Jenkins scratched his head, “So does this mean that we no longer have Flynn Sparks in our sights?”
“No,” Barrister quickly replied, “Sparks is still someone I am keeping my eye on, but now we need to find William Hamilton and shake him down too. So let’s get to work.”
47
July 1, 1936
Dalton Andrews, dressed for his role of Bill Barrister, stood on the Galaxy back lot and watched director Vic Melton set up the next shot. Sitting in a chair a few feet away was Flynn Sparks. Though he’d not been required to say a single line so far today, he looked uncomfortable. For much of the morning, he’d watched Hunter Nelson play Flynn Sparks on a date with Leslie Bryant. Bryant was being played by Eilene Waters, who was on loan from MGM. She was a raven-haired beauty who could have been Bryant’s sister. She was almost as good at being Bryant as Bryant was.
With cast and crew looking on, Nelson and Waters reenacted the nightclub dinner and then the evening spent at the set designed to stand in for Flynn Sparks’s home. During these scenes, Andrews spent as much time watching the real Sparks as he did the pretend version. During most of the shooting, the real Sparks had not even been able to watch the action. Now it was time to play the scene where the two policemen study Leslie Bryant’s body, and Sparks was as nervous as a cat that had been cornered by hungry hounds.
Melton was looking at a crime scene photo while instructing Waters how and where to lie down. Once he was satisfied he had the actress properly situated, he walked over to Sparks and signaled Andrews to join them.
“You should have memorized your lines by now,” the director said, “right now the camera is getting close-ups of the body. We’ll cut those in and out in the final edit.” He glanced over to his crew who gave him the thumbs-up. “Let’s see if we can do this quickly. I’d love to actually get the shooting finished early enough tonight to spend some time with my family.”
As Andrews watched Sparks follow Melton over to the mocked-up crime scene, he reached inside his pocket and rubbed his fingers over the handkerchief he’d found in the back floorboard of his Packard. When the director positioned Sparks in place, Andrews pulled his hand from his pocket and strolled over to his own mark. As he did, Melton backed away.
“Action.”
Assuming the role of Barrister, Andrews pushed his hat back on his head and stuffed his hands into his pants pockets. “I’m getting tired of this, Barry. I mean, it’s getting old. There’s a man out there taunting me. He’s killing women just to prove to me he’s my superior. This is personal.”
Sparks looked from Andrews to the body, “I . . . I . . . ” He waved, “I can’t remember my line.”
Melton called out from his chair, “You say, Bill, this guy is a madman. He has no morals. He kills for the pure joy of draining the life out of these girls.”
Sparks nodded, “I got it. Let’s try it again.”
Andrews once more said his line, and once more Sparks blew his. It took five takes before Sparks, playing Jenkins, managed to get through the three short sentences, and even then, the delivery was anything but smooth. Still, even though it wasn’t perfect, Melton kept the scene going.
The next line belonged to Andrews. “Barry, have you seen this morning’s paper?”
“No, Captain, I haven’t.”
Andrews jerked the Times from his coat pocket, opened it up, and pointed to a photo. “This story, by Ellen Rains, shows Leslie Bryant with the actor Flynn Sparks. She even spent the night with him on Saturday night. She died sometime on Sunday, so do you know what that means?”
Sparks was supposed to verbally answer, but instead the actor just shook his head. When Melton didn’t yell cut, Andrews kept going.
“That means Sparks is the first suspect we’ve had. And it makes sense to me too. The guy has a laundry list of offenses over the years. He thinks he’s above the law. And on top of that he’s a playboy who has no respect for women.”
Andrews looked from the body to Sparks, who was at the moment supposed to be playing Jenkins. The line that was supposed to come never did. Finally, after ten painful seconds Melton called, “Cut. What is wrong with you, Flynn? All you have to say is, ‘Let’s go get him.’ ”
“Let me see a script,” Sparks mumbled. As a woman brought the pages to the actor, Andrews stepped over to Melton.
“Vic, I’ve read the police files, Barrister didn’t have a newspaper with him at the scene. It was another cop who recognized the body as that of Leslie. Aren’t we supposed to be shooting it as it really happened?”
“It would take too much time,” the director explained, “so we are consolidating whenever we can.” He leaned closer and whispered, “I know it’s good box office to cast Flynn in this role, but do you think he can handle it? I mean, the press is being pretty brutal right now and having to spit out lines that paint him as Suspect Number One seems pretty cruel.”
Andrews looked to Sparks, before softly asking, “Do you think he did it?”
“Flynn? Of course not.”
“Then,” Andrews suggested, “as long as the scriptwriters prove the Hollywood Madman is someone else, things will be fine. And if they don’t, then you and I will be a part of a movie that will live forever. So, as I see it, Vic, you can’t lose.”
Melton nodded, “You ready, Flynn?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Then let’s get back to work.”
48
July 2, 1936
Shelby Beckett was bent over a table sewing intricate beadwork on a yellow gown when a man entered the finishing room and called out her name. She looked up and into the smiling face of Jacob Yates. Just behind him was a team of people, including Flynn Sparks.
“I need to borrow you for a while,” the studio boss explained. “Where is Betsy?”
“I’m over here,” Minser wryly noted. “You walked right past me when you came in.”
“I guess I missed you,” Yates answered. “Betsy, I need Shelby in a really nice work outfit. Something that we’d put one of our stars in if she were playing a professional woman. I have people here who will do her hair and makeup. When we get her all fixed up, I need some shots of her with Flynn. She can be pretending to fix a button on his coat and maybe mending his shirt or something. After that, I need her in a dress, and we’ll get shots of them walking around the lot. Maybe Flynn could be carrying a load of costumes as if he was helping her take the stuff to a soundstage. And, after that, she’ll need a Sunday outfit so that we can take some pictures of them at our church on the Western set.”
“Why do you need all this?” Minser demanded.
“Because,” Yates announced, “I like that idea Shelby had on the church. And Flynn did too. So we are going to make the two of them the chairmen to making it happen. Right now, Ellen Rains is talking about the project on radio. Later today, we are announcing a contest for fans to win passes to attend worship services there next Sunday. Betty Foster is going to sing the special music, we are bringing in a choir, Cubby Wickins is going to play piano and Reverend Gerald Chance is coming out of retirement to give the message. Some of the top celebrities on our lot will be in the pews with the fans. After it’s all over, we’re catering a dinner on the ground for everyone. And, to top it all off, the Mutual Radio Network is going to broadcast it live! And this is just the start. We are going to do this every week. Galaxy Studios is going to be a beacon for morality and faith, a place where stars and fans come together as one to sing and pray.”
“This doesn’t sound like you,” Minser noted.
“Maybe not the old me,” he agreed as he walked quickly over to Shelby’s side, “but thanks to this young woman, I’ve discovered a way for Galaxy to give back to America and promote the lessons on morality we often embrace in our films. Can I hear an ‘Amen’?”
“Amen,” Willard Mace answered weakly.
“OK,” an enthusiastic Yates continued, “we have to be at the church by two, and I want those other shots finished by then. M
ost of the national media will be at the church this afternoon, and almost every star on our lot will be in the pews. This is going to be big!”
Minser looked to Shelby and shrugged. The young woman returned the gesture with a confused smile.
“Betsy,” Yates announced, “I need to speak to you about Miss Beckett’s clothes. Because she and Flynn will be the center of this ‘Bringing Faith to Hollywood’ movement, I need for you to get her outfits that will make her look beautiful and wholesome. Also, I will send a makeup and hair team down here each morning to have her all dolled up. After all, you never know who will be coming by for a visit. For all I know, the Pope might want a piece of this action.”
Minser winced, “I think you might want to phrase that a bit differently.”
“Come over here, Betsy,” Yates suggested, “let’s you and me have a private talk.”
As the studio head outlined his plans to the wardrobe chief, Flynn crossed the room and pulled Shelby to one side. When he was sure Yates was not watching, he whispered, “I didn’t do this. No matter how the studio spins it, this wasn’t my idea. And I had nothing to do with that picture in the newspaper.”
“What picture?” Shelby asked.
“The one in Ellen Rains’s column,” he explained. “It was taken at Standhoff’s party. Her article indicates that you are the new love of my life.”
“Really?” She all but spat, “and I don’t get any say in this?”
“Shelby, I’m not sorry we are going to spend some time together, but I wish it was because you were entranced by my charms, not because Yates sees it as good publicity.” He stopped, smiled, and finally added, “Did you know that every time I look into your eyes it’s as if the dark blue sea was begging me to jump in?”
She frowned, “OK, what movie was that from?”
“Lady Love,” he admitted. “It worked in the movie.”
“Flynn,” she hissed, “those hokey Hollywood lines don’t work on me. Now, why is the studio really doing this?”
He took a deep breath, “Probably because they think I killed all those girls. The way this business operates is that enough good publicity can erase any sin in the world.”
Shelby didn’t hesitate firing back, “Did you?”
“I can’t believe you’d think that of me,” he argued.
Before she had a chance to follow up, a quartet of people from the hair and makeup departments grabbed Shelby and whisked her back to a dressing room. She’d barely caught her breath when the transformation began.
49
July 2, 1936
True to his word, by two, every major news organization and most of the Galaxy stars were gathered inside the church to listen to Jacob Yates explain what he had planned for Sundays at the studio. As writers hovered on his every word and jotted down quote after quote, photographers took hundreds of photos of actors and actresses dressed in their Sunday best while sitting reverently in pews. In the very front were Flynn Sparks and Shelby.
After Yates finished, Dennis Moltry, the studio’s musical director, led those gathered in an interesting rendition of “Amazing Grace.” Once the unprepared actors put their hymnbooks down, Flynn Sparks rose to recite the scripted remarks he’d been given to read.
“Church has always meant the world to me. I dearly love the old hymns and treasure the times of my youth spent in Bible study and prayer. When I came west, I forgot the faith of my youth and fell into things that the old Flynn would have never even considered. Who knows how long I would have continued along that path if I had not been asked to attend a church service by one of the women from our wardrobe department? Shelby Beckett is responsible for not only waking me up to the creature I’d become, but reminding me of who I should be. After all, we actors are role models; young people across the country and world look to us as heroes. We therefore have a responsibility to meet that challenge.”
As Flynn’s memorized words continued, Dalton Andrews leaned up from his spot on the second row and whispered into Shelby’s ear, “I think I might be sick.”
As Shelby smoothed her red and white suit, one that Minser had hurriedly found and altered for this event, she nodded at Andrews’s comment and then studied those watching this hastily prepared attempt at goodwill. Like many in the building, she was wondering if this was going to be just another piece of Hollywood fantasy or did her idea have a chance at bringing something real to Galaxy Studios? As the mayor, chief of police, and more than a hundred reporters and photographers appeared to be hanging on Sparks’s every word, it seemed like at least a few people were buying into Yates actually turning this building into a working church. But as his goal was likely saving a troubled actor’s skin, would God buy into this supposed act of faith and find a way to use it? Turning her attention from the unusual congregation back to Sparks, she once more tuned in on his words.
“So, in closing, I just want to quote my favorite Scripture. ‘For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in: Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me. Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink? When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee? Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee? And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.’ Thank you.”
As Sparks stepped down from behind the pulpit, Yates rose and took the actor’s place. After thanking his number-one-box-office draw, he looked to Shelby.
“This young woman, a simple but beautiful girl from Oklahoma, is the inspiration behind taking this building and using it for something higher than just a setting for movie scenes. She gave birth to this idea. Now, I would like Miss Shelby Beckett to come to where I now stand and say a few words.”
The invitation to speak caught Shelby completely off guard. Her heart caught in her throat as she stood on suddenly wobbly legs and walked up the three steps to the podium. As Yates stepped aside, she moved over and took a deep breath. Yet, rather than speak, she closed her eyes and silently prayed. As the impatient gathering looked on, she finally lifted her head and opened her mouth.
“When I told my supervisor, Betsy Minser, in wardrobe, that I thought it was a shame a building like this was not really used as a church, I had no idea she would share my thoughts with Mr. Yates.” She paused and looked out on the crowd until her gaze locked onto Dalton Andrews. He smiled, as she continued, “A friend told me that everyone in Hollywood is just an illusion. All we do in the studios is pretend. My prayer is that on Sunday mornings in this building, we can transform a bit of movie magic into a place where real faith can live and grow.”
As the camera snapped pictures and a few applauded, Shelby stepped away from the pulpit, walked down the steps and back to her pew. A few minutes later, after Reverend Gerald Chance, looking wise and distinguished in a three-piece dark blue suit, prayed, the doors opened, actors rushed back to their sets, reporters and photographers hurried off the lot, and Yates and his crew went back to their offices, leaving Shelby completely alone in the small building.
Looking to a painting of Jesus hanging on the church’s back wall, she began to sing.
As along life’s way you go,
Clouds may hide the light of day.
Have no fear for well you know,
Love will roll the clouds away.
When the road is rough and long,
And the world is cold and gray.
Lift your voice in happy song,
Love will roll the clouds away.
50
July 4, 1936
On Thursday, Shelby accepted a date to spend Independence Day on Catalina Island with Dalton Andrews. On Friday morning, Jacob Yates informed her the publicity generated by the announcement of church services on the studio lot was so overwhelmin
g that she’d been invited to a holiday event sponsored by the city in Griffith Park. A few minutes later, she and Betsy Minser were assigned the task of making a red, white and blue outfit for Shelby to wear. At lunch, she informed Andrews that they would have to change their plans and enjoy the fireworks at the park. He was fine with that. But at three, when Yates came down to watch Shelby model the dress, he further informed her that Flynn Sparks would be escorting her to the city’s celebration. Andrews did not take well to having their date broken. In fact, he stormed off without saying anything. Now it was Saturday afternoon, and what started as potentially the most wonderful July 4th she’d ever known had become a nightmare.
Sparks, dressed in a white shirt, red tie, and blue slacks, picked Shelby up at six. They drove to the park in silence. While both of them smiled and mingled with movie fans and the social elite at the gathering, neither really said much to each other until they got into Sparks’s Auburn and headed back toward the city.
“You’ve been quiet,” she noted as she glanced over as he drove.
“The heat’s been turned up,” he explained. “What do you know about the movie I’m filming right now?”
“Nothing too specific. I’ve heard that it is based on the murders of the actresses.”
“It’s the true story,” he corrected her. “They are pulling it from police files. And, I don’t know if you realize this, but the cops actually believe I did it.”
“Did what?” she asked.
He frowned, “Don’t play dumb. You know what I mean.”
“Do I?”
They rode in silence for a couple of blocks, during that time Shelby leaned her head against the edge of the convertible top and let the breeze coming through the open window blow through her hair. She was all but lost in the warm breeze when he finally broke the silence.
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