever since they started for California. It seemed very real. He groaned. Half of him hated the dream but the other half longed to feel the earth beneath his paws—and the witch knew it. She laughed at him for that hidden longing, that unfulfilled desire. That woman had a name, one he knew and dared not mention to any of his kin.
She had told him that her name was Erlina Bell.
Two
Goldbaum-Magnum occupied some four acres in a town called Culver City which lay several miles distant from The Castle. It was bounded by a thoroughfare called Venice Boulevard, and the best way to reach it was to drive down Sunset Boulevard to Sawtelle Boulevard which would bring them to the aforementioned Venice Boulevard.
Those were Miss Fiske’s directions which they had given to the cab driver. However, the cabbie, an amiable, transplanted and homesick New Yorker, learning that his passengers had come from that city, talked warmly and wistfully of its wonders while taking a circuitous route that brought them to Malibu, a beach town several miles up the coast highway. From Malibu they drove to Venice Beach, and connecting at last with the proper boulevard, they rolled up in front of the studio gates some 40 minutes later than they should have.
Septimus, sitting with the nostalgic driver, did not comment but his glance at the meter and another glance in the rear-view mirror spoke volumes to his children. Subsequently he turned that glance on the driver, and as they emerged from the taxi, Kathie and Richard were not surprised to hear the cabbie say, “That’ll be fifteen cents, sir.” He magnanimously refused the nickle tip that Septimus attempted to press upon him.
“Papa,” Kathie reproved as she watched the mesmerized driver speed off. “He should have had at least fifty cents.”
“He planned on five dollars,” Septimus said sententiously. “If there’s anything I cannot abide, it’s a cheat.”
Richard did not join in their laughter. He was thinking about Ruth Fiske and was glad she was not present to see his father flexing his arcane muscles, even though he could only agree that it had been no more than the driver deserved. More specifically, he was thinking about the previous night when they had driven up Mulholland Drive and looked at the spread of twinkling lights that were Hollywood and Los Angeles. He had longed to embrace her. That was what was, happening in most of the cars parked around them. Unfortunately there had been no opportunity. Those lovely lips, which seemed made for kissing, were in almost perpetual motion as she told him about Hollywood, about Mr. Goldbaum’s relief that they liked the house, about the forthcoming picture which would be the most expensive ever produced by G&M. The evening was nothing like what he had expected.
“An easy conquest,” jeered his other half.
That was what he had wanted the previous night. He could still smell Ruth’s subtle perfume and envision her lovely profile as illuminated by the headlights from another car that had parked shortly after they rolled in.
In the bright light of morning, Richard was just as glad she had not proved “easy.” He had met plenty of that sort on the road. Try as his mother did to protect him from what she dubbed “harmful experiences,” he had been just 14 when he helped one Vera, the Snake Charmer, carry the box containing her pet python up to her room in the same boarding house where they were staying.
Vera had proved to be just as strong and determined as the python when her arms snaked around him. He had been very sorry when Vera, taking Charles, her python, had gone on the road the following week. Sally, a kootch dancer, had quickly taken her place, and after that there had been Tanya and Manya, a very pretty pair of Siamese twins. Later experiences were less exotic but equally rewarding. They were also too numerous to remember without the aid of the card file he did not possess. Yet oddly enough he had not even protested when the secretary, eluding his attempt at a goodnight kiss, had thanked him for a lovely evening and, refusing to let him accompany her to her door, hurried into her house. He was still addressing her as “Miss Fiske.” Under these circumstances, it was all the more surprising to him that he kept muttering to himself, “Ruth and Richard. Richard and Ruth.”
Usually he needed a great deal more encouragement than she had provided. She did have beautiful eyes, and her figure, as he had noted the previous day, was extremely good. He was glad she had not followed Juliet’s example and shingled her hair. He would have liked to see her with her long, heavy auburn tresses falling over her shoulders and bosom; his fancies precluded teddies or other underclothing. In fact his fancies...
“Richard,” Kathie said quite loudly.
Startled, he turned to find that the guard was opening the gates for them, Septimus having presented their passes. He flushed and followed them inside. The signs in the mammoth studio were varied and confusing enough to bring him out of his dangerous daydreams.
The guard that volunteered to show them the way to Mr. Goldbaum’s office took them down a wide cement walkway amazingly bordered by the sort of neat white houses found in the residential section of many American towns. Clipped green lawns stretched in front of them, flowers growing in neat beds near the front porches.
“Do people live in the studio?” Kathie asked him. “Some try,” the guard said, “but they wouldn’t much care for these here places. C’mon, little lady, and have yourself a look-see. C’mon, all of you.”
Following him up the cement driveway by one of the houses, they were amazed to find that beyond those curtained windows were only unfinished boards to prop up the line of façades.
“They’re sets!” Kathie exclaimed incredulously. “But they look so real!”
“Better have,” said the guard. “Camera picks up every little thing. Goes for people, too. You oughter see what we have to do with some of the dollies that come waltzin’ in here. Won’t need to do much of a job on you, miss, that’s a fact. But we’d better get goin’,” he added hastily before she could thank him for the compliment.
Coming down the driveway they passed what appeared to be a bombed-out village, and coming around the bend they met a bevy of pretty girls in Japanese costumes complete with heavy black wigs and delicate painted parasols. Following them were a pair of nuns screaming with extremely unladylike laughter and smoking cigarettes in long jade holders. An Arab sheik followed close behind them, walking with a girl in a riding habit.
As they passed, the guard jerked a thumb in their direction. “They ain’t Rudy and Agnes, Valentino and Ayers to you. They’re extras from Arabian Knight, spelled K-n-i-t-e. It’s a spoof on The Shiek worked out by Mickey Moriarity, hell of a funny feller, beggin’ your pardon, miss.” His smile at Kathie was so close to a leer that she was extremely glad by the time they were ushered into Mr. Goldbaum’s outer office.
The waiting room was furnished with one long leather-covered couch and several straight wooden chairs. Framed photographs of scenes from Passion’s Pawn, Pearl of the Prairie and the recently completed Lottie of Lonesome Gulch decorated the walls. There were also several framed Awards for Artistry and a huge garish poster depicting a shrinking maiden in a tattered evening gown being menaced by a leering man in evening dress. Huge splashy yellow letters proclaimed this to be a scene from Injured Innocence.
The long sofa was placed under the poster, and at one end sat a small man in a loud checked suit, bright ascot scarf and rakishly tilted derby. As Kathie, her father and brother sat down, he cocked a bright interested eye at the trio, his gaze lingering so long on Kathie that she flushed and looked down to see if the seams in her hose were straight.
“I’ll bet youse are waitin’ to see Mr. Goldbaum, huh?” he asked, looking interrogatively at Septimus.
“We are,” Septimus replied coolly.
“So’m I. Betcha you’re here to discuss The Queen’s Necklace, huh?” Before Septimus could reply, the man continued brashly, “I knew it. I read the papers. You, her’n him’re from the East Coast. Had yerself a magic act. Betcha don’t even have an agent, huh? That’s bad. You oughter have an agent. You need to know more’n how to get a rabbit out’ve a hat. An agent’s the man’ll get youse a fair shake. That’s the only way. An’ you might not know it but I’m the best in the business. You can talk about Ted Small an’ any other of them guys, but nobody knows more about flesh on the hoof than little old Sammy Shelton an’ that’s me.” He reached into his breast pocket and brought out a card. “Anybody asks you who your personal representative is you tell’m Sammy Shelton. Otherwise you’re goin’ to get screwed for sure.”
“Mr. Shelton, I don’t remember giving you an appointment.” Ruth Fiske, standing just beyond the door to the inner office, spoke in glacial accents.
Mr. Shelton assumed an expression that expertly mingled surprise and hurt. “Why, Miss Fiske, honey, I’m their personal representative.”
Before Miss Fiske could protest, and before Septimus, who was clearly about to burst forth with a hot denial, could utter a word, Richard said gently, “I’m afraid that position is already filled, Mr. Shelton. I am acting as my family’s artistic representative.”
Shelton’s mouth fell open but closed instantly only to open again with an astonished, “Ya can’t be your own agent. It ain’t done. We artist’s reps’ll have your hide. You won’t work here in this town, mister, an’ you can put that in your pipe’n smoke it. An’ let me tell you...”
“That is enough, Mr. Shelton.” Septimus turned his dark stare upon the agent. “You will leave, please.”
Richard winced and exchanged a long-suffering look with Kathie as Mr. Shelton rose and without another word walked stiff-legged to the door. As it closed behind him, Miss Fiske turned an amazed glance on them. “My goodness,” she breathed, “you must have hypnotized him. I’ve never seen that little vulture...” She blushed. “Excuse me. Won’t y
ou come in? Mr. Goldbaum will see you now.”
Richard did not venture another look at his sister or his father. Otherwise he would not have been able to contain the wild laughter that threatened to escape from him. It was not happy laughter. The accuracy of Miss Fiske’s observation had erected another wall between them. Though she had been joking, the three of them knew she had hit the nail squarely on its proverbial head. Mr. Shelton, finding himself outside on the sidewalk in front of the studio, would soon be as confused as a certain cab driver upon realizing that the receipt of their ride did not tally with the meter.
“Are you really repping for your family?” Miss Fiske demanded.
“Why yes.” Richard still avoided looking at his family. “I am often employed in that capacity.”
“Well, that’s fine,” she exclaimed enthusiastically. “That, should make matters much easier, Mr. Grenfall. I wish all actors were equally qualified. You’ve no idea how they are victimized by those bloodsuckers. Mr. Shelton actually takes fees from aspiring youngsters whether he gets them work or not.”
“So I’ve heard,” Richard lied, thinking that her eyes were very beautiful, more beautiful even than they had seemed last night, two shining emeralds but more lovely than emeralds. He added strongly, “I can protect my family.”
“Richard has a fine head for business,” Septimus said.
“I’m delighted to hear it.” She moved back. “Please come in. Mr. Vernon’s been delayed but he should be joining us presently.”
Household Page 35
