The Golden Angel

by Gilbert, Morris

  Now as he walked the dark city streets, more than once a woman would emerge from the shadows and approach him with a proposition. He was in that part of town where prostitutes were common. He had shaken them all off, taken their curses, and finally found himself standing in front of a liquor store. A struggle mounted within him, but in the end he muttered, “What does it matter?” He went inside, bought a bottle of whiskey, and came out. He wanted to get away from the crowds and get drunk, so deadly drunk he couldn’t think. He had never been a social drinker, but was rather a solitary one, drinking only to forget.

  He had gone a few blocks when suddenly he was aware of something going on just ahead. A building had been demolished, and on the vacant lot that was left a group of people had gathered on makeshift benches and odds and ends of chairs. In front of them a man stood and was speaking in a clear, powerful voice.

  “Just what I need! A preacher,” Quaid muttered. He would have gone by, but suddenly the preacher’s words reached him and he could not ignore them.

  “ ‘Behold the Lamb of God that taketh away the sin of the world.’ ”

  Quaid never knew why it was that those words caught him almost with the impact of a bullet. He stopped as if he had run into a wall, and at that instant something took place within his heart—somewhere deep inside him. He could not move, but he turned slowly and fixed his eyes upon the tall preacher, who continued by saying, “The Jews all knew exactly what John the Baptist meant when he said those words. They all knew that for hundreds and even thousands of years the high priest had been putting a lamb on the altar and slitting its throat, and as the blood poured from that lamb, the priest would catch the blood and sprinkle it.

  “But John must have told them that it was impossible for the blood of a lamb to cleanse anybody’s sin. He was saying that all of those lambs, all of those animals slain on Jewish altars, were nothing but a picture. Not one sin was ever forgiven by their blood.”

  Against his will, Quaid moved forward. He held the bottle of whiskey in his hand, unaware of it, his eyes riveted on the speaker, and something in him gave a great wrench as the man continued.

  “It is the blood of Jesus that covers our sin. The New Testament says that without shedding of blood there is no remission of sin.” At this point the preacher’s voice grew louder. “Put away your bankbooks. They will not bring remission. Put away your good works. They will not wash away your sins. Put away your church membership. It will not avail. Only those who come to Jesus and trust in His blood will ever enter heaven.”

  The preacher went on, and Quaid could not move. His feet seemed to be caught in the pavement. He wanted to turn and run away, to put his hands over his ears, but a more powerful force than he had ever encountered had come to him. He stood there until the preacher finished his message and lifted his hand, inviting his listeners with deep compassion, “If you want Jesus Christ to wash away your sins, come and He will give you rest.”

  An agonizing desire for peace and rest came to Quaid Merritt at that moment. He did not feel the bottle of whiskey slip from his hand and fall to the ground. Nor did he hear the glass smash on the sidewalk as he moved forward stiffly.

  He was not aware of anything except his need for peace and rest, and when he reached the front of the small gathering, the preacher was there to greet him. He felt a comforting arm around his shoulders and a voice saying, “Let us kneel, brother, and Jesus will save you.” Quaid fell to his knees, blinded by tears. He was aware that others were gathered around him praying. Such a thing would have embarrassed him beyond endurance at one time, but now he was caught by the mighty hand of God. He suddenly thought of Rev’s description of God—that He was like a bloodhound pursuing its prey—and Quaid knew then that he had been chased and caught by God himself. It was not a fearful image, however. He was not the helpless victim of an all-powerful God, but rather the blessed recipient of a love that knew no bounds, a mercy that could not be understood. He began to weep and to call upon God, and he heard the joyful exclamations of those around him as they prayed. An indescribable peace washed through him, rolling over him in great waves, and Quaid Merritt knew at that moment the peace that only God can give to an individual. . . .

  ****

  Erin was not asleep. She had tossed restlessly for hours, it seemed, worrying about Quaid. She had called the police and the hospitals, but there was no word whatsoever.

  She lifted her head suddenly at the sound of footsteps and a gentle tap at her door. She jumped out of bed, grabbed her robe, and threw it on. She belted it and opened the door, and when she saw Quaid, she murmured his name and, reaching out, grabbed his arm. “Come inside,” she whispered.

  When he stepped inside, she went over and turned on the lamp. She came back to him and found herself weak with relief. “Where have you been?” she asked. “We’ve looked everywhere.”

  Quaid was silent for a moment, and Erin saw that there was strain on his face, but that something about him had changed. She said, “I came to find you. I was wrong to be so judgmental about you and Amelia, but—”

  “That doesn’t matter, Erin. Something has happened to me.” He saw her blink with surprise and said, “I couldn’t wait until morning to tell you. When I left here I was angry and depressed, and I wandered around all day. Finally tonight I was down on the East Side. I had made up my mind to get drunk. I’d even bought a bottle of whiskey. . . .”

  Erin listened, her eyes open wide, as Quaid continued to talk. He spoke of the sermon and how powerfully it had affected him. Her lips trembled, and she said, “Oh, Quaid!” and took his hands in hers. She listened breathlessly about how he had given his heart to the Lord, and finally he said, “I don’t know much about this business of living for God, but I’m going to find out. And I wanted to ask you if you’d help me.”

  “Of course I will, Quaid! Of course I will. Oh, I’m so happy!” She wanted to throw her arms around him but felt awkward. She still held his hands, and tears were brimming in her eyes.

  Quaid looked at her with tears in his own eyes and said, “You’ve brought nothing but good to me, Erin.”

  “Have you told Rev?”

  “I couldn’t find him. I expect he’s out looking for me.”

  “He didn’t come back to the house. He’ll be so happy. He’s prayed for you every day since he met you, I think.”

  “He’s a good man.”

  Erin suddenly felt very vulnerable. She was in her bare feet, and he seemed even taller than usual. He stood there silently, a small smile on his face, and she finally said, “I still want to go to Hollywood, Quaid. I know you’re against it, but I wish you’d go with me. I . . .” She tried to speak but had to swallow to keep from crying. Finally she whispered, “I need you. I’ve just found that out.”

  “Why, sure I’ll go with you. Who else would go?”

  Erin Winslow stood there looking up at Quaid. She was astonished to discover how his return and his good news had made her heart soar with joy. “I’m so happy for you, Quaid.”

  “I knew you would be. I’ll get out of here now.” He reached out and touched her hair and smiled. “The Golden Angel. I don’t know what other people make of that, but you’ve been an angel to me. Good night, Erin.”

  “Good night, Quaid.” She waited until the door closed, then stood there for a moment, her knees feeling weak. She moved across the room, sat down on the single chair beside the window, bowed her head, and began to give thanks to God for saving her friend.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  A Hollywood Party

  As soon as Erin stepped down from the plane, she saw a lanky, sandy-haired man come forward. He was smiling, and when he reached her, he put out his hand and shouted over the engine noise of Quaid’s plane, “Miss Winslow, isn’t it? I’m Jerry Haskins. Mr. Wells sent me to pick you up.”

  Taking the hand that was offered to her, Erin smiled and nodded. “How nice of you. My friends will be ready in just a moment.”

  The two turned and waited u
ntil Quaid and Rev climbed out of the other airplane and came over. After Erin introduced them, Haskins spoke quickly. “I know you’re worn out from your flight. As soon as you get your plane secured, I’ll take you to a hotel. You can get a little rest.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Quaid said. He stretched, arching his back, and nodded to Rev. “Let’s go see about finding a place to stow these planes.”

  “Already taken care of,” Haskins said cheerfully. “Just leave them there. The manager of the airfield is a friend of mine. Come along, I’ll introduce you to him.”

  Haskins took them into the office, where they met the manager, a short, stubby man with hazel eyes and a bald, gleaming head. His name was Dent, and he assured them that the planes would be taken care of. “Mr. Wells himself called and said to take care of you folks. You go right on. I’ll take care of your aircraft.”

  “Thanks, Dent,” Haskins said. “You folks come along, and we’ll get you bedded down.”

  He led them to a black car, seated them all, then drove toward the hotel, talking all the time. “We’re so glad you’re here. It’s going to be great working with you folks.”

  “What’s your job title, Mr. Haskins?”

  “Oh, just call me Jerry. Technically I’m the assistant director.” He turned and flashed a winning smile at Erin. “Which means I really do all the stuff nobody else wants to do.”

  “I’ve had that job quite a few times,” Rev spoke up. He had waited as long as he could, and leaning forward, he stuck his head between Haskins and Erin and asked his favorite question. “Are you saved, brother?”

  “Saved?” Astonishment swept over Haskins’ face. “I don’t understand you.”

  “He’s asking you if you’re a Christian, Jerry, but don’t get scared and run off the road. He asks everybody the same question.”

  “Oh, I see! Well, I was baptized when I was a baby. Does that count?”

  “Not for much,” Rev said. “Me and you’ll have to talk about this when I get the kinks out of my legs and arms.”

  “Fine, I’ll look forward to it.”

  They arrived at a hotel, a tall pink structure with balconies. The driveway was lined with palm trees, and everybody that walked by seemed to have a tan. Haskins hustled them inside, got their keys, and took them to the sixth floor.

  “Mr. Wells says for you to rest up, and then we’ll start work tomorrow, if that’s all right.”

  “That’s fine,” Erin said quickly. “Thank you so much, Jerry.”

  As soon as Haskins left to take Rev and Quaid to their room, Erin took a closer look at her accommodations. It was a large room with a sweeping view from the window, but as she walked toward it there was a knock at the door. She turned back and opened it to a bellboy who was standing there with a pitcher of orange juice and a glass. “Compliments of the house, Miss Winslow. I hope you enjoy your stay.”

  “Why, thank you.” Erin let the boy set the tray down, then she tipped him and poured herself a glass of juice. She stepped out onto the balcony and looked over the sundrenched landscape before her. “Here I am in Hollywood.” She sipped the orange juice, which was delicious. After two glasses she headed for the shower, then put on her gown and lay down on the bed. She was asleep almost before her head hit the pillow.

  ****

  The sound of the phone brought Erin out of her sleep. She sat up startled and for a moment could not think where she was. Quickly she shook her head and then picked up the receiver. “Hello.”

  “Erin, is that you?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Derek. Did you get all settled in?”

  “Oh yes. Jerry met us and brought us to this beautiful hotel. I took a shower and went right to sleep.”

  “Well, I hope you’re rested up, because I want you to go to a party with me tonight.”

  Erin hesitated, then asked, “What kind of a party?”

  “Oh, it’s just a get-together of folks that are in the business. It’ll be a good chance for you to meet the gang.”

  “What about Quaid and Rev?”

  “Bring them along. I’ll have you all picked up at eight o’clock.”

  “Isn’t that kind of late for a party to begin?”

  “Hey, you’re in Hollywood now! Parties sometimes don’t begin until midnight. I’m glad you’re here, Erin.”

  “Thank you, Derek. I look forward to seeing you.”

  Erin hung up the phone, then got out of bed. She washed her face and noted that it was already after six. A thought came to her, and going to the phone, she asked for Quaid’s room number and then called him. As soon as he answered, she said, “Derek just called. He wants us all to go to a party tonight.”

  “All of us?”

  “Yes. You and Rev get ready.”

  “Don’t have much to wear, Erin.”

  “He didn’t say anything about formal dress, so just put on whatever you brought.”

  “All right. What time is it?”

  “He’ll send somebody by at eight o’clock.”

  “Okay. We’ll be ready.”

  Erin put on a simple white dress she thought might be suitable, then wrote several letters. Finally, at ten till eight a knock came at her door. Getting up, she crossed the room and opened it. Haskins stood there smiling, and she said, “I’m all ready. What about Quaid and Rev?”

  “We’ll see. You look beautiful, Miss Winslow.”

  “Oh, please call me Erin.”

  “Fine. First names are pretty well the norm out here in Hollywood.”

  Rev and Quaid were ready. Both of them wore casual clothes, and as they went down the elevator, Rev said, “What kind of a party is this?”

  Jerry grinned and shook his head. “I don’t think it has any sort of a special meaning. There’s a party every night somewhere. A lot of people spend their lives going from one party to the next. Some people I know haven’t seen much daylight in the past five years. They party all night and sleep all day.”

  “Kind of like vampires?” Quaid grinned.

  “Come to think of it, yes.”

  They got off the elevator, and Jerry led them outside and settled them all in the black car. When he pulled out and started down the street, he said, “The party will be at Eileen Day’s house.”

  “Do you know her pretty well?” Erin asked.

  Haskins shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. “I’m not sure anybody knows anybody well here in Hollywood. It’s a strange place.”

  “What’s she like?” Quaid asked curiously. “I’ve seen her movies. She’s a beautiful woman, but what’s she really like?”

  Haskins swerved to avoid a large yellow cat that paced sedately across the street. When he brought the car back into the lane, he said, “She’s spoiled, of course. Most stars are.” He thought for a moment, then added, “She’s real hard to handle.”

  Erin asked, “Do you mean in real life or in pictures?”

  “Pretty much both of them, I think. I don’t mean to be critical, you understand, but being a star does something to most people.”

  “I didn’t think Derek was stuck up or conceited or anything like that.”

  “You know, I don’t think he is—but he’s an exception to the rule. Most stars of his caliber are temperamental, always demanding their own way and totally selfish. Derek’s not like that, though, and I’m thankful. It’d be hard to work for him if he were.”

  Their journey ended after a twenty-minute drive. Haskins had been pointing out the homes of various movie stars, and finally when he pulled up in front of an enormous house set far back off the road, he nodded. “This is Eileen’s place. It’s not as big as the Taj Mahal—but then not a lot smaller, either.”

  After Jerry pulled the car up, he got out and a young man approached him, saying, “Hello, Mr. Haskins.”

  “Hello, Tim. How’s it going?”

  “Fine, sir. The party’s already started.”

  “I can hear it.” Haskins turned to his three friends and said, “Come a
long, I’ll get you started.”

  Erin was filled with curiosity—and some uneasiness—for she had heard even in Africa about the immorality that went on at Hollywood parties. The Fatty Arbuckle case had been in newspapers all over the world, and the lurid details of the drunken orgy in which the young girl had been raped and then killed had disgusted her. When she stepped inside they passed through a foyer and walked down a long hallway. The raucous sound of a saxophone wailing like a soul in pain reached their ears, and when she stepped into an enormous room she was, for a moment, overwhelmed. Haskins must have sensed this, for he said, “A lot of folks here. I don’t know most of them. They all gravitate to Eileen’s parties. Free liquor and a chance to meet movie stars. You’ll find all kinds here,” he added. “Old washed-up stars trying to come back. Young starlets who’ll do anything to get a part in a movie. Probably more ego in this room than in any comparable space in the universe.”

  An eight-piece band was blasting cacophonous music that seemed to swell and fill every part of the room. Much of the room was used as a dance floor. Erin watched as the couples were doing the Charleston. It was not the first time she had seen it, but she had always thought it was a vulgar dance. She loved waltzes, slow and sedate and smooth, but there was something animalistic and almost frightening about the way women, especially, flung themselves into this new dance.