Script for Scandal

by Renee Patrick

  ‘If I do this,’ I said slowly, ‘will I like what I hear?’

  ‘Of course not. It’s the truth. Nobody likes the truth. The entire picture business exists because people would rather be told lies. But once you hear the truth, you know it. And you can’t unhear it.’ Fentress peered around the pillar in a modest panic. I wondered if he’d been that agitated when he’d been pinched by the police. ‘Do we have a deal?’

  What choice did I have? ‘Sure.’

  ‘Swell. Now beat it. Before Josie … dammit, it’s too late. Here she comes. Don’t say a word about Sylvia.’

  ‘You want me to clear your name, don’t you?’

  He threw me one last alarmed glance as Josie Fentress glided toward us, the impeccable hostess smile yielded by years of breeding her sole welcoming feature. Not for Josie the exposed shoulders and décolletage of the evening gown. Her dinner suit – floor-length deep blue skirt and elaborately embroidered jacket, its gold thread flashing in the light of the pillar candles – covered her from swan-like neck to high heels, demonstrating the depth of her commitment to the evening’s cause.

  ‘Clyde, darling.’ Had the champagne been as flat as her voice, she’d have burned the club to the ground. ‘You deserted Mrs Cowan at the table. We discussed that.’

  ‘Sorry, dear.’ Fentress attempted a chuckle. ‘Just stretching my—’

  ‘Return to her at once, would you? Before she begins spouting the Hearst line to her dinner companions.’

  Fentress skulked away without a word. Josie’s gaze fixed me in place as surely as a pin used to mount a butterfly.

  ‘Tell me, are you Clyde’s new conquest?’ she murmured. ‘The one in the hopper, or is it the chute? Clyde associated with all these rodeo sorts and I never could get their patter down.’

  ‘No, Mrs Fentress. I know your husband from the studio.’

  ‘One doesn’t necessarily preclude the other.’

  I could follow Josie’s direct approach, too. ‘I wanted to ask you about Sylvia Ward.’

  ‘The late Sylvia.’ She almost savored the words. ‘I saw you with her the other day.’

  ‘Yes. She and your husband were having an affair.’

  She craned her neck to squint at me, and still managed to look elegant doing so. ‘Who are you, exactly?’

  ‘A busybody minding other people’s business.’

  ‘Oh, yes, now I know. My husband told me. You’re that girl intent on sabotaging his movie. Because you’re so bound to your man. Not at all independent.’

  I smiled. ‘That’s me. Sylvia was—’

  ‘Clyde told the police he was romantically involved with her. He told me some time earlier. He doesn’t keep secrets from me. He knows how pointless that would be.’ She nodded toward him, seated at a table, tilting his head so the elderly woman at his side could pour her bile directly into his ear. ‘We do lead separate lives for the most part. I request his presence at these events from time to time so he can regale my friends with a few unvarnished stories about his various incarcerations. He’s always good for a few laughs. Isn’t this a lovely venue? Such history. It’s why I wanted it for this occasion. That, and having the event here makes everyone happy. The old guard feels they’re doing good. My political confreres think we’re putting one over on the stuffed shirts. And Clyde is utterly miserable.’

  He certainly seemed forlorn, bantering with the battle-ax at his table. I doubted his spirits would improve once he headed to home and hearth with Josie.

  ‘Could I ask where you were last night, Mrs Fentress?’

  ‘When poor Sylvia was killed? Why not ask your policeman boyfriend for that information? I can only assume he has it, because I suggested to the officer I spoke to that he take a good look at your Detective Morrow. After all, he was bested in physical combat by my husband the other day, with Sylvia as witness.’

  I swallowed hard. ‘I believe they fought to a draw.’

  ‘He didn’t tell you he’d beaten Clyde? Maybe he is honest. I can see why you hold on to him.’ She patted my arm, the sensation like being comforted by a Frigidaire. ‘I’ll tell you what I told the good captain in the company of my family’s attorney this morning. I spent yesterday afternoon putting the finishing touches on this event, then relaxed by taking a long drive alone while my husband went to the pictures by himself. No one can verify either of our stories, alas. But I’m not particularly worried.’

  I almost missed much of what she said. One of her words derailed my attention. ‘Did you say captain?’

  ‘A high-ranking member of the department attended to the matter personally. Sought me out on his own initiative, out of deference to my family. A change may have come to the police force at last.’ She waved over my shoulder at someone. ‘Can’t recall his name at the moment. Wore a most striking tweed suit.’

  ‘Frady.’

  ‘That sounds right. Determined as well as distinguished. A man who can produce results. Speaking of which, would you mind if I left you, dear? I must circulate and ask those assembled to dig deep.’

  A helpful member of the Ebell Club pointed me toward a pay phone and asked if she could fetch me anything. I looked, she informed me, deathly pale. I hadn’t considered that Gene could be linked, however tenuously, to Sylvia’s murder.

  And Frady, the implacable Frady, remained on his trail. The man turned up everywhere.

  Gene picked up the call. ‘Are you in trouble?’ I blurted.

  ‘Always. Were you asking about something specific?’

  ‘Did you have to answer questions about Sylvia’s murder once it came out she was Clyde’s mistress?’

  ‘It raised an eyebrow or two downtown, but no one’s taking it seriously. Other rocks are more likely to fall on my head first.’

  ‘About Sylvia,’ I said. ‘Would it make a difference if I told you she was sleeping with Bugsy Siegel?’

  I took the lack of glib reply as a victory. Gene pressed for details, which I provided as succinctly as possible.

  ‘I’ll pass this info along to the investigating officers.’ He paused. ‘It sounds like you’re still trying to help, Frost.’

  ‘Nope,’ I lied. ‘I spent today looking at clothes. Honest.’

  Edith was so pleased with herself you could almost see her teeth when she smiled. Almost.

  ‘I talked Miss Dambach’s ear off about Paramount’s slate of pictures without giving away any trade secrets. Did you find Mrs Fentress?’

  ‘I think she can give Virginia a run for her money in the danger department. Can we get out of here before I’m compelled to make a donation?’

  ‘I already made one. A few dollars slipped into one of the boxes. We can pretend it’s from both of us.’

  San Bernardino Lamplighter March 31, 1939

  KATHERINE DAMBACH’S

  SLIVERS OF THE SILVER SCREEN

  Talk is swirling around town about the death of a young woman who spent her days behind a desk at Central Casting and her nights – well, that’s the question that has tongues wagging. Young Sylvia Ward, found murdered in her apartment this week by Hollywood hanger-on Lillian Frost, manned the floodgates against the tidal wave of extras hoping for their big break. Did she have her eyes on bigger things herself? Some are saying a seasoned scribe was giving the girl a leg up in the screenwriting game. I suppose that’s one way to crash the movies … Paramount costume designer Edith Head is thrilled to see more musical films go into production. Brightness and joy are what we need these days, the wardrobe wizard believes. She’ll be making music with her sketchpad designing the wardrobe for a Victor Herbert biography set to start filming later this year.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Life, I knew, was not all furbelows and canapés. After a day spent summiting the Social Register, I rose vowing to put my shoulder to the wheel. Granted, my labors would consist of organizing Addison’s ‘Come as Your Childhood Dream Job’ party featuring two orchestras, a far cry from running laundry service at a leper colony. But at least I’d be at my des
k.

  I had started with the day’s correspondence when the doorbell sounded. An all-atwitter Addison buzzed into my office. ‘My acting teacher has arrived!’

  ‘Miss Davis is back for round two?’ I’d worn shoes without laces. I was bound to make a better impression today.

  ‘No! Another friend became available. Would you mind greeting her? I need a moment to prepare.’

  I reached Addison’s spacious lobby and immediately retreated. Joan Crawford stood admiring the flowers. I’d need a moment to prepare as well. With a deep breath I strode forward, poised to reintroduce myself—

  ‘Good morning, Lillian!’ Crawford, whom I’d met twice in my reception duties at Addison’s parties, had somehow remembered my name. What’s more, she rushed toward me with hands extended. I gripped her butter-soft pink suede gloves. Her black jersey dress floated around her knees as she walked, topped by a fingertip jacket outlined in white. ‘You’ll have to give me the name of Addison’s florist. It’s so good to see you again.’

  ‘Likewise, Miss Crawford.’

  ‘It’s funny, I thought of you the other day.’

  ‘I can’t fathom why.’

  She laughed uproariously at my honesty. ‘The World’s Fair! It’s to be in Flushing, where you’re from. You must be excited, everyone’s attention on your old neighborhood. I read the most darling article about it. I’ll have it sent over to you.’

  I flailed for a response. I knew for certain I’d never told Crawford I was from Flushing in the forty-five or so seconds we’d spoken. The actress was simply that organized. She had a system for dealing with various factotums while I had difficulty recalling the name of the person who delivered Addison’s champagne. Although to be fair, there were three of them.

  ‘Addison is so pleased you’re able to help him,’ I said as I led the way to my lord and master.

  ‘As am I. I had been in New York, about to sail to Brazil. But … I’m sure you know about my pending divorce.’

  I nodded gravely, as if she’d mentioned a death in the family. The severing of the marital knot binding her to actor Franchot Tone had populated gossip columns for months. ‘I was under the impression that had happened.’

  ‘Oh, it’s all over bar the shouting. Merely a matter of paperwork. Divorce by deposition, they call it, so I made plans for my holiday. But at the last minute the judge decided not to do it by absentee and I had to race back to Los Angeles. Most inconsiderate of him. I had my stand-in ready to go.’

  I blinked. ‘Your stand-in?’

  ‘Yes, Kasha. Used to be married to my brother. Stands in for me on all my pictures.’

  ‘So – I’m sorry, I’m confused. She was going to stand in for you in divorce court?’

  ‘Yes, all perfectly above board. She knew her lines, but they never called “Action”.’ She laughed, finding the whole business queer. As if asking the former sister-in-law you hired to spell you under the soundstage lights to also take your place in a legal proceeding were a commonplace occurrence.

  The divorce was primarily how the actress got press in the wake of being branded ‘box office poison’, along with Marlene Dietrich, Katharine Hepburn, and others, by a group of theater owners the previous year. I had high hopes for her next picture, already the talk of the town even though it co-starred Norma Shearer, another name on the toxic list.

  ‘I’m so looking forward to The Women,’ I said. ‘May we expect a full fashion show?’

  ‘Literally and figuratively. Adrian has outdone himself. I trust him implicitly. He toned me down in color and line, taught me not only to accept but to emphasize my shoulders.’

  Crawford greeted Addison with a few questions about ‘your lovely wife Maude’ that sounded almost sincere. He thanked her for agreeing to tutor him.

  ‘I’m not sure what I can teach you about acting,’ she said, then paused so her audience could protest. ‘I’ve never studied it, although Franchot says I have what the French call “intelligence of the heart”. All I can offer is what Johnny Arnold at MGM told me the day of my screen test. Don’t be afraid of the camera. It’s only got one eye and it can’t talk back.’

  ‘You won’t have to show me many pointers,’ Addison said. ‘I’m only an extra.’

  ‘An atmosphere performer,’ I amended.

  ‘Then I might be able to provide some help. I got my start through Central Casting. I played a party guest, then ended up dancing in The Merry Widow.’ Crawford removed her gloves. ‘I can tell you this much. It’s no place for the timid. Shyness gets you nowhere. You’ve got to scheme to get ahead.’

  ‘Fortunately, there’s no need for that.’ Addison chortled. ‘Thanks to Lillian, I already have the role.’

  ‘Yes, but now the real finagling begins.’ Crawford appraised Addison. It felt like a bored tigress had just wandered into the room. ‘For instance, does the scene involve the principal actors going through a door? If so, try to place yourself by it, so when the scene picks up on the other side they have to use you again for continuity. It’s another shot, maybe on another day, and that’s more money in your pocket.’

  ‘But Joan.’ Addison raised his arms to encompass his palatial abode. ‘I don’t need the money.’

  ‘I thought you were interested in the experience of being a background player. That’s a huge part of it, Addy, how to get noticed. How to squeeze everything you can out of every second on set. Money, attention, time. That’s the extra’s lot.’

  Addison’s brow furrowed. ‘But I thought it was … talking while walking. Or walking while talking. And figuring out if I’m meant to be happy or sad.’

  ‘That matters, too! But you’ve got to get the job before you can do it. I’m always about getting the job. As for doing the job, I’m happy to help you. I can begin by sharing the best advice I’ve ever gotten on acting. It’s from the man who directed me in Grand Hotel. Edmund Goulding.’

  Addison kept a straight face at the name. Perhaps he didn’t require much coaching after all.

  ‘He took me aside.’ Crawford pantomimed the gesture. ‘And told me, “Give the audience a taste of what you’re thinking, not the whole meal.” Isn’t that wonderful? The idea of practicing that kind of restraint changed the world for me.’

  The same tip didn’t knock Bette Davis on her heels, I thought.

  Crawford clapped her hands. ‘Now! Where shall we rehearse?’

  ‘The library, I should think. Lillian, we’re not to be disturbed. Oh, and one more thing.’ He moved closer so he could speak to me in confidence. ‘I’m attending that party this evening. The one being held by Countess di Frasso.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I confirmed the particulars yesterday.’

  ‘Her man telephoned this morning and extended the invitation to you, as well! Lillian Frost, by personal request!’

  ‘Me? But why?’

  ‘Some mention of seeing your name in the newspaper. You’ve become a celebrity in your own right. Such fun, isn’t it?’ He turned to Joan. ‘Shall we begin?’

  Crawford blew me a kiss. ‘Bless you, Lillian. Bless you.’ She managed to leave the room without taking a bow.

  Various vocal exercises and the occasional thunderous cry erupted from the library for the rest of the morning. La Crawford eventually departed, promising an even more vigorous follow-up session. I turned my attention to the most pressing matter: what to wear to the evening’s function. I telephoned Paramount and left a message for Edith, who didn’t return my call until after lunch.

  ‘Your friend Miss Dambach scarcely used any of my commentary,’ she said.

  ‘Did you really expect her to?’

  ‘It was fairly slim pickings at that event.’

  ‘Speaking of soirées, I’ve been invited to one and seek your sartorial support. I’m tagging along with Addison to a party at Countess Dorothy di Frasso’s this evening.’

  Edith spoke in a hushed voice. ‘Rather last minute, isn’t it? Do you know why you were invited?’

  ‘My appearance i
n Kay’s column, apparently. Who figured the Countess read it?’

  ‘That could be the explanation. But I did some research this morning and … do you recall the Metha Nelson affair?’

  ‘Who played the lead? Did you do the costumes?’ The joke didn’t land. I racked my brain. ‘Vaguely. Isn’t the Metha Nelson a boat? I remember the Countess was involved.’

  ‘Correct on both counts. The vessel took a pleasure cruise down the coast late last year with a literal motley crew, as the newspapers reported it. The boat was chartered by Jean Harlow’s stepfather, something of an unsavory character. Another passenger was a relative of the British Foreign Minister, Anthony Eden. By all accounts, the jaunt became rather debauched and there was a question of mutiny.’

  ‘Mutiny? As in On the Bounty?’ A picture that starred Joan Crawford’s soon-to-be-ex-husband Franchot Tone, I thought, wondering who he’d sent to divorce court in his stead.

  ‘Yes,’ Edith said. ‘There was a grand jury hearing, although surely that’s a maritime offense, and no bill was returned.’

  ‘And Countess di Frasso was onboard for it all? At least I won’t be at a loss for a conversation starter.’

  ‘The problem, Lillian, is who else was aboard.’ Her voice found an even softer register. ‘Benjamin Siegel was also on the Metha Nelson. It would appear he and the Countess are … intimates.’

  I gripped the phone more tightly. ‘But what about Sylvia? I thought Bugsy was seeing her.’

  ‘Mr Siegel is evidently not exclusive, as I’m sure Mrs Siegel could attest. My point is while your invitation could stem from your recent notoriety, it’s also possible Mr Siegel is using the Countess to gather information on you. I wish you’d bear that in mind as you weigh accepting this invitation.’

  ‘It seems like the wrong time to ask you for fashion advice.’

  ‘We’ll come back to that subject. I planned on calling you to pass along the latest rumor. Max tells me Clyde Fentress is about to be fired.’