The Gulliver Fortune

by Peter Corris

  "Just you wait here and have a cigarette, Samson," she said. "This won't take long."

  The mayor of Los Angeles made a speech, the band played and the soldiers were hugged and kissed. Digby, still chagrined that he had not been offered an immediate commission and putting it down to a prejudice against limeys, perched on a hard seat in a narrow space. He was hot in the thick uniform and his bladder, always a problem since a heavy fall from a burning wagon, was giving him trouble. Also he was puzzled. Why is Mary screwing up her face like that? he thought. And why does Susy want a postcard from Paris particularly, rather than London? Most of all he wondered why Laura's embrace had been so passionate. Moments of passion between them had been few of late, and he was struggling to recognize the smell that hung around her well-groomed head The train was halfway to San Francisco before he identified the aroma as bay rum.

  Things at the Welcome house ran on looser lines after Digby's departure. Laura's association with Harkness became an open affair; she spent as much time at his house in Beverly Hills as in Hollywood, and she began to take an interest in real estate. Contrary to what had been thought, the war proved to be a bonanza for Hollywood. There was a demand for patriotic war pictures which was readily met. With Douglas Fairbanks and Mary Pickford leading the war bonds drives, Hollywood and love of country became synonymous and the town boomed. Laura had an offer for her house, the size of which surprised her; she immediately took out a mortgage and bought another house in the street. She persuaded Harkness to lend her money and bought more property. Finding the juggling of rents and bank loans profitable and engrossing, she fell into the habit of leaving sums of money and hastily written notes in the house in lieu of her presence and authority.

  Mary, caught up in dreams of a life on the stage, scarcely noted the absence of either parent except when she had to cook or when a tap leaked. Susannah covered weddings and dog shows for the Star and dreamed of Paris. Her first news of Digby was not a postcard but a telegram from the Secretary of the US War Department. She opened it carelessly, expecting it to be an announcement of Digby's commission which, he had told them, was a certainty. She read, "It is with deep regret that I must inform you that Pvt Digby Welcome of the Second Division died of wounds sustained in an action against the enemy. Pvt Welcome was buried with full military ceremony at Argonne, France. On behalf of the American people I extend my sympathy to you and your family. Pvt Welcome's sacrifice will not be in vain and will never be forgotten by this nation. Further communications from this office will follow." Susannah wept for the kindly man who had sheltered and provided for her for almost half her life.

  Laura wore black, which became her. She did not let widowhood interfere with her plans to open a realty office on Vine Street. "I have to provide for my girls and get on with a useful life," she told anyone who would listen. "It's what Digby would have wanted." The office was an immediate success. Laura discovered that black was bad for business, and she was out of her widow's weeds within a month.

  A week after the armistice was signed Mary went to Triangle Film Corporation for a screen test. Susannah accompanied her, partly because she could drive the Ford and Mary could not and partly because she thought there might be a story in it for the paper. Professor Louis had coached Mary carefully. "Project," he had said, jutting his jaw and blinking fiercely. "Project!"

  After the test Susannah drove Mary to Harkness's house. She stood under a vine-covered pergola while Mary sobbed in Laura's arms. Laura had been examining contracts while taking the sun beside Harkness's pool. She endured Mary's weeping as long as she could and then pushed her away. "Whatever's the matter, Mary? One screen test isn't the end of everything. I thought you wanted to be a stage actress, anyway."

  Harkness was bringing drinks from the house. He stopped in his tracks when he saw the scene by the pool, and Susannah standing straight and poised in the shadows.

  "It isn't that, Mama," Mary sobbed. "That horrible man frightened me and made me forget everything."

  "Happens, kid," Harkness said. "It's . . ."

  Mary wailed, "Then he grabbed Susy and made her act for the camera and he said she was wonderful. Susy's got a contract, and I want to die!"

  26

  Susy Welcome's life history was written for her by the publicity office at Triangle Pictures. She became Suzie Welcome, the daughter of the late 'respected producer and war hero', Digby Welcome, and the 'former dancer turned successful realtor, Laura Harkness, whose marriage to the Broadway, and now Hollywood, director had been one of the social events of the year.' The Welcomes, the publicists claimed, had originally signed contracts with William N. Selig in London and had come to Hollywood to 'breathe the air of freedom and success'.

  The biography handed out to the newspapers, radio stations and magazines trimmed a year off Suzie's age, added an inch to her height and endowed her with a beloved sister named Mary, 'a blonde beauty who will sell you a thousand-dollar bracelet, with a million-dollar smile thrown in for free'. Susannah was amused by the fiction and did nothing to contradict it. Her happy memories of life as Susannah Gulliver had faded and only the pain of loss and separation remained. She was happy to have the shelter of what was virtually a new identity and she was surprised to find a new confidence in herself, as if she had become a person in her own right.

  "Of course I can manage you, darling," Laura said over lunch at Harkness's house. "It's just business, after all, and business is my cup of tea."

  "You couldn't do better," Harkness said.

  Susannah thought she could. She spoke to several journalists who worked the movie industry beat. She hired Dan O'Connor as her agent and David Jacobsen as her business manager.

  "A mick and a kike," Harkness said.

  "Dan's honest and has charm," Susannah said. "David is fairly honest and has brains. That's what I need. You don't think I imagine all this nonsense will go on forever, do you?"

  Harkness was troubled by any suggestion of impermanence. He turned to Laura. "What does she mean?"

  Laura shrugged. "I'm so shocked by your ingratitude, Susannah, that I can hardly think. After all I've . . ."

  Susannah had finished her lunch. She put on her dark glasses and stood. "This won't last. It's too silly. I'm going to make the three pictures I've contracted to make and get as much money as quickly as I can. Then I'm going to college, or I might go to Paris."

  Laura sneered. "Which?"

  "Both. Thank you for lunch, Samson." She giggled. "It's such a funny name. This is a town full of funny names. Suzie Welcome!" She burst into laughter, waved and left.

  Suzie Welcome's madcap comedies for Triangle Pictures were hugely successful. She specialized in roles that permitted her to laugh at everyone else in the picture and finally at herself. Flying Feathers was one of the biggest-grossing movies of 1922, putting Dan O'Connor in a strong position for the renegotiation of Susannah's contract.

  "Do the best you can, Dan," Susannah said, "but remember three pictures or three years, that's the limit."

  "Five or five'd be better," O'Connor said. He was a small man, a pale-faced Celt with blue black hair. His weakness was drink, and the Volstead Act that made alcohol consumption a crime was an affront to him. He prided himself that he could persuade almost anybody to do almost anything, but he found Susannah Welcome an exception. It was as if his charm went into reverse and he outdid himself in trying to achieve what she wanted.

  Susannah stood by the window of O'Connor's office on Hollywood Boulevard. "Not for me. Three's my lucky number."

  "How's that, then?"

  "There's the three of us in this silly circus, you, David and me. D'you know how many times three divides into the letters that make up my name?"

  No.

  "Exactly four. That's significant."

  O'Connor laughed, and Susannah laughed with him. "You're crazy," he said.

  "That's what they pay for."

  In her films she wore outlandish costumes, makeup and wigs; in the street, wearing dark g
lasses and a white linen suit, with her hair coiled in a dark bun, she was unrecognizable even to the most ardent fan. She was careful with money and drove a Ford.

  No one paid any attention as she drove from her bungalow on Alessandro Street through the town to pick up the desert road. As she drove she thought about two people in her life who were giving her very different lands of trouble—one wanted to marry her, the other wanted to see her dead.

  Lou Faraday was a scenario writer for Triangle. After watching Susannah do some scenes for Flying Feathers, he caught up with her outside her dressing room.

  "I'm onto your act," he said.

  Susannah looked with interest at Faraday, whom she'd noticed around the studio. He was a short, stocky man with a craggy face. Unlike most of the young men in Hollywood, he did not put brilliantine on his hair. Faraday's thick, dark blond hair curled around his ears and fell into his eyes. The eyes were blue and knowing.

  "What act?" Susannah said.

  "You think all this is a joke. Underneath, you're a serious person." Faraday grinned at her. "Look me up if you ever want to use words with three syllables, but don't worry—I won't tell anyone you've got a brain."

  Susannah had looked Faraday up. On their first date they talked until five a.m., mostly about books but also about the world at large. Faraday had served in the army for a few months at the end of the war. He'd been to Paris.

  "What's it like?" Susannah asked.

  "Lousy. Spoils every other place in the world for you."

  "So when are you going back?"

  "When I can earn enough money in this dump to finance it."

  "Me too."

  Faraday nodded. "I thought you had more on your mind than movies."

  "Movies are okay, they're fun and people like them."

  "Right," Faraday said, "but I think they'll make better ones in Paris than here."

  On the second date Faraday brought along a banned book of French poems, a bottle of illegal wine and a packet of condoms, and they went to bed. Susannah was a virgin and Faraday was inexperienced so the event was not an initial success. "It's harder than it looks," Susannah said after their first attempt.

  Faraday laughed nervously. "That's part of the problem. It's not as hard as it should be."

  They both laughed, tried again and were much more successful. Later, as they lay naked under a sheet in Susannah's bed, 'Faraday caressed Susannah's face and kissed her. "Well, I believe it can get better than that for you. We'll have to work on it."

  "How was it for you?"

  "Wonderful."

  "When can we start working on it?"

  "Pretty soon. I . . . what's that?" A door slammed inside the house.

  "Oh, God," Susannah said. "It's Mary, my sister. She comes over here when something else has gone wrong for her."

  "What goes wrong?"

  "Everything."

  "What could go wrong at three a.m.?"

  "I hate to think."

  The door was flung open and Mary stood in the doorway; her hair was dishevelled and-her face was a pale, twitching mask. "Oh, Suzie," she wailed, "He said I was a . . ." She saw Faraday in the bed and stopped. Her slightly protuberant eyes bulged and her jaw dropped. She moaned, turned and ran from the house.

  "Christ, she looks dangerous," Faraday said.

  "She isn't, she's just disappointed."

  "She looks crazy to me." Faraday reached over for a blanket, drew it up and put his arms around Susannah. She curled herself into him and they slept for three hours. When they woke they made love again and Susannah had her first orgasm.

  She was still feeling good about it at nine o'clock, after Faraday had left and she was preparing for her day. She intended to go to the library, take her car to the garage for a service, have a quick meeting with O'Connor, and play tennis. As she was leaving the house she noticed an envelope pushed under the door. It was addressed to S. Gulliver; inside was a note: 'I hate you. You have everything I want and I have nothing. You took it all from me. I hate you. I wish you were dead." The note was signed 'Mary Welcome'.

  She went back in the house and sat down. The use of her name, which she had not heard or seen written for so many years, disturbed her. She remembered various vicious acts of Mary's, physical and mental cruelties practised on younger children, and her ruthless manipulations of Digby when there was something in particular she wanted. Perhaps Lou was right, Susannah thought. Perhaps there had been something dangerous in those bulging eyes. She shivered and telephoned Faraday at the studio.

  "There's only one solution," Faraday said.

  "What's that?"

  "You've got to marry me. Then I'll be around night and day to protect you."

  "D'you really think I need protection?"

  "Look at it this way—if you marry a sawed-off, poor-as-dirt writer, she'll take pity on you. She won't hate you any more."

  "Be serious, Lou."

  "I am serious. I'm asking you to marry me. On the telephone. This may be a first."

  Susannah laughed and felt better. "Well, that helped."

  "I mean it, Suze. Think it over till lunchtime."

  Susannah thought it over and rang Dan O'Connor to tell him about the proposal.

  "Nix, kid," O'Connor said. "It'd queer everything for you just now. In a few years, maybe. As it is, the studio put a no-marriage clause in the contract."

  "How binding is it?"

  "Fairly tight. That's the way they feel about it."

  "Who?"

  "The public. The great unwashed. They don't want to think of you with diaper pins in your mouth. Not unless you're going to swallow 'em. Don't do it."

  "Listen, Dan, I'm going to Palm Springs for a week or so. Don't tell anyone where I am. I need time to think things over."

  "When're you going?"

  "Today. Now."

  "Artistic," O'Connor said.

  Susannah left the houses and streets and trolley tracks behind, and the desert opened up around her. After a few miles she found the light and the clean air relaxing. The sagebrush looked blue in the distance and the sandy soil sprouted bright flowers in sudden, unexpected clumps where a few drops of water collected. She thought about Laura, who had grown thinner and more intense as ambition and money making had gripped her, and Mary, almost breaking down under the weight of her disappointment. She wasn't sure she could spend much more time in Hollywood.

  The San Bernardino Mountains were looming larger ahead when Susannah noticed the dust in her rear vision mirror. A car was travelling fast behind her, so fast it was careening off the narrow road and throwing up dirt. She slowed and saw a yellow Packard emerge from the dust cloud. Lou Faraday was at the wheel. Susanna didn't know whether to be pleased or annoyed. She kept moving and the Packard was forced onto the dirt to travel beside her.

  "Be careful," Susannah shouted,' "you'll break your ankles."

  "That's axles," Faraday yelled.

  "I'm the comedian. Where are you going?"

  "Palm Springs."

  "How did you know where I was going?"

  "I threatened Dan O'Connor with a glass of water."

  Susannah laughed. "Where'd you get the car?"

  "I stole it from one of Doug Fairbanks' dentists."

  Susannah laughed again, swerved and threw dust up in front of the Packard.

  "Christ!" Faraday wrenched the wheel to avoid a rock.

  Susannah screamed, "Be careful!" She suddenly realised that she wanted Lou Faraday to stay safe and sound. She glanced at him as he brought the car back into line. His large head looked ever bigger because he was wearing driving goggles and a peaked cap. He looked indestructible. She felt a sexual tremor run through her. She eased off the accelerator and the two cars moved together slowly.

  "We'll never get there at this rate," Faraday said. "Wanna race?"

  "No. You follow me."

  Faraday grinned. "Let's make it fair. We'll swap the lead every five miles."

  Susannah cheated at the second exchange and
took six miles; at the third, Faraday took seven. The Ford and the Packard drove into the main street of Palm Springs side by side.

  27

  Lou booked them into the Crystal Hotel as Mr and Mrs Faraday. "That's the advantage of being a nobody," he said. "Nobody cares what you do."

  Susannah kissed him and drew the drapes together to shut out the last of the desert sunlight. "You're not a nobody, you're a somebody-to-be. When you write your novel everyone who can read will have heard of you."

  "Dat ain't many in Hollywood," Lou said.

  After a highly charged lovemaking session, they went down to sit under lights around the pool. Susannah showed Lou Mary's note.

  "What's this Gulliver business?"

  Susannah jumped into the pool and swam lazily around while Faraday smoked a cigarette. She was wondering whether to tell Lou her story. It might help her come to terms with it and with the uncertainties it had left in her. Or it might fix it as part of their relationship, something she could never get away from. She was still uncertain when Faraday wrapped a towel around her and handed her a cup of coffee.

  "It's got a shot in it," he whispered, "to keep out the cold." Susannah sipped the coffee and brandy gratefully. The odds were, she decided, that Lou would have some good jokes about being an orphan. She leaned forward and took his hand. "My real name's Gulliver, and Mary's not my sister. Let me tell you about it."

  Susannah talked through dinner and afterwards. Faraday asked an occasional question but he mostly listened. "That's a great story, Suze," he said when she finished. "I'll write it someday."

  Susannah nodded. "Give it a happy ending."

  They stayed in Palm Springs long enough to improve their technique in bed and to be married. She wrote to O'Connor who wrote back addressing his letter to S. Faraday: 'Good luck. We'll need it. There's a half-million-dollar contract for a spinster at stake, I hope you've got an understanding husband.'