by George Baxt
The question always annoyed him and so he chose a facetious reply. “Why no, I’m thinking of becoming a spy.”
His voice carried and he was the cynosure of the table.
Garbo dabbed at her lips with her napkin. “A spy, Billy? You? But that is impossible. You can’t keep a secret! Ha ha ha ha ha!”
The only other person who joined her laughter was Billy Haines.
EIGHT
Within less than a week following the dinner party, Greta and Guiss were the talk of the town. Louella Parsons gushed on her Sunday night NBC radio program at nine-fifteen, following Walter Winchell’s breathless and breathtaking fifteen minutes, “Greta Garbo and Albert Guiss seem to have found each other. They met last week at a dinner party to celebrate the start of filming Garbo’s comeback film Joan the Magnificent. Since then, my spies tell me they’re inseparable. The mysterious financier was seen with Greta at the House of Westmore where she and von Stroheim, who is directing the film, were devising a color makeup for Greta. I’ve been told some evenings Greta and Guiss take long walks on the beach at Santa Monica where Greta has a pleasant little house. Of course they could only be discussing the film which begins shooting tomorrow, but if they’re deeply involved in a romance, well, your Guiss is as good as mine.”
Although it was a Sunday night, the Samuel Goldwyn studio was a beehive of activity. Technicians were under pressure to get the lights and the sound equipment installed to von Stroheim’s satisfaction. The shooting schedule had to be rearranged to accommodate Peter Lorre’s Dauphin, as Jack Warner needed him for a film with Sydney Greenstreet. Because of the use of Technicolor, a heavier-than-usual electrical board had to be installed. The Dauphin’s palace had been beautifully designed by Cedric Gibbons, who had been borrowed from MGM with the surprisingly benevolent blessing of Louis B. Mayer. When Garbo heard this, she frowned and said to William Haines, “He’s up to something. Why is he being so accommodating? First he lets me have Adrian to design my costume and then he permits Gibbons to design the sets.”
“I heard he almost had apoplexy when he heard I was decorating the interiors.”
“Which reminds me, Billy. No chintz. They didn’t have chintz in those days.”
“They didn’t have much else either,” said Haines glumly, “but they were big on sackcloth and ashes.”
Garbo paraded around her dressing room. “I like my costume. Don’t you?”
“How’d you get him to get rid of the padded shoulders?”
“My shoulders never need padding. I have a good frame.” She studied herself with admiration in the full length mirror she’d demanded be installed and was satisfied.
Haines asked, “What’s going on between you and Guiss? Lolly told her millions of listeners tonight that she suspects you’re a hot and heavy item.”
“We’re a little heavy but we have not yet gotten hot.” She sat before her dressing table mirror and lit a cigarette. “Don’t you think he’s very attractive?”
“If you like the type. I think Nils Asther would be better casting.”
Garbo exploded. “Oh never never. Nils is too passive. He doesn’t have a commanding personality. He does have the softness Albert occasionally displays, especially when we walk on the beach and he talks of the future.” She was examining her fingernails. “He plans someday to retire to South America. To Brazil. He has bought a jungle and a river. He is having the jungle cleared and building a little city there.”
“You mean a little kingdom, don’t you?”
“Sometimes I don’t know what I mean and sometimes I don’t know what he means. He is such a mass of contradictions.”
“Do you think he’s in love with you?”
An arch look spread across her face. “But of course he must be. I am so fascinating. I am Garbo, the siren from Sweden. Have you forgotten all the men I’ve conquered and destroyed in my films? Wasn’t I a superb Mata Hari?”
“I couldn’t keep a straight face during your love scenes with Ramon Novarro.”
“Neither could we. He thought of one of the dress extras he wanted and I thought of a trip to Europe and somehow we got through it. It looked awfully good on film, though, didn’t it?”
“Because you made it look good. Christ, when you kiss a man, you devour him.”
“But Billy, if you are truly and deeply in love with a man, when you kiss him, it must be to devour him. When I love, I love with an all-consuming passion.” She attacked a thumbnail with an emery board. “I’ve forgotten what it’s like, it’s been so long. What time is it?”
“It’s a little before ten.”
“I’m tired. I want to go home.”
“What are you hanging around for?”
“Peter Lorre. The first scene tomorrow is the dauphin and Joan. I wish Erich would reschedule it for after lunch. It’s such a difficult scene. We need to rehearse it.” There was a knock at the door. “Maybe that’s Peter now. Come in!”
Lisa Schmidt entered. She said to Haines, “I thought I’d find you here. Himself is on the set and yelling. That miniature statue of the nude gladiator you’ve placed in the Dauphin’s bedroom displeases the master. He wants you on the set.”
“That son of a bitch has no eye for beauty!” exploded Haines, “All he digs is distortion and ugliness and physical disabilities. Watch, you just watch. Most of the extras will be blind, missing an arm, missing a leg, dwarfs and midgets and God knows what else. I try to liven things up a bit with a gorgeous, muscular gladiator and he blows a gasket. Which I’m sure is all he blows.” As he stormed out to beard the lion on the set, he shouted, “The next scream you hear will be mine!”
They watched his exit, and Lisa asked in a tired voice, “Do you mind if I sit for a minute?”
"Please! Would you like some coffee? It’s hot in the thermos there. There’s also a thermos of chicken soup and hot chocolate. My housekeeper is a treasure.”
“Maybe some hot chocolate.”
“Hers is wonderful. She poisoned her husband with hot chocolate.”
Lisa said, “I’ll have some coffee. Some for you?”
“No, I’ll brave the hot chocolate. I think Lottie’s poisoning days are long past. Anyway, we are good friends.”
“How does it feel to be going back to work?”
Garbo said, “Well, I am no longer a slumbering volcano.” Lisa’s face was a study as she poured the hot drinks. “Don’t you think this is a strange setup?”
“Strange? Oh, it’s a bit exotic. Risa Barron fascinates me. She and Werner Lieb know absolutely nothing about film making and display their ignorance with such authority. And those jewels she wears! My God! They must be worth a king’s ransom. But I like her. She amuses me. She doesn’t seem to object to the way Albert pays court.”
“Between you and me,” Lisa said, carrying the cups of hot liquid to the dressing table, “I think she’s a taxidermist’s masterpiece. Who are these people? Where did they spring from?”
Garbo’s eyes were wise and inquisitive as she took the hot chocolate from Lisa. “Are you curious or is von Stroheim curious?”
Lisa laughed and sat. “We’re both curious. Guiss is Guiss. I think what little is known about him is all we’ll ever know. Or have you managed to penetrate his armor?”
“Oh I don’t know. He had to have a mother and father, didn’t he?” She contemplated the hot chocolate, which was thick and creamy. No wonder the late Mr. Lynton so greedily went to his death. “Who they were, I haven’t the vaguest idea. You know what I think? I think from early in his life he had ambitions to be a very rich and very powerful man. I think he’s totally ruthless…”
Lisa feigned shock. "My dear!”
Garbo smiled. "I haven't told you anything I haven’t told him. He admits he is self-made, that he always wanted wealth and power, and to attain such vaunted ambitions one has to be at the very least quite ruthless. I’m ruthless. Von Stroheim is ruthless. Every major star and executive in this business, every politician and dictator in the
world is ruthless. You have to be to achieve your ambition. But once achieved, you have to be even more ruthless to hold on to it. Take Risa Barron. She told Billy Haines she was once friendly with Hitler and Mussolini. That Hitler wanted her to be his mistress. Do you think this is possible?”
“Why not? With a woman like that, anything could be possible. Jesus, those jewels.”
“I’m sure Jesus had nothing to do with it.”
“Hitler and Mussolini. That’s quite a parlay. And yet she’s here on the lam from the fascists.”
“I’m sure that was Albert's doing.”
“Now that Europe’s overrun by the hounds of war, I wonder how badly Guiss has been hit in the pocket. I read somewhere he had vast holdings in Germany, Italy, France and Austria that have been confiscated.”
Garbo laughed. “I’m sure he has plenty left.”
“I’m told you like Bertolt Brecht’s revised script.”
“Oh I think it’s very good. Now it has wonderful shadings. The lightness doesn’t overpower the darkness the way it did in Henkel’s. Now it is much more of a parable and therefore it is much more powerful. I’m very excited by it. Oh God, by the sound of that knocking I can tell it’s Werner Lieb at the door. I suspect he has trained with the military.” Lisa followed Garbo with her eyes as the actress crossed to the door. “He walks, he talks, he bows from the waist and he knocks on doors like a true Junker.” She opened the door. There stood Werner Lieb. “I was right. Come in Werner, what’s the problem?”
“I came to see your costume.” Garbo struck a pose. “Very good, very good indeed.” Lisa wondered if he slept with his monocle. She wondered a lot of things about him and his friends and was anxious to share her theories about these people with Arnold Lake and Herbert Villon.
“Dear God, what is all that shrieking?” Garbo went back to the door, opened it and saw von Stroheim brandishing his riding crop in pursuit of Billy Haines. “Oh look at those two fools! And look at Peter!” Peter Lorre, a cigarette dangling out of the side of his mouth, his script under one arm, his jacket hanging somewhat precariously from his shoulders, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, approached Greta’s dressing room.
He said wearily, “Von Stroheim will suffer a stroke at the rate he’s going.” He surveyed her dressing room, which was actually a portable caravan. “I don’t suppose I shall be afforded such a luxurious accommodation.”
“I didn’t ask for it,” Garbo said defensively, “Guiss insisted I have it”
“Is he any good in bed?”
“Why don’t you ask someone who’s been to bed with him? Come in. You’re late.”
“I was beating up my wife. I do it every Sunday night when she listens to Lolly’s program. She loves it. It makes her sleep better. She’s an occasional insomniac.” He walked past Garbo, who closed the door and returned to the dressing table. “Hello, Werner. Have you done any co-producing yet?”
“I can assure you Risa and I will be quite competent.”
Garbo hoped the venom in Lieb’s voice wouldn’t prove fatal. Lisa Schmidt was trying to make a quiet exit. Garbo asked, “Are you leaving us, Lisa?”
“I thought I might rescue Billy from von Stroheim.”
The smoke in his eyes from his cigarette didn’t impair Lorre’s vision. When Lisa spoke, he turned to look at her, acknowledging her presence for the first time. He liked what he saw. A beautiful figure, gorgeous legs; he couldn’t quite see her face as she went to the door. He wondered quickly if she was amenable and available.
“Lisa?” he asked, “Who is Lisa? Why haven’t I been introduced to Lisa?”
“I warn you, Lisa. Mr. Lorre is a predatory monster. Possibly because he was brilliant as a child molester in M. ”
Lorre said through a cackle, “But Lisa hardly looks like a child. Turn around, dear, and let’s introduce ourselves.”
Lisa’s fists were clenched. Her mouth was dry. She said a silent prayer, a prayer that begged God to strike Peter Lorre with some form of amnesia, and then she found a lavish smile and turned around and faced him. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Lorre.”
“Oh, I am overwhelmed! Such beauty! Such ravishing beauty! Greta, aren’t you jealous?”
“No. She makes little of her looks, which makes her a very wise young woman.”
Lorre walked to Lisa, slowly, studying her face despite the smoke continuing to cloud his eyes. She folded her arms and waited.
Werner Lieb was intrigued by Lorre’s performance. He sensed the actor was up to something, playing a game of cat and mouse with Lisa, who indeed looked as though she was about to be eaten.
“I think we have met before,” Lorre finally said. “Haven’t we?”
Lisa said firmly, “I have never met you before, Mr. Lorre. I’m quite sure of that.”
“I know I’m not crazy. It was about a month ago. Maybe longer.”
“I have to go, Mr. Lorre. You’ll have to excuse me.”
“Now don’t be in such a rush. Wait a minute. Let me think.” He took the cigarette out of his mouth and held it between two fingers. “Yes, of course. It was you”
Garbo said with impatience, “Oh Peter, stop playing with Lisa. Make friends with her. You’ll need her. She handles von Stroheim superbly and is very useful. Lisa, don’t look so frightened. Peter is harmless. Peter, behave yourself.”
Lorre was annoyed. “I am behaving myself. Lisa and I have met before. We have, haven’t we, Lisa?” She said nothing. She wished lightning would strike, she wished anything would happen that would rescue her, the way she had prayed to be rescued that night she was pursued on the beach. “We have and we know you know. Remember that night on the beach, Greta?”
“Oh? So now I’m a part of this plot?” She flung the emery board aside. “Peter, will you please sit down and let Lisa get on with her work. Go, Lisa. I’ll see you later.”
Lorre suddenly raged. “I will not be treated like a fool, Greta! This is the girl on the beach, the one who was running away from something and hid behind your rose bush under your patio. The one your neighbor saw, what’s his name … ?”
“Saloman.” Greta looked perplexed.
“That’s right, Saloman. And she sought refuge with me. She asked to use the phone. When Toth … you know … with the private police guard we pay for … when he knocked at my door I hid her in the closet in the living room … the one my wife never looks into … and when I went to speak to Toth, she fled. Damn it!” He pointed an accusing finger at Lisa Schmidt as Werner Lieb watched the scene with fascination. “You are that woman! You’re the one who was being chased and it had something to do with the house in which that strange Wolheim family used to live.”
Desperately, Lisa found a laugh. “I’m awfully sorry, Mr. Lorre. You have me confused with someone else. I have to go.” She fled.
“But I swear on my wife’s head,” Lorre insisted to Garbo and Lieb, “she’s that woman! Look how frightened she is!”
“I’d be frightened too if you attacked me the way you just attacked Lisa. Oh really Peter, I remember that night now. I’d had drinks with Marion and then went home. I did see someone running from under my patio but only vaguely because of the blackout. And as for you, you were probably in a cocaine haze at the time. There probably wasn’t any girl at all.”
“Are you trying to convince me I’m insane? I tell you,” he said, pointing a finger in the general direction of Lisa Schmidt’s departure, “that was the woman who came to my house that night!”
“This is all terribly dramatic,” Werner Lieb interrupted, “but I must get back to the office. I promised Albert I would see your costume and report to him. I shall tell him I’m very satisfied with it.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m satisfied. That is all that is important where this costume is concerned.”
Lieb clicked his heels and gave her the stiff bow from the waist. “Auf wiedersehn.” To Lorre he said, “Nice to see you again.”
A strange look crossed Garbo’s face. She saw
Lorre react to Lieb’s acknowledgment in much the same way Lisa Schmidt had reacted to Lorre when he fingered her. She watched Lieb depart, wondering if he also slept with his body stiffly rigid. Lorre flung his script down on the couch and crushed his cigarette in an ashtray. When they were alone, Garbo asked, “When did you meet Werner Lieb?”
“Lieb? You mean the man who just left? I’ve never met him before.”
“He said, ‘Nice to see you again.’ ”
Lorre shrugged. “Recognizes me from my film. Everybody recognizes me. I never have any privacy anymore.”
“Peter,” said Garbo gravely, “you’ve never met him before the way Lisa Schmidt claims she’s never met you before.” She picked up a hairbrush, faced the mirror and began stroking. “You all intrigue me so. How exciting life is becoming again. I suspect now this film is a hotbed of subterfuge and hidden secrets. Possibly dangerous secrets. Am I right, Peter?”
He was lighting another cigarette. “Let’s go over our lines, Greta. I’m a little shaky with them.”
“Peter,” she spoke his name softly, “I suspect you’re a little shaky with things other than your lines.” Then in rich tones, she spoke her dialogue, having in just a few days committed Brecht’s rewrite to memory, “‘My dauphin, my prince, majesty, I am a simple peasant girl who has come to serve you. My voices … my voices have entrusted you in my care … oh sire … you must believe in me…’”
She didn’t hear Lorre speaking his opening lines. She was wondering what she could believe in. She was worried, and she was a little frightened. She needed to talk to Salka Viertel.
NINE
Lisa Schmidt needed to talk to Arnold Lake and Herbert Villon. She found Arnold at his hotel, the Garden of Allah on Sunset Boulevard and Crescent Heights. It had once been the estate of the tempestuous and exotic silent-screen star Alla Nazimova. When she fell on hard times, the estate was sold and remodeled into a series of lovely bungalows and was often home to such literary luminaries as Robert Benchley, Dorothy Parker and Robert Sherwood and a smattering of stars when they were between spouses. It had a popular bar and anyone who didn’t drink was looked upon with suspicion or denounced as subversive.
