One Shining Moment

by Gilbert, Morris

  “To the picture? It doesn’t get made.”

  “But they haven’t shot much of it, have they? I mean, can’t they get another actor and redo what’s been done with Jannings?”

  Christie had been with the family for hours. She smiled faintly at Mario, saying, “It’s not that easy, I’m afraid. In the first place, there’s no money. And even if there was, it would be impossible to get a good actor to come and take over. Word is out about what happened to Emory, and it would take nerve for anyone to chance that.” She leaned back, and the lines of her trim figure were revealed in the action. Shaking her head, she added, “It could happen again, Mario. You know it could.”

  “We could get bodyguards,” Mario argued. “I could go to Capone and warn him to lay off.”

  Christie twisted to stare at him. “We could get bodyguards?” she asked with surprise.

  Mario blinked, then laughed abruptly. “Guess I’m getting involved in the Stuart family. But I could go see Capone.”

  “Would he listen to you because of your brothers?”

  “No, not really. He’s too powerful to mind another enemy or two—especially one like me.” Mario’s lips twisted into a parody of a grin. “I never stood up to anyone else! How could I stand up to a man like Al Capone?”

  Christie felt a surge of pity for his confession. She reached out and took his hand, noting the surprise that came to his features. “It’s nice of you to want to help,” she said quietly. “I know it’s hard for you. You’re caught in the middle.”

  Mario nodded, his eyes bitter. “I should have stood up for what was right a long time ago. I knew where the money was coming from—but I was too much of a coward to say no.”

  “You’re not a coward!”

  Mario was warmed by her exclamation. He studied her face in the moonlight and said quietly, “I don’t know whether I am or not, Christie. I’ve never had to prove anything. Nick paid for my education and set me up in my law office. He steered business to me, and to give him credit, he never wanted me involved in what he and Eddy do.”

  The two sat there talking, and finally Mario said, “I’ll do anything I can, Christie, but Capone’s done a pretty good number on your family. Isn’t there any way out?”

  “None of us have been able to find one.”

  Mario fell silent, then said, “I’ve been listening to the preaching at the meetings. Lots of things I don’t understand. But I keep hearing Lenora and Major Hastings say that God takes care of his people. I always thought people had to take care of themselves.”

  “But what do you do when something happens that you can’t handle?” Christie asked. “Sometimes only God can help.”

  “Did you ever ask God for anything—something impossible and get it?”

  Surprise crossed Christie’s face, and she said softly, “I never told you how I came to be in Chicago. Did you hear about what happened to me?”

  “Why, no, I haven’t.”

  Christie began to speak, and it was difficult. She told the entire story about the episode that had ruined her life back home. Finally she said, “I hit bottom, Mario. I was so sure that life was over. But one day I asked God to do something. And then Jerry came and took me out of all of it. I know it was God who did it—and I thank him for it.”

  Mario nodded. “That was a rough deal, Christie.” He sat silently for a time, then asked curiously, “I don’t know God—not like you and Lenora do. But if I did—I guess I’d ask God to do something.”

  Christie stared at him. “Oh, Mario, that’s what we have to do! All of us have been so shocked, I guess we’ve been acting like people who don’t have God to help!” She smiled and said with trembling lips, “Thanks for reminding me of God, Mario! Now I know what to do!”

  “You’re going to do—what!”

  Christie had taken Mario’s suggestion seriously, and for three days she’d fasted and prayed. Now as she saw the shock in the faces of those before her, she almost lost hope.

  Lylah, Jesse, and Carl had listened to her as she told them how Mario had brought her to realize that doubt had paralyzed them. She’d taken a deep breath and then said, “I—think I’ve got direction. I think we should go to Rudolph Valentino and ask him to star in the picture.”

  It was Lylah who had burst out her doubts, and she shook her head, adding, “He’s the biggest star in Hollywood, Christie. He wouldn’t even listen to a proposition like this.”

  “Of course not!” Carl said. He was not a man of God and added, “Besides, as the Bible says, ‘God helps those who help themselves.’”

  Jesse frowned. “That’s not in the Bible, Carl. It’s in Aesop’s Fables.” He turned to Christie, saying, “Do you think God has told you this will happen?”

  “Oh , no!” Christie answered quickly. “But it keeps coming to me over and over—and Owen says that’s the way God lets people know what to do.”

  But Lylah said in a kindly fashion, “I know you want to help, Honey, but it’s just not possible.”

  “With God all things are possible,” Jesse said at once. But he was ignored, and Christie left feeling depressed. She went about her work, and the next afternoon, she called Mario. “I want to do something crazy,” she said. “Will you help me?”

  “Sure. I’ll be right over.”

  When he arrived, Christie met him with a smile. “It did me so much good—the way you agreed to help me without even knowing what it was I wanted.” She bit her lip, then took a deep breath. “I want you to help me get an interview with Rudolph Valentino.”

  Mario did not reveal his surprise by one lift of his eyebrow. “Is this something to do with the prayer thing?” He listened carefully as she explained, then said, “Where do we find him—Valentino?”

  “In New York. He’s there finishing up a picture. There was a story in the paper about it yesterday.” Christie’s face was anxious, and she said, “Jerry could fly us there, or Gavin. But how do we get in to see him?”

  “One thing at a time,” Mario nodded. “Give me Jerry’s number. We’ll figure out something when we get there.”

  Rudolph Valentino rose from his dressing table as the two visitors entered. There was a grace and ease with his body that came from his former profession as a dancer. “Come in,” he said pleasantly. “Can I offer you something to drink?”

  “Oh, no!” Christie said instantly.

  Valentino smiled, his face more handsome off the screen than on. “No, I don’t believe people in your profession drink, do they?” He stood watching them, and Mario thought of how this man had become an idol for millions—mostly women. He had played the part of Julio in The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse and had gone on to fame such as no movie actor had ever achieved.

  “How can I help you?” Valentino asked. “Are you taking donations for your organization?”

  “No, Mr. Valentino,” Mario said at once. “My name is Mario Castellano, and this young lady is Miss Christie Stuart. I believe you may have heard of her sister, Lylah Stuart.”

  Interest came to the dark eyes of the actor. “A fine actress,” he said. “I saw her as Lady Macbeth. She was very good.”

  Christie knew that they had only a few moments to present their case, and she said, “Mr. Valentino, my sister is making a film in Chicago . . .” She quickly laid out the nature of The Gangster, stressing that it was to be a new sort of film. Then Christie said frankly, “The film is making some people very unhappy.”

  “Al Capone is the most unhappy of all,” Mario nodded when Christie faltered. “He objects to the manner in which the film portrays his life. In fact, he sent his men to break the leg of the actor who was playing the lead—Emory Jannings.”

  Shock ran across the swarthy features of Valentino. “Al Capone had Emory’s leg broken?”

  “Yes, he did—though it would be hard to prove.” Mario hesitated, then said, “I know this because my family is in business with Capone.”

  Again Valentino showed some degree of surprise. “I see.” He st
udied the pair, then asked, “Why have you come to me with this?”

  Christie swallowed, then produced a thick packet from a case she’d brought with her. “I know you are a very busy man, Mr. Valentino, but if you could just read this script—”

  Valentino was accustomed to being asked to take parts, but always by men who offered him fabulous sums. He was not a humorous man, but the situation amused him. He riffled the pages of the script, then smiled at Christie. “Let me see, you want me to do this part for very little money, I suppose, and risk getting my leg broken by a vicious criminal?”

  “Yes, Mr. Valentino, that’s what we’d like.”

  Her seriousness caught at the actor. He stared at her, then asked, “And why should I do such a thing?”

  “Because it’s a good thing to do,” Christie said boldly. “It’s the responsibility of decent men to stand against evil. You have great influence, and you could help those who believe that life in America means more than that.”

  With his smoldering eyes on Christie, finally he said, “I will read it, Miss Stuart.”

  “Thank you!” Christie burst out, her eyes thanking him.

  But Mario said, “It could be dangerous. You are a very influential man, but Al Capone will kill when he sees a threat to his kingdom.”

  Valentino stared at him. “I will read the script. I make no promises to either of you—but I tell you now that Al Capone will not make my decision!”

  When they were outside, Christie said, “He’s a fiery man, isn’t he?”

  Mario nodded slowly. Taking her arm, he said, “Better not tell Lylah about this—no sense raising false hopes.”

  “No, I won’t say anything.” But she took his arm, pulled him around and to his complete shock, pulled his head down and kissed him. “There—now I’ll have to explain that to the Army! They don’t permit their young women to kiss dark handsome men on the street!”

  The two of them laughed and made their way arm in arm back to the airport where Jerry waited for them. He listened to their story, then whistled, “Wow! The Sheik himself! Can’t do better than that!” He looked at the pair of them, then grinned, “I feel like I’m contributing to the delinquency of minors! You two look happy enough to be a couple of teenagers on their first date!”

  As they took off, Mario said over the roar of the engine, “If this works, I’ll have to give this prayer thing a lot more attention!” He looked out at the skyline of New York, admiring the tall buildings, then thought, Al Capone—here we come!

  “IT’S WHAT I’VE BEEN LOOKING FOR ALL MY LIFE!”

  A s soon as Lylah looked up and saw Milton Sanderson come through the door, her heart sank. Sanderson, the president of the First National Bank, had a kindly face, but something in his expression revealed his purpose.

  “Am I interrupting anything, Miss Stuart?” he asked, taking off his black derby. He was a tall, portly man with a ruddy face and a shock of salt-and-pepper hair. Lylah thought he looked more like a lumberman than a banker with his massive shoulders and huge hands.

  She had been sitting behind her small desk staring at the wall, exhausted from wrestling with the decisions that had to be made. “No, not at all, Mr. Sanderson. Sit down.”

  Sanderson took a seat and looked straight at Lylah. He had been tempted to put his bad news in a letter, but he was the sort of man who faced up to trouble, and now he said at once, “I wish I had better news for you, Miss Stuart.”

  Lylah summoned a smile, saying quietly, “I’ve been bracing myself for bad news. You can’t lend us the money, can you?”

  Sanderson admired courage, and he saw it in the violet eyes of the woman in front of him. He’d spent considerable time with her, coming to visit the set after she’d applied for a loan. He knew little about the motion picture business, but he had assistants who could give him the facts. And the facts had been that a loan to Monarch Pictures would be a high risk. His vice president, Asa Thornton, had come to him shaking his head. “It won’t do, Milt. The odds are just too great. Turn her down.”

  But Sanderson liked Lylah Stuart from the moment she’d come into his office. He had never seen her on the screen, but her beauty impressed him. And she was honest—in Sanderson’s experience a rare thing for someone who wanted to borrow money. As he looked at Lylah, he remembered her first words: “I want a lot of money, Mr. Sanderson, and it’ll be a high-risk loan.”

  Now as he studied the woman who sat watching him, he wished there were some way he could let her have the money she’d asked for. But he had struggled with the application, and now he knew what he had to do. Shaking his head, he said, “I respect what you’re trying to do, Miss Stuart, but it’s just not the sort of thing a bank can lend money on.”

  “I understand, Mr. Sanderson.”

  Her calm answer disturbed the banker, for he was fairly certain that he represented the last hope for her fledgling company. “I’ve tried to find a way to make the loan, but it’s just too risky. Even if I recommend it, the committee will never approve it.” He leaned forward, and a puzzled expression crossed his face. “You’re successful in your career. You can go back to that, I hope.”

  Lylah didn’t mention that she and her brothers had sunk every dime they had into the venture. She had learned not to cry over her losses, and so she merely said, “It’s nice of you to be concerned, Mr. Sanderson. I appreciate the personal attention you’ve put into my application.”

  Sanderson sighed, his face turning heavy. “Being a banker is not a great deal of pleasure at times like this.” He got to his feet, and when Lylah rose and put her hand out, he took it, saying, “I wish it could be different, Miss Stuart. But investors are cautious people, afraid to take risks like this.”

  “I understand. Please don’t feel bad about this. I knew there was little hope for a loan, but I had to try.” Summoning a smile, she said, “Perhaps the next time I ask for money, I’ll have a nice safe venture—like a race horse.”

  Again Sanderson was filled with admiration for the courage of Lylah Stuart. He left the set, and when he got back to his office, he was out of sorts for several days. “Watch out for the old man,” his vice president whispered. “Somebody’s stepped on his toe!”

  After Sanderson left her office, Lylah went back to her chair and sat down. She stared at the walls across from her, which were almost covered with pictures of famous actors and actresses posing with her—Bernhardt, Ellen Terry, several of the Barrymores, Lily Langtry. These were from her days on the stage. Other faces from the world of movies were fresher—Charlie Chaplin, Doug Fairbanks and Mary Pickford, Buster Keaton.

  She thought briefly of asking some of these people for help but could not bring herself to do it. Closing her eyes, she tried to stifle the problems that swarmed her. Always before when she’d had financial problems, it had been very personal—but now she grieved over dragging her family into the whirlpool that was pulling them all deeper toward what seemed to be certain destruction. Owen and Amos—they should never have put all they had into this thing! The thought grieved her, and she rose and walked the floor, back and forth, trying to find a way out.

  The door burst open, and Adam bolted into the room. “Mum—come and play!”

  Lylah knelt and hugged the boy, then asked, “Play what?”

  “Cowboys—with Jesse and me!”

  “Yes, come on and play.” Lylah looked up to see Jesse enter, and she burst out laughing. “You idiot! Where did you get that outfit?”

  “Found it in a trunk.” Jesse was wearing a pair of enormous furry chaps, two guns in holsters, and a hideous yellow shirt. A huge white Stetson came down over his eyes, and he peered from underneath it at Lylah. “Look to your laurels, Tom Mix!” he exclaimed. “Tex Hart, King of the Cowboys, is on the loose!”

  Adam tugged at one of the pistols. “He’s going to let me shoot it, Mum! Come on, Uncle Jesse!”

  Lylah watched as Jesse teased the boy, then she said, “Are those things loaded?”

  “I have
no idea.” Yanking one of the large revolvers from the holster, Jesse peered down the muzzle. “Doesn’t seem to be—can’t see any bullets.”

  “Jesse—you’ll blow your head off!”

  “Let me see!” Adam cried eagerly, reaching up for the pistol.

  Seeing the alarm in Lylah’s face, Jesse said, “Well, I guess not, Son. Tell you what, these are a mite big for you. Why don’t we go down to the toy store and buy some just for you?”

  Lylah relaxed as Jesse awkwardly replaced the pistol, promising Adam that they would go soon. “You go tell Bonnie what we’re going to do.” When Adam ran out of the office, he said thoughtfully, “I never had an outfit like this when I was growing up, so I thought I’d redeem the time. What sort of dress did you want when you were a little girl? I’ll bet we can find it in one of those costume trunks.”

  “I’ve been playing dress-up for years, Jesse,” Lylah said. “That’s part of being an actress.” She smiled and came to take off his hat. “You look ridiculous in that thing.”

  Jesse saw the trouble in her eyes and grew sober. “I saw the banker come by. No good news?”

  “I wasn’t really expecting any.”

  “We’ll just have to keep on without their help.”

  “Oh, Jesse, it’s hopeless!” Lylah had managed to keep her emotions hidden in front of Sanderson, but now she let her guard down. “There’s no use kidding ourselves. It was a fine idea—but it’s just not going to work.”

  As Lylah went to stand in front of the window, Jesse was aware that she’d reached the end of her hopes. “Let me go get dressed,” he said quietly. “We’ll buy Adam a toy gun, then we’ll take him for a walk in the park.” He left without waiting for an answer, and Lylah didn’t move. Owen told me once about when he got wounded in the war. He said he hardly felt it—but later when the action was over, the pain was terrible. I guess that’s what’s happened to me. As long as I had hope and something to fight for, I didn’t have time to feel much—but now it’s killing me!