To Kill the Duke (5 page)

When he arrived at his office he had to assemble his staff, call the writer for
The Conqueror
and make inquiries about Brando. Also, he had to think about an actress with big ta-tas to play the lead.

“There are enough of those in this town,” he said to himself as he walked into his office and greeted his entire staff one by one. He went to his desk and sat down and groaned, not only at what he had to do for this movie but at all the other things on his desk waiting for his decisions.

Maybe I should have stayed an actor,
he pondered. He gave that thought a few more seconds and then beeped his secretary by way of the intercom on his desk. Her name was Miss Burchett. As she made her way to his desk, he suddenly thought she would be perfect for the stacked chest that Howard Hughes craved. Not necessarily for any movie role, just for Hughes and
this
obsession of his. She sat down with her notebook and crossed her legs.

“Get me Oscar Millard, and get a phone call to the head of Fox studios,” he barked.

“That’s it?” she asked. “Why didn’t you just tell me that over the intercom?”

“I like watching you walk in and walk out,” he shot back.

She got up and walked out… very slowly.

He got out his huge portfolio of actresses that not only had big boobs, but could act and bring in a full house. One of Howard Hughes’ vast research and development teams had compiled this productive treasure.

“Can I get one on actors, Howard?” Dick had once asked his boss.

“No,” replied a curt Hughes.

“Why not?”

“I don’t sleep with men,” Hughes replied matter-of-factly.

He started flipping through the photos and then remembered that if Brando was signed, Marlon was going to want a huge say in whoever his co-star would be.

This was the early fifties, and the big stars not only commanded top billing to go with their ticket-selling appeal, but also demanded a lot of influence regarding what went into the movie.

“It’s a long ways from how I used to be a piece of meat,” he sighed, as he tossed the book to the side and picked up a manila folder that was stamped ‘urgent.’ It contained the bills that were due and he buzzed Miss Burchett to bring the folder down to the bookkeeping department so the bills would get paid.

“Aren’t you going to write something on the bills?” she asked him.

Dick Powell grabbed a red pen and scribbled over the word ‘urgent.’ He wrote in big letters: PAY THEM ALL and handed it back to Miss Burchett.

“Should we?” she asked him.

“Of course. Most of these bills are from the little guys. In the financing world according to Hughes, the little guys get paid first. The big banks last,” he said with a smile. “Where is Oscar?”

“I left a message with his service,” she said as she exited his office.

“Any word from Fox?” he asked.

“I’m still on hold, Mr. Powell.”

Ah yes… being on hold in Hollywood.

Whether he was just starting out as an extra on a film, an established star, a mover and a shaker in the creation of the actor’s union or a big-shot producer, Dick Powell had been put on hold more times than he cared to remember. Even worse, now he found himself doing the same thing to others.

“It’s a sign of success,” he said under his breath, trying to put a positive spin on a negative annoyance.

“Miss Burchett, transfer the Fox call to my line and find Oscar,” he said as he again picked up the dossier of women stars and started leafing through it while he stayed on hold. He was looking for an actress that he thought Brando would approve of, as well as having big enough boobs to appease his boss.

Shit,
he thought. “There is no way Oscar is going to accept a woman with big boobs as the female star. He is into authenticity and Tartar women were not exactly big-breasted. This is one area where Howard would refuse to be authentic. But then again, Oscar is the writer, and in Hollywood writers come last,” Powell said out loud, glad he wasn’t a writer, but envious of the way they made everything come to life.

Thinking about writers made Dick Powell feel melancholy. It wasn’t because most of Hollywood wiped their feet on the men and women who wrote screen plays — after all, the writer wasn’t perceived by the fans or the media that covered Hollywood as sexy enough. Sure, some writers
were indeed sexy enough, but that was because of their literary success
before
they came to Hollywood. And, how many of those people made it as screenwriters? Not many. And ironically, how many screen writers made it as authors of “literary” works? Again, not many. Writing was tough, but readers were fickle. The thought of writers he’d enjoyed as a young boy trying to make it in Hollywood now made him chuckle. There was no way Brontë, Melville, Dickens or Hugo would make it as screenwriters.

“Too wordy. Too full of metaphors and too intellectual,” he said to his empty office, as he put down the big book of female movie stars. He quickly grabbed a piece of scrap paper and made himself a note to try and make
just those
types of films once he had established himself as a movie king maker. Sure, he would have to produce some slop. Sure, he would have to make the big-budget film the investors wanted. Sure, he would have to bow to the wishes of Howard Hughes and maybe even the wishes of the public… and he just might. Because doing so would make him very wealthy; he would then be able to make an artsy film by the authors that he had loved as a young boy.

Dick Powell presents an international all-star cast starring in the most faithful adaption yet of Victor Hugo’s masterpiece “Les Miserables”
was what he was fantasizing about when that thought was soon interrupted by Miss Burchett’s voice coming over the squawk box.

“Mr. Powell, Oscar Millard is on the phone. I’ll transfer it to your office.” she said.

“I’ll take it now. Thanks,” a relieved Dick Powell said as he picked up the phone and started a conversation with the writer of
The Conqueror.

Oscar Millard was a good writer. He was diverse in his screenplays. Everything from a comedy about nuns to an action drama about Navy Frogmen, which had earned him an Academy Award nomination. He’d also written a noirish film and another action film that took place 18,000 miles above where frogmen swim. Now, with his work for
The Conqueror
, he would really be able to showcase his knowledge of history.

And Millard was fun, too! He was English and intellectual and was now on the phone. As soon as Powell put his ear to the receiver he heard
the very phrase he detested the most. “You’ll have to hold, sir,” said the voice on the other end.

“I don’t believe it!” Powell screamed.

“Hey Dick. It’s me. I was just kidding. I know how you hate to be put on hold. It doesn’t bother me, because I’m a writer you know. We’re always on hold. As a matter of fact, I keep pen and paper close to me when I’m on the phone in this town. You’d be amazed at the writing I get done while I’m on hold. Anyway… I heard you were looking for me?” Oscar said.

“Big O,” Powell replied. “Where are you?”

“About to meet MB for lunch,” Oscar said.

“Who the hell is MB? Do you know how many people have the initials MB?” Powell asked.

“There is only
one
MB in my book — Marlon Brando,” Millard replied.

This is good
, Powell thought.
Very good.

“Dick are you there?” Oscar asked.

“THE
Brando right? It’s not Marlon Brando the accountant? Or Marlon Brando the plumber?” asked Powell.

Oscar Millard laughed.

“Hey O, I’m not joking,” Powell said sternly.

“Either am I, Dick. It is
THE
Brando. MB knows my work and we have more than a few friends in common. I’m meeting him at his place, which is always a great sign. I’m sure the only distraction will be all the babes lounging around. After he falls in love with the script, what should I do? By the way, didn’t I tell you I was meeting with him? After all, I tailor-made this script for him,” Oscar reminded Dick.

“I think he will fall in love with the script, after all it’s very good. When he does, tell him I’ll call him. Ask him who he envisions for support personnel on the set. Ask him who he thinks he would like to see in the other roles… especially the leading lady,” Powell said.

“Will do. Do I tell him about Hughes?” Millard asked his boss.

“What’s to tell? Hughes knows how to make movies and Brando is part of the movie business.” Dick said. “Good luck.”

And Powell stayed on the line, long after his screenwriter had hung up. He was sitting there with the phone in his hand when his secretary waltzed in.

“Mr. Powell, I have the Fox people on hold,” she said.

“Buzz ‘em on in after you keep them on hold for 30 seconds,” he said.

“You’ll have to hang up the phone,” she said.

She went to her desk and passed the call back to her boss’ line as he had requested.

“Hello. Thanks for getting back to me,” Dick said into the phone.

There was no one on the other end. Just when Dick was about to hang up, a woman’s voice came on and told him to hold the line for just a few more seconds.

“Crap,” Powell said to his empty office. “I always lose playing this game.”

“Hey Powell, this is Strabala over at Fox. What can we do for you?” the executive asked.

“I need a loan-out,” Powell said.

“For what project?” Strabala asked.

“Now Strabala, if I tell you that, you’ll steal it,” Dick said.

“Of course we will. Then, we will need a loan-out and you’ll steal the project from us. I think that is how the game is played,” Strabala said sarcastically.

“I don’t play games. You guys know that,” Powell said sternly.

“Just kidding, Dick. No one can play games and work for Howard Hughes. Who do you want?” Strabala asked in a very nice voice.

Thinking he was being cute, Powell said “MB.”

“Brando!!!!!!!!!!!??” Strabala screamed. “Are you crazy?”

How come he knew what MB stood for right away and I didn’t?
a slightly wounded Powell thought to himself?

“Yes and no,” a composed Dick Powell answered his counterpart at Fox.

“I think you mean ‘yes,’” commented Strabala.

“Look
quid pro quo
. Give me Brando for my picture and I’ll help you on anything you might need. Remember
anything
can happen in this business… especially down the line with Howard Hughes owing you a favor,” Powell reminded Strabala.