Film Stars Don't Die in Liverpool (4 page)

‘Well hello, Peter.’ Joy stood up to greet me. ‘I’ve been looking forward to making your acquaintance. Mother and I are just having tea and English muffins. Come and join
us.’

Mother wasn’t quite sure who I was but smiled and said, ‘Hello, dear.’

She was well over eighty. Wearing a mauve twin-set and a row of beads, with her hair waved and rouge on her cheeks, she reminded me of a little bird, a little operatic songbird. Her voice was
high-pitched and seemed to demand great effort. Her accent changed in varying degrees from a lowland Scottish to a proper English pronunciation, but sometimes fell into West Coast American
slang.

‘Have you ever come across my friend Violet Fairbrother back there in England?’ she said.

‘No,’ I replied. ‘I’ve never come across her.’ I had no idea who Violet was.

‘Oh not now, Mother dear,’ Joy interrupted. ‘Peter doesn’t want to know about Violet now. Let’s ask him later.’

Mother wasn’t easily put off. While Gloria prepared a meal of carrot juice, baked potatoes and salad, I sat enthralled while Mother unravelled some of her history and family
background.

Mother was called Jean MacDougall. She was born in Scotland but moved to England in her teens where she studied acting at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art. Along with her best friend, Violet
Fairbrother, she was, she told me, a star pupil and went on to play Puck at a London theatre before being asked to join the Benson Players, a forerunner of the Royal Shakespeare Company, at
Stratford-upon-Avon.

When she married Gloria’s father, Michael Hallward, she gave up the theatre and they emigrated to Canada, where Joy was born. The family then moved to Pasadena, California, where Jean gave
birth to Gloria. When she was divorced by Michael Hallward, Jean started teaching acting and elocution at her home to keep the family going. Gloria was her ‘star’ pupil and she was
determined that her daughter would become an actress. One of Gloria’s first acting parts was as ‘Glamorous Gloria’ in a high school play. Jean’s encouragement and
determination for her daughter to succeed were rewarded when Gloria, after leaving high school, was asked to play Dodie in
Goodnight Ladies
at the Blackstone Theatre in Chicago.

Mother chaperoned her daughter everywhere (and went on doing so throughout most of Gloria’s career), so when Gloria was asked to understudy Sabina in
The Skin of Our Teeth
at the
Plymouth Theatre in New York, Mother went with her. She coached Gloria in the part that turned out to be her first important break, that of the young Scots barmaid in a play called
Highland
Fling
, which was directed by George Abbott. From that performance Gloria was asked to play a very good part in the Broadway production of
The World’s Full of Girls.
She was spotted
by Louis B. Mayer, taken back to California and put under contract to MGM.

Small parts in films like
Blonde Fever
,
Without Love
and
It Happened in Brooklyn
followed before Gloria made an impact in the movies. She was hired out by MGM to the RKO
Studio to play the coarse and sluttish tart in the controversial film
Crossfire
, directed by Edward Dmytryk. Gloria was nominated for her first Academy Award.

‘I wish that Gloria would have tried harder,’ Mother said. ‘She was just as good an actress as that other blonde girl.’

‘Who are you talking about, Mother?’ Gloria shouted from the kitchen, agitated by having to listen to her mother’s reminiscences.

‘Oh you know, dear,’ Mother replied. ‘That nice girl who had the affair with the President.’

‘It’s true, Peter.’ Joy leant forward and spoke to me confidentially. ‘Gloria would never apply herself properly. She’d never talk to the columnists. I used to get
them on the phone going crazy. “That girl’s going to ruin her career if she won’t talk to me,” they used to say. But Gloria would never talk. She’s always hated
gossip; even though she created quite a lot. And she’d never dress herself properly. When we used to go over to Zsa Zsa’s house, her mother would say, “Oh that Gloria. She could
make something of herself. If she’d only fix herself up a bit.” But that’s Gloria, Peter. She’s impossible. She didn’t even wear a new dress when she won an Oscar! She
just threw on a mink. Gloria likes to do things her way.’

‘That’s enough talking about me,’ Gloria called out. ‘Save your mouths for dinner. It’s ready.’

After the meal Mother fell asleep and Joy brought Gloria up to date on family news until it was time for them to leave.

The sun had set. The evening was warm and lovely. Gloria and I sat together by the edge of the pool.

‘Why don’t you like people talking about your career?’ I asked. ‘Don’t you like being an actress?’

‘Yeah, sure I like being an actress. But that’s why I like it when we’re in England. It means something there. I just don’t like this movie-star stuff. It’s
nothing. Sometimes I wish I’d have continued on the New York stage instead of going to Metro. Maybe that might have worked out well. Who knows?’ She shrugged her shoulders and nestled
her head against my chest.

‘Let’s go for a drive along the coast,’ I said. ‘It’s a beautiful night.’

‘Oh let’s do that, Peter!’ Her face lit up. ‘It’ll be fun. You can practise using the car.’

We stopped off in a parking lot on the way towards Malibu and sat on the bonnet, looking out across the ocean. There were little bonfires burning along the beach where people were having parties
and, somewhere, someone was playing a guitar. The sky was a magenta colour and seemed to be lit from behind with golden rays. The moon was full and sat on the surface of the ocean. It was the most
stunning evening sky.

‘Oh Peter! Look what’s happening!’ Gloria jumped off the front of the car and ran towards the beach.

I could hear other voices, shouting. There was tremendous excitement.

‘Quick, Peter! Quick, come and take a look! The grunion are running! The grunion are running!’

I looked down on the beach. There were thousands of silver-coloured fish twisting and jumping, circling and flapping. The beach was a mass of silver. The little shimmering fish were washed up on
the sand by a wave, another would take them back to the sea again. The grunion were on the run. It only happens once in a while.

‘Peter . . .’

I dreamt Gloria had called my name. I moved. I was warm until I moved but then I was cold. It was morning. It was light, a running-water coloured light. I could almost feel the rain as it hit
the window and imagined how long each drop was taking to slide down the glass.

The couch I was lying on was at an angle and I’d been sleeping in a groove. I was covered by a coat, my horrible old overcoat, and a bit of a blanket. The coat was torn and I was caught up
in the lining and, because I’d moved, my back was only covered by a sleeve.

‘Peter . . .’

It wasn’t a dream. It was Gloria who’d called my name. I threw off the coat and the blanket and ran down the stairs to the middle room.

She was looking towards the door waiting for me to arrive.

‘I didn’t hear you,’ I said. ‘I’ve just woken up. Are you okay?’

‘I guess I’m okay.’ She turned away. ‘I thought you were going to stay in here, Peter. You said that you were going to sleep on that other little bed right there. You
sneaked off.’

‘You fell asleep and I didn’t want to disturb you.’

‘Hmm,’ she sighed. ‘That wouldn’t have mattered.’

Gloria was mad at me for leaving her by herself. I recognized the expression. It was just like a New York morning. She would get up early and disappear into the bathroom to take a shower and put
on her make-up. Eventually she would return looking glamorous, but pouting and sulking heavily. If I’d fallen asleep again she would wake me up with bits of breakfast, which usually consisted
of a glass of milk mixed with lecithin granules and vitamin B powder. Then the pills: a calcium magnesium, a ‘C’ and a ‘D’. After that I’d get a cold boiled egg, a
strange piece of toast and an apricot kernel. Coffee would come last. She’d stop sulking when I’d say something nice and then we’d get on with the rest of the day. I always
enjoyed her morning sulks.

Even though she was ill and uncomfortable, the sight of her sulking now was pathetic and sweet and it made me sad.

‘Your hair looks nice.’

‘Your mother fixed it,’ she said.

‘You look much better today.’

‘I feel much better.’

‘Do you want me to get you anything?’

‘Your mother’s done everything for me. She’s already been in and helped me out.’

It was obvious that my mother had been about. The covers on the bed looked neat and tidy and there was a cup of tea on the table next to it. Gloria looked fresh and alert and her hair did look
presentable. She really was looking better than she had the night before.

‘I’m going down to the kitchen,’ I said. ‘And then I’m going to the health food shop.’

‘Okay, Peter, but don’t forget the grape juice. I need the black grape juice. And get me that book by Adele Davis, it’s called
Let’s Get Well
.’

‘Do you want me to get you some magazines?’

‘No, thanks, Peter. I don’t want to look at a magazine.’

‘Do you want me to bring you a radio?’

‘No, thanks, Peter. I don’t want to listen to the radio. I just want to be alone. I’m thinking.’

The window was open. It was cold so I closed it.

‘No, don’t do that,’ she said. ‘Please leave it open. I want the window open.’

My mother was on her knees sorting out the cupboards underneath the kitchen sink.

‘I was just coming to wake you.’ She looked up as I came through the door.

‘There’s no need for you to be doing that, is there? It’s a bit early in the day.’

‘If it wasn’t for me, nothing would ever get done in this house. Joe’s been on the phone –’ she stood up to tell me – ‘and he wants you to meet him in
that health food shop in Lower Breck Road. He hasn’t got time to come here and collect you. He’s got to do something to the car.’

‘What time did he say?’

‘Round about eleven, so you’d better get a move on,’ she added, looking towards the clock. ‘It’s just turned half past nine.’

Breakfast of bacon, eggs and toast was instantly produced and my mother got back down to clearing away the pots and pans with a determined look in her eye. We didn’t mention Gloria but I
wasn’t convinced that she was really absorbed in her household chores, so I sat in silence eating the food. When she started to dismantle parts of the gas stove and began cleaning the steel
grill with a knife, I thought that perhaps it might be wise to speak.

‘I had a terrible sleep,’ I said.

‘I’m not surprised. I covered you with a blanket. I don’t know why you didn’t get into bed.’

‘I stayed up to telephone Gloria’s daughter in California,’ I explained. ‘I must have fallen asleep.’

‘And what did she have to say?’ My mother sat down at the table. ‘When is she coming here? Did you tell her that we want to take Gloria to the hospital?’

‘She wasn’t at home,’ I said. ‘I’ll try again later.’

‘Well somebody’s got to come.’ My mother looked alarmed. ‘Because if they don’t I won’t be going to Australia on no holiday. I wouldn’t go away and
leave somebody sick in my house. I just couldn’t do that. I’ll have to look after Gloria.’

‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I’m going to call the doctor when we get back. We’ll try to get Gloria to go to the hospital. Everything will be all right.’ I
stood up to leave the room. ‘Anyway, Mum. Why were you awake in the night?’

‘Because I had a terrible sleep as well,’ she said. ‘And so did Gloria. I heard her call out in the night.’

‘Did you open the window in her room?’

‘Yes,’ my mother replied. ‘I had to. The room was beginning to smell.’

Gloria’s teenage daughter, Paulette, used the trailer in California as a home base, but she sometimes stayed with friends. I was worried that if she wasn’t at home
there would be no immediate way that I could contact the rest of the family. I dialled the number again. This time she was there to answer my call.

I explained that Gloria was ill and that she was with me at the house in Liverpool.

‘Oh, I know that she’s sick, Peter, but I thought that she’d got much better. She took good care of herself while she was here in the trailer. That’s why she left for
England. She ate fresh vegetables and broth and she got herself much better. She looked really pretty and she was relaxed. She tended the garden and did dishes and things. She was preparing herself
to do the play.’

‘Well, she’s not doing the play any more. She’s very seriously ill. The doctor who saw her in Lancaster advised me that she should have an operation, but she won’t go
back to the hospital. She won’t go to any hospital. It’s difficult to know what to do.’

‘Just feed her with broth, Peter. Mom likes to heal herself. She doesn’t trust doctors. She’s always healed herself.’

‘Yes, I know that, Paulette, but now I’m afraid it’s got more complicated. I’d like you to phone her sister, Joy, and ask her to call me here in England. I think that
someone should come as soon as possible.’

‘Can I speak to Mom, please, Peter?’

‘No, you can’t. It’s impossible for her to get to the telephone. She’s too ill. Besides, she’s asked me not to worry you.’

‘Okay, Peter. I understand. I’ll ask Joy to call you and I’ll speak with you again later. I’m sure that Mom will get much better. She just needs plenty of
rest.’

The health food shop was at the end of a small Victorian terrace, sandwiched between a pet shop, with a window full of sleepy, shiny black Labrador dogs, and a haberdasher,
displaying a window full of knitting patterns, needles and wool. It wasn’t like the health stores I was used to seeing in almost every London high street; it was more a cross between an
old-fashioned chemist and a second-hand bookshop. There were no delicious smells coming from freshly cooked vegetable lasagnes and newly baked banana and date cakes; there were no tubs of brown
rice, lentils and muesli. But there was a postcard in the window saying ‘Vegan needs own space in mixed house. Non-smoker. No hang-ups’. It seemed curiously out of place.