by George Baxt
His face beet red with embarrassment, Willis murmured something that sounded like “Arrumph” while Marie wondered if the cops knew about her late husband the pickpocket.
Villon said, “Miss Darling, I think you are misreading me. I never insinuated that anyone in this family is a murderer. In truth, you haven't given me a chance to finish. You're all on the defensive for no reason that I can understand.”
Mallory looked at Villon with tacit admiration. He was handling them brilliantly. He was prepared to do battle with Marie Darling because he had been forewarned by Helen Dickson that the old woman's favorite target was the jugular. He also understood that solidarity was the family watchword. Villon was convinced that there wasn't anyone in the world not capable of murder whether premeditated or driven to it emotionally. He remembered at least two occasions when he himself had to be restrained from killing.
Villon said to Marie, “Have you ever visited Ezekiel Lovelace at his home in Inglewood?”
“What for? Why should I visit him? I never even met him .”
'Really? Now, isn't that strange? Didn't he attend the wedding?”
“He wasn't asked.”
Villon's eyes moved from Marie to Jack. “Didn't Dolly want her father at her wedding?”
“Well, actually no, she didn't. You see, she was afraid of him.”
“Do you know why?”
“Well, back in New York, where they came from, he was very stern and very strict with her. She couldn't go anywhere or do anything without his permission. She worked as a model for Worth—you've heard of Worth?” Villon nodded and thought, Condescending son of a bitch .“ He used to be there at the end of every work day, waiting for her. He was suffocating the poor kid.”
“How did she get away from him?”
“She ran away while he was out of town with a show. He was a stagehand. Several people in films had noticed her when she modelled. I mean, that astonishing beauty, the way she walked, it was so, well, it was so feline.”
Jim Mallory hoped Jack wouldn't burst into tears - his voice was getting highly emotional.
“She was a sure bet for films. Whether she could act or not, she was a sure bet.” He was indeed fighting tears. He regained control and continued “Well, she turned out to be a pretty good actress. I was nuts about her Anyway, he tracked her down because of her pictures; that was a cinch, of course. He came out here, but by then she wasn’t afraid of him anymore. She was becoming an important star at Diamond Films, and Alex Roland—he’s the head, you know—he was not about to jeopardize a gold mine. I think Alex frightened Ezekiel …”
“Oh, tell the truth,” said Marie impatiently “They paid him to keep away and the miser salted it all away and lived in that filthy hovel.”
“I thought you never visited him?” Herbert bit off each word and aimed them at her like arrows.
“I didn't, smartass Dolly told us how he lived and where he lived and I'm sorry they're dead but where he's concerned, I say good riddance to bad rubbish. He was a terrible father “
“He wasn't her father,” said Villon. “He was her husband.”
SEVEN
Jim Mallory would never tire of describing the tableau that followed Herbert Villon's startling revelation. Annamary's gasp, Willis Lorings quizzical expression, the indescribable look of hatred on Jack's face as he stared at his mother, and Marie's face, freshly quarried marble This he stored in his memory bank as Villon continued
“It was Ezekiel who had the colored blood in him. His mother was a black woman, New Orleans creole. Ezekiel's father took her out of a cat house and married her to spite his family, which has nothing to do with my case.” He addressed Jack. “When she married you, Dolly became a bigamist. “ Marie was his tongue's next target. “You knew that.”
“The hell I did!”
“The hell you didn't. I know the private operator you hired in New York to track down Dolly's background when your son told you he intended to marry her. Unfortunately, by the time you got your information, they were already married. So instead of telling your son his new wife was a bigamist, for reasons of your own you decided to twist the facts and nail Dolly as a black woman instead of revealing it was her other husband who had the black blood. Well, what the hell, Mrs. Darling, either way if the word got out, it would have been one hell of a scandal.”
“It still could be,” said Marie, “so you two cops keep mum about this, you hear? I got friends in high places. I could make it hot for you.”
“Mrs. Darling, there are two things you never do to me. You never serve me boiled fish and you never threaten me in any way or at any time. And so, ladies and gentlemen, I now have several reasons why the Lovelaces were targeted for murder “
While Villon was speaking, Annamary went to her brother, knelt at his side, and put her hands over his, which were lying limply on his lap. Jim Mallory remembered her doing it exactly the same way when she costarred with Eugene O'Brien in The Cinderella Girl.
The next ten minutes were occupied with Villon questioning their whereabouts at the time of both deaths. Willis Loring could supply golf dates, tennis appointments, and a manicure. Annamary was sweetly vague and Villon decided that about the only thing she could ever kill was somebody's appetite. Jack confessed to alcoholic hazes, discreetly omitting the probability he might have been blacked out with either heroin, opium, or morphine. Mama Marie said, with a magnificent look of defiance, “I don't even remember what I did half an hour ago “
In the kitchen, catching snatches of what was going on with the police, the group at the window couldn't contain their delight.
“Bigamy!” exhaled Hettie. “Ain't that a honey.” She nudged Dakota in the ribs. “They ain't no other Mrs. McLeod in the vicinity, is there, precious?”
“Not so Is noticed,” said Dakota.
Erskine Simpson-Thwaite left their company to retire to his bedroom, where he phoned Bertha Graze.
Nibbling on a maraschino cherry, Bertha chirruped her gratitude to the butler and told him to drop by anytime and pick up his reward.
In the police car driving back to headquarters, Jim Mallory said, “My hat's off to you, chief. You had them cornered and up a tree.”
Villon responded with a flat voice. “Jim, they're actors.”
“Oh,” said Mallory, and kept quiet for the remainder of the drive.
Back in the main salon of Annawill, Marie was doing her best to quell the rebellion that erupted after the officers left. “So I didn't tell you the truth,” she snarled at Jack “It won't be the first time And as for you two ingrates”—meaning Annamary and Willis—”you owe me what and where you are today I’m not afraid of any cops, I'm not afraid of anybody They got nothing on us and they'll get nothing on us.”
“Mama,” said Annamary sternly, “you lied to the police!”
“Everybody lies to the police!”
“You have too been to Ezekiel's cottage You forget I was there when you twisted Dolly's arm to get his address “
“I should have twisted her neck.”
Jack grabbed his mothers wrist. “Why did you see her father? I mean …”
“To pay him off, that's why!”
Tightening his grip, Jack continued, “Are you sure you didn't visit him the day he died?”
“Jack, you're hurting me! Let go of my wrist, you damn kidi” She slapped him hard with her free hand. As he reeled back, she rubbed the aching wrist. “What’s gotten into you kids?” Willis was enjoying the scene immensely “Don't I have enough to worry about without you two turning on me!” To Willis she said, “Pour me a gin.”
“Why, of course, Mama. One gin coming up With a dash of bitters, perhaps?”
Erskine entered. “You're wanted on the phone, Mrs. Darling.” Marie thought she'd heard the phone but, what with all the racket in the room, she wasn't sure.
“I’ll take it in the library “ She snatched the glass of gin from Willis before he could finish pouring and made a grand exit There was gin slop
ped all over the bar
“What a mess,” said Willis.
“What a mess,” echoed Annamary She wasn't referring to the spilled gin.
In the library, Marie was expecting a cerebral hemorrhage as she held the receiver to her ear
“Are you there?” Bertha Craze asked.
“I'm here “ Marie sipped some gin.
“Do you think I'm being unreasonable, dear?”
“No more than usual, Bertha.”
“Can I expect you sometime tomorrow?”
“I've an appointment with Alex Roland tomorrow.”
“Yes, I know At two o'clock.”
Marie held the cool glass against one of her throbbing temples “You know just about everything, don't you, Bertha?”
“My crystal ball, darling. It sees all, it knows all, but it sometimes doesn't tell all. Why don't you come by after your date with Mr. Roland?”
“Sure,” said Marie, and then replaced the phone in its cradle She stared into her glass of gin, although a poor substitute for a crystal ball, it suggested something She went to the kitchen, where she confronted the three servants. “Okay, I want the truth Which one of you is on Bertha Graze's payroll?”
In Sam Goldwyn's office, Sophie Gang was sharing some gossip with her boss “Over at Universal they hear Carl Laemmle is thinking of turning the studio over to Carl Junior.”
“Well,” said Goldwyn, “I'm not so surprised. He worships his son. Ever since he was a little boy, he placed him on a pederast. “
Sophie bit her lip and then referred to her notes. “Could we use Jack Darling for anything?”
Goldwyn tapped on the desk with a pencil. “Who's asking?”
“I got a feeler from Jason Cutts”—Goldwyn had a look of distaste on his face at the mention of the name—”in Roland's office.“
“Poor Alex. Marie must have him squirming.”
“His creditors have him squirming.”
'Them too. It won't be so easy for him to unload the Darlings and Willis Loring. When Marie grabs you by the balls, she don't let go until you sing 'The Star Strangled Banner'.“ He leaned back in his chair, yawned, rubbed his eyes, and then stared ahead at nothing. Finally he spoke “Jack Darling. Such a nice boy once. Nice actor. Good box office for a while.“
“Maybe there's something for him in the Irish story,” suggested Sophie.
“I'm not so hot for the Irish story, though Fox has brought over a cute kid from Ireland. You know her name Maureen O'Solomon.”
“O'Sullivan.”
“That's what I said, didn't I?”
“Yes, Mr Goldwyn “
“You know, actually, Jack could play the leprecohen. Isn't that an idea?”
'That's a very good idea, Mr. Goldwyn “
Goldwyn beamed with self-delight “Not bad at all. We get Jack and the O'Solomon girl and maybe Victor McLaglcn and you know who would be good for the milkmaid? Colleen Moore.”
“Mr Goldwyn, she’s just done a talker with an Irish background “
“You're sure?”
“It's called Laughing Irish Eyes.”
“So what? I happen to know she's soon going to come cheap. First National isn't picking up her option.”
“Oh, how sad “ Sophie's feelings were genuine. Everyone in the industry liked Colleen Moore “She's made so much money for them.”
“Face it, Sophie, her time is passing. As a flapper, she was hot stuff. But the flapper is finished. So what do you do with her?”
“But she's such a good actress. Don't you remember how wonderful she was in So Big?”
“I remember things I long ago forgot.” He was lighting a cigar. “You think I like dropping Vilma Banky? She's also a good actress, but what can you do with her in the talkers?” He shook his head sadly. “So many So many destroyed. Some were good friends You think I like it when Frances is planning a dinner and she says to me, 'Is it all right to invite Eleanor Boardman?' And I tell her, so far it's all right. Louis B Mayer is putting her in a couple of talkers. She can talk, but she hasn't got the talking magic.. Take my Ronnie Colman, mark my verbs He'll be bigger in talkers then he ever was. That voice gives him a new kind of sex appeal. You saw how the women reacted when we previewed Bulldog Drummond.”
“Yes, it was wonderful “
“Even the men like him. That's very important. Before they never even noticed him. Ronnie will go on forever I'm going to see that he reaches the acne of success.” He contemplated the ceiling and then, in the swiftest transition since Jekyll and Hyde, shouted, “And then you know what's going to happen? I'lll make him so successful that when the time comes to renew his contract, the ingrate will hold me up for hundreds of thousands of dollars. He'll demand the right to choose his own stories and the right to accept outside assignments at his full fee without a nickel to me. How dare he!” He jumped to his feet. “How dare Ronald Colman do this to me after all I did for him! Oh God, how I hate actors! They steal the bread from my mouth. Take a memo to Ronald Colman. You ungrateful bastard …
Loyalty in Hollywood was as rare as lean hot pastrami. Talking pictures set off a tidal wave of destruction. No earthquake would do the damage of the talkers. Marriages were in ruins. Friendships went up in flames. Families disintegrated.. Even in Hollywood's two great houses of prostitution, Madam Blanche's and Madam Frances's, former film greats were being given short shrift. Such steady patrons as Norman Kerry, Lloyd Hughes, Wheeler Oakman, and cowboy stars Tom Mix and Hoot Gibson were finding the house bedrooms suddenly full, and “Why not have a drink while you're waiting “ And the wait could be hours, unlike the days when they'd be ushered swiftly into the arms of a waiting whore. At Madam Frances's, the Broadway and London crowd were now receiving preferential treatment. Seated at her bar were two New York favorites, Robert Ames and Robert Williams, both to be dead of heart attacks within the next two years.
Robert Ames asked Robert Williams, “By any chance did you see my last play?”
“I hope so.”
Metro star John Gilbert, whose talking debut had been a disaster, was at the farthest end of the bar drinking alone. British actor John Loder, newly arrived in Hollywood, had always admired him and decided to tell him so.
“Mr. Gilbert, my name is John Loder I'm a great admirer of yours. I just arrived from London and—”
“Sure you've just arrived from London. And what are they paying you? A couple of hundred a week? Well, you listen to me, you limey bastard. I make ten thousand a week and they're going to pay it to me for the next four years. My contract is tighter than this”—he made a fist—”and they can do anything they want to humiliate me. For ten thousand a week, I can swallow anything. Mike' I need a refill.”
Loder was chagrined “I'm sorry. I only—”
“I know I know, kid. Mike, give the kid a drink. What are you having kid, a pink gin? That's all they ever seem to drink in London is pink gin and beer they should pour back down the horse's throat.” As Mike poured a pink gin for Loder, who would have preferred scotch whisky, Gilbert rambled onward. “Don't mind me, kid I'm used to the Hollywood knife. It's happened before. Greta did it to me, used me to help prove she preferred men, but ha ha ha, she stood me up at the altar. Now I'm married to Ina Claire and when I ask her for a little nookie, she says, ‘Oh, go to Madam Frances, dear, they're so much better at it than I am.' So why did I marry her in the first place? Because I didn't marry her in the first place. I married her in the second place but I’ll divorce her in the first place. Snotty Broadway bitch. She'll never make it in pictures.”
“She has a beautiful voice,” said Loder, and then regretted having said it.
“She's too fucking old, young man. Say, what's your name?”
“John Loder “
“Who you with?”
“Paramount.”
Gilbert eyed him boozily from head to toe. “You won't last a year “
Loder's face reddened. “I've only signed for six months.”
They've got Clive Brook, yo
u know That limey'll get first pick of the good parts. You'll get the giblets. Still, he's past forty. And me. Look at me. I'm not yet thirty …” His voice faded away He stared into his drink. John Loder was forgotten.
Madam Frances took Loder by the arm With a warm smile, she said, “Welcome to my palazzo. You were recommended by… ?”
“William Powell
“Ah! Dear Willie! I thought he might have forgotten me since he's been courting Carole Lombard “
“He tells me you have a girl who dresses up like Mary Pickford. I've always dreamed of sleeping with Mary Pickford.”
“So does Douglas Fairbanks,” she said wryly “Yes, my Mary Pickford is available. She's on the third floor in the Puce Room.”
“Um, er, Bill said she … um … what's the American expression … 'goes down'?”
“Assuredly. Not as often as an elevator but more often than the Lusitania. Let me take you to her.”
Jack Darling wandered over to the bar He was one of Mike the bartender's favorites. Mike hoped the actor wasn't on Madam Frances's down list. “Scotch and water, Mike.”
“Good to see you again, Mr. Darling,” said Mike as he filled the order “It's been a long time. How's the family?”
“They're all right, if you like them.” He was looking around the room “What’s become of all the regulars, Mike? There was a time when I came in it was half an hour of greeting everybody before I could get down to some serious screwing “
“Yeah, it's not like old times anymore. We don’t even have no more of them old-time orgies. You know, with guys beating the girls with whips or chaining them to the bedposts and making them scream for mercy. Gee, them was the good old days “ He leaned forward and lowered his voice “Now look at this new blood we got coming in here I mean they’re real in-again-out-again Finnegans Wham, bam, thank you ma’am. Some of the girls say they don't even know if these guys are in bed with them or taking a census. You ain't looking so good, Mr Darling It ain't uh, you know, them rumors about your ex-wife and her father, is it?”
“Mike, you don't want to make me forget that I like you, do you?”
