by Donis Casey
Blanche’s forehead wrinkled. “But Miss Bolding is way…”
Alma didn’t let her finish. “Don’t you say it, missy. You’ll be dressed like me, and you and the horse will be far enough away from the camera that no one will be able to tell you aren’t me.”
Blanche felt her cheeks grow warm with excitement. “I’d love to be in the pictures, and I’ll be glad to do whatever you want me to do. But if people will be coming to the picture to see Miss Bolding ride and it’s just me pretending to be her, isn’t that cheating?”
Tom and Alma both laughed. “Well, aren’t you precious?” Alma said. “Come down from yon noble steed, you sweet innocent, and let me tell you how the movie business works.”
* * *
The next two weeks were the most exciting of Blanche’s life. Tom was impressed with the skills she already possessed. But he had a lot to teach her about falling, jumping, and fighting, and had some unfamiliar riding tricks to show her from the back of his famous blaze-faced gelding, Tony the Wonder Horse.
With Alma and Mrs. Gilbert beside her, she signed a contract with Tom Mix’s production company to perform in Handsome Stranger in any capacity she was needed. She was not only filmed riding sedately in the distance, she also hung on for dear life to a wagon bench, next to Tom while he drove hell-bent for leather down a dirt road while a dozen Yavapai Indians dressed like Comanches chased them on horseback. The pursuer in the elaborate war bonnet drew alongside the racing wagon and plucked Blanche off the seat and galloped off as she tried to struggle convincingly while attempting not to wiggle out of his grasp and get trampled.
She also had a bit part in the picture as a Mexican saloon girl during the bar fight scene, hanging around in the background in her off-the-shoulder blouse and full skirt, looking alarmed as Tom and Frank Campeau whaled on each other and busted up the furniture.
~Blanche had never been so
bruised and sore in her life.
Or so happy.~
In the space of a month her life had gone from dull to exciting to disastrous. And now, by sheer luck or the grace of God, she had ended up with friends, a dog, and in the movies after all, having the time of her life and actually getting paid for it. On the days she was not needed as an extra or for a stunt, her little pooch followed her around while she did whatever needed doing. Mrs. Gilbert told her that since she was now part of the movie crew she didn’t have to make beds at the cabin or ladle soup on the set, but Blanche wanted to keep busy as well as earn the extra twenty-five cents a day.
After one particularly grueling day of shooting, the director, Elmo Reynolds, told Tom and Alma he didn’t need them on location until noon the next day. Tom decided to take his wife, Olive, back to the hotel in Prescott for supper and an early bedtime. Alma made arrangements to go to dinner with Elmo, Zelko, and Frank Campeau. She invited Blanche to join them, but Mrs. Gilbert looked so thunderous that Blanche demurred and the two women went back to the cabin together. Blanche was sorry to pass up an evening hobnobbing with the rich and famous, but in truth she was afraid of going back to Prescott. Besides, she was tired and dirty and happy enough to take a bath and go to bed. She left Mrs. Gilbert sitting in the great room with mending in her lap.
Blanche was woken by headlights and noise like a party going on in the front drive. Judging from the fading stars, it was close to dawn. She opened her door and tiptoed to the loft balcony. Alma was being poured into the cabin by two men whom Blanche recognized as members of the film crew. Mrs. Gilbert, still dressed in the same outfit she was wearing when Blanche left her in her armchair the night before, relieved the men of their burden with a murmured thanks.
Mrs. Gilbert steered Alma up the stairs. She was struggling to support the much taller woman, and when she reached the landing, Blanche made a move to assist. Mrs. Gilbert caught her eye as she stepped forward and gave her a quiet shake of the head. Blanche bit her lip and slipped back into her room. She didn’t go back to bed, though. She dressed quickly and went into the kitchen to brew coffee. She thought about starting breakfast but decided to wait until she knew better what was going on. Mrs. Gilbert was upstairs for a long time. When she finally reappeared, the sun was well up and Blanche was sitting at the kitchen table with her hands folded in her lap. Mrs. Gilbert sat down, looking a bit bedraggled.
Blanche stood up and poured her a cup of coffee. “We’re supposed to be on set at noon,” she noted.
“She’ll make it.” Mrs. Gilbert didn’t elaborate. She rubbed her forehead and took a grateful sip of her coffee.
Blanche very much wanted to ask more questions, but Mrs. Gilbert’s attitude deterred her. Instead, she asked, “Can I make you up some eggs?”
Mrs. Gilbert accepted and hungrily ate the scrambled eggs Blanche offered her. The worried look on Blanche’s face loosened Mrs. Gilbert’s tongue. “I’m going to let her sleep for a few hours. She’s not going to feel very good when she wakes up, but a soak in a good hot bath, a couple of Doctor Harmon’s pills, and a glass of prairie oysters usually sets her right. Or right enough, anyway. I’m going to try and sleep a bit myself. Would you be a dear and be sure I’m awake by 10:00?”
She stood and was making her way out of the kitchen when she turned and looked at Blanche over her shoulder. “If you hear Alma moving around upstairs, come and wake me right away.”
“Yes, ma’am. But if she wakes up, I can go up there and take care of whatever she needs.”
“No, darling. Promise me that you won’t go upstairs even if she calls you. You come and wake me.”
Blanche considered saying that she was not a delicate rose who had never seen a hangover but thought better of it. There was a lot more going on with Alma Bolding than just a couple of nights of indiscreet boozing followed by a handful of happy pills. Besides, the woman deserved to preserve whatever dignity she could salvage.
~Sometimes Luck steps in
when Youth knows not what to do.~
Shooting was scheduled to be finished on the five-reeler by early October. Blanche was too nervous to ask what would happen next, but Mrs. Gilbert approached her after the director called “cut” on the final scene. “Blanche, Alma and I have been talking, and if you’re still interested, we’d like for you to come back to California with us.”
Blanche’s heart skipped a beat. “Mrs. Gilbert, I would like that more than anything. What would I be doing for Miss Bolding? Not that it matters,” she added hastily, “because I’ll do whatever you need.”
“We have in mind that you’ll do more or less what you have been doing here on location. I can always use an extra hand with household management. Miss Bolding might have a task or two for you on her upcoming project, which is scheduled to be shot in Malibu in November. She suggested that she could help you get started with a career. We’ll proceed on a probationary basis…that means we’ll give you a try and see if you measure up,” she added, when she saw Blanche’s confused expression.
“I’ll do my very best. I’m so grateful for everything you’ve done for me, Mrs. Gilbert, and to Miss Bolding, and Mr. Mix, too. I won’t let you down.”
“I’m curious, honey. What did you plan to do if we hadn’t offered you this opportunity?”
“I didn’t quite know what I was going to do with myself. I have a little money now but not enough to do much with. I’d more than likely go into some town around here and find work, at least until I made enough money to move on. I have an aunt in Tempe who would probably help me, but the minute I contact her, she’ll let my parents know where I am and they’ll come after me.”
“Would that be so bad?”
“I miss my family, but I’m never, never going home.” Blanche’s face set in stubborn lines. “I can’t let them know where I am until I make something of myself. I set out to go to California and I’ll get there one way or another. It’s the land of opportunity, isn’t it?”
“B
lanche, there are a thousand pretty young girls a day going to Hollywood, hoping for a chance to get into the flickers. Believe me, you won’t like the ‘opportunities’ that most of them eventually have to take advantage of. You stick with Miss Bolding, honey. She likes to help people and you get to be her new project, I think. She may be a…well, you’ve gotten a glimpse of what she’s like. She’s wealthy and she’s famous, but I caution you not to follow her example too closely. Yet she has a good heart, and she won’t cheat you or use you or sell you to the highest bidder.”
Blanche had nothing to say. Mrs. Gilbert’s warning gave her pause. But the niggling fear passed quickly. Whatever the future held, it couldn’t be worse than what she had already been through. Besides, she had never had so much fun in her life as she had over the past few weeks.
Mrs. Gilbert seemed to read her mind, and smiled. “Miss Bolding likes you, honey. Don’t disappoint her.”
“Are we going to motor to Hollywood?”
“Oh, Lord, no. You cannot imagine how tedious that drive between here and Los Angeles is. We’ll be taking the train. I’ve already purchased tickets for the three of us on the California Limited for tomorrow night. We’re going to let Alma sleep today while you and I close up the cabin. The caretaker, Mr. Warren, will be here tomorrow evening to pick up the keys and to motor us to Ash Fork to catch the 11:32 to Los Angeles. I’ve reserved two sleeping compartments, one for you and me, and one for Alma, with an adjoining drawing room.”
“Can I bring Jack Dempsey with me?”
“Jack Dempsey?”
“My dog. I decided to call him that since he’s such a fighter.”
That tickled Mrs. Gilbert. “Jack Dempsey. Well, of course. He’s ugly as sin but he cleaned up all right. He’ll have to stay in the compartment, though.”
“I’ve never had a bedroom on a train. I’ve only had to sleep sitting up when we’d travel to see my aunt here in Arizona or my grandparents in Arkansas.” She hesitated before asking, “Will they make you stay in a separate car, Mrs. Gilbert?”
“No, not on this leg of the trip. Colored folks are allowed to sit wherever they can afford to sit on most Western trains. However, I usually stay in the cabin. I prefer not to deal with the looks I get when I visit the dining car or the club car. Sometimes Alma insists that I accompany her, which is not too bad. Everyone looks at her and ignores me. But this time she’ll have you to keep her company and I can spend the trip catching up on my reading, maybe do a little mending or embroidery.”
It did not occur to Blanche to think that this was a disgraceful state of affairs. Instead she was happy and impressed that her friend had the option to come and go as she pleased. “I can help you with your sewing. I like embroidery, too.”
Mrs. Gilbert smiled at Blanche’s enthusiasm. “Is that so? Is there anything you can’t do, little girl? Well, if you get tired of being Alma’s pet, you can sit with me and Jack Dempsey in the sleeping compartment for a while and sew up some hems.”
“How long will the trip take?”
“We’ll leave Ash Fork late at night and get into Los Angeles in the middle of the afternoon the next day.”
“Will we get to see the Grand Canyon?”
“Not on this trip, honey. Maybe the next time Alma comes out to Arizona to do a picture with Mr. Mix, you and I will make a point of taking the train up there to see it. Now, in the big closet behind the pantry is where I stashed the steamer trunks. Go fetch those for me and let’s haul them upstairs and begin packing up Alma’s things.”
~Blanche’s feet hardly touched the floor
as she flew up the stairs with a leather suitcase
in one hand and a makeup case in the other.~
She had volunteered to pack Alma’s delicates while Mrs. Gilbert took charge of hanging Alma’s couture outfits in one of the trunks in just the right way. She froze mid-step in the doorway of Alma’s loft bedroom. She knew that Mrs. Gilbert was already there, but she hadn’t realized that Alma was there, too, lounging on her big bed with Jack Dempsey in her lap, barefoot and dressed in a peignoir, reading the Prescott Courier aloud.
“There’s a lot of stuff in here about that bomb that went off on Wall Street last month and killed all the people. They’re speculating now that Anarchists did it, maybe in revenge for the arrest of those Sacco and Vanzetti persons.” Alma’s tone was more curious than outraged.
Mrs. Gilbert shook her head. “I don’t understand how blowing up a bunch of innocent folks just walking by on the street is going to make anybody have sympathy for your cause.” She held up a long evening coat on a hanger and eyed it critically, checking for lint, loose hems, or missing buttons before packing.
Blanche said nothing as she opened the suitcase on top of the dresser and began lifting out Alma’s lacy unmentionables, but she couldn’t help but think of her Socialist uncle. He was always getting himself into situations because of his union organizing, but she couldn’t imagine him purposely killing people, no matter how just he considered his cause.
“Also says here that since the Nineteenth Amendment went into effect, women over twenty-one need to get registered soon if they want to vote in the presidential election next month.”
Mrs. Gilbert said something but her head was in the armoire, so her voice was muffled.
Blanche could not stay silent about this. “Oh, Miss Bolding, how exciting. Are you going to register when you get back to California?”
Alma made a sarcastic noise. “Honey, I couldn’t care less about politics.”
Blanche was shocked. “You don’t care that women can vote now?”
“Vote for who, baby? From what I know of politicians, they’re all crooks anyway. Us women, we have to take care of ourselves. No man is going to do it for you.”
“Maybe women ought to run for office, then.”
Alma laughed. “Good luck with that, honey. But I’ll tell you what. If you decide to run for Congress someday, I’ll vote for you.”
Blanche didn’t know what to say, so she kept her mouth shut. She had reached the bottom of the drawer when she found a bag of little pink packets full of white powder. The bag was pushed to the back, next to a small wooden box containing a hypodermic needle. Blanche glanced back over her shoulder. Alma was still reading, unaware of Blanche’s discovery. But Mrs. Gilbert had turned around and was gazing at her.
“I’ll finish that up, Blanche,” she said. “You go downstairs and clear out the icebox.”
* * *
Blanche was still in the kitchen an hour later when Mrs. Gilbert came in and put the kettle on for tea. Blanche was dying to ask her about the white powder but bit her lip, afraid to jeopardize her new position in Alma’s household.
Mrs. Gilbert sat down and folded her hands on the tabletop before she spoke, her tone matter-of-fact. “I don’t know how much you know about Alma. The rags have printed a lot of tripe about her, but it’s true that Alma hasn’t had much luck with men. She’s been married five times and five times her husband turned out to be a jerk, in one way or another.”
What this had to do with the powder, Blanche didn’t know. But she went along. “If she doesn’t like men, then why does she keep getting married?”
Mrs. Gilbert smiled. “I didn’t say she doesn’t like men. The problem is that she likes them too much. She swears the next one will just be a little fling and then she ends up falling for him and lets him talk her into getting married. Alma acts tough, but a little piece of her dies off every time she gets her heart broken. I think that’s why she tries to numb herself with the hooch and the hop.”
“But won’t that stuff kill her?”
“It might. Not right away, I hope.”
“I wish we could help her.”
“So do I, darling.”
“Are you married, Mrs. Gilbert?”
“Not anymore.” She looked down at her hand
s.
“Did your husband die?”
“He did. But that was a while after I left him.”
“What happened?”
“Honey, I’d just as soon not talk about it. It wasn’t a pleasant part of my life.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be nosy,” Blanche said, though she really, really did.
“It’s all right. I’d rather you ask me directly than make up stories in your head.”
* * *
The day they were to leave for California, Blanche and Mrs. Gilbert closed up the cabin while Alma slept. Blanche didn’t feel like dinner, though she did her best to help Mrs. Gilbert get a tray ready to take up to Alma. Blanche hadn’t felt like eating for several days, and this morning she had felt particularly unwell. Nauseated, in fact. The bilious feeling that rose when she had looked at the plate of fried eggs on Mrs. Gilbert’s tray caused a sudden panic. What was the date? She looked at the calendar hanging on the kitchen wall. October 12. It had been two weeks—almost three weeks—since her monthly friend was supposed to come for a visit.
~“Oh, no, oh, no,
oh, Sweet Lord, no.”~
Terror clutched at her like a hand at her throat. Maybe she was wrong. She put her hand on her perfectly flat belly. Surely she was wrong.
Why had this possibility not occurred to her? Well, it had occurred to her when she first ran away with Graham, but that was when she fully expected to be a married woman before the month was out. Once Graham had abandoned her, the idea that she might have a baby flew right out of her head along with her expectation of marriage. What a complete fool she was.
What now? She couldn’t think of what now. She couldn’t tell Mrs. Gilbert. What if they dropped her job offer like a hot potato? It was one thing to be on her own in Arizona as a single girl who could work. It was another thing altogether to be on her own as a pregnant, unmarried, fifteen-year-old girl with no money, no friends, and no prospects for either.
No, she had to keep her mouth shut. Soon enough her secret would be no secret, but right now she had an opportunity to get to California and time to figure something out. Besides, maybe she was wrong. Maybe there was something wrong with her.