Starlight

by Alexandra Richland

  Just after seven, Marie stood before the mirror in her bedroom, attempting to remove the tightly wrapped curlers from her hair. She tossed the last one aside, muttering never again, and met her reflection with a wince. The result of her painful extraction was a bird’s nest of frizz; definitely not the look she was going for.

  In the bathroom, she turned on the tap and ran her hands under the faucet. She tried to tame the chaotic style, but it ended up looking worse than before. All she could do to fix her hair was to pull it back into her usual ponytail. There was no time for anything else.

  Marie noticed in films that actresses usually wore dramatic eye makeup and richly colored lipstick. If she was ever going to compete with all of the other young women filming screen tests this week, she felt she had to make drastic alterations to her appearance. She opted to use a pair of Olivia’s false eyelashes, dark brown eyeliner, and bright red lipstick in order to achieve a mature look, and topped off her transformation by adding rouge to her cheeks, even though she normally never used it.

  After changing into her dress, Marie dabbed Olivia’s dime-store fragrance onto each wrist and behind her ears, instead of using her usual vanilla perfume. Then she grabbed her white clutch purse off her dresser and headed out the door.

  Initially, she was going to ride her bike to her screen test. The studio wasn’t too far along Sunset Boulevard from where she lived and the weather was beautiful. Olivia, however, insisted she take the motorbus just in case her dress tangled in the pedals of the bicycle and scuffed, or a car blew exhaust fumes at her so she smelled undesirable.

  Marie made her way down Luxor Boulevard toward Sunset, her dress and ponytail fluttering in the warm breeze. Her shoes felt uncomfortable and her legs wobbled unsteadily. As she reached Sunset, her bus arrived. She picked up the pace, careful not to stumble, and boarded just in time. She deposited five cents and took her seat at the front.

  Throughout the trip, she fidgeted, crossing and uncrossing her legs, and toying with her purse in her lap. Her anxiety increased as the journey progressed. Desperate for a distraction, she looked out the window and focused on the palm trees, the various restaurants and hotels lining the road, and the sharply dressed citizens rushing to their nine-to-five jobs.

  As her stop approached, Marie stood and excused herself past the elderly woman occupying the seat next to her. It didn’t take her long to locate her destination once she stepped off the bus. Towering in front of her, about twenty feet back from the sidewalk, were the black wrought-iron main gates belonging to Starlight Studios.

  She walked up to the entrance and stopped before a speaker box mounted on a cement pole. Leaning toward the speaker, she cleared her throat softly.

  “Hello?”

  The voice transmitted from the speaker box was barely audible. “Starlight Studios security. How may I help you?”

  “My name is Marie Bates. I have an appointment with Mr. Nathan Taggart at ten o’clock today.”

  Another muffled reply came from the speaker box and then the gates creaked open. Marie focused ahead. A security hut with an automatic wooden arm was situated in the distance. She recalled Mr. Taggart’s words from their telephone conversation the other day:

  When you drive up, tell the guard at the gate you have a personal appointment with me.

  When you drive up …

  Marie wasn’t in a vehicle and she wore shoes with a heel height that felt foreign to her, which meant her journey to studio fourteen, soundstage two, dressing room one, was going to be more difficult than she originally thought.

  Exhaling deeply, she began her long trek to the security hut. Her shoes echoed off the pavement below and the concrete walls on either side of her. The driveway was wide enough for at least six cars and here she was, petite at only five-foot four inches tall, walking sheepishly along the middle. The intimidation she felt was almost enough to make her turn around and head home.

  Upon Marie’s arrival at the security hut, she knocked on the small window. An elderly man with deep wrinkles and gray hair appeared on the other side. He presented a welcoming smile and slid the window open.

  “Hello, young lady. So you’re here to see Nathan Taggart?”

  “Yes, sir, my name is Marie Bates and I’m supposed to go to—” Marie blanched. She couldn’t remember her directions, even after all of her practice. Embarrassed, she fumbled with the clasp of her purse and pulled out a piece of folded Schwab’s stationary. She unfolded the paper clumsily and read her scribbled instructions.

  “I’m supposed to go to …” She squinted at the note. “Studio fourteen … soundstage two … dressing room one.”

  “Ah, you’re here for a screen test.”

  She placed her directions back in her purse. “Yes, sir.”

  “Please, Ms. Bates, call me Charlie.”

  She extended her hand through the window. “Well then, Charlie, please call me Marie.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Marie.” He shook her hand firmly. “Now let’s get you to your destination, shall we?” His eyebrows furrowed. “Most folks arrive at the studio in a vehicle of some sort, not on foot. It’s a long walk to where you want to go from here. Would you like me to call up a company car to drive you?”

  Marie felt ridiculous requesting Charlie to summon a studio car just for her.

  “Oh, gosh, no,” she said with a wave of her hand. “I don’t mind walking. I walk all the time.”

  Just not in high heels, she added to herself.

  Charlie chuckled. “Well, you sure are a determined woman, I’ll give you that. Okay, now listen carefully because this place is like its own city within a city, if you get what I mean. Now, to get to the studio fourteen area, drive—I mean, walk—straight ahead and make a right after the second building.” He poked his head out of the window and pointed in the direction in which she had to travel. “When you pass that second building, make a right. Are you following me so far, Marie?”

  She nodded.

  “After you make that right, continue walking straight ahead until you pass three buildings on your left. Once you pass that third building, turn left. Now, after you make that left turn, just look up. You will see that each building is labeled with large black numbers. You want building number two. You can’t miss it.”

  Marie nodded again.

  “Approach the unmarked door at the side of soundstage two and knock. Clarence—he’s the security man there—will answer. Tell him you want dressing room one, and he’ll escort you. Can you remember all that?”

  Another nod.

  “Good girl, you’ll be just fine.” Charlie grinned. “Have fun and good luck.”

  He slid the window shut, leaving Marie on her own. She looked around. It seemed like she was the only person on the lot. There were no voices, no cars, and no commotion—nothing but silence. She straightened her posture and took a step forward. The automatic arm rose before her like it would for a vehicle. She could have walked around, but instead she passed under it and continued onward.

  She counted the buildings as she passed them.

  One …

  Two …

  Her feet ached by the time she reached the third building.

  As she rounded the corner, her jaw dropped. She felt like she had been transported into another world. Men and women hurriedly carried props in and out of the buildings lining the road, which was now cluttered with cables, generators, tripods, and spotlights. Several people wheeled wardrobes full of costumes from one location to another. Others wore headphones and barked out orders. The hum of saws, the smell of freshly cut timber, a dusty cowboy talking to an American Indian in full tribal attire; a Salome drinking from a paper cup in the shade of a prairie schooner. She couldn’t for the life of her have predicted such scene when she first began her trek.

  Marie clutched her purse in front of her and excused herself as she walked through the crowd. She soon realized she was so busy focusing on the commotion around her that she didn’t count the number of
buildings she had passed since she made her last turn.

  She glanced over her shoulder to count when a plump woman carrying colorful costume hats brushed by her, shoving feathers in her face. Marie gasped and sputtered as she frantically waved them away. The woman continued on her way without even acknowledging Marie, let alone offering an apology.

  Marie looked up and saw the number two written on a building to her right. She figured this was the right place and walked to the unmarked door. A gentleman wearing a sheriff costume, as identified by his badge, exited as she approached. Marie grabbed the door just before it closed and stepped inside the building.

  The vast room that greeted her on the other side seemed deserted. The silence was a stark contrast to the loud noises outside. Most perplexing was that the security guard who was supposed to welcome her at the door was absent.

  Marie’s eyes widened as she ventured further inside and realized that she was on a film set. She wondered if this was where she was going to film her screen test. Several cameras surrounded what looked like a scene from the Wild West. The mural painted on the back wall imitated the outside of a saloon, large spotlights hung from the ceiling, and haystacks, lassos, and black cables scattered across the floor.

  Mindful of the debris, she walked along the dusty ground, which was the makeshift road for the western town. She stepped up onto the wooden planks that made up the boardwalk and headed to the wall serving as the front of the saloon.

  “What do you think you’re doing, little lady?”

  Marie wheeled around and met the broad chest of a man wearing a blue plaid shirt and tan leather vest. As she looked down, she took in his cowboy boots, blue jeans, and a thick leather belt with a metal bull’s face for the buckle.

  Tentatively, she lifted her head.

  Higher …

  Higher …

  She gasped as she met the familiar face of actor, John Wayne.

  Mr. Wayne’s expression was grim. “I asked you a question. What are you doing here, little lady?”

  Marie tried to remain calm. “Mr. Wayne, I’m so sorry. I was looking for Clarence, the security guard. I have a screen test today and I got lost and—”

  “Who are you calling Mr. Wayne, little lady?” He took a step forward. “My name is Hondo Lane and you’re trespassing on my territory.”

  Marie shrank away from him. “Hondo?”

  He pointed his forefinger between her eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Marie gulped and glanced down at the bulky item nestled in the leather holster that hung on the side of his hip.

  A gun!

  The blood drained from her face. She backed up but didn’t get far. She had hit the wall. Frantically, she looked to her left and right, trying to plan her escape. She quickly realized there was no way out.

  To Marie’s surprise, Hondo laughed. “Oh, gee, Miss, I’m sorry. I just thought I’d have a little fun. I’ve been filming my latest motion picture, Hondo, and I thought I’d approach you in character. We are on one of the sets, after all.”

  Marie’s trembling didn’t cease even after his clarification.

  Mr. Wayne’s eyes softened. “I really didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Marie glanced down at the gun again. Dizziness washed over her and she stumbled.

  Mr. Wayne gripped her arms, steadying her. “Whoa there, little lady, I think you better sit down.” He led her away from the set and plopped her down onto a wooden chair.

  Marie fanned her face with her hand. “Thank you, Mr. Wayne. I suppose it wasn’t smart of me to skip breakfast this morning. I’m feeling quite faint.”

  “Well, just sit down and relax for a moment. It should pass.”

  She placed her palm over her rapidly beating heart. “That was quite the performance. You sure startled me!”

  “I really didn’t know you were going to react like that, ma’am. I guess I underestimated my acting talent,” he joked.

  Marie giggled. Then she remembered why she came here in the first place. She leapt to her feet and discovered her balance was still shaky. Mr. Wayne grabbed her shoulder to help steady her again.

  “Oh no. What time is it?” She scanned the soundstage for a clock.

  Mr. Wayne pulled out a pocket watch. Marie was surprised that it was real since he was in costume.

  He noted her confusion. “It’s a prop, but it works.”

  Her eyes darted to the gun on his hip.

  Mr. Wayne smiled. “That’s a prop, too, but it doesn’t actually work.” He replaced the pocket watch. “It’s nearly nine thirty.”

  “Oh goodness, I’m late. You see, I was supposed to be at … drat!” She yanked open her purse and pulled out her instructions. “Studio fourteen, soundstage two, dressing room one,” she finished quickly, tucking the paper away again.

  Mr. Wayne frowned. “Yes, you sure are lost. This is studio thirteen, soundstage two. Lucky for you, I was just leaving for the other side of the lot to film another scene. My driver is outside waiting for me right now. I can have him drop you off.”

  This time Marie didn’t hesitate in accepting a ride to her destination. If she had agreed to Charlie’s offer of a studio car earlier, she wouldn’t have been running late right now.

  “Thank you, Hondo.” She enveloped him in a hug.

  Mr. Wayne’s chest echoed with laughter. “You’re welcome, little lady.”

  Marie followed him out the door she came in. A black limousine was parked alongside the building. She walked toward the front passenger’s side.

  Mr. Wayne gripped her elbow.

  “No, we sit in the back.” He guided her in the correct direction.

  An older gentleman dressed in a black suit and hat held the back door open for her. Marie climbed inside the vehicle and he shut the door. The opposite door opened and Mr. Wayne sat down beside her. Once they settled, the dividing window rolled down, revealing the chauffeur sitting behind the wheel.

  “Where to, Duke?”

  “Studio fourteen, soundstage two. Thanks, Dave.”

  Marie’s face flushed. Mr. Wayne remembered the instructions and he’d only heard them once.

  The driver nodded and turned his attention to the front. Marie gazed out of the nearest tinted window. This was her first time in a limousine, but given her concern over making her appointment punctually, she couldn’t enjoy the ride.

  Within no time, they were parked again. The driver exited the vehicle and opened Marie’s door. She turned to Mr. Wayne.

  “Hondo,” she said, using her new nickname for him. “If it wasn’t for you …”

  He laughed. “If it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t have almost fainted.”

  “If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have found the correct address and made my appointment at all,” she corrected. “Thank you.”

  “No problem, kid,” he replied. “Hey, you must be testing for that new circus comedy Luther Mertz is starting next month. You sure look the part in that get-up, so I bet you’ll get the job.”

  Marie didn’t have time to inquire into Mr. Wayne’s peculiar comments. She forced a smile and shook his hand, thanking him again for helping her. After exiting the vehicle, she looked up. The number two was painted on the side of the building in front of her. Finally, she was in the right place.

  She knocked on the closest, unmarked steel door and an older looking gentleman in a dark blue security uniform answered. His nametag read, Clarence.

  “You must be Marie,” he said. “I was starting to think you weren’t going to show up. Mr. Taggart is waiting for you. I’ll take you to him.”

  He gestured for her to step inside and she followed him down a poorly lit hallway.

  They stopped before a door marked one and Clarence knocked. Marie waited behind him. The door flung open, revealing Mr. Taggart on the other side.

  He focused on Clarence with cheerful blue eyes. “So, she found us.”

  Clarence chuckled. “Yes, she did.”

  Mr. Taggart pushed the sleeves of his b
utton-down shirt above his elbows. “Marie, I’m glad you’re here. I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind.”

  Clarence took off down the corridor.

  Marie dropped her gaze to the floor. “I’m sorry I’m late. I got lost, you see. Then I ran into Hondo, I mean, John Wayne, and he dropped me off in his limousine.”

  She lifted her head and was shocked to find Mr. Taggart’s eyes no longer shone as he scanned her from head to toe.

  Panic overwhelmed her.

  “Marie!” he said. “What the heck happened to the girl behind the counter?”

  Chapter Seven

  “What do you mean?” Marie’s voice shook. “It’s me, Marie Bates, from Schwab’s.”

  Mr. Taggart ran his hand through his coiffed blond hair. “What did you do to yourself?”

  “What do you mean, what did I do?”

  He motioned to her. “This!”

  “I thought this is what you wanted,” she replied. “You said you wanted me to film a screen test and I figured since my normal appearance is so plain, I had to do something to look more like a movie star.”

  Mr. Taggart shook his head. “Marie, that’s why I asked you to meet me here. Specific hair, makeup, and wardrobe techniques are used to offset issues created by the camera and lighting. Victoria and Francois, two of Luther Mertz’s top stylists are inside this dressing room. They will assist you today.”

  Marie’s cheeks flamed. She knew this whole screen test/movie star business wasn’t for her. Her mistake just confirmed it.

  “Hey, listen to me,” Mr. Taggart said softly. “Your dress is very pretty. It’s your hair and makeup that are the problem. Don’t feel discouraged. I asked you to film a screen test because I liked what I saw that day in Schwab’s. All of this,” he gestured to her face, “isn’t you, is it?”

  Marie shook her head.