Hoodwink

by Rhonda Roberts

  ‘Fuck it!’ Earl threw the unlit cigarette down on the desk and charged back to the front door. He swung it open and was all primed to savage whoever was standing there, but stopped …

  Beck was still outside. He tried to get Earl’s attention but was ignored in favour of the tall actress standing, hands on hips, on the threshold.

  The actress had sable hair parted in the middle and in two plaits twined round into buns over each ear. She was in full make-up and wearing a silk dressing gown covered in red and green parrots.

  From the fire in her chocolate eyes and the firm set of her shoulders she wasn’t here for a social visit.

  Veronica Hall wasn’t happy.

  She was twenty-five years old and a big star known for her drama queen performances on and off the screen. This was the second time Veronica Hall had worked with Earl.

  I glanced at the evil Mayan priestess busy sharpening the sacrificial knife on the Crimson Dawn poster. You couldn’t tell it was the same person.

  Hall had won an Academy Award for her undulatingly wicked performance as the high priestess and never looked back. But she’d been typecast as the bad girl ever since, so she’d kicked and scratched her way into the role of Melanie Wilkes.

  This was Hall’s big chance to break the mould … or so she thought.

  Hall was due to die of a stress-induced heart attack the day after tomorrow.

  Diagnosis: Veronica Hall was not a suspect.

  She pushed past Earl. ‘Curtis, these fucking memos have got to stop!’

  Then she saw me and zoomed in to stand over me like a welterweight sizing up the fallen competition.

  Veronica Hall had feuds going with every major actress in Hollywood, including Bette Davis and Joan Crawford — both veteran brawlers — who would cross the street to get away from her.

  No wonder she’d give herself a heart attack.

  ‘Who are you?’ Hall snarled down at me.

  Hmm. I could see why she’d won an Oscar as the evil priestess.

  Behind her parrot-clad back, Earl clutched his head and gave a silent jaw-dropping scream.

  I lifted my notepad. ‘I’m just replacing Phyllis …’

  That did it. Hall decided to ignore me; I was just a human recording machine after all.

  ‘What’s the matter, Veronica?’ said Earl soothingly. He sounded like a vet getting ready to shoot a bad-tempered rhino in the butt with a tranquilliser gun.

  ‘Bloody Selznick … for starters!’ Veronica jabbed a pointy fingernail in his chest for emphasis. ‘I don’t need twenty-five pages of advice from Selznick and I certainly don’t need it at 3 am! You’ve got to do something.’

  ‘What did Selznick say?’ replied Earl with resignation.

  ‘The first ten pages were: “You’re playing it too butch”.’ She folded her arms, ready to duke it out.

  ‘He’s got a point, Veronica. You’re playing Melanie Wilkes, the most saintly character in popular fiction.’

  Hall scowled. ‘Might as well be playing the frigging Virgin Mary.’

  ‘Just give her a Southern accent and you have Melanie in a nutshell … Anyway, you asked for the role.’

  ‘No, I did not! I asked for Scarlett.’

  ‘No, Veronica. You tested for Scarlett and didn’t get it.’

  She glared at that but didn’t try to correct him.

  I frowned — that wasn’t in the bio I’d been given.

  ‘Instead, you got the role of the tramp in The Women,’ continued Earl.

  ‘And that was a juicy role too. I’d still be playing her if it wasn’t for that bitch Norma Shearer. She went to L.B. Mayer and personally got me kicked off the movie.’ Hall scoffed, ‘The bitch couldn’t stand the competition, so she got rid of me.’

  ‘Veronica.’ Earl now had his fists tightly clenched behind his back. ‘I thought you wanted to be in Gone with the Wind? Mayer gave you the pick of the film roles going.’

  ‘Why would I pass up Gone with the fucking Wind? It’s guaranteed to sweep the Oscars.’

  ‘And so we come full circle, Veronica. It’s simple. You have to stop trying to out-gun Scarlett O’Hara.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘It’s her story, Veronica, and if you don’t stop trying to bulldoze each scene with Vivien Leigh then Selznick will fire you.’

  She stuck her jaw out. ‘No he won’t. I can take that powder puff.’

  Earl dismissed that to say, ‘What were the other fifteen pages about?’

  ‘Selznick still doesn’t like the way my eyebrows and lips look in the rushes. He says they are too trademark Veronica Hall, too high priestess.’

  ‘At least you don’t have the shoulder pads in any more,’ he muttered. ‘They were not exactly common in the nineteenth century.’

  She flapped her hand at that. ‘Oh gimme a break, Earl. This is a women’s film and they like to see me looking my best.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘No. Now about today …’

  Earl stifled a groan. ‘No! I’m not changing the script.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘Veronica, at least you can’t complain that Vivien has too many lines today.’

  ‘She’s in every frigging scene in the picture, Earl! Of course she has too many lines. Why any red-blooded American would cast that primping English slut as a Southern belle …’

  ‘It’s too late, Veronica. Live with it.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘You know you can act any other woman off the screen. So just use some of that star power and make Melanie work for you.’

  ‘But how can I, she’s such a goddamned wet rag?’

  ‘Are you kidding? In the right hands Melanie is the central role.’

  ‘Nah. That’s bull —’

  ‘Think about it. Melanie Wilkes always has the upper hand. She won Ashley Wilkes from Scarlett. And why is that? Because Melanie is the more attractive, more intriguing character.’

  Earl gave her a calculating glance then said lightly, ‘You know, the right actress could use Melanie to wipe the floor with Scarlett … You could steal the picture right out from under Vivien Leigh’s nose.’

  The hint of a competitive edge sucked the actress in. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Why, Melanie Wilkes is the St Joan of the Civil War.’

  Hall’s eyes flickered at the description.

  ‘In the past decade the bad girls ruled the screen, Veronica. But now the public has become more conservative. They don’t want the slutty Jean Harlow types any more, they want someone pure. Someone who can suffer for them and yet still survive.’

  Hall’s brain was churning. ‘A martyr? Hmm …’

  Earl gave her a cynical appraisal. ‘Why did Norma Shearer get you thrown off The Women?’

  ‘Because I was stealing the picture right out from under her goody-goody milksop role.’

  ‘So you can only play bad girls?’

  ‘You son of a bitch!’

  ‘You heard me, Veronica. So your range is limited to —’

  ‘I heard you!’ Steam was starting to rise off the top of her sable head.

  ‘Well, can you do it, Veronica? Can you take this picture away from Vivien Leigh?’

  Hall grinned like a millionairess counting her money. ‘I’m going to be the best fucking Good Girl you’ve ever seen!’

  ‘Glad to hear it. Now get out of here and get ready to elbow your way to that Oscar.’

  Earl got her out that door in under thirty seconds; Hall was too busy picturing herself remade, renewed and resurrected as St Veronica.

  The phone in the back room rang before Earl had even shut the door behind her.

  I sprinted for it … This could be Earl’s special caller … someone even more important to him than his film.

  ‘Hallo, Earl Curtis’ office.’

  Silence.

  There was someone there. I could hear them breathing …

  Now I was really interested! Why didn’t they answer?

  Earl
wrenched the phone out of my hands and jerked his head towards the front room.

  The door was slammed on my heels.

  13

  THE DREAM SEQUENCE

  Even though it was spring outside it was already burning hot under the big lights in Sound Stage 11. There were electric fans but not enough of them. The sweat beaded under the heavy bun at the back of my neck so I fanned myself with my notepad.

  And the heat wasn’t helping my headache …

  I’d only been here half an hour and already I was certain that every sentient being in the sound stage hated Earl’s guts.

  Earl Curtis sat seething in his director’s chair to the left side of the main camera.

  There were only three chairs, one each for the two female stars and one for Earl. So I stood on his left, notepad ready to record any pearls of wisdom and making sure that I kept my shoes out of the pool of coffee surrounding the broken cup on the floor.

  Earl’d had a tantrum as soon as he arrived on set … The lighting was completely wrong. The set was not even close to what he’d ordered! And so the rant went on.

  The whole crew had come in for abuse but most of all Ada Bronstein, Earl’s long-time production assistant. Ada should’ve known exactly what he wanted and made sure everything was perfect instead of wasting his time.

  It had been a very convincing performance, you could tell Earl had acting experience, but while everyone else had cowered, Ada Bronstein had let the abuse flow over her like so much bad muzak.

  Ada Bronstein was twenty-eight years old and a short, dark packet of tough, ambitious intelligence from New York. She wore thick black glasses and was the first woman I’d seen here wearing pants and loafers. Ada had worked with Earl since 1931. After his death she’d go on to become a director specialising in female-centred film noir and help Joan Crawford win her only Oscar.

  It’d become very clear, very quickly, that Earl rode Ada into the ground.

  Did Ada hate him enough to kill him for it? Did she have motive as well as opportunity?

  The only problem was Ada showed no sign of the upper body strength needed to put Earl’s body right in the middle of the cement without leaving drag marks.

  She’d need help. But I’d keep her on the To Watch list.

  As the crew finished their final adjustments, I scanned around.

  The set was a nineteenth century house interior.

  The gist of Gone with the Wind was that Rhett Butler was in love with Scarlett O’Hara, the feisty underdog heroine. But she was in love with Ashley Wilkes who was married to Melanie, Scarlett’s sister-in-law by a previous marriage. Scarlett’s struggle to win Ashley for herself was set against the backdrop of the Civil War and the South’s attempt to survive in the aftermath of defeat. Rhett Butler wins her heart in the end but only after a prolonged battle.

  Today they were shooting a piece written by Earl and Sam Beck. Phyllis, an avid fan of the book, described Earl’s new scenes as very disturbing.

  The scene was set on the night that Ashley comes home on leave from the Civil War. Scarlett would go to bed with the knowledge that Ashley was returning to the battlefield in the morning … And that he was spending the night making love to Melanie in the very next room.

  Earl had rewritten it as a dream sequence … Scarlett’s.

  The set was Melanie’s bedroom … Three walls covered in pink-and-cream patterned wallpaper, the right side with a long sash window, the opposite with a heavy oak door. Next to the window was a draped four-poster bed covered in ruffled pillows and covers.

  However, there were extras …

  Extras that made it a surreal dreamscape.

  No — make that a nightmare!

  Next to the four-poster bed, a giant cuckoo clock melted down the wall. But the cuckoo hanging out of the clock was a huge lime-green vulture with a red lolling tongue and bulging red eyes. The moon showing through the window was a laughing death’s head made of cheese. And the door had a keyhole painted on it big enough for a person to walk through.

  Phyllis had been right … Disturbing was the word to describe it.

  After Earl had granted Ada grudging approval of the adjustments, she sent a runner off to summon the two actresses waiting in their bungalows. She then stood on the right side of Earl, her face carefully blank.

  Veronica Hall arrived first, saw that Vivien Leigh was missing and marched right out again. Leigh strolled in and Hall stalked back in one minute behind her.

  Earl Curtis sank down into his chair as though he wished he was elsewhere.

  The two divas eyed each other like prize fighters searching for an opening.

  ‘Positions, please,’ called Ada.

  The actresses disengaged from their mutual eyeballing and mounted the set.

  ‘Roll,’ said Earl.

  The clapper was struck for Take One.

  Earl said, ‘Action.’

  Melanie Wilkes was asleep in the four-poster bed, the moonlight playing gently over her face like a caress. She moaned slightly as though dreaming.

  A dark figure appeared at the open window. It slipped through to softly stand on the carpet. The figure was wearing the grey uniform of a Confederate officer.

  It was Scarlett. She had a naked sword in her hand, the moonlight glinting off the blade.

  Scarlett lunged onto the four-poster, raising her sword as she went.

  The sword flashed down with an audible ‘whoosh’. It hit Melanie full in the stomach, but was deflected by the bulky bedclothes.

  Melanie screamed herself awake and rolled to the other side of the bed to escape the next blow.

  Scarlett threw herself across the bed, her sword reaching for her rival.

  But Melanie was too fast. She got across the bed to try the door — it was locked. She banged on the painted keyhole.

  Scarlett slashed down with the sword again, but Melanie ducked. The sword quivered, stuck in the door.

  Melanie screamed and ran back to the window …

  And so it went on.

  The running, slashing and screaming continued for a good minute while Scarlett chased Melanie around the room, including under and over the bed and in and out of the closet.

  This was supposed to be great directing?

  Ada was just staring blank-eyed at the action, but Vance Wheeler, the director of photography, was stifling a laugh. We exchanged a speaking glance.

  Scarlett managed to back Melanie into a corner for a final stab when Earl yelled, ‘Cut.’

  Leigh and Hall froze mid-slash and scream to glare wild-eyed at Earl.

  He shook his head. ‘It’s not real enough, my darlings. You’re not giving it to me.’

  Earl’s darlings didn’t seem too happy with him. Leigh was still panting from the chase and Hall was angrily rubbing bits of herself that Leigh had caught with the fake sword.

  ‘I need to see the hate, Viv,’ complained Earl. ‘This woman is all that’s keeping you from Ashley’s bed. This may be the last night you ever see him and he’s chosen her. I need to see the hate.’

  ‘And Veronica … Ronnie, where’s the fear? You wake up and there’s a steel blade coming at you? What do you feel?’

  The two actresses eyed each other. They weren’t friendly glances.

  Veronica flung a stray lock of hair back off her sweaty face and said, with single-minded determination, ‘Let me try it again, Earl. I can do better.’

  Leigh rolled her eyes then stalked off to her dresser while two more people ran onto the set to get Veronica ready for the next attack.

  It went on for another twenty-three takes, none of which impressed Earl.

  It didn’t impress me either — because it was a bad idea.

  While Leigh and Hall finally went off for a meal break, Earl signalled to Ada. ‘I’m going to check what is happening with the next set.’ He waved his hand dismissively. ‘Fix this mess, Ada. Make it work.’

  Earl started for the door and I went to follow.

  ‘No you don’t,’
ordered Earl. ‘You stay right here and help Ada. Report to my bungalow at 5 pm and don’t keep me waiting.’ His expression advised me not to push it.

  The eyes of the crew followed Earl as he strolled to the door then they all sagged in relief when it shut behind him.

  Hmm.

  I looked to Ada for instruction but she pointedly turned her back.

  Vance Wheeler came over. ‘Hey, Ada, Earl’s taking his afternoon nap late today, isn’t he?’

  Ada shot me a glance full of distrust and didn’t reply.

  Instead she addressed the crew. ‘Okay, I want the lighting back to the way it was, and I want someone to get rid of that clock and the rest of that other stuff. Vance, can I talk to you, now?’

  Ada and Vance went into a huddle as far away from me as Ada could possibly get. The message was clear: she thought I was Earl’s spy.

  When the set was back to the way it’d been when we first walked in, Leigh and Hall were summoned back to the set.

  Ada took each one aside and spoke to them. She told them Earl had changed his mind about the scene and that they were to try it another way. By the end they were nodding.

  Anything had to be better than the way it was.

  Without the melting cuckoo clock, death’s-head moon and outsized keyhole the set seemed completely different. It should’ve looked girlie but it didn’t. This time it had been lit for the middle of the night and the moon sitting in the middle of the window was casting long shadows every which way.

  The new lighting made the room full of menace.

  Melanie was back in her bed, asleep, only her face in moonlight.

  Vivien climbed through the window once again. She was still dressed as a Confederate soldier but this time she was carrying a ‘woman’s’ weapon. A kitchen knife.

  As Scarlett hunted her victim, her dark shadow crept over the end of the bed and inched up Melanie’s torso.

  When the shadow of the knife fell across the victim’s face, Ada yelled, ‘Cut.’

  ‘Now, ladies,’ said Ada. ‘Can we make those changes, please?’

  Leigh and Hall departed, while Ada and Vance repositioned the camera for a close-up of the bed.

  Leigh returned wearing the same nightgown that Hall had been wearing. This time Leigh got into the bed and, with some assistance, lay down in exactly the same position that Melanie had occupied before.