“Of course Clara can’t act.” He leaned forward, placed his hand on his chin, a diminutive figure with wise old eyes. “You don’t have to when you’ve got ‘it,’ and don’t ask me what ‘it’ is. All I know is people pay for tickets to see her. I think they’d buy tickets to see her read a telephone book or peel potatoes or turn back flips.”
Lylah laughed aloud. She was wearing an attractive blue cotton dress that fit her rather loosely around the hips and de-emphasized her full figure. “I know that. I just hate to admit we have such low taste here in America.”
“It’s not just here in America.” Thomas shrugged as he spoke mildly. “It’s always been that way. Oh, yes, there’ve always been women around with ‘it.’ Men, too, I suppose.”
“I never heard of a man having ‘it,’ but some of them do, I suppose,” Lylah murmured.
She and Carl and Jesse had been besieged by Jerry with pleas to put Cara into the movie, not just as a stunt flyer but as an actor. Lylah and Jesse had been opposed at first, but Carl had called Lylah to one side earlier today, speaking of money for a long time. Finally he had said, “We can’t afford big names for this, except maybe one. Brent Peters will take all of our bankroll. We don’t have to have Cara play a large role,” he had argued. “Just let her be in it. Have Jesse write her a part, just a few scenes. She’ll be doing the flying sequences with Jerry and Gavin. Jerry’ll be doubling for Brent, so we’re saving money all the way around.”
Now Lylah finally gave in. “All right, Carl, I suppose you’re right. She can’t do too much damage. Jerry’ll be happy at least. But I’m not happy for him.”
“You’re worried about him, aren’t you?”
“She’s a black widow spider!”
“How’s that? She doesn’t look like a spider.”
“You don’t know?” Lylah smiled grimly. “A black widow takes a mate, then kills and eats him after he’s of no use to her any longer.”
A frosty smile touched the lips of the old man. “I have known a few like that,” he admitted. “Some of them big stars.” He leaned forward and touched her hand. “I’m glad I’ve known you, Lylah,” he said gently. “You’re not a spider.”
She laughed at him and squeezed his hand. “All right. The next question is, can we do it? Will the money be there?”
They discussed the finances for a while and they agreed it was a grim enough proposition. “Bankers are stingy with money. Your name’s worth something and you’re playing the character role. And Brent Peters is sort of a male Clara Bow with those bedroom eyes of his.”
“Maybe we could lock him and Cara in a room somewhere. They could devour each other and let the rest of the world go free,” Lylah said acidly. Then she rose and said, “I’ll tell Cara she gets the job.”
Cara was pleased at the offer of a role in the movie. Jerry was happy, too. The two of them went out to celebrate, and Hollywood, like all the other large cities in the country, had its speakeasies. The Roaring Twenties had not brought in fine restaurants. The flappers and their boyfriends could not get drinks in those. When prohibition had come, the flaming youth, as they were called, turned from fine restaurants and headed straight for speakeasies that, in addition to serving liquor, had the intoxicating allure of being a little risqué and therefore glamorous.
They got out of the huge Packard that Cara had bought on credit. Jerry helped her out of the car and they headed for the building on a side street of Los Angeles. Jerry knocked on the door, which brought a grunted response, and a panel slid open. A blunt face appeared asking, “Who sent you?”
Jerry had not obtained a reference and simply said, “Joe sent me.”
The panel slid back, and then the door opened. It was a rough, unsavory place, dark, with a loud saxophone squawking its fast jazz rhythm in the middle of a six-piece band.
A burly waiter showed them to a table in the crowded room and there, amidst the smell of cigarette smoke, raw whiskey, and sweating bodies, they proceeded to get roaring drunk.
This sort of thing had gone on since prohibition had come to America in 1919. The flood of outlaw liquor struck the country like a tidal wave. Hip flasks uptilted above faces, male and female, at football games. Speakeasies were serving cocktails made of gin on practically every corner. Well-born young women, with one foot on a brass rail, tossed off martinis. Many a keg of grape juice simmering hopefully in a young couple’s bedroom closet was subject to periodic inspection by one or the other. The government had not been able to stop the flow, and the beneficiaries of prohibition were Al Capone and the other rapacious criminals who made fortunes off of illegal liquor.
When Jerry and Cara finally stumbled out of the speakeasy, he was half sick. He had not been drinking since he left Cara, and now he slumped beside her in the car. “You’ve forgotten how to have a good time, Honey,” Cara smiled, patting his cheek. She seemed to be able to consume endless glasses of the raw whiskey without being overly affected. Starting the Packard, she roared down the street, and Jerry muttered, “We can’t do this when we start flying.”
But Cara was humming a tune that had been the theme song of the Roaring Twenties, “Running Wild, Lost Control,” and as the Packard made erratic weavings down the street, she sang at the top of her lungs, and Jerry knew that, whatever Cara did, he was as much in love with her as he had ever been.
Jerry, Gavin, and Cara spent the next week working hard on the airplanes that were to be used for the picture. All day they flew, perfecting some of the stunts that would be necessary. Gavin, as usual, was a perfectionist, and Jerry knew that one hint of a weakness as far as alcohol was concerned and he would be out on his ear.
He went out with Cara most nights but drank very little. Their love affair, however, had burst into flame again. There was a weakness in him for this woman. Deep down he knew that she was not a woman whom he could put his faith in. She was loving, generous, fun-loving—and totally unpredictable. Nevertheless, he was drawn to her, as the proverbial moth to the candle.
Gavin had monitored his nephew’s flying closely and when Lylah asked about him, he shrugged. “As far as I can tell about him, he’s all right. If he’s drinking, it’s very little, although he’s keeping pretty late hours. I can’t do anything about Cara, since she’s got a contract. I just hope they don’t kill each other.”
“Not until the picture’s finished at least,” Carl said cynically. “Then, it’s up to them.”
The stars of the picture were Brent Peters and Eileen Turner. Eileen was that rare item in Hollywood, a truly sweet, unspoiled young woman. Somehow the ugly side of show business had not rubbed off on her. She was twenty years old, blond with blue eyes, rather superficial prettiness, and had played the same type of role that had made Lillian Gish famous.
Brent Peters was hot at the moment in Hollywood. He bore a slight resemblance to Valentino. He had the same black hair, which he kept greased back, and most of all he had the soulful bedroom eyes that had made Valentino an idol. Peters was only of average height but was muscular, strong, quick, and agile enough to take over the kind of athletic roles that Douglas Fairbanks had starred in.
Bonnie first met Peters when she brought some papers from the house to the set. She found Lylah in her office talking to Peters and Bonnie recognized him instantly. “Oh, I didn’t mean to disturb you, Lylah,” she apologized.
“That’s all right. I don’t think you’ve met Brent Peters. This is my assistant, Bonnie Hart. She’s my sister-in-law, also, and has saved my life by raising my son. She’s more of a mother to him than I am, I think.”
Bonnie put her hand out tentatively and it was grasped at once by Peters. She had never been impressed particularly by the man on the screen, except by his athletic prowess. But then, she had never idolized Valentino either. Now, however, as she looked into Brent’s eyes and as his hand closed around hers, she felt a slight shock and stammered slightly, “N-no, I’ve never met Mr. Peters.”
Lylah smiled involuntarily. She had seen this so
many times. I thought Bonnie might be up to resisting Brent but, whatever it is women like, he’s got too much of it. Aloud she asked, “I suppose you’ve seen all of his pictures?”
“I think most of them,” Bonnie said. “I liked them very much.”
“Well, I appreciate that.” Peters was free and easy in his manner, and his smile seemed genuine enough. “So you’re Lylah’s assistant? I may be calling on you for a little help from time to time.”
“Oh, she was joking about that. I don’t know anything about making movies.” She laughed. “All I can do is cook and take care of thirteen-year-old boys.”
“Do you know Hollywood?”
“Well, we’ve lived here a long time, but really I don’t get out much.”
Something changed in Brent Peters’s face and he nodded, “Maybe you’ll give me the chance to show you the town.”
After Bonnie left, Peters said, “Seems like a fine woman. She’s been married?”
“Oh, no. She’s really devoted her life to me and my son—and to her brother, of course. I really don’t know what we’d do without Bonnie.”
Peters pulled a platinum case from his inner pocket. He extracted a cigarette and put it in his lips. He replaced the cigarette case, produced a gold lighter, and lit the cigarette. Letting the smoke trickle out of his lips, he said thoughtfully, “You know, we don’t see many of that kind anymore.”
“You’ve known a lot of women, Brent.”
He glanced at her quickly. “Too many, I think.” He said no more, but later on in the week he met Bonnie again on the set. This time Jerry and Cara were present. They had just come in from a flying scene and were wearing their flying outfits.
Cara came over at once and said, “Hello, Brent.” She gazed at him, as she did any attractive man, and smiled broadly. “Did you see the stunt?”
Brent nodded. “I wouldn’t want to try that. I don’t like high places.” He laughed shortly and shook his head. “I don’t even like to step up on a curb. What you’re doing up there scares me witless.” He looked at Jerry and asked, “You’ve done a lot of flying, I take it?”
“Quite a bit.”
Bonnie looked up. She heard the curtness in Jerry’s voice, and as the conversation went on, she was able to see the little drama. Cara could no more help making up to a man like Brent Peters than she could help breathing. Peters seemed mildly amused by her. He was accustomed to having women fawn over him, and there was a romantic aura around Cara. She was a public figure. Her courage and daring were blazoned across many newspapers. Men seemed to find this irresistible. That and her full-figured sexuality would attract any man.
That night, Jerry arrived in time for supper with Bonnie and Adam. He played checkers with Adam for a while after supper, and finally Bonnie asked, “You and Cara didn’t go out tonight?”
“No, she’s out with Peters.”
After the game was over, Adam went to listen to the radio, and Bonnie and Jerry went out to sit in the swing on the front porch. The air was warm and the two sat talking quietly. Jerry spoke for a time of the difficulty of flying the stunts. Finally Bonnie asked, “You don’t like Brent Peters, do you?”
Jerry snapped his head around and grinned. “You always were a mind reader. How’d you know I was thinking about him?”
“I know you’re jealous.”
“Well, I am. He’s a famous movie star and I’m nobody.”
“That’s not true.”
“Yes, it is. Here I am, practically an old man, with nothing to show for my life.”
“You’re not exactly tripping over your beard, Jerry. You’re only thirty-one.”
“Thirty-one and washed up!”
Bonnie saw that he was depressed but was impatient with him. “You know what kind of a woman Cara is. I’m surprised you took up with her again. She nearly tore you apart the last time you were dating her.”
Jerry shook his head, “You don’t understand. You just don’t know what it’s like, being in love.”
“How do you know?”
Her answer, which came sharply, startled Jerry, and he turned to face her. “I didn’t know you’d ever been in love. Who was it?”
Bonnie shook her head. She knew that he was sensitive about his relationship with Cara. I shouldn’t have mentioned it, she thought. She rose and said, “I’ve got to make sure Adam gets to bed. That’s getting to be more of a struggle.”
“How about I take you two to the zoo tomorrow? We’re not scheduled for any flying.”
“I’d like that.”
The next day, Jerry appeared driving Gavin’s Ford. Bonnie was ready, and Adam was practically in the car before it came to a complete halt. It was a fine morning and the zoo was fun. As they walked into the lion house, Adam wrinkled up his nose. “It stinks in here! I didn’t know lions smelled so bad.” Nevertheless, he did not miss a thing that day, bad odor or not. They had a lunch of hot dogs and RC Colas and ice cream. Afterward, they walked around a large pond that contained a flock of flamingos. Adam found the birds to be awkward and was amazed they could even fly.
It was a restful day for Jerry, and when they were on their way back to the house, he was startled to notice that Adam had grown silent and sullen.
“What’s the matter, Pardner?” he asked, clapping the boy on the shoulder. “Didn’t you have a good time?”
“Sure I did, Jerry.”
Jerry glanced over at Bonnie, who shook her head slightly, and he said no more. After they got home and Adam ran to the house, he asked, “What’s the matter with Adam?”
“He’s worried.”
“Worried about what? He’s got everything—bicycles, toys, good parents.”
“He’s worried about who his real father is.”
Jerry looked up quickly, understanding dawning in his lean face. “I wondered when that would happen. What does he say?”
He listened carefully as Bonnie described the boy’s uncertainties and nodded. “I can see how that would be a problem. I’ve made a mess out of my life but I sure can’t blame it on Dad. He’s been swell; so has Mom.” He looked over at the house and shook his head. “Why doesn’t Lylah tell him, I wonder? Do you know who his father is?”
“No.”
“Dad knows but he won’t ever say.”
“I feel sorry for Adam. It’s hard on any child—growing up. I read about ‘golden’ childhood, but I never had any of it.” She was speaking softly now and looking down at her hands. There was a sadness in her voice as she said, “I can’t remember feeling safe and secure. I had Jesse but he was gone all the time. I still don’t feel safe and secure.”
“You should get married. Why haven’t you, Bonnie?”
“I was kidding last night. I’ve never loved anybody. I don’t think I ever will. I just don’t have that kind of love to bring to a man, I guess.”
“Hey! Don’t talk like that. We’re both just late bloomers.” His hand came to rest on her shoulder and he shook her slightly. Reaching over, he pulled her face around and saw, with a shock, the tears running down her face. “Hey now! Can’t have that.” Quickly he pulled his handkerchief out and wiped the tears away. “I don’t like it when my buddy’s sad. We’ve been real close, you and me.”
Her answer came slowly, “Yes, Jerry.” Then she moved away from him. She got out of the car and entered the house without a backward look. Jerry watched for a while, then thought, I haven’t kept up with Bonnie the way I should. Can’t understand why she’s never gotten married. She’d make a fine wife. Her tears troubled him. He left the house, driving to the studio. When Cara asked him later that day what was wrong, he thought of Bonnie, but said, “Oh, nothing. A little bit sober today, I guess.” She laughed, making a joke out of it, but he could not get it out of his mind.
“I’m not sure I should have come with you, Brent,” Bonnie said. She was riding in Brent’s Packard convertible, the wind blowing her hair. The day before, he had invited her out to dinner and she had agreed reluctantly. Now, as t
hey sped along, she looked over at him and saw he was smiling at her, his teeth very white against his dark skin.
“I’m not the big bad wolf with long teeth, Bonnie. You don’t have to be afraid of me.”
Instantly she reacted. “I’m not afraid of you, Brent! I’m not afraid of any man.”
“Well, that can be a mistake.” he shrugged. “You need to be afraid of some men.” He did not elaborate, and he changed the subject at once. “Have you ever been to Ryan’s?”
“No, Lylah’s told me about it, though.”
“It’s the place to go in Hollywood. I think you’ll like it.”
New York had produced some fine restaurants in the thirties. The Waldorf-Astoria Hotel had been built on Park Avenue in 1931. Though considered by many to be foolhardy, it had proved to be so successful that Norris Ryan had decided to try his luck with a fancy restaurant in Hollywood. He made his place a replica of the Pump-of-the-Spa in Bath, England, so that the rich and famous were encouraged to come. It had turned out to be a meeting place of all sorts of people, but Ryan knew that at New York’s 21 Club, the best tables were saved for celebrities. He therefore arranged the best tables of all for people such as Brent Peters.
As Brent and Bonnie were seated by a genuine French waiter, Brent pointed out some of the guests. “There’s John Barrymore, over there, and that’s that new fellow, Clark Gable. Not much yet, but I think he’s gonna go places—got lots of sex appeal . . .”
Bonnie was stunned by the food, which matched the swagger of the decor. Waiters pushed wagons of hors d’oeuvres, roasts, soups, and ice sculptures through the large dining room. Everything was excessive and flamboyant with displays of culinary pyrotechnics. She stared as a waiter brought out hot dogs on flaming swords. Another waiter brought out twelve ripe olives, each on a long brochette.
“I guess it doesn’t hurt the food much,” Brent grinned as some flaming crépes suzette startled Bonnie.
Bonnie did enjoy the dinner. Brent, she found out, was a highly intelligent man. He was witty and charming, and many people that she had seen only on the screen stopped at their table to greet him. She danced with him many times and discovered that he was an expert. “I was a professional dancer before I got an acting role,” he shrugged. “Sorry way to make a living. You’re not bad, Bonnie.”
A Season of Dreams Page 13
