American Dreams (68 page)

Hobart and Polo together? They're giggling and whispering like sweethearts.'

'Maybe

that's what they are.'

'Back in Chicago, growing up, I didn't know about such things.'

'Not in Texas either, though we had a schoolteacher who hung himself.

People said it was because the town found out he was strange.'

'Well, if Hobart's happy, I'm glad for it.'

Famous faces surrounded them at the party. Bill Hart was there, besieged with well-wishers; Ince had transformed him to a western star almost overnight. Fritzi said hello to Fatty and Minta Arbuckle, and to Mack Sennett, who was squiring Mabel. Mary and Doug Fairbanks seemed to be together.

She embraced her old driving instructor, Von. He was beginning to work regularly in villain roles, particularly those requiring the look of a foreign or Teutonic militarist. Von's bald head, the natural way he wore a monocle, and his superb talent for sneering could be counted on to trigger hatred in the most phlegmatic audience. He was, in person, a genteel and likable man of whom she was immensely fond.

She spotted some less attractive guests. Anonymous men with pinched faces and hard eyes. Young girls with heavy rouge, shrill voices, tight dresses that showed too much. In recent months Fritzi had noticed a 426

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change in Hollywood. The provincial town of Middle Western transplants she had discovered when she stepped off the train the first time was being invaded by a rough crowd. Loy said that on location in Ojai, he and the §

director of Blazing Bullets had run off two thuggish pimps offering girls from the back of a dilapidated truck.

Mr. Griffith appeared in the crowd. He greeted Fritzi warmly. She thought he looked more gaunt than usual — unwell. When she expressed her concern, he said he was getting little sleep, editing miles of film to get The Clansman ready for its premiere at Clune's Auditorium. 'I'll save you two good seats.'

Loy didn't mingle. For over an hour he stood by himself, nursing his whiskey and rebuffing strangers who tried to chat. Finally Fritzi suggested
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they leave. He agreed instantly, and she became concerned. If she asked, would he say what was troubling him?

They shook hands with one of the Bernheimers and thanked him. As they headed for the outer courtyard, they were accosted by a diminutive woman wearing a feathered hat three times as big as her head. She had a long nose and a squint.

'Fritzi Crown. Loretta Gash, Screen Play.'

'"Gazing at the Stars at Night,"' Fritzi said. She hoped her distaste for the trashy magazine wasn't too evident. Like gamblers and procurers and girls willing to sell their favors to help their careers, the publishers and writers of cheap gossip rags were proliferating.

'You're doing so well with your little comedies, dear,' Loretta Gash said. 'Is this your fella? I heard he's a performer. What's your name?'

Loy's answer was a stony stare.

¦

Fritzi grabbed his arm. 'Come on, we're leaving.'

"

Loretta chased them to the gates. 'Are you just friends, or do you have a cozy arrangement? How about a photo? I have a man standing by with a camera.'

Loy spun around angrily. 'No picture. Get away from us.' His red face upset Fritzi. She'd seen the look just before he hit someone.

'Wait a minute, handsome, the public wants to know about—'

'All they need to know,' Fritzi said sweetly, 'they see on the screen.

Dear.' She tugged Loy's arm again, and out the gate they went.

Fritzi heard a snarl from Miss Gash: 'Stuck-up bitch.'

The stars had a blurred look — dust stirred by the west wind, bringing the scent of rain off the ocean. Loy handed his auto check to the attendant.

'I don't imagine that did you too much good.'

End of the Party

427

'No, but it felt good. Loy, what's wrong tonight?'

I le gazed at her with troubled eyes. 'Been trying not to spoil the evening for you. Reckon I did, I'm sorry. Let's get away from here. There's something I need to show you.'

When she heard that, the anxiety gnawing on her turned to dread.

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Spatters of rain hit the windshield with increasing frequency. Street lamps spaced a block apart shone through the glass, making the droplets gleam.

Fritzi turned her head slightly to study Loy's profile. His lips were tight together, his eyes carefully fixed on the road - no clue there to what had upset him.

'Thought we might have just a spit of rain,' he said as it came down harder. 'Reckon I'd better close up the top.' He slid the long auto to the curb near a corner bungalow with lights shining in every window. He jumped out, pulled the canvas over, and fastened it. 'Good enough light here, I guess.' Seated again, he drew something out of his inside pocket, unfolded it, and angled it so the light fell on it.

'See that all right?'

'Yes,' Fritzi said, puzzled over why he wanted to show her a studio photograph mounted on flimsy card stock. The rectangular image caught three men in chaps and tall hats riding hell for leather past the camera lens. The rider in front was bent low over his mount's neck. Wind had turned his hat brim up; Loy's face was unmistakable.

'Director lined up a second camera for that chase shot. Never knew about it or saw it till I rode past. When I saw Blazing Bullets cut together I couldn't believe it, but there I was, on the screen clear as day for three, maybe four seconds. Anybody down Texas way sees the picture, they 11 be qn me like a hound on a coon in hunting season.'

Now she understood. 'Did you ask the director to cut out the frames?'

'Sure I did. He's a high andmighty little pri-- toad. He kind of reared back and said did I know who I was talking to. I came close to knocking the hell out of him. But I didn't. I slipped a few dollars to the laboratory fellows to print out this frame. Seems they may be using it for one of the publicity stills.'

'Don't worry about it. I'll speak to B.B. Maybe he can telephone someone and ask them to cut out--'

Loy's hand fell on her wrist quickly. Gentle but firm, the touch of his fingers frightened her somehow. 'Never mind. Been thinking for a while 428

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that I should mosey on. This put the burr under the saddle blanket, that's all.'

Fritzi leaned back against the seat cushion, holding her breath. In the
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quiet darkness a night bird trilled. One or two streets away an auto coughed along, then backfired and died.

'You're leaving town,' she said.

He pushed stray locks of long hair off his forehead. 'That's about the size of it.'

'Because your face is on the screen accidentally for a few seconds.'

'I told you about Clara,' he began. 'How she needs--'

'Is this just a convenient excuse, Loy? Because you think I'm trying to tie you down?'

Silence. In the corner bungalow someone started a piano roll. Fritzi recognized

'A Girl in Central Park.' She nearly wept.

Loy ran his tongue under his lower lip. He gripped the steering wheel with both hands and stared through the streaked windshield. The rain had let up again.

'I wonder that myself, a little.'

Fritzi threw the picture in his lap. 'I don't know what to make of you.'

'I'm no storybook hero, if that's what you're looking for.'

'I'm looking for someone to love me as much as I love him.'

'I'm not that fella, Fritzi. Tried to tell you plenty of times.'

'So what does this mean? Goodbye?'

'Reckon so.'

'When?'

'Tonight. I plan to light out north in the morning. Buy me a ticket on the daylight express to Frisco. Figure I'll stay there a day or two, then go have a look at Hawaii, where the pineapples grow.' He cleared his throat, almost like a minister starting a sermon. 'No matter where I go, I'll never forget knowing you.'

Bitterness spilled out: 'What a comfort. What a consolation after being thrown aside like--'

'Listen here, I told you I could never--'

'Reckon I don't know that, mister?' she cried in a perfect imitation of his Texas speech. In the light from the corner she saw his face whiten as his
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hand flew up to strike her. She covered her face, but the blow didn't land.

Lowering her hands to her lap, she watched him draw his fist down slowly, open his fingers.

'Yes, ma'am, you surely did, all right.'

End of the Party

429

'Loy, I'm sony. I didn't mean to mock you.'

' 'Course you did. Did it damn well too. Forget it.'

Though Fritzi's emotional control was shattered, she managed to say,

'May we drive on before I bawl my head off?'

He started to reply, thought better of it. On the long drive to his squalid house behind a stable on Alessandro Street, she said nothing, digging her nails into her palms and hoping the sting would keep her from an outburst. When they arrived, he braked the car in the lane, I

stood outside with rain falling gently on his long hair. Fritzi pushed her door open and nearly fell on her face, she was so weak-kneed with grief and anger. She marched around the rear of the Locomobile. He stepped

back respectfully, held the door as rain splashed into her eyes and mixed with tears.

'Are you steady enough to drive home?'

_

'What the hell difference does-it make?' She flounced into the seat, I

blurry-eyed and barely able to find the wheel with her clammy hands.

Almost with a lover's tenderness he said, 'Makes a big difference.

I

There's millions of folks out there in the wide world who think you're spe cial.

They love you.'

'The only one I care about doesn't.'

'God damn it, Fritzi--'

'Take your hand off the car, Loy. Goodbye.'

She wheeled the Locomobile around in the lane and jolted out to Alessandro Street. Though she tended to weave from side to side on empty roadways, and had one close call with a Pacific Electric car bound home

¦

to the barns, she made it safely to Venice.

Her darkened bedroom mutely witnessed an emotional scene worthy of Duse or her idol. Miss Terry. Fritzi tore her party clothes off, trampled on them, and ground her heels to tear them. She rolled to and fro on the bed, stifling sobs with her pillow pressed to her face. Once she almost screamed aloud, but a pang of consideration for the Hongs and Lily
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forestalled it. Besides, at that point she'd been crying for two hours.

Exhaustion set in.

|

She yanked at her ugly curly hair to make it hurt but quickly realized how ridiculous that was, and laughed, big, choking gulps of laughter without mirth. The suffering would last for years. Maybe it would never end. The loss of the boy she loved in long-ago Savannah was nothing compared to this. Loy had broken her heart beyond repair.

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77 UBoat

Thousands of miles east of Los Angeles, on the waters of Jadbusen Jade Bay - in the German state of East Frisia, the sun was already up.

The new Unterseeboot bobbed gently on its mooring lines. Sammy unfolded the tripod on the U-boat's forward deck while Paul strode up and down, studying the light falling on the water, the iron conning tower, the slate roofs of Wilhelmshaven on shore. Paul and Sammy had come to Germany for more footage to fill out a planned lecture tour. Paul was paying his helper from his substantial book royalties. The execution film had been safely stored at a London bank.

The U-boat commander, Kapitdnleutnant Waldmann, stood stiffly, observing them. Feet spread, hands locked behind his back, spine straight, the German officer personified military correctness. Several decorations including an Iron Cross hung on his starched tunic. The points of his thick brown mustache fluttered in a brisk wind churning up white water in the bay.

Kapitdnleutnant Waldmann was only in his thirties, but devotion to duty had drawn deep lines in his wind-burned face. Paul liked the man.

He lacked the swaggering arrogance of the Germans in Belgium; he was showing off his vessel to the visitors like a proud boy with a toy. He recited all of its fine points: diesel motors, advanced periscope optics, a powerful wireless transmitter, bow and stern torpedo tubes, remarkable cruising range - five thousand miles at eight knots without refueling. The Uboat was the latest addition to the navy's North Sea flotilla. Waldmann said Germany had made rapid progress with submarine since launching the first one in 1906, over objections of Admiral von Tirpitz, who thought undersea boats useless because of their limited range at the time.

Sammy locked down the camera and stepped back. All ready, gov.'

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'Right you are.' Paul straightened his cap and hunted for a cigar in a pocket filled with scraps of paper and flakes of Havana wrapper. Speaking German, he said to Waldmann, 'I'd like to shoot your gun crew running a drill, is that possible?' Five of the U-boat's complement of thirty-five ratings stood at attention near the 150mm deck gun.

'Most certainly, Mr. Crown. Anything you wish.'

"I appreciate your cooperation.'

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'We are eager to have our undersea craft seen by your countrymen. I am told you do not receive similar cooperation from the enemy.' Fortunately, Sammy couldn't translate the last word; he looked belligerent enough without it.

'None. They've shut us out. Berlin, on the other hand, is very friendly to journalists and cameramen.' Waldmann was right, the damn fools in Whitehall were still refusing to allow correspondents near their armies, their weapons, or even their training camps. Paul felt a certain guilt about moving freely and successfully in Germany; like Sammy, he believed she was the aggressor, and an increasingly pitiless and brutal one at that. But he needed footage.

'Where do you plan to take this vessel, if that isn't confidential?' he asked.

'Not at all. It is common knowledge that the high command in Berlin will shortly declare the waters around Great Britain to be a war zone.