Film Stars Don't Die in Liverpool (7 page)

A voice soared into a cadenza.

‘It’s ruined my stomach, Peter,’ Gloria added.

An aria accompanied my thoughts; my mind went into a spin, until I realized what she was talking about: almost two years earlier, when she was appearing in a play in London, I’d had a
cold, so she took a whole tube of vitamin C tablets, the kind that fizz up in water, because she was worried about catching the cold and losing her voice. She never developed the symptoms but she
did feel sick the following day.

I turned the light back on and returned the lamp to the table. The room was bright again. The shadows disappeared. The singing suddenly stopped.

‘Gloria, if you think that your stomach is ruined, it would be sensible if you went somewhere to make it better again. Please let me take you to a hospital, I’ll stay there with you
if you want.’

‘Do you think I’m fighting for my life, Peter?’

‘Yes,’ I answered. ‘I do.’

‘Is that why you called in the doctor, Peter?’

‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘Of course it was. You won’t get better if you won’t let anyone help you to get better. You need to be looked after properly by someone who knows
what they’re doing. You see, Gloria, I just don’t know what to do.’

‘You’re doing fine, honey,’ she said.

I sat thinking, alone in the upstairs flat. I thought about Gloria taking the vitamin C and remembered her being sick the next day. She was only sick for a day! Vitamin C
couldn’t cause cancer, could it? I couldn’t be to blame, could I? All because I kissed her when I had a cold.

‘Enjoy your stay in England,’ Mr Longdon said and smiled so wide that his lips almost touched his ears. He gave Gloria a cautious little squeeze on the elbow and
quietly mouthed the words, ‘Thank you for banking with us.’

‘I’ll be back soon.’ Delighted, Gloria patted him on the jacket and gave him a winning smile.

That morning she’d been broke, waiting for money to come from America, and now she’d been issued with a cheque book, a cash card, an overdraft facility and a handful of twenty-pound
notes.

I’d suggested she go to the bank in Camden Town because it was near to where we were living and also because I’d had dealings with the manager, Mr Longdon, who’d been handling
my account for the past few years. He was known to be kind to actors so I was sure he’d be generous and impressed if I took in a film star. He’d be certain to give Gloria an overdraft
and maybe, I thought, I might get one too. However, he looked at me and frowned when I joined them at the door to his office.

‘And what can I do for you?’ he asked.

‘Oh, we’re together,’ Gloria announced.

‘But how did you get to know him?’

‘Oooh,’ she replied. ‘I guess I just struck lucky.’

Mr Longdon looked shaken, as if he’d been robbed, when we waved him goodbye and walked out into Camden High Street to catch the bus back up to Adelaide Road.

Although we were living at the same address near Regent’s Park, it wasn’t until a few weeks after she’d arrived from America that we first met. I was living in a small room at
the top of a large Edwardian house and Gloria, while she was over in England working on a play, was renting the spacious ground-floor apartment.

Each morning as I passed through the hallway I would hear noises, movements and strange sounds coming from behind the door.

‘Loo Poo Boo Moo.’

‘Lah Pah Bah Mah.’

Sometimes I would hear her reciting a rhyme:

‘No, said she. Away, said she. A-sitting very prettily by a chestnut tree.’

I was intrigued, curious to meet her. I vaguely knew her name but had no idea who she really was. I had to ask the landlady.

‘Of course you know who she is, dahling,’ she said, and poured herself a gin. ‘Everybody’s heard of Gloria Grahame. She’s been in every Hollywood film. She had hot
coffee thrown in her face! She always played a tart.’

‘Oh yes,’ I said. ‘I think I know who you mean.’

One morning Gloria opened her door and found me hovering in the hall.

‘Oh, hi. Have you seen
Saturday Night Fever
?’

‘Yes,’ I replied.

‘Did you like it?’

‘Er, yes,’ I answered.

‘Oh that’s good. In that case you can come in and hustle. I have to take a dance class.’

She taught me her routine and we danced in time to the music of ‘Stayin’ Alive’.

Her movements were rhythmic and slick. Her voice distinctive, lending every word a seductive, breathy lisp. Her face was instantly familiar. I remembered her from
Oklahoma!
as the funny
girl who couldn’t say no, and as the soft-hearted bitch, the one who didn’t get the man, in
The Greatest Show on Earth
, and yes, it was Lee Marvin who threw boiling coffee in her
face because she sided up with Glenn Ford in
The Big Heat.
She wasn’t wearing fancy clothes, just her usual T-shirt and a pair of jeans. She wore no make-up, only lipstick, which she
used to build up the outline of her upper lip, and her hair was a terrible mess. But she looked sensational. Dark glasses and stilettos added an extra touch of glamour. I was captivated. Dazzled by
her style.

When the music had finished and the dancing had stopped, exhausted, I realized I ought to go.

‘I’ll have to leave now,’ I said. ‘I’m on my way to work.’

‘Maybe I’ll catch you later.’ She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and threw her hair back, then to one side.

‘That’s probable,’ I said. ‘I live at the top of the house.’

It was spring. A very hot day in May. The day before had been cloudy and cold, and the sunshine was unexpected. Walking along Regent’s Park Road I could see that the local shopkeepers had
been affected by the change in the weather. The greengrocer had pulled down his awning so that his produce was protected from the sun, while the ironmonger had folded his up and was busy cleaning
the window. Two tables with cloths on sat on the pavement outside the French restaurant at the corner of the street.

‘This is great,’ I thought as I climbed up the steep path that goes over Primrose Hill. ‘Maybe the summer has come.’

I didn’t want to make a noise and disturb Gloria when I got home late that night, so I tiptoed past her door on the way to my room. Just as I passed the point on the
stairs where they squeak, and then twist round on up to the next floor, I noticed that the door to her rooms was now slightly ajar.

‘Is that you upstairs?’ she called from behind the door.

‘Yes, it’s me. It’s Peter.’

‘Oh Peter,’ she said in that devastating voice. ‘Peter. So that’s who you are. Hmm, I was gonna yell. You might have been a cat burglar or something. This house gives me
the creeps.’

‘Well, it’s only me,’ I reassured her. ‘It’s all right. I think you’ll be safe.’

‘Oh,’ she miaowed, sounding disappointed. ‘I just love to be safe.’

Then she closed the door, so I went on up to my room.

A few days later on my way out of the house I’d just passed the squeak on the stairs when I heard the most terrible scream. It was Gloria. I rushed to her room, knocked very loud but there
was no answer, so I turned the handle and pushed open the door. Before I could speak she flung herself at it from the other side. It slammed shut and I was pushed against the banister by the
impact.

‘Oh no you don’t!’ she hollered. ‘You can’t come in here, whoever you are. I’m dyeing my eyelashes.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I heard you scream. I thought you’d had an accident.’

‘I sure have,’ she answered. ‘I’ve spilt the damn stuff. It’s gone all over my shirt.’

I was about to leave her to it when her door opened slightly and she spoke to me from behind.

‘Hey, Peter,’ she whispered. ‘You couldn’t help me out, could you? I have to get to a rehearsal but now I don’t have a shirt. My other one’s in the
laundry.’

I found her one of my own and left it on the handle of her door.

That night when I returned there was a note waiting for me at the bottom of my bed.

So I went.

‘Scotch?’

‘Yes, okay. Scotch.’

She waltzed over to the cabinet and poured me a huge drink.

Her rooms were bigger than I’d thought they would be. A bathroom and kitchen leading off the sitting room were added extensions to the house. Everything was open plan, with the dining room
in the middle of the space, and her bedroom in a recess at the front. The furniture, mostly Habitat standards mixed with a few antiques, was tastefully distributed around the rooms. Had she not
taken the bulbs out of the lamps and replaced them all with pink ones, the lighting would have been just right.

‘I’m really sorry about this morning. Did I give you a start? I’m sure not gonna play about with that eye-dye stuff any more. I’ll have to find a beauty room.’

Her head was wrapped up in a scarf, tied in a knot at the side, the ends of which, like ribbons, hung down over her shoulder. She’d taken off the dark glasses and for the first time I
could see her grey-green eyes. Her make-up was immaculate.

‘Hey, thanks a lot for the shirt,’ she said, tucking it in at the waist. ‘I love to wear men’s clothes.’

It did look very good on her, I thought, but I knew I’d never get it back.

‘Here. Try that.’ She handed me the drink and sat down next to me on the couch. Her movie-tone smile failed to put me at my ease. ‘I hear you’re an actor,’ she
inquired, and waited for a response.

‘That’s right,’ I replied and swallowed half my drink.

‘Do you like political plays?’

‘It depends on what they are.’

‘Well, you’re gonna love
Julius Caesar.
It’s very political. “Lend me your ears”,’ she proclaimed. ‘Oooh, that William Shakespeare. My
mother’s read me every word.’

‘I once played Romeo,’ I told her, thinking she’d find that interesting.

‘Oh my God,’ she enthused and gave me a smouldering look. ‘Hey, can I ask you something? Are you Welsh?’

Just the way she phrased her words and the incredulous look on her face made me laugh out loud.

‘Oh no,’ she cried. ‘Have I said something dumb?’

‘I come from the north. I come from Liverpool.’

‘That’s really something. I’d really like to go there.’

‘Well maybe you will.’

‘I don’t expect so,’ she sighed. ‘I’m just here long enough to do my play – I’m Sadie Thompson in
Rain.
Then I’m back to the
States.’

‘What made you decide to do a play in England?’ I asked.

‘Because I was invited to. Anyway, it’s like coming back to my roots. My father was English and my mother came from Scotland. She was an actress here before she went to America, so I
guess it’s always been an ambition of mine to work in the English theatre. I was brought up on stories about it.’

‘Well, I’m surprised you haven’t done it before.’

‘I would have loved to, Peter, but I’ve never had the chance before. I’m not known for working in the theatre, so I suppose people forget to ask. It’s the same in
America. Occasionally I get to do summer stock but nothing that I really want to do. Last year I played Gillian in
Bell, Book and Candle
at the Spring Lake Summer Theater. Huh! Forget it.
I’d like to start my career again,’ she declared, ‘and only work in the theatre. I don’t think I’ve done enough. Just films.’

‘And musicals,’ I said, thinking of her singing ‘I’m just a girl who can’t say no.’

‘Oh, I couldn’t do a show, Peter. Oh no,’ she cried and put her hand up to hide her face. ‘I can’t sing. I couldn’t carry a song, not even in a bucket. When I
did
Oklahoma!
we had to go through my numbers note by every little note. I warned Dick Rodgers about giving me the part but he just said he was after the twinkle in my eye. Huh, I guess
that’s all he got.’ She bit on her lower lip and started to giggle.

For someone who had been in over thirty Hollywood films alongside great actors like Joan Crawford and Humphrey Bogart, and worked with brilliant directors like Fritz Lang and Vincent Minnelli,
Gloria gave me the impression that she had no real sense of achievement.

‘It’s not the work that I’ve done that matters so much,’ she said. ‘It’s the work that I want to do that’s really important to me. When I get back to
New York I wanna work as much as I can in the theatre. I’m gonna go to lots of auditions.’

Her girlish charm and enthusiasm I found irresistible and, within an hour or so, we had become friends. We talked a lot about the things we’d done and she told me lots about working in
Hollywood. Most of all she made me laugh.

‘Hey, Peter,’ she said when I stood up to go. ‘Did you go to RADA?’

‘No,’ I replied. ‘I didn’t.’

‘Well, my mother did! Isn’t that something? She taught me everything I know. You must have heard me doing my voice exercises in the morning?’

‘Yes, I hear you quite a lot.’

I wished her goodnight and went up to my room. As I reached the top of the stairs I could hear her down below.

‘Loo Poo Boo Moo.’

‘Lah Pah Bah Mah.’

Rain
opened and was moderately successful, although some people thought that Gloria was miscast in the role of Sadie Thompson. She’d been nervous and unsure
throughout the rehearsal period, mainly because of her lack of experience of performing in the theatre, and this was apparent on the first night. However, she gained strength through performance
and the production was enthusiastically received by each audience.

Although she intended her British debut to be a quiet affair, it was obvious that most of the audience came to the little theatre at Watford, outside London, just to see her. She was inundated
with fan mail and her telephone rang constantly. Reporters wanted interviews and photographers started turning up at the house. The interest shown by the press was surprising. There was a double
page spread of photographs of her in one of the Sunday magazines, and a national newspaper ran an article calling her a ‘legendary floozie’. Invitations to cocktail parties, film
premieres and first nights at West End theatres arrived in her post. It was as if she had been rediscovered and was now a celebrity around town. When I escorted her to a party after the opening of
a film, she was mobbed by photographers flashing cameras as soon as she stepped out of the taxi.