Celluloid Memories

by Sandra Kitt

  “Maybe I won’t have to go that far this time. I’m going to show them my audition tape and point out why I’m the best actress for the part. Then I’m going to suggest they give the other actress another part…or write one for her.”

  “Now you sound like a pro. Have your agent or manager review the contract. If all else fails you got them there,” McCoy advised.

  “Oooh. This is the life.”

  Savannah smiled at Donna’s contented sigh. Through her dark glasses she watched as Donna came up on her elbows from her prone position in a poolside lounge chair. She shook her head; the woman had the nerve to be wearing not just a two-piece swimsuit, but an actual bikini. Fortunately, she observed, Donna also still had the lithe toned body of the dancer she used to be. Her short wild hair was tied back from her face with a bright scarf, and she wore oversized dangly earrings.

  “It is a beautiful day,” Savannah said, stretching out her own slender legs and resting the notepad she’d been writing in on her thighs.

  “No, it’s not just a beautiful day. It’s a fabulous California day,” Donna corrected, gracefully righting her body to a sitting position, and adjusting the top of her suit that covered her boyishly flat chest. “There’s a huge difference. I can’t believe I was reluctant to leave New York.”

  “It’s a major dance center. That’s where your career was,” Savannah reminded her.

  “Yeah, but New York had weather,” Donna said dryly. “The first thing I wanted to do when I moved out here was sell my boots and umbrellas.” Savannah laughed. “And the first time I flew back east to visit family I thought I would die from the cold. And it was only September. Maybe I’m a California girl at heart.”

  “Maybe. If you were blonde, from the valley or 90210.”

  Savannah and Donna turned their attention to Kay, who’d been napping, stretched out on her stomach on another lounger under the partial shade of a jacaranda tree. Kay rolled her curvy bod and adjusted her chair to a more upright position. A straw hat and sunglasses protected her toffee-colored features.

  Donna made a dismissive gesture. “Most people in L.A. are from somewhere else. Just like in New York.”

  “I’m from Atlanta, but I belong here.” Kay nodded.

  “Makes no difference where you’re from. People go to New York because of publishing or theater or fashion or art or dance,” Donna said.

  “But you’re here,” Savannah reminded her. “Why did you come here? Why does anyone come to L.A.? I mean, yeah, there’s the film business but most people don’t make it, do they?”

  Donna and Kay exchanged silent considering glances. Donna shrugged.

  “I don’t know. Maybe because they think they’re going to make it. It’s all about having a dream. In California anything is possible. I came because I was in the chorus of the film version of a Broadway musical. I thought I’d just go on getting work, so I never left.”

  “In L.A. it’s okay to fail,” Kay added. “I mean, not that failing is such a great thing, but there’s always something else you can do. People give you a second chance. They don’t much care what you’ve been or done before.”

  “Is this all about your father?” Donna asked, squinting at Savannah as she reached for her plastic tumbler of lemonade.

  Savannah rested her head back against her chair. “Maybe a little. You know he left his family behind to come out here and act.”

  “Yeah, and all things considered, Vann, he did good. He had a career,” Donna said.

  “He did keep in touch, didn’t he? You did see him and spend time with him over the years, right?” Kay asked, but didn’t wait for an answer. “You’re so lucky, Vann. Some folks get the bug and forget all about where they came from. You know the kind I’m talking about.”

  Savannah didn’t answer. She had the feeling that Kay was not talking about the likes of a Rae Marie Hilton. After all, how many people could there have been like her who managed to slip in under the radar and not get found out eventually? Savannah knew that there were movie people who made a lot of money, and rubbed elbows with the Hollywood elite, who acted like they’d gotten where they were on talent alone. But she also knew that was almost never the case.

  “What are you writing? You’ve been scribbling all afternoon. Working on a biography of your father?” Donna asked. She got up and walked to the edge of the pool, where she sat and dangled her legs in the cool water.

  Savannah glanced down at the legal pad she’d been writing on. She lifted the pad and hugged it close to her chest, as if guarding her work. “Just notes. I’m still sorting through his papers and there are a couple of things I want to remember to follow up on.”

  A cell phone suddenly rang. Realizing it was hers, Savannah answered with an absent hello.

  “I hope you’re doing something fun.”

  It was a second before she recognized McCoy’s voice. “Oh, hi.” Did she sound pleased to hear from him again?

  “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

  It crossed her mind that he might be fishing, but couldn’t understand why he would feel the need to. “Not at all. I’m just hanging out at the pool in my backyard with some girlfriends,” Savannah said, watching as Kay joined Donna at the pool edge to begin their own animated conversation. “And you?”

  “I’m at my office.”

  “Don’t you know it’s Saturday?”

  “I had some work to take care of. This call is the one break I’ve allowed myself.”

  Savannah hesitated, finally smiling. “I guess I should be flattered.”

  “I hope you don’t mind if I get a vicarious thrill from your afternoon with friends.”

  Savannah laughed lightly. “I’m sure you can do better than this. And there isn’t anything I can do about, er, giving you a thrill.”

  “Sure there is. Invite me over.”

  She was silent for a brief moment. It seemed a very provocative suggestion. Was he serious? “You mean you don’t have one of your own? I’m talking about a pool. I thought it was a law that anyone living in L.A. had to have a pool.” Now it was McCoy’s turn to laugh.

  “Actually, I do. There’s one on the roof of my condo in Santa Monica. I think the last time I was actually in it was five or six months ago.”

  “Poor baby. Woogie woogie?” Savannah cooed, as if she was comforting a contrite child.

  McCoy cracked up.

  His hearty laugh made her smile. She’d surprised even herself by goading and teasing him.

  “You’re right. I shouldn’t complain.”

  Then she realized that Donna and Kay were listening to her one-sided conversation with baffled expressions. Savannah lowered her voice and grew serious.

  “McCoy, thanks again for all that stuff you gave me. I really appreciate it.”

  “Mac, please. I thought it would mean more to you than to me. I’m a fan of your father’s work, but you’re family and will want to keep as much as you can for posterity, right?”

  “I’m thinking of organizing all the programs and announcements and newspaper articles into some sort of usable system. Maybe by years, or maybe by individual projects.”

  “That’s a great idea. Are you also planning on giving some or all of it to a library or college? That way people will be able to research his career.”

  Savannah drew up her knees and leaned forward, her legal pad now sandwiched between her chest and thighs. “Do you think people will really be interested in the collected works of Will Shelton?”

  “Absolutely. For a black actor especially, who’s been around for more than twenty years, there’s not only his contribution, but his major influence on other blacks in the industry. Your father made it. He survived. He will be remembered.”

  “Thank you,” Savannah said quietly.

  “For what?”

  “Reminding me that Will Shelton was more than just my father. I can’t keep him all to myself, can I? I have to share who and what he was.”

  “No need to thank me. I th
ink you already knew that. Otherwise you wouldn’t be taking your time to sort through what would otherwise be a bunch of old papers and notices. Find anything interesting?”

  Savannah thought immediately of the box found in her father’s closet. She glanced covertly at Kay and Donna again, but both had now slipped into the pool to gently swirl about as they talked and laughed together.

  “I’m not sure. I’m reading through so much right now, I’m just trying to get my head around all the information.”

  “I understand. Well, let me cut you loose to enjoy the rest of the day. I have at least another hour here before I can leave.”

  “Would you like to come over and join us?” she blurted out suddenly.

  “I appreciate the invitation, but I do have plans for later. Thanks anyway.”

  “Sure.”

  “Can I get a rain check?” McCoy asked quietly.

  “A rain check?”

  “Can I hold that invitation for a later date, to be announced?”

  Savannah shrugged, not believing for a minute that McCoy was being anything but polite. “I guess.”

  “Good. You take care.”

  “Thanks. You, too.”

  Savannah barely had time to put her cell phone down before Donna and Kay were wading to the side of the pool nearest her chair. Standing side by side, both women rested their forearms and hands on the tiles and regarded her steadily, just their heads visible, their oversized sunglasses making them look like aliens.

  “What?” she asked, trying to give her attention back to her writing, but only hearing McCoy’s laughter as she did an instant replay of their conversation.

  “Don’t give me that wide-eyed ‘what,’” Donna said. “Who was that and why haven’t we heard about him before now?”

  “Yeah. And what’s up with that baby talk?” Kay added.

  Savannah felt flustered but maintained her calm demeanor. She shook her head. “No one important.”

  Donna and Kay hummed a droll “uh-huh” in unison, indicating their skepticism.

  Savannah gave in, exasperated. “That was the other driver from that accident I had. I told you about it. He just wanted to make sure I was okay. I thought that was pretty decent of him.”

  Donna climbed out of the pool, dripping water as she walked to her lounger to retrieve a towel. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you declare the man a major jerk at the time of the accident?”

  Kay followed behind Donna, her hips and breasts swaying with a soft sensuality capable of effortlessly drawing men to her. “That accident was over a month ago. How long does it take to apologize?”

  “He can’t be that much of a jerk if you stayed on the phone with him for almost twenty minutes, laughing at what he had to say,” Donna said coyly, settling gracefully again on her lounger.

  “I’m still waiting to hear about the baby talk,” Kay said.

  Savannah merely smiled at the good-natured ribbing of her girlfriends. She realized that she liked having a harmless secret that kept them guessing. Of course, she had to wonder herself. McCoy was a good-looking man, more than gainfully employed, and he was straight. He was already a Master of the Universe, on the black side. Not bad. Not bad at all.

  Given the incomparable Cherise, and all the other ‘10’ women that came by the hundreds every day to L.A., why had McCoy called her?

  “I invited him to join us,” Savannah said nonchalantly. Donna and Kay came immediately to attention.

  “You did?” Kay asked.

  “He’s coming here? What did you say his name was again?” Donna asked.

  “Down, girls,” Savannah chuckled. “He can’t make it.”

  “Oh,” Donna said, disappointed.

  “You know I wasn’t about to throw over my girlfriends just for some man,” Savannah added.

  Donna chortled, adjusting her glasses as she settled down in her chair. “I would.”

  Savannah finished typing in the last line from the last page of her notes. She read it back and sighed with satisfaction. She was done.

  She sat back in her chair. As she moved, the gentle ache in her lower back warned her she’d been sitting for too long in the same position. She slowly rose from her chair and stretched, and began pacing back and forth in the confines of the kitchen, where she’d set up a work space for herself on the counter. Her laptop, articles and photographs and the journals from the box she’d found were scattered all over the counter surface. Some had fallen to the floor where Savannah had left them, unwilling to break her train of thought as she’d worked.

  It had taken almost a month, but Savannah felt a giddy sense of accomplishment as she gazed down at the short stack of pages that was her first attempt ever to write a film script. She flipped through the first draft, with its red editorial markings and notes. The changes would have to wait for another night. It was almost four in the morning. She was dead tired, but too excited to go to bed and fall asleep. An anticlimactic energy made her feel she should be doing something more.

  Savannah sat down again and read through the last known journal she had for Rae Marie Hilton. As it turned out, it was the very last of anything written by Rae Marie that she’d found among her father’s possessions. In Rae Marie’s own words she was preparing to perform in a new project. She’d written about having to make a trip, but also of being tired and wondering what was going to happen to her when she returned. She’d written about the fact that suddenly, black actors and actresses were becoming the vogue in Hollywood. They’d finally arrived, and projects geared to the black viewing audience were proliferating.

  What was she going to do?

  Savannah yawned. She picked up a banana from a basket as she wandered aimlessly into the living room. The silence of the middle of the night was so complete that it was like being in a vacuum. For now, she was hermetically sealed off from the rest of the world. She felt oddly at peace.

  On the bookcase she saw the African violet, which had been mysteriously left outside the house weeks earlier. It had grown and thrived. On the bottom shelf of the bookcase that lined either side of the window, Savannah spotted three albums. She’d known they were there, but she’d never before removed them from the shelf to look through them, always assuming that they were just more of her father’s memorabilia. But what if they weren’t?

  Putting aside her snack, Savannah had to get down on her knees in order to reach the albums. She sat on an ottoman with the first one on her lap and opened it. Almost at once Savannah realized that the photographs were not of colleagues, co-stars, crew, fans or anything else having to do with Hollywood. Stunned, she knew she was looking at a photographic record of her own life, and that of her brother Harris, saved and preserved by her father.

  Savannah recognized nearly all of the pictures, but she had no idea how they’d come to be in her father’s possession. There were annual class photos from second through fourth grade, a picture of her in costume from a school play. Lots of images from Christmases and birthdays and other family gatherings that Will Shelton had not been present at. But one picture showed her with her father as he knelt beside her. She was scowling disagreeably into the camera. Savannah remembered that one. It was taken at the airport as she was about to be put on a plane back home after a visit with him. Harris, four years older, was standing and smiling behind her. Everyone but she seemed to be enjoying the moment. Had she not wanted to leave?

  Savannah frowned as she examined the photo. She no longer remembered what she had been feeling. The disappointment of a little girl had somehow morphed into the understanding of a woman. In the last two years she’d slowly come to see that her father’s life made complete sense and could not have been any other way. Another thought also occurred to her. Surely her mother had played a part in the family’s breakup.

  Why hadn’t she come to L.A. with her husband so the family could stay together?

  By the time she’d leafed through the second album, Savannah had a sense of closure as well. Her father had
made his own memories, and he’d never willfully forgotten his children and what had been left behind. She smiled at her own pun and yawned again. Dawn was starting to lighten the sky outside the window.

  She closed the album. The last one would have to wait. Savannah knew that unless she got at least a few hours sleep, she was going to be catatonic by midday.

  Exhaustion finally began to catch up to her as she slipped into bed and sighed contentedly. She suddenly felt a real closeness to her father, and a sense of pride. For the first time she understood exactly what a sacrifice he’d made, and what it might have cost him. For the first time Savannah felt compassion for people who were compelled to follow a dream against all odds, their lives succeeding or failing mostly by chance.

  People like the tortured Rae Marie Hilton, caught impossibly between two worlds and never really belonging to either one.

  Chapter 6

  Savannah cruised slowly past the low-rise garden apartments, the kind of residential building complex that had proliferated throughout L.A. in the fifties and sixties, and that housed aspiring young actors and actresses. After parking her car, she approached and walked through the wrought-iron-gate entrance. Inside, the pathway was lined with lush palms and other plants. It led past the management office to three wings of apartment suites each three stories high. They were designed so that all the units opened out onto a common terrace on each level that overlooked the small square swimming pool in the center of the complex. Half a dozen young adults in a hot tub were having a lively conversation.

  The one thing that Savannah had not been able to get used to in L.A. was the number of adults who apparently had blocks of free time in the middle of the day to lounge around the pool. It was almost six, but she had the sense that the young adults hanging out did not hold traditional jobs.

  Their laughter followed her as she walked up to the second level and found Domino’s apartment. The doorbell was answered almost immediately.

  “Hi. Thanks for stopping by,” Domino said, somewhat breathlessly.