Chapter 7: To Dine Is to Dream

“HOW did we meet?” Mary repeated my question, after the debris of the starting course, which was an acceptable brown Windsor soup, had been removed and while we waited unhurriedly for the main course.

We were sat at a table against a corner of the restaurant, in front of blackout curtains, which appeared to cover not just the windows, but lined the walls completely all around the room.

There were wide spaces between the occupied tables, so here we were quite private and free to talk comfortably without fear of being overheard. From far off, but only when the restaurant doors were open, we could faintly hear music from a small jazz band playing dance music, so a bar or a ballroom must have been close by.

“I know it seems an odd question, after we have chatted all around every other set of pleasantries without mentioning the elephant in the room, but my self-imposed exile from polite society has completely dried up my resources of polite conversation. Is your husband a completely taboo subject, as we sit in our, your, finery enjoying each other’s company and the prospects of a delicious meal?”

“No, Edgar, he ain’t a closed subject. How could he be? My whole purpose for being here, yahr reason for being at this table with me now, is because of him. It is just this situation is unlike anything I could ever imagine. Look at us sitting here: yah, a man looking as fetchin’ as yah do, dining with me, looking at mah ravishing best, set in this romantic dining room, yet yah initiate this pleasant conversation with a question about my absent husband.”

“We can just sit here quietly, you know,” I replied softly, “I never go to picture houses at all any more, like I used to before 1914, so I have never experienced the magic of what you and your husband do. Over here most people still call the moving pictures ‘the flicks’, and with good reason, so I found long ago that I cannot sit comfortably in the dark and watch those flickering images.”

“They are much smoother than they used to be in the handcranked days, Edgar.”

“Yes, others have said so, but I much prefer looking at you in person, so our conversation could be about the craters of the moon, for all I care, I wouldn’t enjoy our conversation any less. I can pick up the investigation into your husband’s disappearance again in the morning.”

Mrs Jones laughed. “That’s more like it, Edgar! When you opened the conversation with a question about my husband, I thought I was starting to lose my touch.”

“Hardly.”

“How about if I tell yah mah story, and then yah tell me yahrs, about how yah fell in love and lost yahr gal, is that a deal?”

“Yes, a deal.”

“How we met, mmm, where do begin? OK, yah may have already guessed that the film industry consists of wolves and lambs, and young starlets trying to get a part in a movie are innocent lambs there ready for the slaughter, and nearly all are sacrificed in the name of their art. The directors and producers of films have enormous power over the careers of actors, and we all know that such total power corrupts those that possess it. I am sure yah realise that, after dealin’ with criminals most of yahr life.”

“Yes, indeed.”

“Well, back in 1927 and ‘28 I was just a simple, moderately pretty and totally unaccompanied young girl with dreams, who wanted to play leadin’ characters in the movies. I had played rôles in theatre classes, getting great marks at school and, back in my sweet little home town, I threw myself into amateur dramatics when I could spare the time after school. I was told by mah drama teachers that I had talent as a player of many parts. So I moved to Hollywood and did manage to get a few itty bitty walk on parts in movies, but breaking into the big time was difficult, so, I did anything I could helping out around various studios.”

“Including the costumes department, I presume?”

“Yes, of course, your tuxedo. Actually, we call the costume department ‘Wardrobe’ and I worked many hours in there, and my quick assessing of actors’ sizes helped keep everyone movin’. I could have been a top wardrobe manager, I think, if I had settled for that, but I was there in Hollywood because I wanted to act parts and was sure I had enough raw talent, only lacked the experience in front of the camera.”

“The difficulty getting started in many jobs, is that you can’t get the right level of experience employers want, if you are constantly turned down for lack of experience.”

“Exactly,” she said, but paused as she looked behind me.

Just then our main course arrived with a herd of waiters, who placed our hot plates, and meat, vegetables and sauces on those plates with flourish and alacrity. They were there and gone in a matter of moments, although they were calmly deliberate in their actions and did not appear to rush. As soon as they departed and, between delicious forkfuls of hot food, Mary continued.

“Anyway, the big time continually eluded me, although I applied to audition for any and every suitable female part. Now, Edgar, some directors are notorious for forcing girls to provide ... shall we say, certain favours against their will, and some of those same directors tried it on with me too, but I wouldn’t play ball, not at all. However, after a great audition I made for a part that had fourth or fifth billin’, this well-respected director was really enthusiastic about my performance. His reaction seemed genuine. He promised that I had the part regardless and dismissed the remaining auditionees. He asked me, while he cleared the set, if I would I go into a certain room, where a young lady would be sent from the offices to take down my details and show me a contract to peruse, and he would catch up with us there later with the necessary contract witnesses in tow. I was so delighted to get the part, that I did what he asked and didn’t realise that while I waited in this office, the director sent everyone home and came after me on his own. Brad was in the Studio nearby, heard me scream, and correctly surmised that I was being attacked by a potential rapist.”

“I didn’t know about that incident anywhere.” I said, recalling the article from the library that I had read.

“No, you wouldn’t, very few people know what happened, so...”

“I will never breathe a word,” I said, “but I can understand it must’ve been frightening for you, especially as you must’ve been very young, over twelve years ago, was it, at the start of your career?”

“Yeah, I was 17, a year into my acting career, with very little to show for my efforts up till then,” she said, smiling in recollection, “OK, I was frightened initially by the director’s attack, but I was also no stranger to rough and tumble, being brought up on a ranch, ridin’, wranglin’ and ropin’ cows, then birthin’ and manhandlin’ calves that were as big as me from cows who were three times bigger than me. I was young and fit, while he was old and fat. I ended up beatin’ him up before Brad could put his shoulder to and break down the locked door and prevent me doin’ real permanent damage to the creep.”

“Ha! I think that is priceless.”

“Well, there was a right to-do, because as son of the Studio owner Brad fired that director on the spot. He was known to be a famous letcher in the more elevated circles of the industry, although that little fact was unknown to me at the time. Mmm, this meat and sauce is delicious, isn’t it? Anyhoo, this director was also hugely successful, which I was very well aware of, with a string of very profitable hits to his name. He attracted a lot of top actors to work with him, and was a particular favourite of the owner of the studio, who we all called Old Man Gold, who happened to be Brad’s father, Alfred.”

“I can see how that could be a problem for the Studio, quite some conflict of interest. How did your future husband-to-be happen to be there?” I noticed her wine glass was almost empty, “Would you like some more wine?”

“Yes, please.”

I topped up our glasses, virtually finishing the bottle, prompting a waiter to appear at my elbow. “Would you like more wine, Sir?”

“Not for me,” I said, “but...” I looked at Mary. She shook her head very slightly, so I replied to the waiter, “No, thank you.”

After he walked away, I said, “Sorry, Mary, waiters always seem to approach the gentlemen in these places.”

“I’m used to that, which is why I often have food sent up to mah room to eat when travellin’.”

“So why go through all that you have done tonight to dine down here with me?”

“Why not? I had a great day pretending being a normal person again for once, and I wanted a normal dinner date to round off the evening. Also—”

“But this is hardly normal, Mary. You are a famous married woman and I am a complete unknown and a habitual bachelor.” I was starting to raise an eyebrow again, this time minus the ineffectual glare.

She laughed, “True, but we actors, who live in make-believe most of the time, are suckers who really want to believe that while what we make up is fantasy, the lives we lead are true, so just humor me Edgar, please?”

“Of course. This is all rather unbelievable for me too, you know.”

“I can imagine.” She smiled, “So, where was I?”

“Your director was sacked and Brad was no doubt in trouble with his father over the matter. I can’t quite see how Brad suddenly came into your story.”

“It was both a stroke of luck, and testimony to the type of person that Brad is. It turned out that one of the cameramen on the auditions was one of Brad’s friends. Brad makes friends indiscriminately of who they are or what they do. It is one of his most endearin’ features. The cameraman felt confident enough in his friendship to go up to Brad’s office in the same set of buildin’s and told him that this unknown girl, me, had stolen the scene with my audition and had the rôle sewn up, but that the director was up to his old tricks again and had lured me alone and defenceless to his office on a pretext. So Brad came lookin’ for me.”

“No doubt he was impressed by the results of your latest dramatic performance?”

“Indeed. After the incident, Brad took me somewhere nearby for a coffee, where he was able to smooth my ruffled feathers. Meanwhile, the movie director took a really different story to Mr Gold, the owner of the studio. Soon, someone came lookin’ for Brad in his usual haunts and he was immediately summoned to see his father at their home. Brad insisted I went along with him. I was more than willin’ to explain to his father that his son came to the rescue of my honor. His father Old Man Gold and his uncle Bernie —”

“Uncle Bernie?”

“Yes, Bernard Cave, he’s sweet guy, a minority owner of the Gold Studios, same age as Brad’s father and also English, so they all were really good old friends. He and his wife Connie lived in the mansion right next door to the Golds. I think Brad must’ve been named Bernard after Bernie. They were a nice old couple, but childless, and sweet Connie passed only a couple of years ago, leavin’ not just Bernie devastated, but the whole Gold family bereft.”

“Including his namesake?”

“Sure. Bernie loves Brad like a son, and Brad was very fond of them both. Well, Bernie and Mr Gold saw us both together for a few minutes while they heard first Brad’s side of the story, and then I told them my part and how I bit, gouged, punched and kicked Alfred’s favourite director’s sorry ass, and made them aware that I would do the same to any damned director who tried the same trick as he pulled on me.”