“Project. I like that. Yeah, a project. I got a project, all right. I want to put you in a movie, Bobby.” He grinned, for despite his determination to be cool, Bobby blinked and for a moment could not speak. “What else would I be doing here?” he demanded.
“Well, I think it’s kind of strange, if you don’t mind my sayin’ so. I mean, all you had to do was send for me and I would have come to your office, Mr. Fitzgerald.”
“I wanted to see you in action. Hadn’t caught your act, and now all those screamin’ idiots out there convinced me. If they’ll scream at a concert, they’ll scream at a movie. Right?”
“Well, I hope so. You understand that I’m no actor.”
“Ah, you don’t have to be an actor. They won’t come to see you act, they’ll come to see you sing. Just give ’em that sexy look and swivel your hips, and they’ll fill the theaters up.”
“What sort of a movie do you have in mind?”
“None at all. That’s up to my people. They’ll find something that will fit you and will be brainless enough so that the kids who have to move their lips to read will catch on to the plot. Lots of singin’, lots of hip swingin’, moonlight, and kissing. That’s it. Are you ready to talk contract?”
“Why, you’ll have to talk to my agent, of course.”
“That’s all right. Dogs got fleas, and performers got agents—not much difference.” Fitzgerald heaved himself out of his seat and moved toward the door. When he got there, he stopped and turned around. “You’re gonna be big, kid. I’m gonna see to it. See you around.”
As the door slammed, Bobby rose and was shocked to find that his hands were unsteady. He had to swallow twice before he could regain his composure, and then excitement flooded him. “It’s all set,” he whispered. “This is the big break, and I’m going to grab for the brass ring!”
Two weeks later Bobby arrived at Universal Studios. He had gone to see his parents, expecting them to be as excited as he was. Instead he found them somewhat less so. Quite a bit less so, to be truthful. His dad had given him a lecture on how dangerous Hollywood was and how many stars had killed themselves, or died miserable and unhappy, and nothing Bobby could say would change his mind. He stayed for two days, and although his father hadn’t said anything else, nor his mother either for that matter, he felt uncomfortable and finally left early for the studio.
His agent, Happy Miller, was there and had already laid the groundwork. From the time Bobby first arrived he was given the red-carpet treatment. One of the vice presidents, a short, clever fellow named Lar Delmont, showed him around the studio. He met stars that he had seen, some of them years ago, and attended a whirl of parties. It was fun, but Bobby’s mind was on making movies. Finally he was given a copy of the script and assigned a musician to go through the score with him so that he could begin to learn the words to the new music. They were relatively simple tunes, and Bobby picked them up almost instantly. “Not the greatest tunes in the world,” he said to the piano player, whose name was Johnson.
“No, not what you’re used to.” Johnson shrugged. “You’ll have to make up the difference with a little jazz. You know the drill, Bobby.”
“I know; I’ll practice that.”
The first meeting of the cast was something that Bobby looked forward to. He had been anxious to know who else would be in the movie, wondering if there would be an established star. He asked Mr. Fitzgerald, who grunted, “You don’t want another star. They’ll be looking at the star and not at you. This picture’s to make you a star, Bobby. Don’t you get that?”
“But won’t there be anybody in it that’s familiar? When I see a movie I like to know at least a couple of the people.”
Fitzgerald grinned. “You’ll have Lannie Marr. You ever see her?”
Bobby tried hard to think, and then suddenly it came to him. “Hey, yeah! I saw her! She was in that movie with Dana Andrews. She was some kind of a gangster’s moll.” He whistled slowly. “Boy, what a sexpot!”
“Can’t act for sour apples, but she’s got the body. She’ll have to sweeten up a little bit. We’re makin’ this one for the kids.”
“I don’t think you’d shock ’em much,” Bobby said with a smirk.
The cast met at one of the large stages at Universal, and Bobby was more nervous than he cared to admit. He was standing there uncertainly when a tall man with a mop of black hair came over and said, “I’m Abe Fontesque, your director. Glad to see you, Bobby.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Fontesque.”
“Come on in and let me introduce you to the people.”
Fontesque made the rounds, and Bobby met several people, but the only one he remembered after the meeting was Lannie Marr. She was blonde and had large, dark blue eyes. Her face was sultry, and her lips, even in repose, had a sensual quality. As for her figure—well, it had put her in the movies. Bobby remembered reading that she had been in girlie magazines, and even X-rated movies, and resolved to look into that. When he was introduced, he nodded, saying, “How are you, Miss Marr? I’ve seen your movies. Great!”
“Have you?” Lannie gave him a closer inspection. “I haven’t been to any of your concerts. You’ll have to give me one so I know what to expect.”
There was something in her voice, and in her eyes, that made her words seem to mean more than their dictionary meanings. Bobby was used to being successful with women, but this one was different. He said no more to her during the meeting but listened as Abe Fontesque outlined the work schedule. He listened only with half of his mind, for the other half was on the sleek woman who sat lounged back in her chair swinging one leg slowly. Her eyes came around to him and studied him as if he were an interesting specimen; then he saw approval come, and the lush lips turned up in a smile, and she nodded imperceptibly, almost. But he knew what Lannie Marr was thinking.
After the meeting, Bobby thanked Fontesque. “I’ll do the best I can, Mr. Fontesque, but I may need a little help. All I’ve ever done is sing. That’s different from acting.”
“That’s all right. We got you an acting coach, and Lannie here will give you all the tips you need. We start shooting day after tomorrow,” he said. “Start on these first scenes, and we’ll see how you do.”
Bobby turned and found Lannie Marr standing with her eyes on him. “Is it too late to go out and get a bite to eat, or do you have other plans?”
“That would be nice; I don’t have any plans.”
The two of them went out to the restaurant of her choice, where she was apparently well known. After they ordered, Bobby looked across and said, “I don’t mind telling you, Lannie, I’m scared green. I don’t know beans about acting.”
The actress picked up her cocktail, sipped it, and then leaned forward, giving him an excellent view of her figure in the low-cut dress. “I don’t think you’ll have any trouble. You never have trouble with women, do you, Bobby?” The directness of her words and the boldness of her eyes startled Bobby, and this amused Lannie. She leaned back then and said, “We’ll talk about it, and like Abe said, I can give you a few lessons.”
By the time the first scenes were due to be shot Bobby was nervous, almost terminally so. He made his way to the studio that morning, but everything he said onstage was stiff, and his movements seemed clumsy. Fontesque was patient enough, but at the end of the day’s shooting he shook his head, saying, “Bobby, I don’t want to make you more nervous than you are, but you’re going to have to loosen up a little bit.”
“I’ll do my best, Mr. Fontesque.” Bobby went to his dressing room feeling miserable. He had almost finished dressing when a knock came to his door. He got up, opened it, and found Lannie standing there. “Mind if I come in?”
“No. You might as well.” He tried to grin. “Nobody else is beating a door to the famous actor’s dressing room.”
Lannie was wearing a dress made out of a thin, light blue clingy silk. It had short cap sleeves, a low, revealing sweetheart neckline, and a short, tight skirt with a slit up the right
thigh. Her legs were covered with a pair of stockings with an opalescent shimmer, and her shoes were open-toed and had very high heels. She came over and stood so close that she almost touched him. “Feeling pretty low, aren’t you?”
“Pretty low, Lannie. Pretty low.”
“Well, I’ve got the medicine for that. Come on. We’ll go out and have something to eat at a place I know.”
Bobby shrugged. “I don’t think food’s going to help any, but thanks. It’ll be nice to get away from this place.”
Lannie took him in a fancy sports car, so expensive Bobby didn’t even know the name of it, to a restaurant in the heart of the city. She was well known there, and after the maître d’ had led them to the table and taken their order, she leaned back and studied him. There was a sultriness in her air, even when she did not intend it. “You don’t want to worry too much about these things. You’re worried because you did poorly for the scenes.”
“Well, of course, I am!” Bobby exclaimed. The waiter brought the drinks, and he downed his instantly. “Who wouldn’t be worried? If I don’t learn how to act quick, I think they’ll call the whole thing off.”
“Yes, they might do that, but I don’t want you to worry about it. Let’s just eat, and drink, and dance, and then when you get loosened up we’ll go to my place and talk about it.”
This was the way the evening went. Lannie Marr might not have been the world’s greatest actress, but she was certainly world class in making a man unwind, and by the time they got to her apartment, Bobby, after several drinks, was feeling much better.
“Will you come in?” Lannie said, gazing at him directly. Then without waiting for an answer, she turned and went inside.
The apartment was about what Bobby had expected. A large area with art deco, lots of black-and-white marble, with pictures on the wall that looked like the artist never had any lessons. The couch was huge and overstuffed, looking more like the Goodyear blimp than anything else. It was also an odd color, sort of a mixture of lime and apricot. But it was comfortable enough, and when Bobby sank into it Lannie stood over him. “You’re feeling better,” she said.
“Yeah, quite a bit—but I still have to go to the studio tomorrow and make a fool out of myself.”
“Don’t you know what’s wrong, Bobby?”
“I can’t act! That’s what’s wrong!”
“I can’t act either. Most people in the movies can’t. Now on the stage, that’s different. They’ve got to stay up there for hours.” She shook her head, saying, “I don’t see how they remember all that. All I have to remember is half a dozen lines. That’s all a scene is, and when I first started in this business I was as nervous as you are, but I found a way to calm my nerves down.”
She left the room and came back bearing a small box in her hand. She sat down close beside him and opened it; Bobby stared down into it at the white powder in small cellophane envelopes. He had seen enough of it in his time, and he had an inherent fear of it. He had tried marijuana and popped a pill or two, but he had seen too many people destroyed by this innocent-looking white powder. Shaking his head he said, “No, that’s not for me.”
“All right. Have it your own way. I believe in letting people do what they want to do.”
Bobby watched as she put some of the powder on the bottle top, leaned over, and inhaled it through a straw into her nostril. She leaned back then, her eyes half closed, and she was silent for a long time. “You might as well go,” she said.
Bobby half rose and then slumped back. “Look, I’m afraid of that stuff. I’ve seen people absolutely ruined by it.”
“So have I. I’ve seen people ruin themselves with alcohol too. It’s a risk, but you’ll have to decide whether it’s worth it. For me it was. I only use it when I’m doing a movie. Didn’t you notice how relaxed I was today?”
“Sure, but I thought that was just—well, you were a professional.”
“I still get tense and uptight. I couldn’t make it without this.” She turned to him and pulled him down. Since she was half reclining, he was pressed against her closely. Her lips were soft and moved against his, and her hands roamed along his back. Then she pushed him back and said, “That’s enough.” She sat up, and Bobby was caught by the abruptness of her movements.
“I don’t have time for failures, Bobby. Go on back to your concerts. You’re doing well. Maybe you don’t need the movies.”
Bobby suddenly realized he did need the movies. He turned and looked at her. “I do! I’ve got to do it, Lannie! I’ve got to make it in the movies!” He looked down at the powder and struggled with his thoughts. Finally he got up and paced the floor, wondering what his parents would say; then the thought came, They probably think I’m already on heroin. They think the worst of me, it seems. He worked himself up into a feeling of self-pity; all the while Lannie Marr was watching him with a small smile, as if she had seen this before.
Bobby finally said, “You really think it will help?”
“Try it tomorrow. It won’t take much, but it just sort of makes you loose and easy. That’s all that’s wrong with you. You’re so tensed up you can’t do anything.”
“All right. I’ll try it—but only just to get me through the beginnings. I’ll pick it up soon, and I won’t need the stuff.”
“Sure. That’s the way to look at it.” Then she raised her arms and said, “Now, come to Momma, baby…”
By the time the picture was finished and released, Bobby and Lannie were in the midst of a torrid affair. All throughout the making of the movie he had kept saying to her, “I’ll just have the stuff this one time, then no more,” and she had always agreed with him. He found out quickly, however, that the more he took, the more he required, and by the time the picture was released and was proclaimed a hit, Bobby Stuart was in the grips of the white powder. He always had Lannie beside him urging him to more parties, which always involved more dope. He was also besieged and offered the moon by those who wanted to capitalize on his fame. Caught up with Lannie Marr and the crowd she ran with, Bobby simply gave in and became what he never thought he would become, an addict, both of dope and of the arms of a woman, and of the fabulous offers of dollars that seemed to flood in from every side.
From time to time Bobby would seem to sense that something was dreadfully wrong—but then there was always Lannie whispering to him, driving those thoughts away. So he hit the big time in Hollywood and became a star.
Part 2
SOWING
(1965–1966)
6
SENSATION AT THE PROM
Prue stood looking at the canvas, cocking her head to one side and delicately applying a little deeper red to the lips of the child in the painting. Always when she painted there came over her an intensity, and she seemed to forget the world except for that tiny fragment that lay before her and the canvas on which she tried to capture what she saw. With a sigh she looked up and saw that Pearl Swanson was watching her with a puzzled light in her eyes.
“Well, that’s about the best I can do today, Pearl,” she said.
“Can I see?” Pearl Swanson was one of those women of the Ozarks who married very early and had known nothing but a life of grinding poverty. Her daughter, Melody, had that fresh, sparkling beauty that children sometimes have, even in the middle of such poverty. Max Swanson worked at what he could get, having had no education and no training, and for now he was working with timbermen in the woods doing difficult labor in a hard and dangerous job.
As Pearl and Melody came over to look at the painting, Prue’s heart went out to them. She took in the shack that had a dirt floor and no inside plumbing, and the red hands of the woman swollen with hard labor and thought, She has so little and I have so much. I ought to be whipped for ever complaining about anything!
She watched as the woman and the child stood before the canvas on which she had painted their picture and remembered how Pearl had come by their house selling vegetables out of the back of Max’s old truck. The Deforges had li
ttle need of them, but she knew her mother would agree so she had bought practically their whole stock. Pearl Swanson’s gratitude was so great that an acquaintanceship had been struck, and Prue conceived the idea of painting the pair in an attempt to capture the spirit of the Ozarks. It was not a new idea, for she had painted a few toothless old women who still wore their dresses down to their ankles and used the branches of gum trees as their snuff stick. It was Prue’s favorite subject, and somehow she hoped to capture the hard poverty of these people, like the Swansons, and at the same time the beauty of simplicity in Pearl’s face and the fresh, blossom-like features of two-year-old Melody.
“It looks mighty good, Miss Prudence,” Pearl said, shaking her head. “I swan! I don’t know how you do it. Just take that there brush, and look at somethin’, and there it is right on that paper.” She smiled, and traces of her early beauty were apparent.
“I’m glad you like it, but it’s really not as good as I’d like. I may have to come again.” She took a five-dollar bill out of her pocket and handed it to Pearl.
Pearl took the bill, held it as if it were fragile, then folded it up and put it into the pocket of her apron. “You come back anytime. Me and Melody will be glad to pose. Won’t we, Melody?”
Melody looked up with her round, blue eyes and nodded vigorously. Pulling away from her mother, she ran over to the sack of peppermint candy and other treats that Prue had brought and popped a peppermint in her mouth at once.
Getting into the ancient Dodge that her father managed to buy as a second car, Prue started back toward the house. It was May in the Ozarks, and the trees were filled with blossoms; she noticed the dogwoods, the wild cherries, and the apple trees as she passed by the orchards. The smell of rich earth and evergreens came to her through the open window and she inhaled deeply. However, her mind was on the painting. “I didn’t get it right,” she said to herself. “I couldn’t get the way Pearl had her arm around Melody.”
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