The Silver Screen
Page 1
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters and events in this book are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.
The Silver Screen
Published by Gatekeeper Press
2167 Stringtown Rd, Suite 109
Columbus, OH 43123-2989
www.GatekeeperPress.com
Copyright © 2018 by Suzanne Brent
Cover Design by Ned Hill
All rights reserved. Neither this book, nor any parts within it may be sold or reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
ISBN (paperback): 9781642373783
eISBN: 9781642373776
Printed in the United States of America
Other Books by Suzanne Brent
MASKERADE 2017
FOR
My father
GEORGE BRENT
and
dear, family friends
BETTE DAVIS & JOHN HUSTON
PART ONE
LOS ANGELES
1999
CHAPTER I
Outwardly, it was a typical sunny April morning in Santa Monica, California, when an incessant knocking brought Kate Clifton out of a deep sleep. She eyeballed her bedside clock. It was already ten after ten. She groaned in irritation, still weary from working well into the night on her latest website project. The noise increased into a loud pounding sound. Someone was calling her name. “Damn,” she muttered, barely managing to pull on her robe and pad through the 1940s bungalow to the source of the noise—the front door. Kate opened the door to a smiling postman.
“Sorry, Miss Clifton, but I need a signature on this.”
As Kate managed to sign the green return receipt, exchanging it for a padded envelope, she wondered idly, How much time would I have to serve for shooting a postman on the grounds of sleep deprivation?
The mailman added her mail and morning paper to the pile and, with far too much enthusiasm, said, “Have a nice day.”
“You, too,” Kate mumbled, already distracted with the mysterious envelope. She slowly closed the front door, juggled the mail, and looked for the return-address label on the package. It was William Ross, her mother Lilli’s attorney.
How odd, she frowned, and inexplicably her stomach knotted. Was it a coincidence that it was one year since the death of her mother?
The front door clicked shut as her mind ran with unanswered questions. Surely the estate was settled. Mr. Ross never said he was sending her anything. What could this be? However, even as she placed the morning paper and mail on the kitchen counter, she could feel the outline of a videotape. The strange uneasiness continued to fill her, as she opened the package to discover an envelope attached to the tape. One the outside was written,
To be opened one year from the day of my death.
Unsteadily, Kate barely managed to open the envelope and pull out the card that fluttered free. She read the following simple words,
Dear Kate,
Please don’t judge me too harshly.
I love you, your mother.
Kate’s eyes brimmed with sudden tears as a strong offshore breeze blew through the many wind chimes that hung in the kitchen; their musical notes filled the silence competing with the racing beat of her heart. What was it her mother couldn’t tell her until now?
* * *
At 35, Kate would say that her life was reasonably normal, occasionally sensational, but never boring. She perceived her life as a great adventure, thanks in part to her mother, who had instilled in her at an early age adaptability and the courage to be all that she could. Her father, she was told, had died prior to her birth. Her mother raised her as a single mom, long before the term of the ‘90s became popular. They were a team managing to trust and respect each other when most mothers and daughters had trouble being in the same room together. Her mother’s career had been her life. It was at the right hand of
the CEO of Tyme Studios, Sherman Avery, “Uncle Sherman” to Kate.
They had financial security from her career with the bonus of colorful, eccentric and endearing friends that became like family.
Kate was 10 when the flamboyant Harry Clifton entered their lives. A public-relationships man; charming, handsome in a somewhat faded matinee-idol way. He managed to convince her mother that they simply couldn’t live without each other. So on a warm summer day in June of 1974, they married at City Hall. Kate respected her mother’s wishes, but did not share the same respect for Harry. In truth, she never trusted him. Her instincts proved correct in the coming years.
His influence was sharply felt three years into the marriage, when, at 13, Kate was packed off to a finishing school in Switzerland. It was, she later discovered, a cover up for her mother’s rocky relationship with Harry. By the time Kate had reached 16, her mother was divorced, and, through Sherman Avery’s influence, was positioned at one of the London offices of Tyme Studios, allowing Lilli to be close to Kate. However, the four years they spent in London were cut short by studio problems, making it impossible for Lilli to remain. Kate, who had, at that time, completed her education and was ready for change, followed her mother back to Los Angeles, California.
Kate’s mother never remarried, and over the next ten years, Kate developed the habit of spending Sunday night with her mother eating supper and watching Masterpiece Theater while gossiping—mostly about Kate’s current love interest, none of which had yet managed to capture Kate’s passionate and independent heart. Lilli was not in the least surprised and delighted in the many stories.
It was on just one of these Sunday evenings in April of 1994 that Kate found her mother doubled over in pain. Rushed to the emergency room and later seen by her doctor, the shocking
and terrifying news was revealed—her mother had terminal cancer.
Kate immediately resigned her current job as a graphic artist and moved in to give her mother full-time care. It was at this point she started her own business, Screen Gems, as a website designer.
Having turned 32 that year, Kate suddenly had to deal with the reality that her mother wouldn’t live forever. The doctor had given Lilli six months; she lived for three years. Kate was there through it all and somehow had the strength to cope using Uncle Sherman’s and her adopted family’s tremendous support.
If Kate had learned nothing else from her mother, it was to be a survivor. In the last year since her mom’s death, that was exactly what Kate had done—throwing herself into her career and producing some of her best work. But the emptiness lingered, sometimes unbearably, the weight of the solitude was hard to rise above.
There was also the many unanswered questions about her father. It had been such a painful subject for Lilli, Kate had turned to her imagination. Oddly, there wasn’t even a photograph to look at. It left Kate with a hole in her heart. Even on Lilli’s deathbed, all she had said was, “You will find the answer in time.” Smiling in a wistful way, she whispered, “You are so much like him,” and then she was gone.
Now, as Kate stood in the kitchen, clutching the mysterious videotape, the memory of her mother’s last words echoed in her mind. All these years, she had the fantasies of a little girl who created a daddy bigger than life. Could she handle the reality? The truth of it terrified her. Then the stray thought struck her: What if this wasn’t all about her father? What other secrets would the tape reveal?
Kate
took the adult approach. She brewed coffee, toasted an English muffin, and checked her messages. However, the videotape still remained on the kitchen counter, silent but ever present. Finally, realizing she couldn’t put it off any longer, she grabbed the videotape, her steaming cup of coffee, and purposely walked into the living room and approached the VCR.
Her heart beat so fast it hurt as she loaded the VCR. She took the remote and went to sit down. Taking a breath for courage, she pushed the play button. Kate froze, oddly startled as Lilli’s image and voice shimmered across the television screen. Kate, sensing the very essence of her mother, almost a tangible presence, sat very still, staring at her in the familiar pink bed jacket, her face taut from her battle with cancer’s pain.
I’m sorry, Sweetie, for the shock and confusion this may cause you. I have spent many years agonizing over whether I should say anything at all.
Kate frowned, “About what?” Her mind nearly screamed as her mother’s words continued.
We have always been honest with each other. It is that trust that made me decide in the end to do this video. Yes, this is about your real father and other aspects of my work with an organization called The Array.
“The Array,” Kate mumbled. “What is an Array?” A strange uneasiness whispered down her spine. She didn’t like it.
Lilli continued, This is going to be difficult to grasp. It may even sound like a plot from one of those science-fiction shows you love, but I assure you, it’s the truth.
As the tape moved on, Lilli repeated details about how she had met Kate’s father, but it was nothing new to Kate until Lilli paused, clearing her throat. There really is no other way to tell you this . . . Your father is Errol Flynn. Yes, that Errol Flynn. We met, as I said, on April 22nd, but it was in 1939, not 1960.
Kate’s world tilted as she attempted to comprehend what her mother had just revealed. But it didn’t fit. Her mother was only nine years old in 1939. Shaking her head, she realized her mother must be fantasizing or perhaps it was the heavy medication. It simply couldn’t be.
Lilli continued, Now, Kate dear, I know you think it’s the drugs talking. Trust me, nobody, and I mean nobody, knows now except you who your real father is. Though, Lilli chuckled, I’m sure old Sherman spent the better part of his life trying to figure it out.
Her mother’s eyes became unusually bright as soft pink spots touched her faded cheeks. We were crazy in love, which is an understatement. He never knew about you, but you have some of the best of him: your passion, determination, independence, not to overlook all that creative talent and wit. You would have been the light of his life, as you were mine, dear.
Kate could feel the tears threatening. The loss of her mother and the incredible news of her real father was completely overwhelming.
Katie, I know you are sitting there convinced your mother has lost her mind or worse. But, as I said, I would never lie.
Now, about the matter of The Array. It was put together by a group of scientists from the Philadelphia Experiment in 1943. It was set up in the 1950’s, backed by money from Howard Hughes and, yes, it was what killed him in the end. In a nutshell, it involved time travel. I was the set-up person in 1939. Naturally, with the pregnancy, my work was terminated. Lilli paused, I guess you could say you are a time-travel baby. Pride rang in her voice as she added, My beautiful, amazing daughter.
Kate was having trouble however sharing in her mother’s pride and enthusiasm. It was more like numb shock that she experienced. “A time-travel baby, oh, God.”
Now, Uncle Sherman . . .
Kate needed a break. Her brain on overload, she pushed the pause button.
Her father was Errol Flynn. It was astounding, amazing. Slowly, she rose and went to the old ornate French mirror and looked at her own reflection. The auburn hair and moss green eyes, high cheekbones, searching, expectant, waiting, as if by magic, he would appear in the mirror. She reached out tentatively, touching the reflection. As her frown eased away and a smile began to touch her lips, then she saw it. The smile. Her heart was equally constricted in amazement and loss. The fact that she would never meet him brought fresh tears to her eyes. But something deep inside her was touched, leaving no room for doubt. For as mind numbing as it all was, the realization that this man was her father filled a secret spot that had been empty for so long.
How long she stood staring into the mirror, she wasn’t certain. It was the smell of something burning that jolted her awareness. “Damn.” She must have left the toaster on. Turning quickly, she walked through the dining room to the small kitchen. Strangely, nothing was amiss. Everything was turned off. What was it? She wondered as she turned slowly to return to the living room when she yelled, “Oh, my God! No! No! Not the tape!” Running back into the living room, she watched as a plume of smoke rose at an alarming rate growing in size. She pushed every button to extract the tape. Nothing.
Suddenly, a small spark flew out and a flame ignited. “Oh, my God. This can’t be happening!” She said. Desperate, she pulled out the electrical cords, grabbed a small flower vase, dumped the flowers on the coffee table and threw water on the VCR. A pop, hiss and it was all over. A horrible acid smell of burnt plastic rose in the air as Kate stood staring at the mess.
Nobody was going to believe this. What was she going to do? Worse, she could never know what else was on the tape. What was it that Sherman knew?
Now anger and frustration took over her emotions. The implications revealed on the tape made her jaw set in determination. She would get answers.
Taking an extra few minutes to put on jeans and a denim shirt, she realized she couldn’t decide what made her more crazy. Her innocence or stupidity. She began to realize that it had left her with more than ghosts and far too many unanswered questions. It was unbelievable that in all these years she never noticed anything unusual.
Grabbing her car keys, she knew Uncle Sherman would be at his Regent Beverly Wilshire offices. She didn’t bother to call. She wanted the element of surprise.
CHAPTER II
Sherman Avery shifted the bulk of his five-foot, nine-inch stocky frame. His brown eyes and thoughts traveled around the Old-World décor of his office and came to rest on the silver framed photos of Lilli and Kate. It had been a year since Lilli’s death, and true to her word, she had kept her silence even in death. But Sherman frowned. Despite the unreasonableness of this, he couldn’t quite push from his mind an obscure concern. He knew how close Lilli had been to Kate. The truth of the matter was that Kate felt like a daughter to him. He promised Lilli he’d keep an eye on her, but in the last year she had become reclusive, obsessed with her business, Screen Gems. Was this a good thing? Sherman doubted it.
Going on 35 this month, he felt Kate should find a nice young man and settle down. He knew his parental urges were showing. Not that Kate lacked for male attention. Finding a nice young man in Los Angeles was certainly a daunting task at times, but he wanted to make sure she was taken care of, looked after.
Living in a town like Hollywood, who would have thought that a place of orange groves, bungalows and squatty palm trees would have turned into today’s Hollywood? Sometimes he felt like he was on another planet as the full weight of his 70 years came crashing onto his shoulders. He rose and glanced out of the window at the hazy afternoon and then moved to the well-stocked bar to pour himself a soda water.
The last 37 years with The Array had been one hell of a ride. The Array’s time was drawing to an end. He knew, as did the others—a group of five men including himself—that this trip back to 1939 would be their last hurrah. They would go out with a bang. They had been nurturing it along, the sequel to “Gone With the Wind,” by Margaret Mitchell. What a feather in their caps! He could just see the press now. Long Lost Manuscript Discovered in Atlanta Warehouse, Sequel to “Gone With the Wind” in Margaret Mitchell’s Own Hand! It would be a Blockbuster. The public would go nuts. The money mongers
would go home fat, sassy and rich.
His eyes moved to the old sepia-tone photographs of Howard Hughes and he saluted. “This one’s for you, Howard, you crazy old bastard. You opened the door, poured your money and yourself into it.” Sherman shook his head. If the man hadn’t been so bull-headed and traveled back and forth so much before they’d had the travel contraption down, he most likely would be alive today. Damn shame!
The man was a visionary. He had left them with enough money for Tyme Studios, their front, so they could continue scavenging original works as far back as 1939. Never got the time chamber to go earlier, but they didn’t care. Hell, with Noel Coward, Margaret Mitchell, Ian Fleming and other fresh talent, they had a banquet of original works to choose from and choose they did! Tyme Studios never did a sequel. They didn’t have to. It produced several films a year. The press would often ask Sherman how he did it. His stock answer, “Instinct.” So he lied a little. No one got hurt.
The writers of the 1930’s and ‘40s made a bundle and the public loved the movies. The Array became rich and, yes, powerful. This helped them in today’s high-stakes game of Hollywood, the corporate rat race.
In Hollywood’s early days, there had been a sense of excitement and hope, a certain simplicity granted a lot of big studio control. Sherman smiled to himself, the good and bad came with every era, but now it was the corporate world.
A knock on his office door interrupted his thoughts, “Yes? Come in.”
Marion Newman, who replaced Lilli, entered the room, papers in hand.
He smiled at her svelte figure and startling light blue eyes. “Marion, what do you have for me today?”
“Oh, a few papers to sign. And don’t forget your meeting at 11:30. All four have confirmed. Shall I order a light lunch?”
“Ah, yes. That would be fine,” Sherman said, reaching to autograph the paperwork.
“No interruptions, Marion. Short of fire or earthquake.”