“I learned how to walk from cats,” the woman explained. “I can sneak up behind anyone, and they never know I’m there. Now, on what you said, quit thinking about Oklahoma and concentrate on the moment. Today, you are going to be on soundstage 6. They are wrapping up the film starring Andrews and Sparks, and you have to be on hand to sew up anything that might get torn on the set.”
“Couldn’t you do it?” Shelby begged.
“I probably could,” Minser assured her, “but I actually have a fitting to do today, and I also have to meet with a couple of designers the studio might start using.”
“When do I need to be there?” the young woman groaned.
“About nine. And I doubt if you will do anything but watch, but you still need to be there just in case. Take one of the big sewing kits with you. Now I am off to meet with Wendy Storm.”
“Are you serious?” Shelby asked.
“Not only am I serious,” Minser replied, “but that’s her real name. The studio found her in Kansas. Willie, get off the stool and get those dresses on the far rack to the pirate set. They’ll be using them later in a big dance number.”
As Minser and Mace headed in different directions, Shelby tried to focus on finishing the dress. Yet, even as she did the beadwork, she couldn’t shake thoughts of Saturday night. Why was Flynn Sparks still on the lot? Why hadn’t Captain Barrister arrested him?
73
July 22, 1936
Bill Barrister eased back into a director’s chair beside Jacob Yates and shook his head. “So this is what my police station looks like when constructed at your studio.”
“Did we get close?” Yates asked.
“It’s not bad,” the visitor noted, “but my office is a bit smaller and we have a ceiling and all four walls. But that guy playing me . . . Dalton Andrews . . . you nailed me there. He’s a dead ringer!”
Yates smiled as he looked toward the door that led to the street. Pointing with a tilt of his head, he announced, “Look who’s joining us.”
Barrister watched Ellen Rains saunter into the room. Today must have been orange Wednesday because that was the color of her suit, hat, shoes, purse, and even lipstick. The mogul leaned close to the cop and warned, “Never trust that woman.”
The captain whispered, “I never trust anyone, especially you.”
“Ellen, my dear,” Yates said, with an obviously fake smile, “so good to see you on our lot. Have you met Captain Barrister of the Homicide Department?”
Rains extended her plump hand toward the policeman. As he took it, she cracked, “Bill, I’m guessing you’re here to investigate Jacob’s impending death. Word on the street is this picture is going to kill him.”
“If it does,” the mogul grumbled, “you’ll be the one pulling the trigger. Why don’t you take the chair on the other side of Captain Barrister? That is, if you can get into it.”
She flashed a huge grin. “I’ll get in that chair a lot easier than you’ll get out of this mess.”
Yates nervously laughed, “Ellen, remind me to thank you for the story you wrote in yesterday’s paper. You know it made this whole day possible.”
Barrister climbed back into his chair, his body somewhat shielding Yates and Rains from each other’s sight line, and studied the stage. Dalton Andrews was sitting behind the desk, and Flynn Sparks was leaning against the back wall, his arms folded over his chest. Another actor the cop didn’t know was sitting in a chair just in front of the desk.
“Yates,” the cop asked, “I know Andrews and Sparks, but who’s the other guy?”
“His name is Hunter Nelson. He’s actually playing the role of Flynn Sparks.”
“Then who is Sparks playing?”
The mogul pointed to one of the two cops in the back of the room, “That guy who came in with you.”
“Barry Jenkins?”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
“But why not have Sparks play Sparks and Nelson play my partner?”
Yates shrugged, “This is Hollywood, the top actors get the big roles. The Jenkins role is a large part, and the Sparks role is kind of a background bit. And Flynn gets the Jenkins part because it is really the one where we can better use his charms and charisma. No offense, but you are kind of dull.”
“Really?” Barrister noted. “It still makes no sense to have a guy not playing himself.”
“Maybe,” Yates agreed. “But I have to say this. The guy who is playing Sparks does a better job in that role than Flynn does in real life.”
Trying to come to grips on what seemed like upside-down casting, Barrister continued to study the rest of the set. Not far from his men, he noted Shelby Beckett sitting in a chair beside a water cooler. She looked both beautiful and very nervous. As he noted her innocence, he was now almost sorry he’d put her through the experience of dating Sparks. But in a world where the studios controlled police investigations, it was his only way of beating the system. And it almost worked.
As he continued to study Shelby, the cop leaned close to Yates and asked, “How long before we begin?”
“Vic Melton’s not here yet, so it will be a few minutes.”
“Good, I’ll be right back. I think I’ll walk over and get a glass of water.”
Barrister, being careful not to trip over any wires or cords, casually made his way to the cooler. He grabbed a paper cup, took a long drink, and then finally greeted Shelby.
“I hope you are feeling well.”
“I’m not here because I want to be,” she assured him. “Why haven’t you arrested him? That would make me feel a lot better.”
“Because he got rid of the stuff you saw before I could get a warrant.”
Shelby reached into her purse and pulled out the gun, “You might want this back.”
After making sure no one was looking his way, Barrister took the weapon and slipped it into his pocket. With his eyes fixed on Sparks, he said, “Miss Beckett, I’m sorry it didn’t work out, but I do appreciate what you did. It took a lot of courage. And no one else has died recently. You can take some pride in that.”
“I just want it over,” she bluntly replied. “Is this movie really going to produce the evidence to get him?”
“I’ve been assured it will,” the cop replied. “Now, I need to get back to my chair. I want to be as close to this as possible when it all breaks.”
As Barrister ambled back through the set, Vic Melton strolled in. Behind him was a girl holding four folders in her arms.
74
July 22, 1936
From his place just off the set, Barrister watched Melton walk out into the middle of the large room and clap his hands. Once everyone was silent he took charge.
“Ladies and gentlemen and those of you who are neither, we are about to create film history. The writers have identified the person who is the Hollywood Madman. The scene we are about to shoot will reveal his identity. Deborah is passing out the scripts at this time.” Melton looked back to the police office as each of the actors took a folder and opened it.
“Vic,” Andrews announced with a wave, “this only has my lines.”
The director nodded, “That’s true. I wanted this to have the feel of shock and surprise. I wanted the actors to be reacting just as people would in real life. Therefore, no one knows what the other one is saying.” Melton turned back to the trio of thespians now studying their dialogue, “Each actor is given the cue word that calls them to action, but that is all they have. Also gentlemen, I want you to move and react as needed, and it will be the cameramen’s jobs to follow you. I’m going to give you five minutes, and then we’ll get started.”
Barrister leaned over to Yates, “Is this normal?”
The mogul shrugged, “We stepped out of the range of normal the moment Ellen convinced me to do this project. But no, I’ve never seen this before. Melton is a genius, so this will likely be great theater, and it will likely leave me in tears.”
“You will cry all the way to the bank,” Rains pointed out
. “The pain you experience will be temporary, but this will likely make your legend one that will live forever. In fact, it might just forever change how we do business.”
“I hope not,” Yates soberly responded, “I kind of like the old way. And Louis B. Mayer and Jack Warner do too.”
As the mogul finished his thoughts, Barrister looked over to an apprehensive Shelby and then to his two officers who seemed more than ready to move in and take the killer into custody. This was not a perfect way to make an arrest, but it seemed foolproof and that was the bottom line. And if something did go wrong, the captain was also comforted in knowing that all the doors to the building were being covered by at least two armed policemen. If the murderer was in this room, there would be no escape.
“Are you Captain Barrister?”
Turning, the cop looked into the smiling face of Vic Melton.
“I am.”
“May I ask you a favor?”
Barrister nodded.
“There will be a few lines that will need to be said after we announce the name of the murderer. I need for those to play out. I need for my guys to make the arrest and cuff the guy. After I yell ‘Cut,’ your people can move in.”
“We can do it that way,” Barrister agreed, “but I need to ask you something.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Andrews and Sparks are likely carrying weapons. Have they been checked? Do they have any live rounds in their guns?”
“I personally looked at each weapon before they were passed out,” Melton assured him. “As this scene requires no gunplay, they don’t even have blanks in them.”
“Good,” the cop assured him, “and my men won’t move until I signal.”
“Thank you,” Melton answered. As the director moved back toward the office set, he yelled out, “Do you guys know your lines?”
The three nodded.
“OK, Deborah, collect the scripts, actors take your places, and let’s do this.”
Barrister studied the three actors. Andrews, sitting behind the desk, appeared relaxed; Nelson, slumped in the chair, seemed eager; and Sparks, leaning on the edge of the desk, was nervously playing with his suit coat.
“Action.” Melton called out.
As the scene started, Andrews looked to Nelson, “It’s been a long time coming, but I think we’ve got you.”
“What makes you so sure it’s me?” Nelson shot back.
Barrister was amazed. The actor had perfectly captured Sparks’s cocky attitude.
Andrews continued, “You made a mistake, and it was a critical one.”
“Cap,” Sparks playing Jenkins cut in, “I’ve seen the evidence, and unless you have something new, we can’t tie him to anything.”
“Ah,” Andrews announced, “I do have something new.” The actor pulled a photograph from a desk drawer and then continued with his dialogue. “Here is a picture of you and Rose Trebour. A fan snapped it when you stopped to give a Miss Molly Riddle your autograph. You will note that it was taken when you left the studio with Miss Trebour at your side.”
“So we had a date,” Nelson shot back. “It proves nothing.”
“That jacket you’re wearing proves a lot,” Andrews explained as he got up and moved toward Nelson. “The next morning, you brought this same jacket into wardrobe to have a torn place repaired in the coat. After it was fixed, it was then returned to the set. When you put it on that night after a day of shooting, four witnesses saw something drop out onto the ground. You were in such a hurry, you didn’t notice. Those four were Deborah Rawlings, a script girl; Emma Nance, a maid; Jeff Weiss, who was an extra; and your costar Dalton Andrews.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nelson snapped.
A pale Sparks leaned closer, “What was it that fell out, Cap?”
“In the photo,” Andrews explained, “Miss Trebour was wearing a bracelet with her initials inscribed on a heart. Now study this picture of the woman at the crime scene. There is no bracelet.” Andrews took a long look at Sparks playing Jenkins. He appeared almost paralyzed. Before delivering the next line, he looked back to Nelson. “But the witnesses saw that bracelet fall out of your pocket. The only thing that could have happened is that it must have fallen off in the struggle between you and Miss Trebour the night you killed her, and somehow it dropped into your coat. That is what will hang you, Flynn Sparks.”
“No! That’s not right!”
Along with everyone else, Barrister looked off the set and to the side of the stage. Rushing with purpose toward the actors was Shelby Beckett. As she moved into the view of the camera, an angry Melton screamed, “Cut!”
75
July 22, 1936
Shelby was now standing between Andrews and Nelson, with Sparks about six feet in front of her. Her blues eyes were on fire, and she was pointing the index finger of her right hand right at Andrews, who up until the stop in the action had been playing Barrister.
From his seat just off the set, the real Bill Barrister observed the strange scene playing out before him with interest. What was this all about? What was the girl doing? Except for Shelby, it appeared everyone else was all but frozen.
“I’m betting this wasn’t in the script,” Ellen Rains whispered to no one.
Meanwhile, his face now as red as his hair, Vic Melton yanked himself from a trance, jumped from his chair, tossed his copy of the script down on the floor, and exploded like a volcano.
“What in the name of all that is and has ever been are you doing?” the director screamed. “You ruined what was shaping up to be an incredible scene.” Rushing up to the woman, he stood inches from her, his hands balled into fists, and yelled, “Don’t you know you can’t just rush on a set? How stupid are you? I don’t care what you do or where you work, you are fired. Get off this lot now!”
Andrews stepped out from behind the desk and shoved the director back into a dolly. “Can it Vic, or I’ll take you out. And I can do it too.”
“And,” Sparks added, “If Dalton can’t do the job, I can.”
“What kind of madhouse is this?” Melton demanded. “Someone tell me who’s in charge here?”
Yates pushed off his chair, stepped onto the set, and quietly announced, “I’m in charge. And, Vic, you can’t fire the girl.”
Rains leaned over to Barrister, “This should be in the script. It’s a shame the cameras aren’t rolling right now.”
Barrister watched as Melton frowned and walked back over to his chair. After he was seated, the studio mogul looked toward Shelby. “What is this all about?”
“The script’s wrong,” she suggested. “And I can prove it.”
Yates leaned over to the girl and whispered something. She then softly spoke her answer into his ear. After nodding, he looked back to Melton.
“Vic, let’s pick it up with the last line Dalton says, then let’s have Shelby run in through the office door and say ‘no.’ At that point, Dalton can ad-lib his questions to her. If things run as smoothly as I think they will, we will just keep it going until the actors don’t have anything left in their bag of tricks. Then we can determine what we’ve got.”
“You’re serious?” Melton asked.
“Dead serious. If what Shelby told me is right, then our script might be wrong.” Yates paused, “And Ellen, let’s you and I stand over here. This thing might take a turn where we need to walk through that door and add our two cents’ worth.”
“I’m game,” the columnist announced as she pushed from her chair. “I’ve always thought the studios missed out not signing me as an actress. Move over Marie Dressler, here I come.”
Barrister looked at her, “I thought Dressler was dead.”
“She is,” Rains said with a grin as she walked toward the set, “Marie died in thirty-four, but I’m ready to fill her shoes.”
“Nelson,” a still-dazed Melton called out, “please remember you are playing the role of Sparks. And Flynn, if you need to disagree with anything that Nelson is saying, try to f
igure out a way to do it and keep in the character of Barry Jenkins.” He stopped and pointed to Shelby, “And you, get outside the room and please cry out ‘No, that’s not right’ with the same conviction you did a few minutes ago. Let’s get set.”
The director watched everyone get in place before he shrugged and admitted, “I have no idea what I’m doing.” He looked at his camera operators, “This time use all three. Doug, you do close work; Ron, follow the action with medium shots; and Ray, you keep the whole office in your view.” He pointed once more to Shelby, “What’s your name?”
“Shelby.”
“Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
“Dalton, are you ready to go with your last series of lines?”
“I’m ready.”
Melton shook his head, “I still have no idea what I’m doing. Let’s get ready. Cameras. Action.”
Andrews began, “In the photo Miss Trebour was wearing a bracelet with her initials inscribed on a heart. Now look at this photo of the woman at the crime scene. There is no bracelet. The only thing that could have happened is that it must have fallen off in the struggle between you and Miss Trebour the night you killed her, and somehow it dropped into your coat. That is what will hang you, Flynn Sparks.”
Shelby charged in and screamed, “No, it couldn’t have happened that way.”
Acting shocked, Andrews looked to the woman standing in the doorway and demanded, “Who are you?”
With scores of fascinated eyes looking on, the young woman continued into the office.
“I’m Shelby Beckett. I work in the studio’s wardrobe department. The morning after the murder of Miss Trebour, Flynn Sparks brought his jacket into our department to fix. He’d lost two buttons.”
Andrews, now once more immersed in his role as Barrister and working on instinct only, demanded, “What does that have to do with anything?”
“We have a policy,” Shelby announced. “We search every pocket and take out every item before we do any work on the clothing. I took everything out of the pocket of Flynn Sparks’s coat that morning and put them in a small sack. There was no bracelet in the jacket.”
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