by Sam Moffie
“How come I didn’t know what Podunk meant?” Powell muttered to himself sarcastically, as he let out a big sigh of relief that the knock at the door wasn’t going to cost him any money or cast a spell of doom over the filming, something Dick had seen from time to time throughout his years in the movie business.
Or was it? What if Duke was backing out? What if something happened to him? Maybe he broke one of his legs doing one of those practical jokes of his? Maybe….
Dick Powell’s negative thinking was broken up by Ed Killy, who was still pounding on the door. A pound that any good actor like Dick Powell understood to mean ‘hurry up.’
“I’ll be right there Ed. Do you know how Wayne got a police escort for me at this hour?” Powell asked as he opened up the door.
“He didn’t. Howard did,” Killy replied.
Figures, Powell thought as he tucked in his shirt and made his way to the car that was waiting for him.
“You know Dick, for a guy who just got out of bed, you look really great,” Ed commented as he followed Dick to the car.
“I used to be a movie star. You know what they say ‘once a movie star… always a movie star,’” Powell said with a bow.
“Then why did you become a producer and a director?” asked Ed.
“A bigger office,” Powell said with a sigh. “That, and I’m not put ‘on-hold’ as much as I was when I was an actor.”
The police escort turned out to be just one officer, and he wasn’t the type of cop that Dick was accustomed to. He was a deputy sheriff.
Is there a difference between being a cop and a deputy?” Dick wondered as he gave the kid in the front seat the once-over.
They probably don’t have cops and detectives out here in the West. Only sheriffs and deputies he mused, as the young kid put the sheriff’s cruiser into drive and in so doing, pressed a little too hard on the gas pedal and sprayed sand, dirt and pebbles all over the place.
“Trying to impress me?” Powell asked of his driver. “Because if you are, I don’t need stunt drivers for this movie.”
“I’m the one impressed, sir,” the young deputy answered. “But I’m nervous, so excuse me for the way I pulled out.”
“No problem, deputy,” Powell said. “This being the West, I assume that there are only sheriffs and deputies?”
“No sir. There are bad guys, or there wouldn’t be a need for sheriffs and deputies,” the young deputy answered.
Powell rolled his eyes, but the kid was right. “How would he know what I’m thinking,” he said under his breath.
“I mean there are no policemen or detectives like I see in Los Angeles,” Dick Powell said.
“This is the West Mr. Powell, so of course you’re not going to see a cop on a motorcycle… or a detective wearing a fedora,” the young deputy said.
“Do you guys still ride horses?”
“We have a mounted unit, if that’s what you mean.”
“Well, we have a mounted unit in Los Angeles, so there is at least one thing we have in common,” Powell pointed out.
Now the deputy sheriff rolled his eyes. Boy, for a big-time movie person, is this guy boring. I better shut up the deputy thought.
Boy, do I sound like someone pitching a boring product on the radio Powell thought.
They drove in silence for a while. Dick believed he had at least another half hour to go. He had decided to offer the young man a job as a security guard when this night was all over and the deputy had returned him to his trailer. This made him feel good, and he relaxed. When he did this, he realized he had to take a piss and that he couldn’t hold it in for much longer.
And this embarrassed him.
What do I do? Dick Powell pondered as he squeezed his penis between his inner thighs as a way of fighting off the urge. It didn’t work. It made him have to go even harder and quicker than he had first realized.
He tried thinking about others things to take his mind off the need to urinate. This only made him realize how bad he had to go, and he cursed this urge under his breath.
“Did you say something sir?” the young deputy asked him
“You’re not going to believe this deputy, but I have to go to the bathroom,” Dick said rather reluctantly.
“There’s a rest stop right around the bend. Can you hold it?” the deputy asked. “By the way Mr. Powell, why wouldn’t I believe that?”
“As long as around the bend means around the bend, I can hold it. Many times ‘around the bend’ means ten more miles,” Powell said.
The deputy sheriff rolled his eyes again and smiled.
Looking to make conversation, as well as to stop appearing foolish — not to mention keeping his mind off his need to go — Powell asked the only question that seemed appropriate.
“Do you have to stop and take pisses when patrolling these roads?”
“You’re not going to believe this Mr. Powell, but only when I have to take a leak,” replied the deputy. “See that light up a ways. There’s your relief.”
The deputy floored the car and within seconds, Dick Powell was out of the car, emptying his bladder. He couldn’t believe how much it hurt in and around the inside of his piping, and he made a mental note to have a doctor flown up for tests. He hoped it was nothing more than holding in a full bladder for too long of a time.
He got a good glimpse of the deputy sheriff, and realized that the kid looked like he had come straight out of central casting for a young, deputy sheriff who is the first one killed in a B-Movie film noir. He thanked the driver for being attentive towards his needs, and offered him the job as a security officer on the set.
“I’d rather touch it,” the deputy shyly replied.
This is not good, Powell thought as he stopped dead in his tracks and cringed.
“The phone… after you talk to John Wayne on it. Can I touch it?”
Dick Powell sighed like he had never sighed before.
“Kiddo, get me there quick and I’ll let you talk to the Duke,” promised Dick Powell.
And the deputy fainted.
And I hired this guy to be a security guard on a movie set!?
Dick Powell wasn’t in bad shape. “So how come I can’t lug this light weight into the car?” he asked the dark sky as he dragged the deputy to the passenger side of the police car. Being from Hollywood, Dick Powell knew about fainters. After all, he had not only played a doctor, he had known many other actors who had portrayed doctors as well as nurses.
He just didn’t have a clue as to how much a body weighed when it was considered ‘dead weight,’ which was what the deputy’s body was as Dick strained to put him in the passenger seat.
“I talked to doctors to learn about fainters for when I played a doctor,” Dick said to the deputy, when he’d come to during the drive down to the general store, and had asked what had happened.
“So, if you play a deputy sheriff in the future, you’ll ask me about my experiences?” the deputy asked.
“No question about that,” lied Dick, who was suddenly having fun driving the deputy’s law-enforcement vehicle. If Duke could see me now, he mused as he switched on the car’s flashing lights and pressed down on the gas pedal.
“How long was I out?” the deputy sheriff asked the man that he was supposed to be driving.
“Not long… a few minutes at most. I have seen fans faint at premieres and at public places. They’re usually only out a few seconds,” Powell said. “Of course actors and actresses faint on sets sometimes, too, but that’s another discussion for another time. You don’t mind me driving fast and flashing the lights, do you kid?” Powell asked the deputy.
“Will I still have the job as security guard?” the deputy asked.
“Of course,” said Dick, knowing that he could still have his joyride in the car, for the job.
“Speed and flash away, Mr. Powell,” said the deputy. A moment passed in silence. “But if I was only out for a few minutes, how did I get into the car? Surely, it had to take you longer to drag me inside,”
the deputy reasoned.
“You might still make detective and get to wear a fedora. I think you hit your head when you fainted or when I labored to drag you along the roadside. You might have a slight concussion,” guessed Powell.
“You sure know your doctoring business,” the deputy said.
“The concussion thing I know from being on movie sets. You would be amazed at how many people get hit on the head by falling scenery, a swinging camera, a stunt gone badly or an attempted pass at a married person,” Dick Powell said.
“This isn’t going to affect my job on your set, is it?” the deputy asked, not wanting to comment on what Dick Powell just said, because he wanted that job.
“No way, kiddo. I gave you my word,” Powell said as he eased the car into the soft dirt in the parking lot of the general store. “Aren’t you interested in asking me about the ‘married person’ comment?”
“No way, Mr. Powell. I’m not into gossip,” the deputy replied.
“I like you kid. I can see I used great judgment in hiring you,” said Powell, happy that there was at least one other person in the world besides himself who hated gossip. “Think you can make it, deputy?”
“I can make it,” the deputy told Powell.
“I’d feel better if you’d let me guide you,” Powell said.
“No sir,” replied the deputy as he opened up the car door, stepped out onto the parking lot and immediately fell to the ground in a heap.
I wish I had a camera, because no one is going to believe this Powell thought as he loosened the deputy’s collar and ran into the store.
“That was fast, Mr. Powell,” the shopkeeper said. “I’ll ring the operator to connect you. I can’t believe you’re here already.”
Maybe this guy is into being on time, too, Powell thought. Then again, this being Podunk, maybe his definition of ‘fast’ wouldn’t be so ‘fast.’ After all, he had already stopped for a piss and dealt with the deputy, which had to have taken more than a few minutes. He knew he had driven fast, but not that fast.
“I’m telling you Mr. Powell, it was mighty fast the way the deputy left here to fetch you,” the shopkeeper said.
Dick Powell rolled his eyes. “Right. Listen, that deputy fainted a few miles back and I think he hit his head when he fainted. He’s outside now. Can you get me a cold compress?”
“What’s a compress?” asked the shopkeeper.
“A wet towel… any wet piece of cloth… a clean, wet rag,” Powell explained.
“Gotcha,” said the shop keeper as he retreated into the back of the store and quickly came back with a towel.
“It’s not wet,” remarked Dick.
The shopkeeper stared blankly.
“If it’s not wet, it won’t be of any use. I need this towel to be cold and wet,” Powell said sternly.
The shopkeeper left the room and came back with a bucket of cold water. Dick Powell shook his head and dipped the towel into the bucket.
“Now I get it. A cold compress is a wet towel!” the shopkeeper yelled out, finally grasping the obvious.
“I’m going to help the young man.” Powell told the shopkeeper. “When I come back in, make that call to the operator for me to be connected,” Powell added, now knowing what and where Podunk was.
“Don’t you think he needs a doctor, Mr. Powell?” the shopkeeper asked him.
“No. I played a doctor once. He’s okay,” Powell said. “I did a lot of research with real doctors for the role, and I feel like I know if someone is okay after fainting.”
“Anything you say, sir,” said the shopkeeper, who had met Dick Powell a few months ago, when Dick was scouting out the place in order to win over all the locals. The shopkeeper was Dick Powell’s first new best friend and was profiting handsomely from the movie being shot close to his place of business. Therefore, if Dick Powell said the deputy was ‘okay,’ then that was fine with the shop keep.
Dick went back outside and found the moaning…albeit softly… deputy.
“I’m going to cool you down,” Dick said to the deputy as he wiped the boy’s brow.
The deputy stopped moaning. “That feels great, sir.”
“He played a doctor once,” the shopkeeper said to both Dick Powell and the deputy, as he had followed Dick out onto the driveway to witness firsthand what a ‘cold compress’ was used for.
Dick Powell rolled his eyes at the shopkeeper’s comment.
The deputy told them both to help him up, and so they did. They gingerly walked him into the store and sat him down.
“Thank you both so much,” the deputy said.
“Make the call,” Powell ordered the shopkeeper “and some coffee.”
“Could I get some water?” the deputy asked.
“And some water,” Powell barked out to the shopkeeper.
“What else do you make coffee with?” the shopkeeper barked back at Powell. “Deputy, just go out into the ‘cold compress’ bucket and dip in a cup if you want water. You would think this is a city with water fountains all around, the way these guys ask for things,” he muttered under his breath.
Dick Powell shook his head and searched for a cup to get some water for the deputy. He couldn’t find anything that wasn’t wrapped, packaged, bottled or in a box. The only item in a box that would hold water was a bed pan. Dick Powell opened up the box, took out the bed pan and went to the ‘cold compress’ bucket to fill it up.
The shopkeeper came out to inform Dick that it would be a few minutes before the operator could connect his call. The shopkeeper saw Dick filling up the bed pan and, figuring that Hollywood people were nuts, let it go. After all, he had never heard of a ‘cold compress’ before, had he?
Dick Powell gave the bed pan to the deputy who took a sip from it and splashed some of the water on his face.
“Thanks… I needed that,” the deputy said to Dick.
“No problem. Just relax and think nice thoughts. Remember, it could be worse,” Powell told him.
“Mr. Powell, the phone call is ready,” the shopkeeper yelled out, and Dick went to the phone wondering if he should tell John Wayne what type of chaos he had caused. He went to pick up the phone and saw that the shopkeeper was getting him a cup of coffee. He took a sip of the coffee… and it was just awful.
At least it isn’t in a bedpan he thought as he waited to hear the Duke’s voice.
The operator came on the line and told both parties that they were connected.
“Dick, it’s Duke. Do you think the operator is listening in?” John Wayne asked.
“Of course. Wouldn’t you?” Powell responded.
“Listen lady. This is a business call. No gossip about this call tonight goes anywhere or I will hunt you down,” a menacing Wayne said to whomever might be listening in.
“Is that a promise?” the operator asked John Wayne.
“She got you, Duke,” joked Powell.
“Then, I’ll make sure that you work for John Ford for the rest of your life,” Duke said meekly, knowing his earlier threat was pretty stupid. Even John Wayne knew that anyone in America would want to be hunted down by him.
“How’s tricks, Duke? Getting those lines down? Did the voice coach and tape recorder help you?” Powell asked his friend and fellow Hollywood star. “By the way, I haven’t seen the reimbursement for my plumbing bill.”
“Take it out of my pay. Boy, have you become cheap since you became a producer and director!” Duke pointed out.
“I will do that, and I am not cheap. Just wait until you hang up the acting clothes and put on producer clothes. So, you have been doing work with the dialect coach?” Powell said.
“Yes,” Wayne lied. The Duke had no intention of using a dialect coach. If he damaged the lines the way they were written, so be it. John Wayne knew he could pull off playing Genghis Khan, because he was John Wayne. He would give his usual 200% of professional effort when the camera was rolling. That alone would, and did, get him through any role that wasn’t tailor made for him. And,
after the camera stopped, he couldn’t wait to be John Wayne off the set and have a good time with everyone involved in making the picture.
Dick Powell knew most of this. He knew Wayne was a pro when it came to making movies and would do his best to deliver the lines like Genghis Khan. Unfortunately, Powell also knew that Genghis was going to sound like the Duke would, in a western or a World War II movie. But Powell had the biggest movie star in the world on board, and like John Wayne, he believed that that alone would more than make up for authenticity. And if Oscar Millard bitched… there were a lot more unemployed writers in the world than unemployed actors.
“When are you going to arrive?” Powell asked Wayne.
“Just as soon as you tell me who my leading lady is going to be,” Duke said, “and I have had more time to work on my dialect.”
“That’s the reason for the call at this hour? Well, who have you heard?” Powell asked. After all, he was in Podunk.
“Way too many names,” responded Wayne. “I want someone who can hold her own with me. Someone I have worked with before would be great.”
“Want to guess?” Powell said.
“Sure. I like this game,” replied Wayne. “Marlene?”
“She makes you sound authentic as a Tartar,” Powell said sarcastically. “Cold Duke. Very cold.”
“Okay. Anne Rutherford?” an enthused Duke guessed.
“Andy Hardy’s girlfriend! Have you been drinking all day and night on Ford’s boat again? Even colder John. Now I get this game. It’s one of your practical jokes and the gang is listening in on one of those squawk boxes. How much did you bet them about getting me to the phone from my trailer?” Powell said sternly, pissed that he had fallen victim to one of Wayne’s practical jokes.
“A trailer? What happened to the Enchanted Cottages?” Duke suddenly asked Powell.
Powell sighed with some relief; maybe it was a sincere call from Duke and so he answered the questions. “Believe it or not, about ten days before we were supposed to start up here, my secretary Miss Burchett gets a call from the Department of the Army. They had bought the entire complex of cottages and our reservations didn’t exist anymore.”