CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Date With a Star
Erin had been ready for over an hour. She was so excited about her date with Derek Wells that she couldn’t conceal it. Nothing she had to wear seemed appropriate, so she had rushed to one of the big department stores and paid more money for a dress than she had ever imagined. Now she stood in front of the small hotel mirror and tried to see the entire outfit. That was impossible, but she saw enough of it to be pleased. She admired the shimmering light blue silk tubular dress with short sleeves and a low rounded neckline. It was covered with an overlay of black lace with black sequins and beads sewn in intricate patterns around the neckline and the hem. She had also purchased a pair of black satin shoes with a low heel and delicate crisscross straps over the top of the foot and a small black beaded bag.
Satisfied with the dress, she paced the floor nervously until she heard a car pull up outside. Running to the window, she stayed back, but looking down, she saw a car that glittered in the sunshine. It was painted the brightest yellow imaginable and was trimmed with chrome along the side and had a chrome radiator. The enormous headlights seemed to be big enough for a locomotive.
“He’s here!” she whispered to herself, and she grabbed her purse and ran out the door. She ran downstairs from her second floor hotel room and arrived at the door at the same moment Wells did. She caught a quick glimpse of two people who recognized him exiting the hotel. They stopped, gawked, and whispered to each other, but Wells paid no attention. He came forward and said, “I trust I’m not late, Miss Winslow.”
“Not at all.”
“You look lovely,” he said.
Erin resisted the impulse to say So do you, for indeed Wells was a sight to behold. His features were perfect, and he was wearing a light gray suit consisting of a double-breasted jacket and matching trousers with wide legs and turned-up cuffs. His shirt was a crisp, clean white with a gray-and-red-striped tie knotted neatly at his neck, and his shoes were a two-tone black-and-white leather.
Erin took his arm as they walked out of the lobby. “That’s a beautiful car,” she said when they reached the street.
“Just got it. It’s a Hupmobile. I’ll put the top up so it won’t blow your hair.”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter. Leave it down. It’ll be fun.”
Derek Wells turned to face her, somewhat surprised. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever gone anywhere with who didn’t worry about her hair.”
“I spent most of my life out in the bush in Africa, and now I’m up in airplanes with my hair either flowing free or under a helmet. Are you afraid they won’t let us in if my hair is mussed up?”
“Not a bit of it.” He opened the door, and when she got in he walked around the car and got behind the wheel. He engaged the shift, and the car leaped forward abruptly with a loud roar.
“This is a wonderful car!” she said. Her hair was tied back, and she loved the wind in her face on the ground as much as in the air. “Where are we going?”
“I thought we’d go to the Brown Derby.”
“The Brown Derby! That’s a funny name. Is it a restaurant?”
“Oh yes. It’s very famous. Made in the shape of a derby.”
He continued to entertain her as they drove along, and when he pulled up to a stop, she found that the Brown Derby was indeed shaped like a derby. A tall man in a red uniform was at her door even as the car stopped. He opened it, helped her out, then nodded, “I’ll take care of your car, Mr. Wells.”
“Thanks, Harry. I appreciate it.”
Erin once again took his arm, and they entered as another red-uniformed doorman opened the door and greeted Wells by name with a smile.
Inside they were met by a short man with a swarthy complexion and a pencil-thin mustache. “Ah, Monsieur Wells, it is good to see you again.”
“Good to see you, Pierre. This is the famous flier, Miss Erin Winslow. You’re honored tonight.”
“Oh yes! I have read about the Golden Angel. We are indeed honored to have you. I will give you the best table in the house.”
“He claims every table is the best table in the house,” Derek whispered as they followed the diminutive maître d’.
The room was crowded, and the sound of laughter and talking rose as they made their way to a table near a small dance floor. They were seated, and the maître d’ said, “I will have Veronica wait on you. She knows what you like.”
“You’ve been here a lot, I suppose,” Erin said after the maître d’ left.
“Oh, it’s popular right now, especially for movie people. Next year it’ll be another place. These things don’t usually last too long.”
A waitress came up to the table with a smile. She was a young woman of no more than twenty with blond hair, who was dressed in a hoop skirt starched to resemble a derby hat. The uniform looked rather peculiar, but all the other waitresses were attired in the same costume.
“Would you like a menu, Mr. Wells?”
“I don’t think so, Veronica. I’ll have a steak. What would you like, Miss Winslow?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t eaten in places like this very much.”
“Our lobsters are very good,” Veronica said. “They’re flown in fresh every day from Maine.”
“All right. I’ll have that.”
Wells ordered wine, and then when the waitress left, he smiled at her. “I’m glad you could come,” he said. “It’s a break for me.”
“Are you working on a picture right now?”
“Yes, and when this one’s done there’ll be another one.”
“Don’t you ever take a break?”
Wells leaned forward. His classic features were almost too perfect for a man, but there was a virile air about him, and his masculinity was undeniable. “In my business you never know what will happen next year. This year’s star, next year’s dud. So we have to make it while we can.”
“It must be very exciting making pictures.”
“It bores me to tears.”
“Not really?”
“Well, no, not really. I like the action parts of it—the fights and the duels and the chases. Things like that.”
Erin listened, fascinated by Derek Wells. He did not seem at all egotistical, which was what she had expected. His manners were easy and he smiled often, so that she found herself enjoying his company immensely. Suddenly she interrupted him and said, “Look. Isn’t that Gloria Swanson over there?”
Wells turned to look. “Oh yes. That’s Gloria. Would you like to meet her?”
“Oh, but that would be an inconvenience.”
“I don’t think she’d mind. After we eat I’ll introduce you to some of the other stars. There’s Buster Keaton over there—and look, you see that fellow over there with the dark-haired woman? That’s George M. Cohan.” He continued to point out celebrities until the meal came.
Erin looked at the enormous lobster on the platter before her and then lifted her eyes to Wells. “I don’t have the faintest idea how to eat this thing. It looks like a big bug.”
“Let me give you some help. I eat them myself pretty often.
These are fine.” He dismantled the lobster quickly with swift movements and showed her how to crack the claws with the nutcrackers that had been provided. “Now, you just put a bit on your fork, dip it in that melted butter, and you’re in the lobster business.”
Erin tried it and chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “It’s very good,” she said.
“I suppose you had all kinds of exotic dishes in Africa.”
“Oh yes.”
“Tell me about some of them.” Wells listened as she spoke, and then finally when she mentioned the favorite food of the Masai, cow’s blood and milk in a gourd, he stared at her. “You didn’t actually drink that, did you?”
“Oh yes. It’s very good.”
Wells found this amusing. “I guess I sometimes get a little queasy. I couldn’t eat snails when I was in France.”
“Snails? They eat snails?”
“Well, not raw, of course. I couldn’t even bring myself to taste one.” He looked up at her, and she noticed how intense his brown eyes were. He had the habit of looking at whomever he was talking to, giving them his full attention. She had noticed that he had done the same with the waitress, with the maître d’, and with the man who drove the car away. It was not the habit of an egotistical movie star.
As they continued the meal she found that he was tremendously interested in everything she had done. He asked question after question about Africa and then moved on to her career as a stunt pilot. Finally she said, “I’ve told you everything about me, but what about you?”
“What do you want to know?”
“Where were you born? What about your family?”
“I was born in Detroit, Michigan. My father was a bricklayer. I grew up with three sisters. I was the only boy, so they spoiled me rotten.”
Erin listened as he continued to speak, telling her of the many jobs he had had before he became an actor. He had been a carpenter’s helper, a roofer, and a salesman for funeral plots. “That was my best job,” he said, “until I got into acting.”
“I wouldn’t think it would be a lot of fun selling funeral plots.”
“It’s better than being a carpenter’s helper. My thumbs were always blue. I was hitting my thumbnail all the time. I wasn’t very handy.”
“How did you get into movies?”
“The usual way. I started out as an extra. Just one of the crowd, you know. The main job there was not to look at the camera. Finally I got a bit part, then another, and Fred Makin, the producer, saw me and gave me a juicy role. From then on I’ve been very fortunate.”
“You never married?”
Wells had been about to put a bite of steak in his mouth, but he put the fork down and stared at her somewhat astounded. “You don’t know?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Don’t you read the magazines or the newspapers? They put out a pretty steady flood of details about the lives of us big stars.”
“I suppose they don’t come out very often in Africa.”
“Well, you are unusual, Erin, I must say. You don’t know how unusual.” He grew thoughtful and said, “Yes, I was married once. I was only eighteen, and she was sixteen.”
When he said no more, Erin saw that he was disturbed. “Did she die?” she asked softly.
“Die! No, she didn’t die. She left me.”
Something about the way Derek Wells pronounced the words struck at Erin. “Why did she leave you? Was it when you were poor and weren’t making much money?”
“Not a bit of it. She was true blue all through that. I put her through some hard times, too. I’d just gotten into big money and was doing fine, but—” He halted and seemed to find trouble putting his words in order. He touched his chin thoughtfully and shook his head. “It’s not a very happy story, Erin. I’m afraid I behaved very badly. She should have shot me instead of just leaving me. She got the divorce she wanted, but she didn’t get much of a settlement. Any other woman would have taken me to the cleaners, but Helen didn’t.”
“Do you still care for her, Derek?”
Her question startled Wells, and he stared at her disconcertedly. “You do know how to ask rather pointed questions.” He chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip and turned his head slightly to one side, a habit he had. “Most women, when they go out with me, don’t want to talk about other women, and especially not my wife. They want to talk about themselves.”
“That’s not answering my question.”
“No, it’s not. All right. Yes, I loved her, and yes, I guess I still do. And yes, I guess I always will.”
“I think that’s very sweet of you. I think God could put you back together again.”
“You don’t know the kind of life I’ve led. Hollywood’s a bad place for living a good life. That’s the reason she left me. I got involved with other women, and I drank too much. I did a little bit of everything bad. I don’t blame her for leaving me, and I don’t think God himself could make her come back to me. She’s a very strong young woman.”
“Then maybe God will have to change you.”
Throughout their conversation, the orchestra had been playing loudly, and they were having to speak up in order to hear each other. But now the music faded as the musicians began a soft waltz.
“They don’t play waltzes very often. Would you dance with me?”
“I’m not very good.”
“Probably better than I am. Come along.”
He was an excellent dancer, and he complimented her often. But Erin saw that her questions concerning his wife had disturbed him. It was an enjoyable evening, but long before midnight she said, “I really must go, Derek.”
“You mean—now?”
“Yes. I’ve got a great deal to do tomorrow. We’ll be leaving in two days.”
“Well, that gives us tomorrow. Why don’t you come and watch me do my stuff? Have you ever seen a movie being made?”
“No. Never.”
“It’s rather interesting. I’d like for you to come.”
Erin smiled at him. “I’ll go with you in the morning, but if I do, you’ll have to go with me, too.”
“Where?”
“Up for a flight. I’ll do some acrobatics and see if you’re the hero you’re made out to be.”
A delighted look passed across Derek Wells’s face. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll send a car to pick you up at eight in the morning. Then after we’ve done a little movie making we’ll do some loop-the-loops.”
He took her home then, and when they got to her door, she turned and said, “I had a wonderful time.”
“So did I.” He put his arms around her and tried to kiss her, but she simply turned her cheek to him. He halted, somewhat surprised, then laughed. He kissed her cheek and said, “You smell good.”
“Thank you. So do you.”
Her answer delighted him, and suddenly he said, “Erin, are you a good girl?”
Erin stared at him, knowing exactly what he meant. “Yes, I am,” she said simply.
Derek Wells was a sophisticated man. Women who would deny him nothing pursued him constantly. This young woman was something new to him. He had the feeling that she was stronger than most men he knew. The thought came to him that she was the kind of woman who, if necessary, could draw a revolver and shoot a man down and not go to pieces afterward. He loved courage and simplicity, but was intrigued by her virtue, which was obviously a very important thing to her.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he smiled. “Good night.”
“Good night, Derek.”
****
“You have a seat right here by Bob, and you’ll be able to see everything that goes on.”
Derek Wells was wearing a dashing black outfit that was completed with a black neckerchief that was tied around his forehead. His belt was encircled with silver, he wore boots up over his calves, and a sword hung on his left side. He looked handsome indeed.
When Wells turned to go take his place on the set, Bob Hall, the director, smiled at Erin. He was a tall, thin man with sandy hair and black-blue eyes. “Just sit right down there, if you will, Miss Winslow.”
“Thank you. I won’t be in the way, will I?”
“Not a bit of it.” Hall smiled at her and then turned and began shouting instructions.
The action that followed was almost amusing to Erin. She had seen a few movies, but, of course, in the theater the action was always continuous. What she saw that morning was the same scene done time after time. Bob Hall would yell, “Action!” and people would start moving around. All during the scene Hall would say, “All right. Walk slower. Hey, you, get out of the way! You’re going to be in view of the camera—smile just a little one, Stella. That’s right.”
The most exciting part was the sword fight. Erin had never seen a real duel, of course, and this was staged, but she found herself caught up with it. Hall mentioned to her, “Derek is a fine
swordsman. He took lessons from the best, and he likes the action to seem real. I fully expect him to skewer somebody one day.”
Indeed Wells did move gracefully. The villain, who was opposite him, Hall informed Erin, was the best instructor in the country. The two men moved back and forth, the steel blades slashing so quickly that she could hardly follow them. Wells, she saw, was enjoying it tremendously, and finally he lunged forward, and it appeared that he had punctured the breast of his opponent.
“Oh my! He’s killed him!”
“No, he hasn’t. George has a leather vest on under that fancy outfit he’s wearing, and besides, the points are all blunted. But I’m glad you thought it looked real.”
For two hours Erin enjoyed watching the action, and then Wells came and pulled his neckerchief away. He was dripping with sweat and shook his head. “Those lights are awful. Let me go change, and I’ll keep my part of the bargain.”
“You don’t have to, Derek. I was only teasing.”
“No, you’re not getting off that easy. I won’t be long.”
****
Erin pulled back on the stick, and the Spad moved suddenly from a horizontal position to a vertical. Kicking the aileron, she threw the plane into a roll. She watched Derek in front of her for some sign that he’d had enough, but he was beating on the side of the fuselage screaming something she could not hear. She had taken it easy at first, for some people grew deathly ill from acrobatics. He had not complained, however, but urged her to do more daring maneuvers.
Finally Erin slapped on the fuselage. When he turned around, she shouted, “Time to go down!”
She took the plane down and came in for a smooth landing. She started to get out, but Derek beat her to it. Hopping down to the ground first, he reached up and caught her around the waist and lifted her down.
“That was wonderful, Erin! No wonder you love it so.”
“I’m glad you liked it, Derek. You ought to go up with Quaid. He could show you some real stuff. I’m really just an amateur.”
“Well, if that was an amateur, I’d like to see the real thing.”
At that moment Rev came up and nodded. “Hello, Erin.”
“Oh, Rev, this is Derek Wells. You’ve probably seen his movies.”
The Golden Angel Page 19