“Over there.” Farrow pointed to one of the tables. It was larger than all the other tables around it, and half occupied by ten or so men and women, dressed in varying degrees of glamour. He herded the three of them over and they all settled into the vacant seats.
“Now,” Farrow said, making introductions, “you remember my two cameramen from your shoot last month, don’t you?” He gestured to two of the less fancily attired gentlemen at the table.
“Good to see you again,” one of the cameramen said, nodding.
“And this here is Mr. Cecil Bauer,” Farrow said, patting a bespectacled gentleman on the shoulder. “If you two sign with me, he’ll be the director for your feature film.”
Louis’s eyes went wide and he scrambled to shake Mr. Bauer’s hand. Harry shook, too, but with more reserve. Ava frowned.
“I didn’t realize you’d already picked out a director,” she said to Farrow. “Isn’t it a little early for that?”
“Why, that’s how Hollywood works!” Farrow said, waving a relaxed hand. “So many moving parts to every picture; best to line them up and get things into motion as early as possible.”
He continued with his introductions. There was a scriptwriter, a cinematographer, a soundman, and several beautiful actresses. (“Why, Eagle must rescue a damsel or two in distress! The audience will expect it!” Farrow roared.)
“And, finally, here you have the best pilot in all the business, ‘Firefly’ Clancy!”
Ava stiffened, surprised. “I thought you said we could bring in our own pilots?”
Again Farrow waved a hand, but it was becoming clear he was growing irritated with Ava’s presence.
“Yes, yes,” he said. “We can certainly talk about that option, if you insist. But as these boys are aviators themselves, I thought at the very least they’d like to meet one of Hollywood’s most famous stunt pilots!”
The evening carried on in the same manner. Food was periodically brought to their table and cleared away, while champagne was regularly replenished in a steady stream. Some couples got up to take a spin on the dance floor; others drifted over to take their seats at Farrow’s table.
At one point, the cinematographer’s wife—a gaunt yet glamorous women with dyed red hair—said in a confidential tone, “My husband tells me you do some sort of scripted air show with a hero and a villain . . .”
“That’s right.” Louis nodded.
“I see,” said the cinematographer’s wife. “I assume you play the hero and the Chinaman plays the villain?”
“I’m Japanese, as a matter of fact,” Harry said.
“Oh!” the woman exclaimed, briefly clutching her chest as though surprised to hear Harry speak. She had clearly mistaken his silence for an inability to speak English. “Oh,” she said, recovering herself, “Japanese. Well—that works just as well for a good villain, doesn’t it?”
Harry smiled, but Ava noticed a trace of sadness in it.
“I suppose it does.”
The woman leaned in over the table and dropped back into a confidential tone. “I did so love The Mask of Fu Manchu—positively terrifying!” She shivered as though to demonstrate the chills the film had given her.
As the sun dipped lower and the hours wore on, Ava noticed the two boys growing more and more divided in spirit. Harry was becoming more reserved, while Louis glowed with an excited, newfound optimism. The problem, Ava knew, was that they both had to decide to sign Farrow’s contract together—or not. And, to Ava’s surprise, it looked to her like Harry was leaning toward not.
She bit her lip and glanced at Louis, who seemed impervious to Harry’s discomfort. Perhaps it would be best to pull him aside and warn him not to get too carried away. She leaned over and tapped Louis on the shoulder.
“Would you mind taking a little walk with me?”
Louis looked flattered and pleased. “A walk? You sure you wouldn’t like to dance?”
“No, but a walk would be lovely, if you don’t mind.”
“Well, all right.”
They set off in a slow stroll and made a wide turn of the grounds. They kept walking until they ceased to pass any more fellow party guests. They kept walking until the tinkle of glassware and the laughter and the band music were all muted to a low, faraway din.
At the end of a red-brick path they spotted a gazebo overlooking the ocean. The structure was cantilevered over the edge of a small cliff, affording an incredible view. Ava steered them toward it.
“I woulda thought you’d be afraid of this,” Louis said as they stepped out onto the precariously perched gazebo.
“Oh?” Ava replied, absentmindedly. Looking down at the wooden floor, she could see skinny stripes of ocean far below, peeking up at her from between gaps in the planks. It was a long drop to the water. The sound of crashing waves rose up to fill the air all around them. But Ava was lost in thought, trying to come up with a way to break it to Louis gently that there was a chance Harry might not sign.
“Yeah,” Louis said. “Afraid of heights, ain’t ya?” He paused and studied her face. Ava got the impression he was almost suspicious of something and was testing her somehow. “That’s why you never been up in the Stearman, right?”
Ava’s heart skipped a quick beat. Louis couldn’t possibly know about her flights with Harry, could he? But there was no time to wonder about that now. She decided to change the subject.
“Listen, Louis,” Ava said, “that picture deal . . . you know it isn’t exactly straightforward. I mean, weren’t you a bit insulted last night when Farrow said he wanted Harry to wear your costume and do your stunts, but for you to be the face?”
Louis shrugged. “Sure I was. Any man worth his salt would be insulted. But I don’t know . . . it’s still the opportunity of a lifetime. We’d be fools to walk away, and frankly, I can’t afford to.”
Ava was slightly subdued by this. She understood Louis’s financial need, and the rift between him and his family.
“And besides,” Louis continued, “Harry and I are in it together. I’m sure he’s partly insulted, too. But we can laugh together about it—all the way to the bank, I expect.”
Ava saw her opportunity. “Well, that’s just it, Louis,” she said. “I can tell Harry is bothered by a lot of things about this deal . . . and perhaps a lot more bothered than you are.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“No . . . I can just . . . tell.”
“Well, don’t worry about Harry. He’s a smart, practical fella. He’s used to this. It’s nothin’ new to him. He knows perfectly well he’s a Jap, and he’s sharp enough to understand this is just how the world works.”
Ava shook her head. “I don’t know, Louis.”
“Well, good thing I do.”
Ava’s mouth clamped shut. She realized that no matter what she said, Louis was not going to listen to her. Maybe she was wrong about Harry’s feelings, anyway. She felt sure, though, that she wasn’t. She felt a fresh wave of sympathy for Louis, wondering how he’d ever face his brother Guy if the Hollywood contract didn’t go through.
She reached for Louis’s hand. He had worked so hard. So many of the show’s ideas were his. There was something she wanted to say to him, but she wasn’t quite sure how to phrase it.
Before Ava knew it, Louis was kissing her. She was surprised. Down below, the waves crashed against the rocks, a thunderous uproar in her ears, adding to her feeling of dizzy disorientation. Not knowing what else to do, Ava kissed him back.
* * *
Ava was certain Harry knew about their kiss almost the instant they returned to the table. Louis was terrible at hiding his feelings or keeping a secret. Since the kiss he’d grown downright jubilant. He left a vaguely possessive arm lingering on the back of Ava’s chair. He insisted she take a spin on the dance floor with him a couple of times.
Ava met Harry’s knowin
g gaze and cringed, but Harry said nothing. It was a wonderful, terrible evening, and Ava felt the night was steadily spinning toward some sort of disastrous conclusion.
Her suspicions were confirmed a few hours later. The garden had been transformed into an enchanted wood, with paper lanterns hanging from all the trees and candles guttering in the ocean breeze. The ocean itself had become a black void far off in the distance, the steady roar of waves the only reminder of its now-faceless presence.
Buster Farrow had wandered away from their table, milling around with the other guests, dancing with a few young aspiring starlets. Puffing away on yet another cigar, he now came back around to check on his prospective stuntmen, a signature trail of heavy, sickly-sweet smoke drifting behind him.
“I swear to ya, boys,” he said, clapping Louis and Harry on the backs, “I can’t tell you how excited I am to have you star in my next picture! You boys are something special! Audiences go nuts for real stunts, and you oughta see the cameras they have these days. The ones we used for the screen test footage are nothing in comparison! These new cameras capture the action like you wouldn’t believe!”
Louis grinned. He was about to reply, when Harry cleared his throat and spoke first.
“I’ve been thinking about things, Mr. Farrow . . .” Harry began. Ava admired his bravery while at the same time bracing herself for what she knew was coming. “I’ve been really mulling it all over . . .”
Farrow frowned.
“I hope you’ve come to the conclusion that you’ll never get a better offer than this!” he prompted.
“With all due respect,” Harry said, “and I certainly don’t wish to offend you . . . but the arrangement you described . . .” Harry hesitated, then plunged forward. “It just doesn’t sit right with me.”
Farrow’s sizable eyebrows shot into the air.
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” he demanded. “You’re turning the contract down?”
“Speaking for myself,” Harry replied, “I am.”
Farrow was taken aback. His jaw went slack, revealing a set of curiously long, British-looking teeth. His complexion flushed red with anger. Then, after no more than five seconds ticked by, the shock and anger passed almost as quickly as they had arrived. Farrow’s mouth closed. The red drained from his skin like ink going down a drain, and he forced a smile.
“Suit yourself, son,” he said. He shook his head as though at a naughty pupil he couldn’t be bothered to discipline anymore. There was an insinuation of disposal in his voice. “I assure you, it’s your loss—both of you.” His eyes moved briefly to Louis, as though to dismiss him, too. “But suit yourself . . . We’ll move on to our backup choice.”
Farrow walked away, back into the endlessly milling bodies of the party.
Harry turned to his friend, who so far had not uttered a word.
“I’m sorry, Louis,” Harry said.
All three fell silent. Ava looked between the two friends.
The expression on Louis’s face was colder and blacker than anything she had ever seen.
46
Newcastle, California * September 23, 1943
Bonner is back in the front parlor of the Yamada house for what he believes will be one last visit. The time has come for Bonner to be more direct. It is already Thursday, and if he hopes to make one last attempt to squeeze any answer out of Louis Thorn, it is time to lay his cards on the table.
“What can we help you with this time?” Ava asks in a deceptively pleasant voice. She pours some tea in a pretty porcelain cup for him—hot tea instead of iced, as it is still morning, and the afternoon heat hasn’t set in just yet. Bonner already knows: She would rather he go.
It is Bonner, Ava, and Louis today; according to Ava, Cleo Shaw is busy working in the orchards. Bonner doesn’t insist that they fetch her. He turned up at the Yamada doorstep unannounced, and it is Louis Thorn whom he really wants to speak to, anyway. He clears his throat and decides to ease into it, to bring up the things he’s heard about their Hollywood business and see what kind of reaction it gets.
“We haven’t talked much about your barnstorming act,” Bonner says now, “at least, not the newer one you organized after Earl Shaw was no longer part of the operation . . . Eagle & Crane, was it?”
Ava and Louis exchange a quick flicker of a look.
“Yes,” Louis replies. “That was the name.”
“Named for the two costumed personas you and Harry portrayed, is that correct?”
“Yes. You already know all this,” Louis says. “I told you all that on the day of the crash.”
“That’s right,” Bonner agrees. He taps a pencil against the open page of his reporter’s notebook. “I wrote it all down right here.” He licks his thumb and flips a page. “I don’t mean to be insensitive. I only need to ask a few more questions about the barnstorming act itself.”
“You still need to know more about Eagle & Crane?” Louis sounds puzzled.
Bonner nods. “More specifically, I need to inquire about the relative success of the show.”
“Its success?”
“Would you say it was a financial success?”
Louis and Ava appear slightly unnerved.
Louis shrugs. “We were able to draw folks out to the airstrip, get them to buy air show tickets . . . but it was a more expensive show than we’d ever done, so the profits . . . well, they were just okay, I reckon.”
Bonner smiles and affirms this with an easy nod. He is ready to prod Louis with the next round of questions. He flips a notebook page and pretends to look at it.
“Something else I meant to ask about . . . Deputy Henderson informed me that Eagle & Crane had attracted the attention of Hollywood—that it got an offer from some sort of big-time producer.”
Neither Louis nor Ava says anything, so Bonner presses on.
“I tried to dig around as best I could and came up with a name—a big name, as a matter of fact.”
“Oh?” Ava says.
“Yes. Buster Farrow. That’s the name I heard. I heard he was interested in offering you boys a nice Hollywood contract to make a feature film based on your Eagle & Crane act, full of your stunt work.”
“That didn’t come to nothin’,” Louis says.
From the tone of Louis’s voice, Bonner knows he’s hit a nerve.
“Was it you or Harry who killed the deal?” Bonner asks point-blank.
“Beg pardon?”
“Farrow made the offer, and it’s clear that one or both of you declined,” Bonner states. “So, which way around was it?”
Louis doesn’t say anything. Bonner looks at Ava, but she is looking at Louis, a worried expression on her face. Bonner knows he’s guessed correctly, and Ava’s expression is as close to confirmation as he’s going to get.
“That must’ve made you pretty mad,” he says now.
Louis won’t look at him or reply. He only stares down at the Yamadas’ rug.
“What was your relationship with Harry like after he lost you the Hollywood offer?” Bonner asks, and at this, suddenly Louis snaps back to life.
“He didn’t ‘lose me’ anything,” Louis replies, irritated. “It . . . it just wasn’t meant to be.”
“All right,” Bonner relents, trying to reintroduce a friendly tone to his voice. “How about business after that? Did Eagle & Crane carry on with regular performances?”
Louis shrugs.
“It was close enough to the end of the season anyhow,” he says. “We weren’t some anonymous traveling circus anymore; we were running a bona fide air show. The idea was always to put the Stearman away during the wet months—November, December, January—and then take ’er out again when the weather dried up in the spring.”
“So you remained in contact with Harry?” Bonner asks. “Your relationship remained friendly, even after he turned do
wn Buster Farrow’s offer?”
Louis shrugs again. “I suppose.”
“We all went back home,” Ava said. “We went back to work in the orchards and on the ranches. Things . . . things blew over.”
Bonner notices as Ava throws a nervous look in Louis’s direction, as if silently asking him to confirm that was indeed the way of things.
“What was the amount Buster Farrow proposed to pay you, Mr. Thorn?”
“Beg your pardon?”
“How much money would you have made if you and Harry had signed the Hollywood contract?”
It is plain that Louis understands the accusation Bonner is making. He stares at Bonner, and for a fleeting moment Bonner believes he discerns a flash of quiet anger ripple over the young man’s brow. But then Louis’s expression changes again, and the anger appears to subside. His body goes limp and he shakes his head.
“It doesn’t matter. We never would have gotten it anyway.”
“And why is that?” Bonner asks.
“The war,” Ava interjects. Her voice bold, she looks Bonner squarely in the eye. “The war,” she repeats, as though to emphasize the obtuse nature of Bonner’s question.
Pearl Harbor. She means Pearl Harbor. It was always fated to come up; now here it is.
“The Hollywood deal would’ve been pretty good, like you say,” Louis says now, explaining in a quiet, measured tone. “But even if Harry had signed on, it wouldn’t have mattered. We weren’t supposed to film until spring, and then, what happened in Hawaii . . . it changed everything.”
Bonner mulls this over for a minute. It didn’t prove Louis’s innocence, but Ava and Louis do have a point about the timing: Harry turned down the offer in October, and Pearl Harbor happened in December.
Eagle & Crane Page 29