Winds of Change

by Gilbert, Morris

  He found, to his relief, that neither his mother nor father were there, and he quickly moved into his room. He told the maid, “When my parents come in, tell them I’ll be back.”

  “Yes, Mr. Stuart, I’ll tell them.”

  He left the house to get something to eat. On his way, however, he had a thought and stopped at a picture studio where an old girlfriend of his worked, a starlet named Tamara Lane. Adam had written her from Oklahoma, and she had told him to be sure and get in touch with her as soon as he got back.

  Getting by the guard at the gates presented some problem. He had to wait until Tamara came to assure the guard that he was all right. Adam obtained a pass, and when the two were walking away, he studied her carefully. She was wearing a period-costume dress and was made up heavily. “Is that dress for the picture you’re in?”

  “Yes,” Tamara said. She turned to him and smiled. “It’s good to see you. I’ve missed you, Adam.” She was a tall woman with red hair and strange-colored eyes, a blue-green combination. She had a wide, sensuous mouth and an air of freedom that Adam had always liked.

  “Do you want to come in and watch us shoot a scene?”

  “Sure, then when you get off, maybe we can go out. I’ve got to be back to see my folks pretty early, but at least we could have dinner.”

  “All right.”

  Tamara led him to one of the sound stages where, for the next two hours, he watched with interest the scene that was being shot. He was, of course, familiar with the making of movies, having grown up with it, and was most interested in how Tamara fit into the scheme. He discovered she had only a small part, but it was the biggest she had had so far.

  The movie, she told him, was just the beginning and she was expecting it to be her stepping-stone to stardom.

  Finally the director said, “All right, that’s a take! We’ll knock off for the day.”

  Tamara came at once and said, “I want you to meet the producer. He’s one of the biggest in Hollywood.”

  Soon Adam was standing in front of a short man who was smoking a huge cigar. “Mr. Vane, this is Adam Stuart, Lylah Stuart’s son.”

  “Is that right?” Vane puffed at his cigar, and his grip was hard on Adam. “You’ve got a great set of parents there. Nobody better than Lylah and Jesse in the business.”

  “I think so,” Adam grinned. “I saw your last film, Mr. Vane. It should’ve won an Academy Award.”

  Vane grinned and puffed at the cigar. “There ain’t no justice, is there? Well, maybe this one will do it.” He cocked his eyebrows and studied Adam. “What do you do, Stuart?”

  “I raise Cain and get kicked out of college—that’s what I do!”

  Vane laughed explosively and winked at Tamara. “I did some of that myself when I was a bit younger. What did you get kicked out for, Kid, running around after coeds?”

  “It was a combination of things,” Adam said. He liked the stocky director very much. “I didn’t leave any stone unturned. The dean had a list of things that I did wrong.”

  “He’s not as bad as he seems, Mr. Vane,” Tamara said quickly.

  Vane was looking at Adam with an odd expression. “So what’s up now that you’re out of school?”

  “I don’t know. I tried working in the oil fields for my uncle, but that didn’t pan out. I guess I’m just the prodigal son.”

  Vane joggled the cigar up and down in his mouth. He took it out after puffing on it rapidly a few times and then said, “You ever do any acting? With a show-business family like yours, I guess you have.”

  “Oh, yes, in high school, just amateur stuff.” A thought came to him, and he was almost startled. “Why do you ask?”

  Henry Vane was not a classicist. He took his actors where he found them. He asked, “What do you think, Tamara? Could he play the Robertson part?”

  Tamara was surprised also. She turned and studied Adam and said, “Well, he’s good-looking enough, and it’s not a very demanding part, after all.”

  “Wait a minute,” Adam protested. “I’m not a professional actor!”

  “You get your first paycheck, you will be,” Vane said. He studied the young man carefully. “It’s just a small part, not too many lines, but it’s an important one. We haven’t cast it yet. This character doesn’t come on until a little bit late in the movie. Tell you what; why don’t you let us give you a little test. If you can cut it, I’d be glad to have you.”

  Adam Stuart was very quick in every way. At once he said, “I’ll be glad to try. If I can do the job for you, I’d be very happy, Mr. Vane.”

  “OK, Tamara, take him over to casting. Tell them I said to run a test. You know what it has to be, OK, Sweetheart?”

  “Sure, Mr. Vane.”

  Adam stared at the back of the burly producer and said, “I can’t believe what’s happening.”

  “Come on before he changes his mind.” Tamara grabbed Adam’s arm and pulled him away quickly.

  After that everything was a blur. Adam did what he was told. He was given some lines to read, and he memorized them almost instantly. It was a love scene with Tamara, and after the embrace of the first take he said, “I get paid for this?”

  “Not for this,” Tamara laughed. “You’re just testing, but you did well. I think it’s in the bag!”

  Adam said, “Thanks a lot, Tamara. It probably won’t work out, but if it does I’d be happy.”

  “Come on; let’s get something to eat. We can talk about your future as the new Valentino!”

  Adam did not say anything to his parents about the test when he went home. He spent an enjoyable evening with them, but he knew that part of his enjoyment was the anticipation that he might have a job.

  The next day he got a call from Henry Vane at Daystar Studios. “That you, Stuart?”

  “Yes, Mr. Vane.”

  “Hey, I saw the test, and it was great! Come on to work. We’ll talk about money when you get here.”

  For a moment Adam could not believe it, then a sense of tremendous relief washed over him. “I’ll be there, Mr. Vane.”

  He hung up the phone and was at once conscious of the strain that he had been under. He had no idea whether he would be a good actor or not, but at least it gave him breathing room. Besides that, he had done it on his own, and his parents had not had a thing to do with it.

  When he told Lylah, her eyes had gone wide with surprise and he had laughed. “I’ll probably be the biggest dud that ever was, but I want to try it, Mom.”

  “If that’s what you want,” Lylah said, “then it’s fine with me and will be with your father. But acting isn’t always the best life in the world—you know that.”

  Adam hugged her. “You’ve done all right, Mom,” he said. He held her closely, something he rarely did, then suddenly kissed her on the cheek. “I don’t know how you put up with me. I wouldn’t put up with me!”

  Lylah was enjoying his embrace, and she reached up and brushed his hair back. “I want the best for you, Adam,” she said simply. “I always did.”

  Adam kissed her again, and as she watched him leave the house Lylah prayed, “Oh, God, help him to find his way! . . .”

  DAY OF INFAMY

  Usually for Wendy Stuart December was a time of great joy and happiness, bringing pleasure more than the other months of the year. However, this December she had been oppressed by the steel-gray skies and the sharp winds that whipped over the land bringing a promise of a wolf-lean and bitter winter. Snow had come early to Nashville, falling first in soft flakes that delighted the children who engaged in miniature wars and the building of snowmen. Wendy, too, had enjoyed watching the flakes drift across the skies, fluttering down softly and gently, cloaking the earth with an overcoat of beauty. This first snowfall, however, had frozen, and after several days nothing but ice remained, dangerous and treacherous to those who navigated the streets of the city.

  Her mother had tried to talk to her, knowing that the breakup with Alex had been traumatic for her daughter. “Why don’t you try
to think about going to college again?” Allie had urged her.

  “Oh, Mother, I don’t have the money for that. I’ll just get a job. Sooner or later I’ll find something,” Wendy had said.

  “Well, we’ll have a good time at the reunion this year.” As soon as she said it, Allie realized that this was, in a way, a bleak reminder of Alex Grenville. It had been there in Arkansas during the previous Christmas season that Wendy had been the happiest. Now that Alex was out of her life, it seemed that a darkness had fallen over her, and her natural cheerful spirit was subdued.

  Sunday morning came. The family had piled into the family car, and Owen had driven them to church, where they had heard a good sermon. For the most part though, Wendy received little of it. She enjoyed the singing, her clear contralto rising above the less-talented voices of those about her, drawing the admiring glances of many. She did not do this to make a spectacle of herself but because she loved to sing the songs of the church. Deliberately, she had to throttle back to keep from overwhelming the congregation’s effort, but still, it was this part of the service that pleased her the most. She especially loved “Amazing Grace” and when that song was sung she had to deliberately restrain herself from filling the auditorium with her powerful voice.

  After the service, Owen took them out to eat at a restaurant close by, and soon Woody said, “Have you heard anything from Uncle Logan about Clint?”

  “Just that he and Carol are doing fine. Clint will be going to the army soon.” Woody swallowed a mammoth-size portion of mashed potatoes, then immediately began operating on his meat with all the enthusiasm of a surgeon. “She’s a fine young woman, I think, but they’re going to have a hard time. It isn’t easy for someone in service to have a family life.”

  “That’s right,” Allie said, “but they love each other, and they’ll get by.” She reached over and put her hand on Owen’s and smiled. “It reminds me of some of those knotty-pine motels we stayed in when we were first holding meetings, pulling a travel trailer behind us in that old Studebaker. Do you remember it?”

  Owen smiled faintly. “Those weren’t the worst days of my life. We had everything but money.” He thought about the past and nodded, “As a matter of fact, those were very good days. Not every woman could’ve put up with that though.” He squeezed her hand, then his thoughts went back to his nephew in Arkansas. “In a way I hate for Clint to go into the army. I know how badly he wanted to be an engineer. Now, it looks like he’ll have to put that off for a while.”

  “What was the army like in the Great War, Dad? You don’t talk much about it,” Will said.

  In this he was correct, for Owen did not speak a great deal about the war. He said briefly, “It was mud and discomfort and disease mostly.” He allowed the old memories to wash over him, then shook his head faintly, his brow furrowed. “I think the discomfort and disease were worse than the action. Most of the time we sat around in trenches fighting rats and trench foot, bored to death. That was it,” he added quietly. “Long months of boredom and then a few hours of absolute terror.”

  “Well, it won’t be a trench war this time, I guess. The Germans proved that when they overran France,” Woody offered. “I think it will be an air war mostly.”

  “You may be right. The Luftwaffe has won the battle for Germany so far. We’ll need quite an air force when we come up against them. England’s done a magnificent job winning the Battle of Britain. I don’t see how they did it. It was a miracle! I remember what Churchill said,” Allie remarked. “‘Never have so many owed so much to so few.’ Those pilots who defended the islands against the Luftwaffe did a magnificent job.”

  Wendy sat listening, not saying much. She was paler than usual, and as she looked at Woody and Will, apprehension came to her, for any young man in America in those days had the shadow of war hanging over him.

  They left the restaurant and went home, where Owen and Allie retired at once to take a brief nap. Will and Woody listened to the radio, and Wendy went to her room. She was tired, but it was not a physical weariness. She had taken a job temporarily as a librarian until she could find something in her own field of singing. It was a pleasant enough job, but it did not challenge her, and she was a young woman who liked challenge.

  Sitting down, she sighed and began answering letters, a task that she had put off for too long. One of them was from her Uncle Amos whom she did not see too often. She wrote to thank him for his efforts to find her a job and closed by saying that she would like to see him and hoped that they would see each other at Christmas.

  After she finished the letters, she went downstairs and found her parents up. Her father was in his study, and her mother was fixing supper. As Wendy moved in to help her, she noticed her brothers outside throwing a football around and smiled at their antics. “They’re just like a couple of little boys, aren’t they?”

  “I hope they always stay that way,” Allie smiled.

  The two women worked for a while, and finally Allie said, “I can do the rest of this. Why don’t you go and listen to the symphony.”

  Quickly Wendy shot a glance at her mother, knowing that she referred to Alex’s program, The American Symphony. It was one of the few references that her parents had made to Alex, and Wendy suspected her mother did it just to test the waters to see if she was able to hear the name without visible reaction. As a matter of fact, she was not, and her cheeks grew slightly rosy as she said, “All right, I think I will.”

  She went into the living room and turned on the large radio that sat against one wall. She tuned the needle over the orange dial until finally she got the New York station. She had come just in time, for a few minutes later, she heard the announcer say, “And now we bring you direct from New York, The American Symphony, conducted by Alex Grenville.”

  For the next twenty minutes Wendy sat listening to the music. She could not help but visualize Alex, in her mind’s eye, directing the orchestra, face intense, baton moving with power and authority. Perhaps, as never before, she recognized what a tremendous musician he was, for the orchestra seemed, to her, better than almost any she had ever heard.

  Finally, she heard Alex’s voice: “And now we have as our soloist, Miss Ann Marie Thomason. Miss Thomason will sing selections from Carmen.”

  The sound of Alex’s voice had a peculiar effect on Wendy. For weeks now she had tried to put him out of her mind, but this had proved impossible. Over and over again, her last meeting with him had come to her until it was almost like watching a movie. She could see his face before her as clearly as if he were standing before her in the flesh, and she remembered her dreadful struggle not to give in to his propositions.

  Wendy listened to the soloist and admired the clear tones of the singer. A thought came to her: I could be that soloist. I could be singing on the radio. Again, she was torn by the decision she had been forced to make and fought desperately to cease thinking such thoughts.

  She was brought back to the program by an interruption. An announcer, his voice tense with excitement, suddenly said, “We interrupt this program to bring you a bulletin of national interest! A special announcement from the government has informed us that American bases at Pearl Harbor have been attacked by enemy aircraft. Stay tuned to this station for further announcements.”

  Immediately the music continued, and Wendy sat there dumbfounded. It sounded ominous, and all she could think of was, Where in the world is Pearl Harbor? She thought there must be some mistake and sat uneasily in her chair as the program continued, but five minutes later the program was interrupted again. “Once again, we bring you a special announcement. Enemy aircraft have bombed the Seventh Fleet at Pearl Harbor. The details are few, but it is clear that this is an act of armed aggression by the Empire of Japan! The president has called his cabinet into special session, and we expect an announcement to be made from the president’s office very soon.”

  This time there was no mistake. At once Wendy rose and went to her father’s study. Stepping inside she said,
“Dad, something is wrong. It’s just come over the radio.”

  Owen, who was sitting in an easy chair reading a thin book, looked up with surprise. “What is it, Wendy?”

  “They interrupted the radio station to say that the Japanese have bombed Pearl Harbor. Where is Pearl Harbor, Dad?”

  “It’s a naval base in Hawaii. Most of our navy’s there.” Owen got to his feet at once, his face serious. “Are you sure about this, Wendy?”

  “Yes, you’d better come and listen to the radio. I’ll go call the boys in.”

  Soon the whole family was sitting around the radio. They listened closely, and at first there was nothing to hear. They found another New York station where the Philharmonic was playing Shostakovitch’s Symphony no. 1. “This is a powerful station,” Owen said, tension in his voice. “If there is any news, it should come over this one.” Even as he spoke the announcement was made. It was much like the ones Wendy had heard and gave little additional information.

  A sense of shock had fallen over the entire family. Wendy, who had more time to think of it, saw that they were all dumbfounded.

  “Japan has been in Washington for peace talks,” Owen said bitterly. “We see what they’re worth!”

  “It means war,” Will said. “There’s no way out of it now.” His lips drew together in a tight line and he shook his head. “The navy will be out of it for a while anyway.”

  “What do you mean, Son?” Allie asked.

  “Most of our naval power is tied up at Pearl Harbor. All of our battleships and carriers, I think.” Will kept up with world events better than the others, and he quickly outlined the situation. “If the Japanese wanted to knock out American resistance, they did a good job of it. Without naval power, there’s nothing to stop them from taking over the East, then they’ll have all the rubber and oil they want.”

  “But how could they have bombed Pearl Harbor?” Owen demanded. “That’s too far for planes to fly from Japan.”