by Tara Hyland
The promotion was undoubtedly a poisoned chalice. Juniper’s problems were to do with business conditions, not any one employee. It was for this reason that in late 1956 Lloyd Cramer began to look for a new financial backer, someone prepared to give the studio a much-needed injection of cash. That person was Maximilian Stanhope.
Billionaire businessman Max Stanhope was well-known around town. Scion to a newspaper dynasty based on the West Coast, he had taken his father’s company and grown it, diversifying into areas such as mining and paper production. He had the Midas touch – every business he took on turned to gold. He’d even dabbled in movie-making in the thirties, when Hollywood was at its peak, and although he’d exited in the late forties, just before things began to get tough in the industry, he still had strong links to LA: he owned three newspapers in town and had a mansion in Holmby Hills. Now, with this eleventh-hour investment in a failing studio, Max no doubt hoped to make another killing, like Howard Hughes at RKO.
On the morning that they were due to sign contracts, Max arrived at Lloyd’s office at eleven on the dot. At forty-five, he was a tall, imposing man. In the dozen or so times that Lloyd had met him, he’d said little, allowing their lawyers to hash out most of the details. He’d sat through the meetings, quiet and watchful – but the times he did speak, it was obvious he had a razor-sharp mind, and knew exactly what was going on.
Lloyd, always somewhat flamboyant as his job required, greeted Max like an old friend. ‘It’s great to see you again, buddy,’ he smiled, pumping Max’s hand.
Max said nothing. It was an unnerving tactic he’d used throughout the negotiations, and one that Lloyd had never got used to. Considered a powerful man in his own right, Lloyd always felt something of an amateur in Maximilian Stanhope’s presence.
Today, as always, Max declined the offer of coffee and eschewed any chit-chat – making it clear that he had come in for the sole purpose of signing the contract. Max had told Lloyd that he had no interest in getting involved with the creative side of things. It was the one concession that Max was making, and that was only because it suited him to leave the day-to-day running of the business to someone else. He just wanted to see his money-saving initiatives implemented, which meant cutting down the number of movies made each year and no longer having so many staff under permanent contract.
Lloyd knew he was selling the studio at a knock-down price, but he didn’t have much choice – it was that or bankruptcy. Max had the upper hand, and both men knew it.
Lloyd signed first. When he’d finished, he passed the papers to Max, and held out his fountain pen.
‘You might as well keep this,’ he joked. ‘You’ve already pretty much had the shirt off my back.’
Max fixed him with a cool look. ‘I’m sorry you feel that way.’ Then, ignoring the pen that Lloyd offered, he took out his own solid gold Mont Blanc – custom-made, with a diamond-encrusted nib – and signed with a flourish.
With the formalities over, Lloyd indicated the liquor cabinet. ‘Sure I can’t tempt you to a celebratory drink?’
‘I have another appointment to get to,’ Max demurred.
The response left Lloyd in no doubt that while this might be a big deal for him, it was just a small part of the other man’s day.
With their business concluded, Max rose to leave. Lloyd was just showing him out when Franny turned up for a meeting they’d arranged to discuss her latest bad press. Dressed in a blue-and-white polka dot swing dress, wearing little white gloves and with her red curls spilling out from a pretty bonnet, she looked as fresh as a spring day.
‘Frances Fitzgerald!’ Despite his cooling regard for his leading lady, in that moment Lloyd was delighted to see her. It felt like something of a coup to be able to introduce one of his most beautiful actresses to the new owner of Juniper. ‘Max Stanhope here has just agreed to buy us,’ he told her.
‘Really?’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘I didn’t realise that I was for sale.’ She posed coquettishly. ‘So what do you think, Mr Stanhope? Did you get your money’s worth?’
Lloyd gasped. ‘Frances—’
But Max, who’d appeared so humourless earlier, seemed amused by her comment. ‘I can’t think of any other asset that I’d rather have in my portfolio.’ He grasped Franny’s hand, his grip strong and powerful, which were perfect words to describe him, she decided. ‘It was lovely to meet you, Miss Fitzgerald.’
She smiled prettily up at him. ‘You too, Mr Stanhope.’
At the time, Franny gave little thought to the exchange. But the following evening, she was out with Lily and the rest of the gang at the Cocoanut Grove, the Ambassador Hotel’s elegant nightclub, when someone sent over a bottle of vintage Krug for her.
Seeing the unexpected gift, Franny clapped her hands together in delight. ‘Oh, how lovely! And who . . . ?’ She raised a questioning eyebrow at the tuxedo-clad waiter.
‘With the compliments of Mr Maximilian Stanhope.’
It took Franny a moment to work out who he was referring to: Maximilian Stanhope – the new owner of Juniper Studios.
As the waiter uncorked the champagne, Lily nudged her. ‘Looks like someone made quite an impression on our new boss.’
Franny, who had told her friend all about running into Max outside Lloyd’s office, batted her eyelashes theatrically. ‘Don’t I always?’ She turned then to the waiter. ‘And where’s Mr Stanhope sitting?’
‘Over there, Miz Fitzgerald.’
Franny looked past the dozens of palm trees that gave the Cocoanut Grove its name, and sure enough, there was Max, looking right at her, clearly waiting to see her reaction. She hadn’t been able to recall how he looked – all she’d remembered was that aura of power around him. Now she saw that her first impression had been correct. Maximilian Stanhope wasn’t exactly a good-looking man, not compared to the likes of Hunter and Duke, with their matinée-idol looks. But he had something about him – a charisma and confidence that all powerful men seemed to possess. He was older than her, of course; she would place him in his mid-forties. Tall and broad-shouldered, he had intelligent eyes and dark hair that was greying at the temples, adding to his distinguished demeanour.
Sitting at the best table in the place, he looked commanding in the prerequisite black tie. His party consisted of four other men, of similar age and attire – other money men, Franny guessed – and they were all in the midst of drinking brandy and smoking cigars. Their dates were good-looking starlets, no doubt there to provide the necessary glitz to the evening. Instinctively, Franny knew Max wasn’t serious about any of them. She raised her flute to him in thanks, and he mirrored the gesture in acknowledgement. Their gazes remained locked as they both took a long sip of their drinks.
Unfortunately, the waiter chose that moment to return to Franny’s table, to serve their meals, blocking her view across the room. She waited impatiently for him to move, but by the time he finally did, Max’s attention had been diverted, and he was deep in conversation with his dining companions.
Well, Franny wasn’t about to pass this moment up. She got to her feet. Guessing her intention, Lily caught hold of her wrist.
‘Where do you think you’re off to, missy?’
Franny nodded at the bottle of champagne. ‘To thank the gentleman properly, of course.’
‘Now, honey, do you really think that’s wise?’ Lily said in a voice that made it clear she didn’t.
‘Why wouldn’t it be?’
‘Because, my dear, sweet thing, our humble fates now rest in the hands of that very gentleman you are about to go and make eyes at.’
Franny gave a knowing smile. ‘That’s exactly why I’m going over.’ If the studio’s new lead investor had taken a liking to her, then she wasn’t about to ignore him. On the contrary, if she played her cards right, she might be able to use his interest to her advantage. Gently tugging her wrist free, Franny set off across the room.
She had come out tonight in all her defiance, determined not to let her recent bad pre
ss get to her. In an ice-blue strapless gown, she had dressed to be noticed. She had got her maid to pull the corset especially tight, Scarlett O’Hara style, to emphasise her hour-glass figure. Her long red hair was pinned up in an elegant chignon, and she’d left her neck unadorned, to keep all the emphasis on her figure.
Franny had always known how to draw the eyes of a crowd. Now, as she glided across the marble floor, she could feel everyone watching her – everyone apart from Max. He had his back to her, and it wasn’t until she drew closer, and his companions told him that she was approaching, that he swivelled round to look at her.
‘Miss Fitzgerald.’ He rose to greet her, and she was struck again by how tall he was. He took her small pale hand in his and brought it to his lips. ‘What a pleasure to see you again.’
‘I wanted to thank you for the bubbles.’ She lowered her eyes, knowing that was how she looked at her most charming. ‘It was a lovely gesture.’
‘It was my pleasure,’ Max returned.
There was a pause, as Franny waited for Max to make a move. But he simply stared coolly down at her, as though he wanted to see what she’d do next. She realised then that it was going to be up to her to take matters into her own hands.
‘And,’ she said boldly, ‘I also wanted to see whether you’d like to dance.’
He regarded her with amused eyes. ‘You’re very forward, aren’t you, Miss Fitzgerald? Can’t you see I’m here with a date?’ He nodded towards a pouting brunette.
Franny shrugged carelessly, refusing to be made to feel ashamed of her behaviour. ‘Did your date mind you sending over the champagne, Mr Stanhope?’
‘Touché.’ He inclined his head in acknowledgement of her point.
‘So,’ she said, with a touch of impatience, ‘are we going to dance or not? Because I can find someone else to partner me easily enough—’
She made to turn away, but he reached out and grabbed her wrist.
‘Don’t go.’ He spoke softly. She turned back, and found herself looking directly into those intense, dark eyes of his. ‘Of course I’d love to dance with you.’
Offering Franny his arm, he led her through the sea of tables to the dance floor in the middle of the room. A quickstep was playing. Franny was a good dancer, and she was pleased to see that Max was, too; so many men stared at their feet or concentrated on counting the beats, but he took the lead and moved confidently, spinning Franny effortlessly around the floor.
They stayed another two hours, and if Franny felt a little guilty about abandoning Lily and her other friends, she managed to put it from her mind. After everything that had happened lately, she needed an evening like this to cheer her up.
At the end of the night, Max insisted on driving her home. The valet brought out his car, a Cadillac Series 62, a four-door sedan in silver. It was a status symbol, a proclamation of serious wealth. Franny was impressed, but tried not to show it. Instead, she said, ‘No chauffeur?’
Max’s eyes met hers. ‘Not tonight. I like driving.’
Franny nodded approvingly. ‘Me too.’
At her apartment block, he parked and walked her to the door. She stepped inside the marble foyer and turned to him. ‘Thank you for seeing me home.’
He leaned against the porch brickwork. ‘No invite in?’
‘Of course not,’ she said, affecting primness. ‘What kind of girl do you think I am?’
‘The kind I’d like to get to know better.’
‘Then call me sometime and ask me out on a proper date.’ Smiling sweetly, she closed the door in his face.
That night, for the first time in ages, Franny had something other than her failure as a mother to think about. She kept rerunning the evening’s events through her head. She hoped that she hadn’t played too hard to get.
But she needn’t have worried. The next morning, she got up to find that Max had sent her six dozen long-stemmed avalanche roses. Ten minutes after they’d arrived, he called.
‘I think I shouldn’t have sent those flowers.’
‘Oh? Why’s that?’
‘Because my PA tells me that white roses are meant to represent innocence and purity. And my intentions towards you are certainly neither of those.’
Franny laughed. ‘Well, that’s good to hear.’
‘Really? But I thought last night you said that you weren’t seducible.’
‘If you impress me enough, anything’s possible.’
‘So let’s get this straight – if I impress you, then you’ll let me take you to bed?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Well, that sounds easy enough.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure,’ Franny warned. ‘I’m very hard to please.’
‘And I’m used to getting what I want, and right now, I want you.’ Up until then, the tone of the conversation had been light-hearted. But Max sounded so deadly serious with that last line, that Franny didn’t know quite what to say.
It was a whirlwind romance, a sophisticated courtship. Max was only in town for a few more days, and he insisted on spending every spare moment with Franny. On Monday, he took her for dinner at Musso & Frank; on Tuesday, they met at Brown Derby for lunch; and on Wednesday, they went dancing at Mocambo. He sent her daily gifts of champagne, flowers and jewellery. In the past few years, Franny had dated her fair share of wealthy men, but none of them had ever made so much effort for her, nor had they chased her quite so aggressively. Max made her feel special, adored, and that was something she liked more than anything else.
When it came time for him to leave – ‘I have to travel to San Francisco and then Chicago’ – he promised her that he would be back in LA on the first Friday of the month.
‘You’ll be free, won’t you?’
She didn’t bother to answer, mostly because it sounded like a command rather than a question.
Lily was less than enamoured with her friend’s new romance.
‘I never see you any more,’ she complained, when Franny finally returned her call.
In the two years that she’d known Franny, Lily had never seen her friend quite so smitten with a man before. She could understand the attraction, of course – Max was undoubtedly a magnetic man, the power player to whom all the rest looked up. Almost unnervingly composed, he was standoffish and elusive, which only made him more attractive. Although it pained Lily to admit it, part of her was a little jealous that Franny had managed to capture such a man’s interest. But mostly, she just missed seeing her partner in crime.
‘I know I haven’t been around much.’ Franny tried to sound contrite. ‘It’s just . . .’
‘What?’ Lily pressed.
‘Well, I think I’m falling in love with him.’
The last part was said in a confessional rush. But if she’d been expecting her friend to show some interest, she was sadly mistaken. Lily gave a derisive snort.
‘You’re always falling in love.’
‘That’s not true!’ Franny was hurt, in the way that people are when someone tells them a home truth.
‘It is too,’ Lily said, oblivious to her friend’s feelings. ‘But I’m not worried,’ she continued. ‘I’m sure this will go the way of all the others. I give it two more months, and you won’t even be able to remember who Maximilian Stanhope is.’
Franny, wounded by the implication that she was flighty, decided it was best to end the conversation.
Lily wasn’t the only one who worried about Max and Franny. Lloyd wasn’t sure what to make of the romance between one of his female leads and the new majority financial investor in his business. Part of him was slightly concerned that Franny would lose interest in Maximilian Stanhope, and spurn him. Who knew how the powerful man would react? Max was something of an enigma: a smart man, a charismatic man, but above all an elusive man. Since the death of his wife fifteen years earlier, he had stayed resolutely single. He had dated his fair share of women: all high-profile socialites or beautiful movie stars. But he’d never seemed so serious about one of them befo
re.
It was a month after Franny and Max had danced at the Cocoanut Grove that Lloyd realised exactly how serious his chief investor was about Juniper’s leading lady. At the end of a routine catch-up call, the businessman mentioned an item he had seen in Variety that day: a small announcement, saying that Frances Fitzgerald was to take the lead in a movie about Queen Elizabeth I. Her love interest, Robert Dudley, was to be played by Duke Carter.
‘Duke and Frances, they were an item?’ Max wanted to know.
‘Yes,’ Lloyd said carefully.
‘And they broke up quite recently?’
‘That’s right.’
‘I imagine it must be very difficult to work with someone with whom you’ve been romantically involved.’
Lloyd was a little puzzled by the conversation. Max had claimed that he didn’t want to interfere in creative matters – was he now making an exception to this? To be on the safe side, the Head of Juniper made the changes, sidelining Duke for the time being. But even as he made the change, Lloyd couldn’t help hoping that for Franny’s sake, she didn’t ever do anything to anger Max Stanhope. He could clearly be a powerful enemy.
‘So have I impressed you yet?’ Max asked, when he dropped her back from another dinner at Musso & Frank.
Franny shrugged carelessly. She’d learned today that Duke wouldn’t be playing Dudley in Elizabeth, after all; the good news had made her even giddier than usual.
‘Let’s see. Dinner at Frank’s, lunch at Derby’s,’ she began to tick off activities on her fingers. ‘Dancing at Ciro’s. Nothing I haven’t done before. I’m still waiting for you to impress me.’
Max looked thoughtfully at her. ‘I’ll have to see what I can do about that.’
The next day he took her to Paradise Cove, a secluded piece of beach, one and a half hours’ drive from LA. It was early March and an unexpected storm meant it had turned colder: the sea churned black, and they were the only two people there.