by Donis Casey
“Would you like to go downtown with me to pick up the groceries for dinner?” Mrs. Gilbert interrupted her rumination, and she started. Maybe she should take advantage of opportunity when it arose.
“Oh, yes, ma’am, absolutely!”
~After months of Misadventure,
Blanche finally plots her revenge.~
For her trip to town, Blanche picked out a linen, box-pleated skirt, a cashmere sweater with a fur collar, strappy Louis heels and silk stockings, a cunning little bag, and a hat with a russet pheasant feather adorning one side. She picked out a brooch and a bracelet, and made up her face carefully. When she finished, she hardly recognized the stunning woman in the mirror. Good. If her style and beauty made him rue the day he let her go, then all the better.
Mrs. Gilbert’s eyes widened when Blanche came into the kitchen. “You’re awfully dressed up for picking out lamb chops.”
“Well, Miss Bolding wants me to look nice this evening so I thought I’d practice my makeup lessons, and I guess I just kept going. It feels good to dress up once in a while.”
“Well, just try not to get meat juice on your nice jacket.”
Fee drove them downtown to the shops, and as soon as they got out of the auto, Blanche said, “Let’s split up. We’ll be done sooner that way. The butcher is just around the corner. I’ll pick out the chops for tonight if you’ll get the vegetables.”
Blanche was so fidgety that Mrs. Gilbert gave her a sidelong look. “What’s going on, honey?”
Blanche had had time to craft an excuse on the trip down the hill. “I thought that if we get done in time I might have time to catch a flick before this evening. I saw that The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse is showing just for this week and I’ve been dying to see it. I’m already all dressed up, so I don’t have to worry about getting ready for Miss Bolding’s dinner tonight.”
Blanche’s delivery was so convincing that Mrs. Gilbert readily bought her lie. Young people were full of energy and restless for adventure, after all. “All right. Pick out nice fat chops and make sure that Guilio understands that they have to be delivered to the house by four o’clock at the latest. I expect it will take me a lot longer than it will you. If you decide to go to the pictures, come on back here first and let Fee know when you’ll be home. Don’t be late, now, even if you have to leave the picture early.”
“I swear,” Blanche said. “I’d never disappoint Miss Bolding.”
Blanche hit the butcher’s shop at a run, made her order, and flew down the street and around the corner just in time to see Graham Peyton and his latest paramour cross the street and go into Philippe, arm in arm. She stood outside Philippe on the sidewalk, shifting impatiently from one foot to the other, unsure of what to do now. Time was of the essence, and she couldn’t be sure how long she’d have to wait before Graham went back to his office. Maybe this was better, a public humiliation. She could imagine the confrontation becoming the talk of the town. She decided to take the bull by the horns.
She walked up the steps to the restaurant with as much confidence as she could muster and was met at the entrance by the maître d’. “I’m meeting someone,” she said.
His expression was all pity. “I’m sorry, Miss. I’m afraid we cannot accommodate unaccompanied ladies.”
Blanche pulled herself up to her full height and lifted her chin in the imperious fashion she had seen Alma use countless times. “I have a luncheon appointment today with Mr. Graham Peyton and his associate. Has he arrived?”
Was that a subtle sneer that the maître d’ quickly suppressed? Still, he was all graciousness when he stood aside to usher her in. “Of course, Mademoiselle. Mr. Peyton and his companion have already been seated. Please follow me.”
She followed the ramrod straight back down the hall to the dining room, her heels clicking on the marble floor, trying not to stare like a hick at the crystal sconces and peacock feather fans that decorated the walls. He led her across the spacious dining room to a round, linen-covered table near the French doors that looked out onto the fountain in the back garden. Her heart skipped when she spotted Graham.
He was handsome as ever, dressed in a light-colored three-piece suit with a navy blue silk ascot around his neck, his sandy hair fashionably parted in the middle and slicked back from his forehead. She barely noticed the sylphlike blonde seated at his elbow.
“Mr. Peyton, this young lady says she has an appointment with you?”
Graham looked confused, but only until his gaze shifted from the maître d’ to the very attractive brunette standing behind him. “Yes, indeed, Maurice. Thank you.”
Graham’s companion wasn’t pleased to have her luncheon interrupted by a potential rival for his affections. “Graham…” she said. There was a petulant tone to her voice.
“Hang on, honey.” Graham didn’t take his eyes off of Blanche as he pushed out a chair with his foot. “Have a seat, darling. What can I do for you?”
Blanche did not have a seat. A cold fury crept over her as it dawned on her that he didn’t recognize her. “You owe that Schilling guy in Arizona a bunch of money.”
The look of hungry delight in Graham’s eyes faded. “What?”
“You owe Schilling,” she repeated, her voice rising. “He didn’t get his money’s worth when you sold me to him.”
Graham shushed her with a gesture and pulled her down into the empty chair by one arm.
“What the hell are you talking about? Who are you?”
She straightened like a jolt of electricity had gone through her. “What? You were going to get me into the movies. You were going to marry me!”
Graham’s luncheon companion gasped. He put a hand on her arm but didn’t look at her.
“Oh, yes, my little Oklahoma rose. You’re looking mighty slim and tasty. You’ve got some gams on you. Hey, nice dress. Did I buy that dress for you? I spent a lot of money on you, you know.”
“You got your money’s worth when you sold me to that disgusting man in Prescott. I don’t owe you anything, you son of a bitch.”
“Whoa, that’s some mouth you’ve developed, honey. What happened to the sweet little hayseed I rescued from Pigsty Corners?”
But she was just getting started. “You owe me my life back, after you left me in the family way and stranded in Arizona.”
He sat back in his chair, visibly relaxed, which infuriated Blanche even further. He had no fear at all of her or her accusations. “You don’t say? Well, there’s no way I’m the daddy. Where is the little bastard, anyway? Did you keep him? Or did you hunt up a hag with a long stick?”
Blanche stood up so quickly that her chair clattered over backwards. The restaurant fell silent and all eyes turned toward the red-faced beauty in the fur-collared jacket.
“Calm down, honey, you’re making a scene. I can’t help it if you didn’t take advantage of the opportunity I offered you. If you got yourself in trouble, it’s your own fault and nothing to do with me.” He signaled to the maître d’. “Escort the young lady out, would you, Maurice? Our business is finished.”
The maître d’ gave her a look that would have withered a sane person, but Blanche was on fire with rage and far from sane. The maître d’ crooked a finger and a large man in a tuxedo appeared and lifted the shrieking girl bodily off the floor, hustled her out of the restaurant and dumped her on the street. She tried to rush back in, but he blocked the door with his immovable bulk. “Run along, girl, before I have you arrested for disturbing the peace.”
Inside, Graham stood and made a little bow to the room. “Sorry, folks. The young lady mistook me for someone else.” When he sat down, he gave his troubled young companion a soothing pat.
“Don’t worry about a thing, Miranda. This happens occasionally. I do my best for my clients, but sometimes they’re not as talented as they are pretty, and the movie business doesn’t work out for them. They�
��re looking for someone to blame, and I’m handy.”
“But Graham, what was that about her getting sold and having a baby?”
“I don’t know. Like I told her, it sure doesn’t have anything to do with me. I can’t help it if she’s a slut and looking for somebody to support her and her mistake. Now, forget her. I think you have what it takes and I’m going to introduce you to all the most important moviemakers in Hollywood. Your face will grace a thousand screens.”
Miranda looked doubtful. “Do you really think that, Graham?”
“You bet.” He grasped her hand in both of his. “Besides, darling, I think I may be falling for you, and I’d never do anything to hurt the love of my life.”
“Oh, Graham.”
He drew closer. “You believe me, don’t you?”
Miranda’s vision was filled with the sight of her name in lights. “I do, Graham. I really do.”
~Her nemesis is immune to shame.
Blanche’s vision of doling out a public humiliation
has turned to ashes.~
Blanche was running along the sidewalk with tears and mascara streaming down her cheeks when Mrs. Gilbert rounded the corner and they nearly collided.
“Where have you been…” Mrs. Gilbert bit off her question in alarm. “Blanche, whatever is wrong?”
Blanche took a deep breath, trying to calm down enough to be able to speak. “I saw him. In Philippe. Graham Peyton, the man who ruined me and sold me like a cow and abandoned me. I want to kill him.” The last sentence came out in a squeak, and Mrs. Gilbert grabbed her arms and shook her.
“Don’t say such a thing, Blanche!”
“I hate him.”
Mrs. Gilbert quick-marched her down the street to the limousine. Fee saw them coming and leaped out to open the door.
“What?” Fee said, but Mrs. Gilbert shook her head.
Mrs. Gilbert settled Blanche in the back seat and handed her a handkerchief to mop up most of the paint smeared over her cheeks.
“What can I do, Mrs. Gilbert?” Blanche’s voice was muffled by the handkerchief as she wiped her nose. “How can I make him pay?”
Mrs. Gilbert put her arm around Blanche’s shoulders. “Honey, he deserves to suffer for what he did to you. But your hate will do you more harm than it will him. The best thing you can do is live a happy life. That’ll teach him.”
Blanche grew still. Her sniffling stopped and she leaned back into the leather seat and straightened her skirt. “He was having luncheon with a girl. He’s going to do to that girl the same thing he did to me.” Her voice was calmer. She didn’t propose going to the police, and neither did Mrs. Gilbert. They both understood how Hollywood worked. “I’d warn her, but if she’s as stupid as I was, she won’t listen. I’m better, now, Mrs. Gilbert. I’m sorry for making a scene. You can go home, now. If it’s all right, Fee can drop me off at the theater. Maybe a flick will help me to forget my troubles. Graham Peyton is old news. I won’t try to talk to him again.”
Mrs. Gilbert’s shoulders relaxed, but she said, “Do you swear?”
Blanche laughed. “My, but you are the cynic, Mrs. G. But you needn’t worry. I never want to lay eyes on Graham Peyton again. Besides, I’ve had enough of being a public spectacle for one day.”
“All right then. But be home in time to get ready for dinner. Alma is having Doug and Mary over tonight and wants to introduce you. They’ve been looking for actors to sign for their new studio.”
Doug and Mary! Had this been any other day, Blanche would have been beside herself with joy at the prospect of dinner with Mary Pickford and Doug Fairbanks. As it was, she only thought that now she had less time to carry out her plan.
Once Fee dropped her off in front of the theatre, it took her less than ten minutes to walk back to the restaurant. She didn’t attempt to enter again, but waited outside for nearly an hour, until Graham finally came down the front steps with the girl on his arm. Blanche faded back into the shadows until they passed, then followed him and the girl at a discreet distance. She would have been foiled if he had led her to an automobile, but her luck held. Graham and his potential “client” walked across the street to his office. After the couple disappeared inside, Blanche waited on the sidewalk until a light came on in an upstairs window. She checked the sky. The sun had already slipped down behind a building. She had better hustle if she intended to make it back to Hollywood in time to make herself presentable.
“I’m going to get you, Graham,” she said aloud, “if it takes me the rest of my life.”
~Blanche breathes the
Rarified Air of Fame.~
Mrs. Gilbert was put out. “Where have you been? The Fairbanks’ are already here and Alma has been asking for you.”
Blanche told her the truth, or at least part of it. “I’m sorry. I tried to find a taxi, but I ended up having to take the trolley back. It took longer than I expected.”
“Well, run upstairs and get yourself cleaned up. Alma and her guests are in the living room having a cocktail before dinner. If you hurry, you can join them.”
“What shall I wear?”
Mrs. Gilbert gave her a critical once-over. “This is just an informal dinner with friends, so the dress you have on will do.”
“Can I borrow a pair of Miss Bolding’s Bohemian earrings?”
“No, honey, you’re not trying to seduce anyone tonight. Just run a comb through your hair. Wash your face and don’t try to put on any more makeup. You don’t want to look like a clown. Your own blushing young cheeks are quite colorful enough.”
Blanche was irritated at the reference to her youth—as if she hadn’t had plenty of grown-woman experiences. But she didn’t have time to brood over it. She hurried up the back stairs to her room and threw her hat on the bed. Her wavy hair only needed a little fluffing after being squashed under her hat. She wished that her hair was straight enough that she could wear it close to her head in a fashionable cap, but her thick, dark curls made that impossible. She gazed at her reflection critically. She swiped on the plummy shade of lip blush that Alma had picked out for her and blotted it on a tissue. Mrs. Gilbert was right about her blushing cheeks. The combination of hurry, anger, and excitement had given her an enviable glow.
She skipped down the stairs and would have rushed into the living room had Mrs. Gilbert not waylaid her for a quick inspection before letting her go. “All right, you look downright virginal. Go on in.”
As soon as she entered, Alma stood up from her chair in front of the fireplace and waved a kimono-clad arm at her. “There she is! Mary, this is the waif I told you about. My athletic little stuntwoman who Dephinia found wandering in the woods.”
Blanche thought she was prepared to meet Alma’s guests, but when Douglas Fairbanks stood up, and Mary Pickford turned in her seat on the couch to face her, Blanche stopped in her tracks, suddenly lightheaded. Mary’s famous cascade of blond hair was swept into an updo, but she was instantly recognizable as Our Mary.
The stunned look on the girl’s face amused Alma no end. “Close your mouth, honey, and come over here. I promise nobody will eat you.”
Mary Pickford and Doug Fairbanks were probably the most famous couple on planet Earth. America’s Sweetheart and her swashbuckling hero, two of the founders of United Artists Studios, and two of the most powerful people in Hollywood. But it didn’t take long for them to put Blanche at ease. Doug wanted to talk at length about her riding skills. He was impressed to hear of a girl who wasn’t afraid to jump off of things and fling herself about. Blanche was charmed by his boyish enthusiasm, and glad that her athleticism interested such a famous person. Ironic, considering the fact that she really didn’t like to get dirty and would much rather lie around and eat chocolate than ride a horse or hang from her fingernails over a cliff.
She was more impressed with Mary, though. In the flickers, Mary Pickford usually pla
yed a waif of some kind, but in person she made no pretense of being anything other than a sharp-eyed twenty-nine-year-old woman. She spoke to Blanche kindly and wanted to know her story. Blanche told her a somewhat embellished version of the truth.
Over dinner, Blanche mostly sat in silence and listened as the adults talked about their next projects and commiserated about money/studios/directors/writers/fellow actors. Through most of the meal, Blanche could tell that Mary was studying her. The blanc mange had been served before Mary spoke directly to her.
“Blanche, Alma tells me that she’s advised you to change your name if you’re really serious about acting.”
“Yes, ma’am. She did suggest that.”
“And are you serious about acting?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am. Well, to tell the truth, I don’t care so much about being a famous star, but I like it here in California, and Miss Bolding has been so good to me. I’ve enjoyed what acting I’ve done. I’d like to do something in the moving picture business, anything that pays enough for me to make my own way.”
Mary nodded. “That’s smart thinking, dear. Stunt work pays well but it takes a toll on you…”
“I’ll second that,” Doug interjected.
Mary continued. “So once you’re making more than you need to live on, you’d be smart to put as much of your money away, or into safe investments, as you can.”
“I’m afraid it will be a long time before I can earn enough money to start saving, Miss Pickford.”
“You just remember what I said, dear. There are plenty of people in this racket whose task in life is to con you out of everything you own. You be smarter than they are.”
“I’ll try, Miss Pickford. If I ever get any extra money, what should I invest it in?”
“I’m not a financial advisor, dear. But if the day comes, you telephone me. I can recommend a couple of trustworthy people to help you.” She paused long enough to sample the dessert. “By the way, dear, there’s nothing wrong with changing your name. My parents named me Gladys. Gladys Smith.” She laughed. “Now, would you pay money to see Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm starring Gladys Smith?”