Hollywood Lost

by Collins, Ace;

  “How can you find anything in here?” the mogul asked.

  Melton smiled, “You could ask me where my copy of a script to Destiny or Die is, and I could find it in just a second. What appears chaotic to you is actually my filing system. I know where everything is, and I take great pains in leaving it there.”

  A perplexed Yates, his eyes still on what seemed to be nothing but random piles of stuff, addressed the reason for his visit. “I got a note saying we were wrapping this thing up on Wednesday.”

  The small, redheaded man smiled, “The Hollywood Madman will be behind us by Wednesday night. That is except for editing, music, and possibly a couple of retakes. But the principle filming will be finished.”

  Yates turned away from the mess and to the director. “Isn’t that awfully fast?”

  “Jacob, what is your favorite MGM whodunit?”

  The mogul didn’t have to think before ticking off, “The Thin Man.”

  “And that movie was shot in two weeks,” Melton explained. “Columbia shot It Happened One Night almost as quickly, and it won all the major categories at the Academy Awards. The sets in this film were easy, we only had to go off the lot for one location shot, and the scriptwriters did a great job supplying lines that were crisp, clean, and easy to learn.”

  “But do we know who did it?” Yates asked.

  “That is where the problem comes in,” Melton admitted. “Evidence found right here on the lot proves who it has to be, but you might not like the person our detectives have fingered for the crimes.”

  The studio head frowned, “I take it he is one of our own.”

  “Do you want to know who?” the director asked.

  “Not really,” Yates admitted. “But right now, I sure would like to strangle Ellen Rains.”

  Yates got up and moved over to a window looking out on the lot. He studied the scene for a few moments before speaking. “We’ve known each other a long time. You and I have always been honest. So I want to admit I’m scared. I am afraid that I’m losing control of what I built. I have nightmares about an earthquake opening a crevice so large that it swallows everything on the Galaxy lot. And I’m wondering if these murders and this film will be what causes my nightmare to become a reality.”

  “If you’re worried about the murders,” Melton chimed in, his voice solemn, but his tone positive, “no studio has ever been taken down by a scandal. Fatty Arbuckle killed that girl, and Paramount survived. That same studio didn’t miss a beat when William Desmond Taylor was murdered. And you’ve always told me that anything that actually puts a studio in the news is good for business.”

  “Maybe,” the mogul replied sadly, “but this project is different, and it scares me. This is the only behind-closed-doors movie we have ever done. No one outside of the cast and crew know about it. Right now that works to our advantage. But what might hang us is that we used real people and events in the script, so at the last moment, we can’t turn it into a fictional movie. It won’t fly past legal that way.”

  The director walked over and stood beside his boss, “Jacob, we could scrap it.”

  Yates grimly smiled, “I’ve thought about that. All weekend long I was playing around with that thought. For the sake of the studio’s image, it is the only way to go. After all, we are an industry that protects our stars. We magically erase all their sins and keep them from paying for their wrongs.”

  Melton nodded, “It might be time to pull out that old code and use it again. I’m going to be honest, I’d hate to see this picture die—I really would—because everything about it is first-rate. There is no doubt in my mind it will be the best crime film Galaxy has ever made. But I’m a company man, and I will go along with what you tell me to do.”

  “Thanks for that,” the mogul softly replied. “But I need to ask you a question. It is one I’ve been battling all week long.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Vic, is killing The Hollywood Madman the moral thing to do?”

  “What kind of question is that?” the director asked. “Frank Capra doesn’t work here. We’ve never worried about what was right or wrong, or if we inspired people or just entertained them. Our job was chasing the money.”

  “But,” Yates argued, “we have passed on certain projects in the past that we deemed too hot to handle. Has this become one of those?”

  Melton shrugged, “What do you think?”

  “I made a mistake,” the mogul explained. “I let Ellen Rains convince me this project could make us a lot of money. And that’s why I jumped on it. But I forgot one important thing.”

  “What’s that, Jacob?”

  “Vic, we are in the business of making fantasy seem real. Doing that is safe because we control everything from beginning to end. We give stars new names and write up biographies for them that repaint their whole past. We build streets that are nothing more than facades. We have soundstages that take us all over the world without leaving Los Angeles. I mean, think of this . . . everything we do is just a series of magical lies, and this studio works wonderfully as long as we check reality at the front gate. I messed up and brought reality onto the lot, and now I realize we have no control over it in this world. Truth eats lies for breakfast and comes back hungry for lunch.”

  “So,” Melton chimed in, “we kill the film.”

  Yates took a deep breath, pulled a newspaper from his jacket pocket and tossed it on the director’s cluttered desk. “Ellen Rains wrote a long feature in today’s Times that pats this studio on the back for having the courage to film the true story of the Hollywood Madman. She put a crown on our head for finally ridding this city of the man who has killed all these young women. In other words, in making me look like a saint, she has painted us into a corner.”

  “Why did she do that?” Melton asked.

  “Because, Vic, she owns a piece of the film. This is her way of making sure it is finished and released. You might want to read the story; you get cited for being a director who shows grit, determination, and courage.” Yates shook his head, “I hate being forced to do the right thing.”

  As the mogul headed for the door the director called after him, “You going to be on the set on Wednesday?”

  Yates stopped and turned, “I wouldn’t miss it. But until then, I’m going to try to pretend that the film is just another movie.”

  70

  July 20, 1936

  Betsy Minser was going over a long, handwritten list when Shelby walked into the finishing room. The young woman paused, looked toward her boss, and asked, “What outfit am I supposed to wear today?”

  “The red suit,” Minser replied, “though the church gimmick is going so well in the media there are no publicity photos scheduled for today. Still, you never know when a reporter will come on the lot and request to meet you. The church has been such big news that it is being talked about all over the world. MGM and Warners are even considering following in our footsteps. And, because of all the ink it has generated, it has pushed the murders of the young women to the back pages.” The woman stopped and noted, “You feeling all right? You look kind of pale.”

  “I didn’t get much sleep,” she explained. “Been a really strange weekend. Once I get changed, what do you need for me to do?”

  “They are wrapping up that secretive movie they’ve been working on the past couple of weeks. This is a list of all the stuff they will need for the last two days of shooting. We have a few things to mend, a few others to clean, and a lot of things to move over to the soundstage.”

  “What about the pirate film?” Shelby asked.

  “Oh, we have to finish those costumes and get a few things ready for the turn-of-the-century musical on stage 22. I’ve got all the factory girls alerted that they’ll be staying late, and Willie is supposed to be getting the material we need from the warehouse. So just plan on a long day.”

  “That’s OK. Working keeps my mind occupied. And the longer the day, the better.”

  Minser studied her worker more close
ly, “I take it you don’t have a date tonight.”

  “Betsy, I’m not sure I’ll ever have a date again.”

  “What happened?”

  “Where do you want this stuff?” Mace asked as he ambled into the room with four bolts of fabric.

  “Just set it on the middle worktable,” Minser ordered. Turning her attention back to Shelby she asked, “What do you mean you will never date again?”

  The young woman frowned, “The last couple of weeks have revealed some things that have soured me on men right now.”

  “You mean Flynn?”

  “And Dalton too,” Shelby added. “Flynn is scary.”

  “What do you mean scary?” Minser asked.

  “I can’t tell you any more right now,” Shelby admitted, “but Dalton is not what he seems either.”

  “I found,” the older woman explained, “that men are users. They look at women as possessions, but most of them don’t really value us. Their world revolves around their desires. That’s why I’ve never married.”

  From the corner, Mace gently suggested, “I don’t think all men are that way.”

  “You’re right, Willie,” Shelby agreed, “My father isn’t. Now I need to get changed so we can go to work.”

  71

  July 21, 1936

  It was just past ten in the morning when Eve Walen escorted Bill Barrister into Jacob Yates’s office. The mogul was behind his desk studying a script. His expression was neither welcoming nor disdainful. Tossing the script to one side, he waited until the cop was seated and had removed his hat before speaking.

  “I’ve been expecting you.”

  “I thought about coming yesterday,” Barrister admitted, “but I decided to make you sweat for twenty-four hours before I graced your chambers.”

  Yates rested his arms on his desk, “If you came to ask me who did it, I can honestly tell you, I don’t know. And I will happily go before a grand jury and swear to that as well.”

  The cop set his jaw, “If I were in your place, I wouldn’t want to know either. I’d be kind of like the kid who covers up his head with a blanket to make the monsters in his bedroom go away.”

  The mogul glanced at a painting on the far wall and, after studying it for a moment, announced, “I know you came here for a reason. If you are going to arrest me, let’s get it over with.”

  “Let’s put that off for a few days. I actually came here to ask a favor.”

  A seemingly relieved Yates turned to face his guest, “And which one of my people do you want to question now?”

  “None of them,” Barrister assured him.

  “Well,” the mogul replied, “that simplifies things. Perhaps you would like a tour of the studio. I would be happy to conduct it.”

  “No,” came the quick answer. “Let me get straight to my point. I understand that you’re filming the final scenes in your little movie tomorrow.”

  “Ah, what movie is that? We have a dozen different pictures shooting at this very moment.”

  Barrister grinned, “I think you are calling it The Hollywood Madman.”

  “It’s a B picture,” Yates assured him, “it’s not the best way to really get a feel for what we do. I think you’d enjoy the pirate film more.”

  “Let’s quit playing games,” the captain suggested. “The cat is out of the bag, and Rains told me that tomorrow is the day. Now, I want to be there with a couple of my men when you announce the man who is behind the murders.”

  “What happens if I refuse?” the mogul asked.

  “Then I guess I’d have to shut you down and begin questioning everyone who is associated with the film. That also means I’d have to lock down the studio so that none of your thousands of employees got to go home until I found out the truth and arrested the person responsible. And then I would have a grand jury decide how many of your people would be charged with obstructing justice, hiding a fugitive, and likely, a dozen other charges. And I bet those charges would stick and there would be a lot of your folks serving some time.”

  “It is so tempting to let you do that,” Yates admitted. He ran his hands over his head as he pushed the air from his lungs. “I get the idea there’s something else you want too.”

  Barrister smiled, “The files you received from us were illegally obtained. I have been able to determine how each new bit of evidence came to your office first. That means that you accepted delivery. I can arrest you right now if you like.”

  “Or you can do what?”

  “I want it played this way,” the cop explained. “Give us credit for sharing the files. Tell the world that, because these crimes were so horrible and our resources were somewhat limited, we approached you asking for your help. You then employed a number of the nation’s top investigators to work with us. This unique marriage produced a way for us to fully develop the case and save many other women from being killed by this madman. I expect everything to read just that way in the press releases and in the film credits.”

  Yates smiled, “I’m guessing that this little lie will keep my people from being investigated or arrested?”

  “It will,” Barrister countered, “if you follow through on the final part of my request.”

  “Lay it out,” the seemingly exhausted mogul said.

  “Fifty percent of the profits are split among the families of the victims, and the rest go to the police widows and orphans fund.”

  “That’s highway robbery,” Yates complained. “That means Galaxy gets nothing.”

  “Actually,” the cop explained, “what I’m suggesting is doing nothing more than living out what the pastor preached in your studio church two days ago. I was there and heard it. I think I saw you there as well.”

  “OK, fine,” the mogul replied. “I give you my word.”

  “That’s good,” Barrister quipped, “but it is not enough. I know better than to trust the man who stole my files. You have your legal team put the agreement in writing and send it to the chief’s desk by three this afternoon. Now what time do I need to be here tomorrow?”

  “Meet me in this office around eight,” Yates said. “We’ll walk over to the soundstage from here.”

  Barrister stood, put on his hat, stared sternly into his host’s face and gloated, “First time the cops have ever beaten a studio. If those girls hadn’t lost their lives making this possible, I would enjoy this moment. And one more thing . . . if you don’t deliver the right man tomorrow, I’ll personally make you pay. Until tomorrow, Mr. Yates.”

  72

  July 22, 1936

  As her father had to be at work an hour early to build a collapsing table for the pirate movie, Shelby was the first employee to arrive in the wardrobe department on this bright and sunny Wednesday. Grabbing a dress that would be used next week in a period piece set in London during the days of Queen Victoria, she began finishing the beadwork around the bodice. She’d been at it for fifteen minutes when Willard Mace arrived.

  “Hello, Shelby. That’s a pretty blue dress you have on today.”

  Startled, Shelby apprehensively looked up. When she saw it was Mace, she relaxed and smiled, “Just another number the studio dreamed up for the church publicity. It’s doing so well now, I think my days of getting free clothes and doing publicity are about over. And I don’t mind a bit.”

  The man moved over and sat on a stool on the opposite side of the worktable. “You’ve seemed kind of jumpy this week. Does it have anything to do with the girls getting strangled?”

  She nodded and admitted, “I’m not really going to be relaxed until the guy who did it is locked up.”

  “Do you think they’ll ever get him?” Mace asked.

  “I think they know who he is,” she explained, “but I’m not sure they have the evidence they need.”

  “How do you know that?” the man quizzed.

  “Just what I’ve heard,” she explained before adding. “You know, Willie, I have about decided it’s not good to get what you wish for. Everything around us is ju
st make-believe, and you and I are a part of it. And because of that, I got to wishing for a life where things were real and people didn’t put on masks. After getting a taste of what is going on in the actual world, I’ve decided this world might be best. I mean, look at it this way, on our lot people get murdered every day, but they always get back up.”

  Mace tilted his head, looked into Shelby’s blue eyes, and asked, “Do you ever miss where you used to live?”

  “I’ve missed it a lot this week,” she explained as she looked back down and continued her work. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, the dresses I’ve worn and the things I’ve experienced and seen are wonderful. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit it was really nice feeling like Cinderella. But there’s a boy from back home I miss. He was sweet and kind of shy, and Calvin didn’t know any of the lines men use out here. You know he even asked me for a kiss rather than just expected it. He couldn’t act like anyone but who he was. I’d kind of like to go to a barn dance with him or maybe sit in church and just hold his hand. But that’s not going to happen.”

  Mace smiled and nodded. In his own simple way, it looked as though he understood what she meant. As he picked a piece of lint from a coat sitting on the table, he quietly posed another question. “Shelby, did you really go to Flynn’s house?”

  As she thought about that night, a shiver raced up her spine. She looked from the dress to the man as she tried to explain, “That’s a loaded question. Yes, I was there. And I discovered I didn’t belong there. It wasn’t a place for someone like me. And maybe that’s why I’ve been thinking about Oklahoma. I’m wondering if I need to be in a world like Hollywood.”

  “That’s a nice speech,” Betsy Minser announced from the back corner of the room.

  “I didn’t hear you come in,” Shelby said.