American Dreams (49 page)

Eddie introduced him as Loy - a strange name. She asked where he was from. 'Texas,' he said, touching his hat brim. That was that. The man was polite, did what he was told, but didn't socialize. She kept darting glances at him when he wasn't looking. When she did, she breathed a little faster.

The company returned to Alessandro Street to finish a final day of shooting on the stage, in front of flats representing the interior of a trading post. Several buckets of rye flour stood in for a dirt floor. A white muslin canopy operated by ropes and pulleys was pulled across to filter the warm sunshine and rid the scene of sharp shadows.

Eddie's scenario included a switch on a scene already a western cliche: the bad men firing pistols to make the hapless tenderfoot dance. This time the victim was Fritzi, wearing a fringed and beaded Indian dress presented to her earlier in the story by the hero.

Loy and his partner shot blanks at Fritzi's feet. She fought back with an improvised dance that kicked dirt in their faces, then disarmed the bad men, ready to hand them over to the Lone Indian as he burst m. Eddie rehearsed the scene and filmed it in one take.

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Since Kelly was nowhere to be seen, he asked to do it again, urging Fritzi to 'let herself go.' She retreated behind the flat, collected her thoughts, returned, and said, 'All right.' Eddie called camera and action.

This time her dance for the stupefied outlaws lasted a full twenty seconds, a wild combination of whatever she could remember from ballet, soft shoe, clog, one-step, with a French cancan finish - ideal for kicking the tall Texan in the stomach. Jock Ferguson laughed so hard he had to signal his assistant to grab the crank. When Eddie called cut, Fritzi rushed to the Texan, putting her hands on his arms without a thought. Under the rough cloth of his shirt she felt thick muscle.

i hope I didn't hurt you.' 4

'No, ma'am, not a bit.'

Loyal 307

Owen's replacement chuckled and said, 'That's the only squaw I ever saw who came from vaudeville.'

Eddie laughed. 'Wasn't it swell?'

Loy beat his high-crowned Texas hat on his leg to knock off flour. 'Sure was. This lady's mighty funny'

Eddie said, 'We've known that for a long time. I'm trying to think up a comedy character for her.'

'Oh, please,' Fritzi said. 'Let me be a serious actress for a few pictures.'

Eddie

shrugged. 'If that's what you want. B.B. told me to keep you happy'

'That's a good thought,' Loy said with a pleasant nod. He jumped down from the stage, walked off to make a cigarette by tapping tobacco from a small cloth pouch into a paper he rolled with one hand. Fritzi wanted to follow and talk to him. 'Unfortunately, Eddie said they were done. The extra players strolled away toward the main house for their pay Neither of them looked back or said goodbye. Fritzi watched the Texan's long legs and tall hat until the men were out of sight.

She asked Eddie about the man's odd name. 'Short for Loyal, that's all I know.' He didn't notice her degree of interest. He was busy marking up the assembly sheet, a list of scenes Daphne Roosa would use to cut the picture together.

Loyal. The name rang in her thoughts all day.

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Probably she'd never see him again.

Cowboys were drawn to Los Angeles because the standard weekly output of almost every picture company consisted of a comedy, a drama, and a Western or Indian story. The cowboys came from Arizona and Idaho and Texas -- all over the West. People said a lot of them were hard cases on the run.

They hung out at Cahuenga and Hollywood Boulevard, a dusty, sparsely built corner already christened the Waterhole. Studios sent autos JP

or trucks to the Waterhole to pick up extra players for the day.

;

At the end of the week of filming The Lone Indian's Squaw, Eddie didn't need her, so Fritzi took the Packard for a solo drive. It was a beau j,

s

tiful afternoon -- one of the clear and pristine California days when the whole Los Angeles basin smelled of orange blossoms.

II

Von had taught her well; she drove expertly and with confidence. But 308

Nightmare

she knew nothing about the internal workings of autos, so she was alarmed when the Packard coughed and began to balk. She pulled to the curb alongside a horse trough. After one more loud gasp, the Packard quit. She looked around to see where fate had stranded her.

She recognized a drugstore and, on the corner opposite, a new nickelodeon whose raw pine siding was still unpainted. The Waterhole. Though it was too late in the day for hiring, a few cowboys were still loitering. Two sat on a trolley-line bench playing cards. Some others lounged against the wall of the drugstore, chewing matches and gabbing.

Not wanting to look simple, she jumped out and started to unfasten the leather strap holding the hood shut. A shadow fell across the shiny blue metal.

'Having some trouble, little lady?'

From the unctuous tone she knew she wouldn't like the speaker even before she sized him up. He was a plump young man, wearing new jeans, a quilled and beaded vest, a big white sombrero, and a flowing purple neckerchief. With a smarmy smile he took hold of her arm.

'You just sit yourself back in the car, and I'll see to this tin horse.'

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'No, thank you,' she said, flinging his hand off a little harder than necessary.

He

grabbed her wrist. 'Listen, lady, when someone tries to help and be nice, you ought--'

'Thad, what say you leave off there?'

The gaudy cowboy spun around. 'What the devil you butting in for, Windy?'

Fritzi recognized the bowlegged man who'd taken a dunk the year before in Echo Park Lake. He was hatless, his sunburned pate showing.

Even at six feet she could smell beer.

'Well, you're pestering a young lady who don't seem to want it. I'm acquainted with her. I'll take over.'

Thad stomped over to Windy with his jaw stuck out. 'Hell you will. You damn cowboys think you own this corner'

'And you damn city boys strut around pretendin' to be the real article.

If you're a cowboy, son, I'm a cow pie.'

'You got that right, you old bastard.' Thad gave Windy a hard shove.

Not sober, Windy found his feet tangling and his arms windmilling as he fell backward. He sat hard, banging his head on the building's cornerstone.

He let out a yell, momentarily cross-eyed.

Alerted by the shouts, someone walked around the corner; his long Loyal 309

shadow fell in the street. The bold nose was familiar, and the crow lines around his squinted eyes. The sinking sun washed his face with red.

'You hurt, Windy?'

Still supine, Windy said, 'Well, my hind end smarts some, and my noggin. Otherwise it ain't too serious, thanks anyway, Loy.'

The Texan walked over to. Thad, thumbs in his wide belt. The silver buckle ornament was a sculpted steer's head with horns. As Thad wiped his mouth with his bandanna, the Texan planted his old, dusty boots and stared.

'Pardner, Windy's not much bigger than a stump. But you'n me are a fair match. Why don't we see about it?' He nodded toward an alley in the
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middle of the block.

Thad shook his head, stammering, 'No.'

Loy laughed. 'Didn't think you would. So why don't you light out of here and leave this lady be?' With a'dismissive turn of his back, he strolled over to the Packard, where Fritzi stood wide-eyed. Behind the Texan, Thad swelled up and reddened. Windy yelled, 'Hey,' as Thad ran at the Texan and slammed a fist into the back of his head.

Loy fell forward, catching himself on the Packard fender. Slowly he pushed back and examined his palms; the left showed a small cut from the fender's edge. He wiped it on his worn jeans.

Thad regretted his sneak attack even before Loy turned to give him a look. Two quick strides, the Texan had a wad of Thad's shirt in his fist.

With his other hand he punched Thad's gut.

Thad staggered sideways. His hat fell off. His eyes bulged. As Windy got up unsteadily, the Texan boomed a left under Thad's chin. Thad spun away, and the Texan hit him with a flashing right that dumped him in the horse trough.

Water splashed over the sidewalk, on Windy's pants, the cursing card players on the bench, the boots of a couple of loafing cowboys watching the altercation with big smiles.

Thad came up flailing and spitting. Loy grabbed his sopping shirt, held him with his left hand, and hit him. The Texan's teeth clenched. His face was red and so were his knuckles.

Thad took the punch hard, holding his middle and gagging. Windy said,

'Hey, Loy, that's plenty.' The Texan squinted at Windy, then at Thad snorting and blowing red mucus out of his nose. He released Thad, and Windy stepped away.

'Don't let me catch you on this corner again.'

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Nightmare

The battered victim climbed out of the trough, sopping. With one trembling look backward, he picked up his crushed and soaked sombrero and limped around the corner.

Loy came over to Fritzi. 'Some of these town dudes figure that if they dress the part, that's all it takes. Thad's pa is a banker downtown. You can round up all the blood-sucking bankers in the world and hang em, and it would suit me.'

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As if that explained anything. She was appalled at his burst of violence, yet sinfully excited by it too.

Then Loy seemed to relax, his shoulders losing tension as he stepped over to the Packard. 'Let's see the problem here. Can't get your machine to run?'

'No, I don't know what went wrong.'

He touched her arm - ' 'Scuse me' - walked to the rear of the car and unscrewed the lid of the round fuel tank. He put his eye near the opening.

'Dry as the Rio Grande in a drought.'

'Oh, dear. I never thought to check before I started out.'

'There's a store just up the way sells gas. I'll be right back.' He walked off west on Hollywood Boulevard.

The bowlegged man approached Fritzi as though treading the rolling deck of a ship. If not reeling drunk, he'd had plenty. He smelled of it, and of leather and sweat.

'We met before, ma'am.'

'In Echo Lake Park.'

'Windy White's the name.'

'Windy, that's right, how are you?' She offered her hand.

He stuck his out, missed, and sheepishly tried again. 'Think I'll rest a bit, you don't mind.' He sat on the end of the trolley bench, head on his arms. The annoyed card players had gone.

Soon the tall man loped back with a tin of gas. He poured it into the tank with a steady hand, spilling only a couple of drops. 'That should take you home.'

'I'm very grateful to you and your friend. May I know your full name?'

'Loyal Hardin. Most call me Loy.'

'I'm Fritzi Crown.'

'Sure, I remember. Liberty.'

'I must pay you for the gas, and your trouble.'

'Oh, no, ma'am. Glad we could help.' He had a deep voice, an easy manner now that rage no longer controlled him. She drank in details: his
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I

Loyal 311

cracked boots, his worn leather vest. At the open neck of his blue work shirt some curling hairs caught the sun like glowing filaments. The sun in the west lit him from behind. Just the sight of him made her hot and dizzy.

'Best we mosey along, Windy' The small man grunted but didn't raise his head.

Heart racing, Fritzi spoke in a rush. 'Mr. Hardin, if you're looking for more picture work, 1 know we have another western starting in three weeks.' She knew no such thing. She'd beg Eddie to write one, she decided. If that didn't work, she'd plead with Lily. She was deflated when he scratched his chin and shook his head.

'Three weeks? Afraid I won't be here.'

'Oh, you're leaving?' Lord, did he hear the silly schoolgirl terror in her voice? If he did, he spared her embarrassment. He leaned back against an old iron hitching post, crossed one l6g over the other, boot toe on the sidewalk.

'Catching

a steamer for Alaska. Snow'11 be melting up there soon. Never seen that part of the world. Stay too long in one place, the place gets mighty stale and so do I.'

'Will you come back to Los Angeles?'

'I expect so. I like picture work. It's not steady, but it's easy. Doesn't wring out your brains too much. Appears to me you movie folk will be grinding out westerns till kingdom come.'

'I think so. Perhaps we'll meet again.'

'Sure, that'd be nice.' She didn't know whether he meant it would be nice, affording some romantic opportunities, or it would be nice like eating a dish of ice cream on a hot day and then going about your business. She couldn't believe she was vaporing this way.

'I don't have many pals in town besides Windy,' he added.

Pals? Was that all he wanted, another campfire crony? She had other things in mind.

Their eyes held for a second. He touched the brim of his hat, the way he had when they'd met on the lot. Adios, Miss Crown. Let's go, Windy'

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I le helped his friend off the trolley bench, bracing him up when he started to sag. The men went around the corner and on up Cahuenga.

A woman with a stormy countenance came out of a bakery down the block. 'You going to park there all day? We like that spot for customers.'

'Oh, sorry, I'm going,' Fritzi said in a vague way. She was shaken by meeting Loy Hardin, attracted and frightened of him at the same time.

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Nightmare

She yearned to see him again, find out what lay behind those black eyes, that fearsome squint.

To celebrate May Day, Fritzi and others from Liberty went to a gala party opening the Beverly Hills Hotel. Al Kelly soaked up free champagne and sneered behind his hand. 'Who's going to stay at a hotel in the middle of some bean fields? Nobody'

Another summer heat wave killed the frail and the elderly in the East.

Fritzi made The Lone Indian's Peril and The Lone Indian's Christmas. With Eddie pushing and cajoling, she devised some funny touches in

them: a comic walk in wet shoes, a face accidentally dusted with flour as she worked in the kitchen. In the Christmas story she repeated her fall from the horse, this time with a rucksack full of presents. Each picture was a success for Liberty, generating good revenue, mail for Fritzi, and even an article planted in Motion Picture Story Magazine. Lily wrote most of it.