Script for Scandal

by Renee Patrick

  ‘You’d have to work quickly, before the blood dries. It was probably too late by the time you reached the streetcar.’ Edith thought for a moment. ‘You can never go wrong with soap and water. Lots of suds, of course. You also might try hydrogen peroxide.’

  ‘There’s a thought. It interacts with the blood.’

  ‘And a mixture of cream of tartar and lemon juice can conceal a multitude of sins. But you’ve got to work fast and scrub hard. Even then, it may not be enough.’

  ‘That’s true of so much in life,’ Florabel said.

  ‘Isn’t it?’ Edith agreed.

  San Bernardino Lamplighter April 5, 1939

  KATHERINE DAMBACH’S

  SLIVERS OF THE SILVER SCREEN

  Europe can’t commandeer the front pages forever, as all Los Angeles is abuzz with the solution to a bank robbery and the discovery of $20,000 still stamped ‘California Republic’. Turns out Detective Gene Morrow, the man on the Bulova end of the clock-cleaning dispensed by an ex-convict scenarist last week, was not the mastermind of the 1936 heist as some suspected. District Attorney Buron Fitts has pinned the blame on Morrow’s late partner Edward ‘Teddy’ Lomax. But I’m willing to wager the proprietors of Paramount are turning purple from pique. Their Streetlight Story, now filming, points the finger at the wrong man … Get ready to giddyap! Astor Pictures will reissue William S. Hart’s vintage 1925 western Tumbleweeds in May, with sound effects and a musical score. More than whinnies will fill the theater. For the first time audiences will hear the cowboy legend himself as Hart appears in an eight-minute forward filmed at his Horseshoe Ranch.

  THIRTY-ONE

  ‘Shall we dance? … Care to dance? … Shall we dance? … Shall we dance?’ Addison half-whispered a half-dozen variations on a line no one had written for him and which he would never say. Occasionally he’d punctuate his dialogue with a mock rumba while seated in the rear of his Cadillac. He’d uttered scarcely a word to me all morning, and now we were within view of the Bronson Gate.

  The big day having arrived, I would permit nothing to spoil it, least of all Kay’s churlish column. She’d penned it out of spite, I knew, because Florabel had scooped her on the bank robbery story. But Gene had his good name back. That was all that mattered.

  He and I hadn’t spoken aside from a fleeting Tuesday night telephone call, when he told me he’d been stood a round or five by fellow detectives who’d cold-shouldered him for years. I was thrilled for him. I was excited for Addison.

  Why, then, did I remain in a blue funk?

  Edith greeted us outside Streetlight Story’s soundstage, or to be precise, she greeted Addison. The tower of hatboxes I was transporting, along with several sets of evening wear, obscured me from view.

  ‘I brought along some alternate looks,’ Addison told Edith. ‘I thought some variety might be helpful.’

  ‘It always is. Though I doubt the hats are necessary. You’re meant to have checked yours on the way into the club.’

  ‘Yes, but I should be prepared in the event I’m needed to retrieve it. I also brought a tie I’m rather fond of. One that should make a statement on camera.’ I couldn’t see the object of his boast at the moment, but I was familiar with it, a bright green bowtie with a matching neon pocket square. I could hear Edith appraising it guardedly.

  ‘That does indeed make a striking impression. My fear, Mr Rice, is that it might make too much of one, given you’ll be in the background. This is more of a … star’s tie.’ She made a deliberative sound. ‘Would you object terribly if I proposed to Robert Preston that he wear it in the scene later this afternoon?’

  ‘A star’s tie, you say. Far be it from me to throw off the production’s footing. Please, do as you wish.’ Addison chuckled, inordinately pleased.

  ‘Last chance, Lillian,’ Edith said puckishly. ‘Are you positive you don’t want to join the cast?’

  ‘Dead certain. You’ve heard about my screen test.’

  ‘Indeed I have. Someone was describing it earlier today.’

  ‘No, they weren’t. Were they?’ When I got no response, I peered around the spire of chapeaus and saw Edith leading Addison into the soundstage. I trotted after them.

  She handed Addison and his wardrobe off to an assistant director. When he was gone, Edith returned his iridescent bowtie to me. ‘I’m afraid it clashes with Mr Preston’s ensemble.’

  ‘It clashes with everything. But thank you.’

  The Club Madrid existed in bits and pieces on the soundstage. Most of a bandstand, segments of dance floor, a scattering of tables. Only on camera would its world exist in full, a feat of everyday sorcery that still gave me chills. A clutch of dress extras was already assembled near the coffee, taking pains not to stain their Monday-through-Saturday best; I saw one woman in their number slip a buttered roll into her purse for later. Overhead, the lighting crew called to each other in their secret language. Luddy huddled with his cinematographer, handling the interruptions from script girls and assistants with good humor. He ran a disciplined, orderly set. I’d toiled in offices with more Sturm und Drang.

  The only disturbance came courtesy of Clyde Fentress, pacing the edge of the soundstage and gesturing emphatically at George Dolan, who puffed insouciantly on a cigarette. Whatever had his partner agitated, Dolan found amusing. Edith extended a cheery ‘Good morning!’ to them both.

  ‘What the hell’s good about it?’ Fentress rasped. ‘The picture’s doomed now.’

  ‘For the last time, Clyde, it is not doomed.’

  ‘The papers are making monkeys out of us. Our story is ass-backward. Turns out our good guy is actually the heavy.’

  ‘Have to admit,’ Dolan said to the tip of his cigarette, ‘it’s a neat twist.’

  ‘Forgive me, Mr Fentress,’ Edith ventured, ‘but the picture was never going to be credited as based on a true story. These late developments don’t affect it at all.’

  Fentress ignored Edith, pointing over her at me. ‘Bet you had something to do with this.’

  I shrugged. ‘Don’t blame me. This is the work of the Fourth Estate.’

  ‘Name the other three,’ Dolan said.

  I blinked three times, once for each estate, then Edith spoke up. ‘The clergy, the nobility, and the common people.’ Dolan stepped back in mock astonishment. ‘I did study French,’ she added.

  A commotion by the coffee urn commanded our attention. It registered first as an explosion of color, a sudden profusion of vivid carmine red. Only after a moment did it resolve into the astonishing form of Virginia Hill, dressed in a strapless crepe gown. The dress’s skirt hugged her form, sweeping up to gather in folds on her left hip. She sashayed past the extras, drinking in their stares, throwing her head back when she heard a wolf whistle from the catwalks above.

  Edith and I moved toward her. Virginia stood arms akimbo, hands sheathed in long gloves, waiting to receive us. She bussed our cheeks, enveloping us in a cloud of perfume almost dense enough to be visible on camera. ‘How are we today, ladies?’

  ‘We are impressed,’ Edith said. ‘Another Howard original?’

  ‘It’s Greer or I go bare. And apparently this isn’t that kind of picture, so I had no choice for my screen debut.’

  The air pressure on the soundstage seemed to shift. I felt dizzy. ‘You’re going to be in Streetlight Story?’

  ‘Only as an extra, but still! Ain’t it exciting? You know, I thought about getting into pictures. Took a few acting classes when I came out here. Almost signed a contract with Universal, but it wasn’t meant to be. Say, do they ever turn those goddamned lights off? I don’t want to sweat through this dress.’

  As I struggled to make sense of this development, I spied George Dolan dawdling nearby, listening in on our conversation with intent. Realizing he’d been caught, he raised his hands in surrender. As he drifted past, he whispered in my ear. ‘Old newshound instincts die hard. Fill me in later.’

  Edith assessed Virginia’s attire anew. ‘That is a stunning gown. I
hope it’s consistent with what everyone else will be wearing.’

  ‘If it’s not, make everyone else consistent with me. Class up the joint.’

  Equilibrium regained, I asked, ‘How did this happen?’

  ‘Blame Benny. He set it up. He finally got his chance to be in a picture and he took it.’

  Edith lowered her glasses. ‘Mr Siegel will also be a background player?’

  ‘Whatever Benny wants. Is this coffee for anybody?’

  While Virginia helped herself to java – two different male extras raced to fix her a cup – Edith and I hurried over to Luddy. ‘Edith! Surely your work here is done.’

  ‘Yes, but I had a question. It’s come to my—’

  ‘Did you tell Bugsy Siegel he could be an extra?’ I blurted.

  ‘Has he arrived?’ The director scanned the soundstage and seemed disappointed not to spot his latest discovery. ‘Yes, I did. And it’s my understanding he does not care for that name.’

  ‘How did this come about?’ Edith asked.

  ‘Through serendipity, as so many inspirations do. I was dining with friends this weekend when the maître d’ told me Mr Siegel wished to pay his respects. As it happens, he’s an admirer of my work.’

  I doubted Ben Siegel made a habit of watching German melodramas, but let the comment pass to spare Luddy’s delicate Teutonic feelings.

  ‘He asked if the recent reports were true, that the film is based on a real crime. As we chatted, I mentioned today’s scene and invited him to participate.’

  Edith nodded, trying to find a politic way of expressing her concern.

  ‘I see you question the wisdom of my decision,’ Luddy said with lordly benevolence. ‘Rest assured, Mr Siegel poses no threat to anyone on set. But what he brings is incalculable.’

  ‘And what exactly is that?’ I couldn’t keep the disdain from my voice. Truth be told, I didn’t even try.

  The gaze Luddy fixed me with should have chilled me to the bone, and on another day it might have. ‘An authentic element of danger. A menace that cannot be faked. If the film is to have the requisite air of decadence, it must have the right characters. Not actors. Characters. I regularly did this in Berlin and it proved most successful. I once—’

  He cocked an eyebrow. Edith and I turned to see Ben Siegel stride onto the soundstage, glad-handing grips and extras like it was Old Home Week. He looked pointedly in my direction but didn’t approach. Maybe Gene’s warning had been taken.

  ‘There’s certainly a change in the atmosphere,’ Edith said. ‘Will you introduce me?’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘You heard Luddy. He can’t very well harm anyone here. Of course, if you’d rather not—’

  ‘Think nothing of it. Me and Benny are old pals.’

  Luddy’s casting technique might have had merit. An electric charge coursed through the soundstage as word spread about our special guest star. A crowd of rubberneckers was starting to build around Siegel, who’d fallen into conversation with Virginia Hill. She laughed with outsized force at something he’d said, slamming her hip into his side in mock-chastisement. Siegel seemed mesmerized by her, and slightly daunted by the spotlights. Edith and I cut a swath through the onlookers, even Clyde Fentress among them. I glanced around for George Dolan and saw the back of his jacket as he left the soundstage, probably to grab his camera and notepad.

  Siegel girded himself as we approached. ‘We meet again. Will our next dance be on camera?’

  ‘I don’t work on camera.’

  ‘That’s a shame. What if I insist?’

  ‘Then you’re out of luck. This is my friend Edith Head, who runs Paramount’s costume department.’

  Siegel bowed at the waist. ‘A pleasure.’

  ‘Mr Siegel. May I say I am a fan of your wardrobe, both in general and at present.’

  ‘This old thing?’ Siegel raised his arms to showcase a tuxedo different from the one he’d worn to the Countess’s party. ‘Just something I had lying around.’

  ‘Oh, can it, Ben,’ Virginia said with a giggle. ‘How many tailors died in the night so you could have that ready for this morning?’

  Siegel glowered at her until he understood she was joking, then smiled toothily.

  ‘You and Miss Hill will be dancing together, then,’ Edith said. ‘Your attire complements each other’s perfectly. I expect letters requesting a film about that well-dressed couple in the background.’

  ‘We wouldn’t want to disappoint our fans,’ Virginia cooed.

  A cocky young assistant director who clearly had no inkling who Siegel was waded into the center of the conversation. ‘Break it up, people. We’ve got a picture to shoot. Background players, with me. Let’s go.’

  As the throng dispersed, I realized I’d somehow lost Edith. Had she left the set? Not sure of my proper place without her, I fled to the shadows, feeling as I did when I visited my uncle Danny at Paramount’s studio in Astoria: like I was backstage at the magic show.

  Half a dozen couples arranged themselves on the dance floor, their job to make the Club Madrid seem like the hottest ticket in town. Addison was the oldest figure in the fold by far, his partner a sloe-eyed blonde a few grades younger than me. I idly scripted their story in my head, Addison the out-of-town businessman destined to be rooked in the badger game by his seemingly naïve escort. She spoke cheerfully to Addison, who blinked sweat out of his eyes. God help him, I thought, the cameras aren’t even rolling yet. Siegel and Virginia, I noticed, had been positioned closest to the lens and seemed wholly nonchalant.

  A musical recording started. The band pantomimed their playing as the dancers were steered through their paces. Addison made a few wrong turns and stepped on his partner’s feet at least twice. Siegel, swinging Virginia past them, suggested they switch partners. Addison laughed good-humoredly, but the young girl in his arms looked as though she desired nothing more.

  Addison had steadied the buffs by the second run-through, while Siegel and Virginia were dancing close enough to warrant their own Breen Office chaperone. An assistant director briefly had words with them, which led to a baleful gaze from Siegel. After that, they resumed tripping the light fantastic with enough space between them for, say, an envelope full of greenbacks.

  At some point Fred MacMurray and Brenda Baines had arrived on set, MacMurray in a tuxedo nowhere near the equal of Ben Siegel’s, while Brenda looked like a fugitive angel in the gown Edith had designed, its pink beads sparkling under the lights. Thinking about my recent exchanges with Abigail, I felt ashamed at how I’d treated her onscreen surrogate. I waved to her, a comically eager smile on my face. Brenda saw me, blanched, and averted her eyes. I supposed I had that coming.

  The orchestra playback stopped. I darted onto the set with a handkerchief for Addison, carefully blotting his perspiration without damaging his make-up. ‘This is my co-star Eileen,’ he said of the woman in his arms. ‘I’ll be sending her to my podiatrist when this is all over.’ He leaned in closer. ‘How bad do I look?’

  ‘You’re a natural,’ I said. ‘Effortless.’ Maybe I could act, after all.

  Ten rehearsals of the number later, Luddy still wasn’t happy.

  ‘No, I want any couple, this couple’ – he pointed at the most coordinated twosome on the floor – ‘to guide the camera toward the shadows here.’

  An assistant director nodded. ‘Sure, Luddy. It just means starting the dancers off differently.’

  ‘But it mustn’t feel choreographed! We are not at MGM, this is not a musical.’

  ‘Again, sure thing, Luddy. But it takes a moment to choreograph something that doesn’t feel choreographed.’

  They dithered as the dancers decorously wilted under the lights and the background players at the nightclub’s tables amused themselves. I considered how hard they were working and how little they were being paid for their efforts, and decided they deserved their own union.

  A shadow fell onto the soundstage floor next to me. I knew before I turned
around it belonged to Ben Siegel. He didn’t look at me, targeting his ire at the unsuspecting Luddy.

  ‘Ridiculous,’ he spat. ‘Amount of time this takes.’

  ‘They want to get it right,’ I said as lightly as I could, each word landing like a Fatty Arbuckle pratfall in my ears.

  ‘Right. What’s right? Just let us dance around while the guy says his lines. I could be playing golf now.’

  I forced myself to make eye contact with him. ‘You can leave if you want.’

  ‘I’m a member at Hillcrest. I can play whenever I like. I see your boyfriend made the papers. Twenty grand in the wind for three years. That’s the real crime.’ He nodded dismissively at MacMurray, consulting script pages alongside Brenda. ‘This guy’s the lead? He does comedies, plays the clarinet.’

  ‘Saxophone,’ I corrected. ‘He’s good in the part.’

  ‘You’d know.’

  The assistant director called for everyone to return to their places. ‘Back to the salt mines,’ Siegel said. ‘Be sure to congratulate your friend for me on his newly sparkling record.’

  I was still recovering from my exchange with Siegel when Edith returned. ‘Sorry, my dear. Issues on several films this morning. Did I miss anything?’

  ‘Just Luddy driving everyone mad.’

  As if to prove the point, a new ruckus erupted as Fred MacMurray waved the director over. Luddy put a patronizing hand on MacMurray’s arm and nodded at Brenda, the message plain: get on with it. MacMurray and Brenda read aloud from their pages, looks of confusion on their faces. Clyde Fentress loitered nearby, practically aboil with rage. MacMurray shook his head.

  ‘I don’t like the look of this,’ Edith said, bolting toward the uproar.

  ‘All I’m saying is the lines don’t make sense.’ Even when upset, MacMurray’s voice maintained its pleasant timbre.

  ‘I agree with Fred,’ Brenda added. ‘I can’t make head or tail of this dialogue.’