by ILIL ARBEL
“They say I must take the chance,” said Mr. Alcott.
“And what does Mr. Goldwasser say?”
“He approves. So does Miss Tudor. And I asked Rush, and he says everyone does it. But I wanted to hear what you say.”
“My opinion does not count, Nes. You have to do as the studio tells you, and that is how it is,” said Maisie, realizing she had no power left at all and giving in to fate.
“So I will have to do it,” said Mr. Alcott gloomily. “I don’t know yet who they picked for me. I hope it’s not Olga, at least, since she is so annoying. Remember her, Maise? The one who took the photographs with me? She constantly fiddled with her hair and jewelry... Life is hell, Maisie.”
“But you love acting, right?”
“No, I don’t care about acting, never did, I just wanted to be a star. I thought it would be great fun to be famous.”
“And now you are a star.”
“I know, but I am not sure if it will ever be fun.”
“What would you have done if you were not ‘discovered’ by Miss Tudor?”
“I would stay in the business of production. I enjoyed the work tremendously when I worked with Mr. Goldwasser. But I still want to be a star. It’s all so confusing, Maisie.” Maisie’s kind heart relented a little toward her old friend. She decided she would wait and see how the engagement went on before she condemned him as a fake and a charlatan. At that moment, the doorbell rang.
“Oh my God,” said Mr. Alcott. “I completely forgot. It’s the singing teacher… she said she would drop in to deliver some sheet music we must start working on.” From behind the door, Maisie heard Helga’s robust laugh and a few words, and then the door burst open and Helga strode in.
“Good evening, Miss Robinson. Good evening, Mr. Alcott,” roared Helga cheerfully. “Helga remembered, and brought the sheet music she did, Mr. Alcott. You will sing them like a bird.”
“So how are the lessons advancing, Helga?” asked Maisie. She would have preferred to call Helga Miss something or other, but Helga never divulged her surname, and everyone called her by her Christian name.
“Superb!” said Helga. “Mr. Alcott has a voice like this little bird, what’s her name, Helga forgot…”
“Nightingale?” suggested Maisie.
“I thank you, yes, nightingale,” said Helga and patted Mr. Alcott’s shoulder with a loving touch that made him cringe with pain. “One day, a great singer he will be, Helga promises.” And she sat down heavily on one of the chairs, smiling at them like a doting mother.
“Will you have some coffee and cake, Helga?” asked Mr. Alcott, resigning himself to the inevitable.
“Oh yes, they will be delightful, coffee and cake Helga likes,” said the Amazon. Maisie poured the coffee into three cups, and sighed. Poor Nes, he must feel like his own worst enemy, she thought. Had he not been so infatuated with Glamora in the past, he would not have attempted stardom, but would have remained where he was, doing the work he loved. And now, when he no longer cared for Glamora, other than as a good friend, what a price he had to pay for his folly. Would there be a way out for him? Maisie doubted it.
***
Back in Barsetshire, Lady Norton glided majestically through her conservatories, snipping a leaf here, tying a branch there. Her gardener and his crew of helpers were excellent, but Lady Norton felt that there was never a substitute for the personal touch. The conservatories were a little oasis of summer magic while the world outside was bleak and cold, and that was the time Lady Norton loved them most. When the visit with her flowers was completed, she went to the special room where her new and precious cactus pots were housed and pampered. Not a single seed had sprouted yet, but she was not discouraged; the professor said it should take at least six weeks before she could see any change. Lady Norton made sure that the humidity, light, and temperature were perfectly in order, and then went back to the house for tea. She was expecting Lady Pomfret and Miss Merriman, a rare occasion since both ladies were so busy. She was looking forward to it. Somehow, since the filming of Send Me No Lilies, and the visits that this event prompted, the two ladies developed a slightly warmer relationship, and as for Miss Merriman, her company was always pleasant. Lady Norton overcame her unreasonable resentment over Miss Merriman’s refusal to work with Mr. Goldwasser, a feeling that Mr. Goldwasser himself never shared, and was ready to accept Miss Merriman’s right to conduct her own life as she pleased. She decided to offer her guests, before they left, some flowers from the hothouses. She knew Lady Pomfret no longer kept hothouses, and she was sure that such a present would give the ladies much pleasure.
In the car, Lady Pomfret said to Miss Merriman, “You know, Merry, for some reason I am beginning to enjoy the company of the old horse. I can’t imagine why, but I do.”
“I think I understand,” said Miss Merriman after a few minutes of reflection. “It is not that Lady Norton has changed for the better, but this may be the clue. She has not changed at all. She represents the old order, and as all of us miss it, there is comfort in spending time with someone that has not bothered to accommodate the new ways.”
“Could it be age, Merry? Am I getting so old that I cannot accept the new?”
“I don’t think so, Lady Pomfret,” said Miss Merriman. “First, you are far from old. Second, I believe it has to do with fatigue. Constantly having to adapt to the changes around us, on top of the hard work you do and some very natural worries, would exhaust anyone, young or old. Lady Norton, who looks and acts like a pillar of a never-changing edifice, allows you a moment of respite. I feel it myself.” And then they turned into the driveway, the butler ordered his underling to take the car to the garage, and the two ladies entered the hideous drawing room with great pleasure.
Lady Pomfret was not one for introspection, but Miss Merriman’s explanation made sense to her as they settled to tea. The fire burned brightly, reflecting itself in all the myriad brass objects, little mirrors sewn to Indian pillows, silver pots, and anything else that could shine. These ornaments were always there and were not about to be changed or removed, and the room was safe and comfortable in its sheer ugliness and supreme fussiness. Lady Pomfret leaned back in her overstuffed chair, leaned her head on the white crocheted antimacassar that was draped on the chair’s back, and half-listened to Lady Norton’s description of some plants she planned to grow in the coming spring. She did not need to listen attentively, she thought. Merry would ask intelligent questions, somehow knowing everything about the subject as she usually did. Lady Pomfret idly wondered if Merry read about gardening before the visit. Probably so, she often prepared herself for conversations…But then the subject changed and Lady Pomfret sat up.
“Yes, I received a letter from Miss Tudor,” said Miss Merriman, seemingly answering a question that Lady Pomfret had not heard. “She is rehearsing Macbeth. What a courageous leap she is making. I truly admire her.”
“Why a leap?” asked Lady Norton. “She is an actress. I would think a part is a part. It’s not as if she is changing to another profession.”
“She is not used to the classics, and in addition, she is accustomed to greatly rely on her magnificent looks. Macbeth requires very serious acting, more serious than anything she has ever done before, while good looks mean very little in this part.”
Lady Norton, who had little use for actors, sniffed loudly, but decided not say anything that might cause distress to her dear friend, Mr. Goldwasser. So peace and quiet continued undisturbed.
“Any news from Hermione?” asked Lady Pomfret. “Have you perhaps heard from her, Lady Norton?”
“Yes, indeed I have,” said Lady Norton. “She has just written. Poor Hermione… her son, this odious Julian, is about to have an exhibition of what he calls paintings in Hollywood, together with other disreputable fellow artists. They call themselves the Set of Five, or something like that.”
“Julian seems incapable of growing up,” said Lady Pomfret. “I have lost all patience with him. Phoebe is a dea
r, she completely got over her whining ways and is quite happy and on good terms with everyone, but Julian, wherever he goes, must cause some mischief.”
“And yet he is highly successful in his profession. Not many painters are,” said Miss Merriman. “Also, he has his professorship at Lazarus… quite an honour, I would say.”
“What would you expect?” said Lady Pomfret. “He was hand in glove with Them during the war, and They helped him develop his reputation. Remember how They would not send him to war, since They decided he was too important as an artist, and the country should not lose him? His career really took off, and he has a faithful following of people who buy everything he produces. When I think of all the good men and women who did serve, some losing their lives, while he was living a life of luxury in London during the war…”
“Indeed,” said Lady Norton with feeling. “And making these nightmarish pictures that I simply cannot abide. I love a good painting, but I expect to know if I am looking at someone’s face or at a bunch of cows under a tree. With Julian, it’s triangles and squares and blotches, and nasty colours, too. At least I hope he will not make himself a nuisance to Hermione while in Hollywood.”
“He will have Mr. Goldwasser to contend with if he does not behave,” said Miss Merriman quietly.
“That is so,” said Lady Norton. Neither wanted to elaborate, but both knew that the clash, while inevitable, will undoubtedly end in a total triumph for one of the combatants. Julian Rivers was no match for Mr. Goldwasser.
Chapter Eight
“Glam,” said Mr. Goldwasser. “I must consult you about an important matter.”
Glamora looked up from the notes she was making as she was studying Macbeth. “Yes? What is it, Jake?”
“Well, Glam, the fact is, since you are soon to move into new roles, GMG needs a new Glamora Tudor…”
“I see,” said Glamora. Her voice showed no emotion at all. She seemed to be waiting for him to continue, fiddling with her pencil.
“We need someone to step into your type of films, your old roles, my dear. This type of films is the chief money-maker for GMG, as you well know.”
“I can see that,” said Glamora. “Naturally you need a new star. What do you want to consult me about?”
“I don’t want you to feel bad when a new star is going to rise, Glam. I am afraid you will regret your decision.”
“But Jake, I am not leaving the industry. I am only going in a new direction, a direction I have been dreaming about for awhile.”
“So you won’t feel bad when I promote a new star? You will not feel replaced, abandoned, or anything like that?”
“Not in the least, Jake. This phase of my career is over, and as soon as we finish the sequel to Send Me No Lilies, I will be happy to see a new star. That is, as long as you don’t decide to marry her the way you married me after our first film.”
Mr. Goldwasser laughed. “After all the trouble we went through over the years? No, I think I will stick with my current marriage… but seriously, Glam, the masses will start adoring her. They will lose interest in you.”
Glamora sighed and put her book and pencil down. “Jake,” she said gently, “look at me. Look at what I do in my spare time. I am working on my future. The masses will move on, but if all goes well, I will create a new audience. In addition, I am not a dog in the manger, and I will not grudge stardom to a new person. Bring on the girls, I say…”
Mr. Goldwasser was visibly much relieved. “Okay, Glam, you convinced me. I will stop worrying about it. As a matter of fact I have one in mind already, though I have never met her. Miss Brinton, I mean Mrs. Lewis, realized the need for a new star before I even mentioned it to her, and she told me she had a candidate with great potential, a girl from the town of Peoria, in Illinois.”
“Peoria? Well… I hope she is not too much the small town type. That image would be hard to transform,” said Glamora. “You know the type I mean – girl-next-door, athletic, wholesome… that type is very nice and sweet, but not what you need. Still, Mrs. Lewis knows the business as well as we do, Jake. I would trust her instincts. By all means, meet the girl.”
“I agreed to meet her, of course. Mrs. Lewis also said that she would like you to take a look at her, and that your advice would be invaluable. She said the perfect time for our meeting would be the party we are giving this weekend. The girl can impress us, or not impress us, as she makes an entrance into a society event. What do you think?”
“I think it’s a wonderful idea, Jake. Get me her address and I’ll send her a formal invitation. By the way, Mr. Julian Rivers is also coming to the party. He had arrived yesterday, and called his mother. He could not come to her right away because his artists’ group had so many engagements, so they will meet at the party, Mrs. Rivers said. She is so tense about it, poor thing.”
“Mr. Julian Rivers is a bit of a trouble-maker, I gather,” said Mr. Goldwasser. “Well, he can’t do too much harm while surrounded by a large crowd. I will tell Mrs. Lewis to send Madge along. Madge Sorenson, that is the name of our potential star.”
“You are going to give her a new name, I hope?” asked Glamora, shuddering at the name. “You won’t let here stay Madge?”
“Of course,” said Mr. Goldwasser. “I already thought about it. Nothing I can do with her real name, it’s impossible to modify, the way I did with your name. The only thing that came to my mind was Magdalena, which is a pretty name, but it is too religious, and therefore might offend the censors. I asked Mrs. Lewis what Madge looked like, and she said the girl is an elegant brunette type, and she plans to dress her in silver. Sort of star-like, don’t you agree? I don’t mean Hollywood star, but a real star, like a galaxy…I think I will call her Estella… Estella Starlight, at least for the moment. No, that is too much astronomy… Estella Moonshadow. What do you think?”
“Nice, a very pretty name,” said Glamora, and returned to her book. Lady Macbeth was much more interesting to her, at that moment, than the young woman who might one day take her place in the galaxy of stars.
***
Mr. Goldwasser sipped his sherry and looked at Mrs. Rivers’ son with idle curiosity. Julian was talking about himself, something that our loyal readers would not be too surprised about, since they know that Julian always talked about himself, wherever he went and whoever was his listener. While this was the first time Mr. Goldwasser ever met the famous artist, he was not entirely taken aback by his bad manners. A shrewd judge of character, Mr. Goldwasser immediately took the measure of Julian’s personality and nature, and was secretly amused by his crude behaviour.
Julian stood in the middle of the crowded room, waving his glass of sherry with careless abandon that threatened the dress of anyone standing near him. At that moment, his would-be victim was Maisie. Generally extremely bored with anything relating to modern art, she only remained in her place because, to tell the truth, Julian at almost forty was as good looking as he had been when we had first met him as a very young man, perhaps even better looking. The deep-set, dark blue eyes were as intense as ever, and the black locks that were still flung recklessly above the marble brow, which bore practically no wrinkles, were slightly touched with silver. He could not be called elegant, exactly, since he still slouched and carried himself sloppily, but he remained as slim as ever and his tall figure looked impressive in his very expensive suit, since at least he had learned how to dress well over the years, with the help of very good London tailors. After about ten minutes of listening to tiresome art jargon and name-dropping, Maisie decided that the good looks were not worth the boredom of listening to Julian’s story about the reason for the exhibition in Hollywood, and excused herself, saying she had to talk to her employer. Julian, caring very little who his listener was, turned around and noticed a golden-haired starlet who looked at him with adoring eyes. All was well, therefore, as far as Julian was concerned, and he resumed his monologue undisturbed. The starlet seemed to like it.
Maisie wandered off into another ro
om, just as crowded and extremely noisy, to make sure she would avoid Julian for the rest of the evening. Suddenly she noticed a hush, and many heads turning in one direction. A newcomer walked slowly into the crowd, and almost everyone was looking at her.
Even in Hollywood, where beauty was a regular commodity, the young woman stood out in the crowd. Tall and willowy, her slim figure was emphasized by a dress made of delicate silver cloth, cut on the bias and floating around her like a soft cloud. Her very short, coal-black hair was cut á la garcon, fitting closely around her well-shaped little head. Her eyes were also coal black, slightly turned up at the corners, surrounded by the longest, thickest lashes imaginable and set under perfectly arched, thin brows. Her pale, luminescent skin was warmed by the deep crimson lipstick she wore on her full lips. She wore no jewellery except a pair of enormous Tahitian black pearls as earrings. Maisie looked at the girl’s feet. Her beautiful black patent leather shoes sported heels as high as any shoes worn by Glamora Tudor. Maisie thought wistfully that the girl could play Titania without changing her wardrobe, trailing fairy dust and Celtic glamour wherever she went. The gorgeous apparition moved softly to Mr. Goldwasser, who was standing not too far from Maisie, taking to a small group of people which included Mr. Alcott, who usually tried to stay close to Mr. Goldwasser, possibly for the sense of security he apparently provided.
“Mr. Goldwasser,” she said in a low, husky voice, directing her smouldering eyes at her future employer and offering her hand, “I am Estella Moonshadow.”
“How nice of you to come, Miss Moonshadow,” said Mr. Goldwasser, shaking her hand warmly. “I was hoping you could make it to our little gathering. Mrs. Lewis told me so much about you. I would like you to meet a few very nice people. Mr. Jones, Mr. Roberts, Mr. Stonor, Mr. Alcott...” Maisie sighed. She clearly knew who the fake fiancée was going to be. Or, judging from the way Nes was looking at Miss Moonshadow, perhaps not so fake after all. Maisie turned around and returned to the first room; the threat of colliding with Julian Rivers again did not matter much anymore.