I guess actors are different in the way they think about things. Mr. Prestwick was always nice to me so I had no complaint, but it was different somehow. Maybe down underneath he cared, but I always thought he kind of saw himself in a place or situation, then did what he thought he was supposed to do. Anyway, he wasn’t like the others. They always said exactly what they meant. Mr. Prestwick said what he was supposed to mean. That’s a big difference. Anyway, when he won that Oscar, things began to change. Mr. Prestwick was busier than ever and the next thing we knew he was playing in that war picture with Kitty Lamson, and was a real big star again. He went away to Mexico to do the location shooting for three weeks and when he came back he was different. That’s when he bought me the uniform and cap to wear when I took him in the car. I didn’t mind, but I heard Mrs. Emma fussing about it to him. Anyway, I wore it and took him to the studio first time I had it on. They were making the interior shots of the war picture and I figured I’d arrive a little early that afternoon so I could watch some of the scenes. I came back at five o’clock, and didn’t see Mr. Prestwick anywhere. I knocked on the door of his dressing room at five-thirty. That’s the first time I ever saw him with a drink. He told me to go back to the car and wait for him. When I turned at the door of the studio, I saw Miss Lamson come out of the dressing room with him. By the time they got to the car, I was waiting with the door open. He put her in and gave me an address at the beach in Malibu. Every once in a while as I drove them, I watched her in the rear-view mirror. She had an actress face, very beautiful, black hair and big red lips. She laughed a lot and made jokes all the way to her house. When we got there he got out and took her to the door. She said something and he laughed and went in. When he came back he was pretty drunk, didn’t say much, just rode home in the back seat of the car. That was the first thing I noticed. Two days later he phoned and asked Rosa to tell me to get a bag packed for him so that he could go away for two days’ location. I brought the bag to the studio and left it in his room. On my way out I saw Al Morgan, the assistant director. I asked him where the location was they were going to. He said that it was on the beach at the other side of San Diego. He told me that the company would be there Monday and Tuesday. This was only Friday. That was the second thing. I worked on the lawn that afternoon, thinking about it.
Wednesday, when Mr. Prestwick had a day off, Mr. Froken came. Mrs. Emma was out and Rosa was shopping, so I went into the house to see if they needed coffee or anything. They were in Mr. Prestwick’s den and I could hear him yelling all the way out in the hall. So I didn’t go in, and I didn’t listen. After a while Mr. Froken came out, got in his car and drove away. I never saw him look like that before — worried and sad and nervous. That was the third thing.
Next day I saw Mrs. Emma in the little garden place I fixed up for her. She was sitting in her chair, all alone. I went to see if she wanted anything. She told me that Mr. Prestwick had another week’s location to do and would I please ask Rosa to pack his bag and take it down to the studio. When I looked back at her, her face was all twisted up and tears were running down it. She just sat there, crying. I went to get the bag, my stomach all tight and knotted up.
This time when I went to the studio dressing room, Mr. Prestwick was in it. He called me in and looked at me, hard.
“Cappy,” he said. “I want you to do something for me.”
“Yes, sir.” I said.
“I am going to stay at the Malibu Beach house for a few days. I want you to call for me there, each morning.”
I said I would.
“And I want you to keep it to yourself. Man-to-man. Okay?”
I started to speak, then didn’t.
“Yes, sir,” I said.
When I got to the studio door again, I felt like I might throw up. When I looked up, Mr. Froken was standing there.
“Mr. Froken,” I said. “What am I going to do?”
He looked at me for a long time. “Nothing, Cappy.” I guess I must have looked funny. He put a hand on my shoulder. “This is not your trouble,” he said. “It’s mine — and Mrs. Emma’s. Do one thing for me?”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“If he starts to drink, call me. Sometimes he can’t stop.” Then he went on while I got into the car.
Everything was terrible after that. Mr. Prestwick was living down at Kitty Lamson’s house and didn’t come home at all. Mrs. Emma looked sick and thin, and wouldn’t eat, even when Rosa tried to make her. Rosa looked at me most of the time like I was some kind of a traitor. I brought things down to Mr. Prestwick when he asked me and drove him to work until the picture was finished. Even then he stayed away. All the time Mrs. Emma got thinner and thinner. Then the papers began to write about it, every day some dirty little thing. Reporters called Mrs. Emma. It was a rotten time. Then the phone call came for me. I took it in the kitchen. It was that Kitty Lamson. She was sort of whispering, but very serious.
“Cappy,” she said. “This is Miss Lamson. Better get down here. Mr. Prestwick needs you right away.”
I didn’t like the way her voice sounded so I ran to the car and drove out of the yard without telling anyone. When I got to the beach house, Miss Lamson let me in. She was sort of laughing and sly in spite of being very pretty and I could see that she had drunk a lot. She could barely walk, and just pointed inside. I went into the living room looking for Mr. Prestwick, then onto the porch. The house was way up on a cliff, over the ocean, on the Palisades, and had a big cement porch all across the back, with a stairway going to the beach, crisscrossing right down the cliff. All the rooms faced on the porch and when I turned back I could see Mr. Prestwick in the one next to the living room. He was on a chair, his head down and hanging. I ran in. She was there behind me, giggly and horrible.
“Take him home, Cappy,” she said. “He’s a mess. A real mess.” Then she laughed. Mr. Prestwick looked sort of grey and his breath was making funny noises. I grabbed him up and laid him on the sofa. Then I ran to the phone and called Mr. Froken. He got right on the phone and said to hold everything till he got there. Miss Lamson had gone into the other room. I could hear her in there playing some loud music on the phonograph. I took Mr. Prestwick’s tie off and washed his face. His hands were cold. I rubbed them. I was still working on him when Mr. Froken came. He took a look at him, with his face
sort of hard and set. “Let him sleep a little, Cappy,” he said, “then we’ll put him in a hospital. I know a place.” We went out to the other room. She was still there, still with the crazy music on the phonograph. She was dancing, whirling around and around without her shoes on. Mr. Froken crossed over to the phonograph and shut it off. She stopped like a cat, still laughing. Mr. Froken just stood there, his hands shaking.