This time I gave Mrs Cornelius his card, ‘I think I’ve made you a useful contact. He could be the help you need getting a job in pictures.’
She shook her head. ‘Never ‘eard of ‘im.’ By now she had a mental list of all the important Hollywood names.
‘You shouldn’t discount Hever completely. He’s only just come to the business. I do know he’s keen. He might be prepared to underwrite a more elaborate show, at any rate. We could make some substantial money for once.’
She winked at me. ‘Somefink in it for you. Ivan?’ She would bear what I said in mind. ‘But you know me rule: “Don’t sell cheap what don’t cost yer nuffink” and “Keep yer ‘and on yer investments.’”
I was offended. ‘I’m merely suggesting you agree to see him. He’s a pleasant enough fellow. I’m not asking you to prostitute yourself!’
‘It’s me I don’t trust, prob’bly.’ she said. ‘Ther smell o’ gelt does funny fings ter me insides.’
I had decided I must raise what I could on my Georgian flintlocks. They were all I had left of any real value and the nouveaux riches of Los Angeles were rumoured to pay exaggerated prices for what were now being called ‘genuine’ antiques. I mentioned this to Mrs Cornelius. She shrugged. ‘Seems a waste. Yore fond o’ them in yer fashion. Sort o’ mascots, in’t they? I bet they bin up a few Jew’s arses over ther years. Do wot yer like, I s’pose.’ She remained unhelpful. My other alternative was to go to a loan company and see if I could raise money with the show as security. There would be no need for anyone else to know about it, since, according to the scrap of paper we had signed, my $500 had bought me ‘exclusive rights’. I was now in a state of mixed panic, anger, disappointment and sheer misery. I longed for my Esmé. It would be virtual suicide to let her down and lose her as a result. It would be like murdering a child. Wie heisst dieses Lied?
TWENTY-ONE
MY ACTING CONTINUED to improve almost in direct proportion to my sadness and desperation. During that brief period of my life I was greater than any Barrymore. Before long we would have been snapped up. I was grateful, however, for every show we did which lacked the approving presence of the Klan! It would take only one man to recognise me and I might easily find myself invited to a night ride. I had seen what happened to traitors. They stapled your testicles to a tree, lit a fire under them and handed you a knife with the command to ‘Cut or burn’. I had felt as sick only in the Ukraine, where similar brutes had passed their leisure skinning youths alive or roasting babies on sheets of corrugated iron. They were the guards in Auschwitz, moreover. There is a kind of Ukrainian the rest of us disown.
As usual, late that afternoon, I discovered Mr Hever trembling and red-faced, almost drowning in his own seat, waiting for a word. I told him Mrs Cornelius valued her privacy more than anything, ‘I can understand,’ he said several times. Partly from curiosity, partly because I still had some notion I could borrow part of Esmé’s fare from him, I drew him out on a variety of subjects. Did he travel much? Did he live permanently in California? Where did he live in the State? Did he have views on the political situation? It was odd to witness so much awkwardness in so large a man. With his prematurely greying hair and rather thin, stammering voice, his expression of furious despair almost demanded kindness. He had renounced travelling in favour of the telephone. He lived up in ‘the hills’ but still took the double-decker downtown to work every day. He was ‘solid Republican’, he said, as his father had been. He had spent most of his adult life in the State and in his view it was best served by the Republican Party. I found this, given his interest of only a couple of years before, the most illuminating thing he had said. It seemed to me he, like me, wished to be completely free of this new, ersatz-Klann. which had abandoned oratory in favour of the blackjack, the boot and the bullwhip. I was sympathetic. Nonetheless I could not resist the unworthy thought that if he one day remembered me from Atlanta, he might be even more embarrassed than I. Living here so long, I said, one must automatically become interested in the movie business. He shrugged, pointing out that movies were only ‘a kind of hobby’. His real job had nothing at all to do with them. He was an engineer. I knew this, of course, ‘In what field?’ I was curious to see if he answered truthfully. ‘Oil,’ he said.
‘You’re employed by one of the big companies?’
‘I guess so.’ He was impatient to change the subject, to return to that of Mrs Cornelius. From a casual angler, however, I had suddenly become a game-fisherman. Here was someone who very likely could introduce me to an important executive! If I was careful, I might help Mrs Cornelius and at the same time help myself. It was regrettable I could no longer claim Klan connections, since we both were saying nothing of them. I had noticed, however, that he had been anxious to avoid the topic of politics. I wondered why. I considered what I should do next. It was all I could do to restrain myself from opening my document case under his nose. I longed to show him my plans. I knew that a professional engineer would be impressed by what many had been kind to call my genius. How could he expect a play-actor to be a brilliant scientist? It did not make sense. Why should a scientist choose to become a strolling thespian? There again, I thought, was it usual for oil-company engineers to squander their earnings on the movies? Perhaps he would understand. For all my optimism about his response, I decided to hang on to my secret a little longer. Instead I asked if there was some message I could take (with his hideous black and red carnations) to the object of his desire.
‘If she would grant me my dearest wish,’ he murmured without much hope, ‘it would be that she accept my invitation for dinner tonight at the Hollywood Hotel.’
I kept a straight face and said I would see what I could do.
‘Assure her my intentions are honourable!’ He had grown more anxious by the second.
‘She would take that for granted, Mr Hever.’ I carried his blooms to the great actress’s chamber. She began to interest herself in the flowers rather than what I had to say. ’‘Ow ther bloody ‘ell do they git ‘em that colour, Ivan?’
I insisted she listen. He was a man of means, with excellent social connections. Some kind of silent partner in a movie studio, ‘I advise you strongly, for both our sakes, to accept his invitation. The Hollywood Hotel is where all the important people dine. You’ve read the magazines. Aren’t you curious? God, I wish he was in love with me. I would jump at the chance!’