‘Why don’t you, Mona? Do you good.’

  She looked at me curiously.

  ‘Have you got a date?’

  ‘What makes you think I’ve got a date?’

  ‘The reasons are obvious,’ she said, still looking at me.—‘All right, Tommy,’ she said after a moment. ‘I’d be delighted.’

  ‘Good—I’ll change clothes and come by in thirty minutes. So long Gawguh,’ he said, going out.

  I walked over and changed stations on the radio, getting an orchestra, Jan Garber’s. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Mona was watching me closely.

  ‘I hope you have a good time,’ I said finally.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’ she replied. ‘I’ll have a good time. I’ll have a hell of a time. Yes, sir. And I hope you have a good time too.’

  ‘What makes you think I’m going anywhere?’

  ‘Nuts,’ she said, going upstairs, slamming the door of her bedroom.

  At ten thirty Mrs. Smithers picked me up. Lally was not with her.

  ‘Get in, dear boy,’ she said, opening the door for me herself. ‘All right, Walter,’ she said to the driver.

  I sat down beside her, pretending in that moment that this was my car and I was being driven to the Carthay Circle to see the première of my new picture.

  ‘How are you, dear boy?’ she asked, putting her hand on my leg. ‘Forget what happened this afternoon. That was only the beginning.’

  ‘I’ve forgotten it,’ I said. ‘As long as you’ve got faith in me, I’m not worried.’

  ‘Don’t bother your pretty head with it. Just leave everything to me. I’ve got grand plans for you.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am...Where’s Lally?’

  ‘This is Thursday night,’ she said.

  I looked at her, not understanding.

  ‘Thursday night?’

  ‘You dear boy,’ she said, laughing. ‘This is charming -charming. It’s his night off.’

  ‘Oh—’ I said.

  The driver turned off Vine on to Sunset, going west. Hollywood, here I am, I thought, my heart pounding with excitement; this is where I belong, this is my destiny, this big car and this chauffeur and this rich woman by my side are not strange—all this is an omen as infallible as those funnel-shaped black clouds back home are omens and everybody knows what surely will happen. That’s not right, I thought quickly, a little frightened that I had likened what was going to happen to me to what was going to happen to a town that saw one of those clouds approaching; that’s not what I mean to think, I thought...

  We crossed La Brea where the Chaplin studios were, dark and deserted. ‘I know what you went through, Charlie,’ I said to myself.

  ‘Why so pensive? You promised me you wouldn’t worry.’

  ‘I’m not worrying—I feel wonderful. Where’re we going?’

  ‘To the Trocadero. Have you ever been to the Troc?’

  ‘No, ma’am—I’ve never been to any of those places.’

  ‘Good,’ she said. ‘I want to show you Hollywood night life myself.’

  They all knew Mrs. Smithers at the Trocadero, the footman, the doorman, the hat-check girl, the head waiter—everybody.

  ‘Good evening, Mrs. Smithers,’ the head waiter said, smiling. ‘Are you having dinner?’

  ‘Just a drink or two, thank you,’ she said, leading me downstairs to the bar. The bar was pretty crowded, and as we went down the steps, they all turned, looking at us. It was a fine entrance. I had had enough experience in the Little Theater to appreciate this.

  The guy who put those steps there knew what he was doing, I thought.

  Mrs. Smithers nodded to several people, and a waiter led us into one of the booths.

  ‘I’ll have Ballantine’s and soda,’ she said. ‘What’ll you have?’

  ‘I don’t care,’ I said, not knowing exactly what to order.

  ‘Two,’ she said to the waiter.

  I looked around. Most of the people were still staring at us. Several of them waved to Mrs. Smithers, who waved back.

  ‘There’s Barbara Stanwyck and Robert Taylor,’ she whispered, leaning over.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Right over there,’ she said, waving to them.

  They waved back, nodding.

  ‘See them?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I don’t think he’s so good.’

  She patted my hand under the table.

  ‘Don’t be jealous, now. Your chance’ll come. He’s a nice boy.’

  ‘He may be a very nice boy,’ I said, ‘but I don’t think he’s such a hot actor. He’s not as good as Spencer Tracy or Paul Muni. Do you know them?’

  ‘Yes, yes—I know them.’

  The waiter brought the drinks and a bowl of parched corn. I took a couple of swallows of my drink, not wanting it, but being polite. Everybody in the bar was talking. They were pretty loud.

  ‘This is one of the show places of Hollywood,’ Mrs. Smithers said.

  ‘I know. I’ve read about it in the fan magazines,’ I said, telling myself that when I got to be a star I’d be different and do what drinking I had to do at home.

  ‘See that little fellow over there?’ she said, pointing to a table. ‘The one standing up?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s Sidney Skolsky, the columnist.’

  Skolsky turned around at that moment and she waved to him. He waved back, looking at me curiously.

  ‘He’s surprised Sammy isn’t with me,’ she said.

  I took a few more swallows of the drink. I was not excited any more about the Trocadero. All that was gone. I was beginning to wonder where Mona was and what she was doing; and the old feeling about the celebrities and the Brown Derby and the Trocadero and places like that was coming back. I thought I had got over my hatred for them, but I was wrong. I hated everybody present for no reason except that they were successful. All along I had felt that an extra, an unknown, had no business coming to places like these—and now I knew I was right. I had absolutely no business here.

  I said so to Mrs. Smithers. She was very much surprised. She asked me what I meant and I tried to explain.

  ‘Why—that’s silly,’ she said, laughing. ‘That’s only your inferiority complex.’

  ‘I don’t care what it is,’ I said. ‘I’m miserable and let’s leave before I go over there and punch Robert Taylor in the nose and tear this joint to pieces.’

  ‘My, my!’ she said, still laughing. ‘You have got an inferiority complex. You’ve got the wrong perspective, dear boy. None of these people know you. They don’t know you’re only an extra. Don’t you see that? As far as they are concerned, you might be a celebrity too—you might be a big-game hunter or a transatlantic flyer—’

  ‘I wish I were a transatlantic flyer,’ I said. ‘I wish I were in the middle of the ocean right now.’

  ‘Here, here—that’s no way to talk. Is that what one drink does to you?’

  ‘The drink’s got nothing to do with it,’ I said.

  She looked at me, frowning. I knew she was annoyed, but I didn’t care. It made me sore, sitting here looking at Robert Taylor, the biggest star in the pictures, trying to figure out what he had that put him where he was, telling myself that I was as good as he was and that, goddam it, one of these days...‘All right,’ she said, finishing her drink. ‘Would you like to go to the Clover Club or the Hawaiian Paradise or Sebastian’s—’

  ‘Why do we have to go anywhere? Why can’t we just ride around in the car and talk?’

  She laughed.

  ‘How quaint!’ she exclaimed, motioning for the waiter.

  I gave the waiter three one-dollar bills, telling him to keep the change, and we started for the stairs, Mrs. Smithers waving good-bye to all the people she knew. At the head of the stairs she met a man in a tuxedo and greeted him warmly. I remembered him from her party the night before as the one who had been singing, but I didn’t know his name.

  ‘Here, Ralph,’ she said, catching me by the arm. ‘I want you to meet a friend of mine. Ralph Carston, this is Arthur Wharton—the finest motion-picture director in the world.’

  Wharton bowed low to Mrs. Smithers, kissing her hand.

  ‘Smithers, you always say the perfect thing. —Hello, Carston,’ he said to me, shaking hands.

  ‘This is my new protégé, Arthur.’

  Wharton winked at me.

  ‘You’re in good hands, Carston—the best. What do you do?’

  ‘He’s an actor,’ Mrs. Smithers said. ‘He’s the new big star of 1938. Aren’t you?’ she asked me.

  ‘I hope so,’ I replied, self-conscious. She wasn’t kidding when she said Arthur Wharton was the finest director in the world. I had heard of him, even back home. He was as important as De Mille.

  ‘Arthur,’ she said, ‘you’ve simply got to give this boy a test.’

  ‘Well, now—’ Wharton said, his face clouding a little.

  ‘You’ve simply got to,’ she insisted.

  ‘Tell you what, Carston,’ he said to me. ‘You call me tomorrow at the studio. I’ll see what I can do.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr. Wharton,’ I said. I was so surprised at meeting him, at all this that was happening, I didn’t know what else to say.

  ‘You’re a dear, Arthur. I’ll see you Sunday, won’t I? Sunday afternoon?’

  ‘Of course you will—of course. Good night.’

  He went down the steps to the bar.

  ‘You see?’ she said to me.

  ‘I see,’ I said.

  Outside we had to wait about five minutes while an attendant at the parking lot went to get Walter, the chauffeur, who was off at one of the other bars in the neighborhood. A dozen people went into the Trocadero in the time we stood there, and Mrs. Smithers knew at least ten of them, greeting them as if they all had just got back from a long trip round the world. One of the women was so drunk it took two men to get her inside without falling. Mrs. Smithers told me who she was, the wife of some well-known producer, and I thought: I’ll remember that and blackmail him if the Wharton thing falls through, but the next moment I’d forgotten who she said it was.

  Walter finally brought the car up, stopping it across the pavement, getting out, and helping us in. He apologized for keeping her waiting, saying he thought she’d be in there at least an hour.

  ‘Ralph’s bored,’ she said. ‘We’re going to ride around. Tell Walter where you want to go,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t care,’ I replied. ‘Anywhere.’

  ‘Would you like to go to my house?’

  ‘Sure. That’d be fine.’

  ‘Turn around, Walter,’ she said. ‘We’re going home.’

  I couldn’t get over meeting Arthur Wharton. He was one man in Hollywood who had the power to do anything he wanted to. He had made more stars than you could count on the fingers of both hands. If he only likes me, I thought...

  We were alone in the house. The servants were out and Mrs. Smithers brought in a tray of drinks herself, putting them on the piano. She came over and put her arms around me and kissed me on the mouth. I was not surprised.

  ‘Wouldn’t you like to go upstairs where it’d be more comfortable?’ she asked.

  ‘Sure,’ I said.

  ‘Bring the tray and follow me.’

  I picked up the tray, following her upstairs into her bedroom. There was one small light burning on the table by the bed. I put the tray on a table, and as I straightened up she grabbed me and kissed me again. This time I put my arms around her.

  ‘That’s better,’ she said in a low tone. ‘Now you excuse me for a moment while I get into something comfortable. Mix a drink.’

  She disappeared into a little room and was back in a minute or two, wearing a white silk négligé. She had on so much perfume it hurt my eyes.

  ‘There,’ she said, taking the drink, tasting it. ‘Come—let’s sit here.’

  I sat down beside her on the couch.

  I’ll play a scene like this someday, I thought. A thousand of them...

  ‘What’ll we talk about?’ she said.

  ‘Anything. Anything at all.’

  ‘Let’s talk about you. You won’t forget me when you become a star, will you?’

  ‘Of course not,’ I said.

  ‘You’ll have all the women in America at your feet—’

  ‘That still won’t make any difference.’

  ‘What’s the first thing you’re going to do after you become a star?’

  ‘Go home,’ I said.

  ‘That’s not what I mean. You can go home any time.’

  ‘Oh, no, I can’t,’ I said. ‘That’s the one thing I can’t do. All the guys laughed at me when I came out here. I’m not going back there until I’m the biggest star in pictures.’

  ‘Your girl believes in you though, doesn’t she?’

  ‘I haven’t got a girl.’

  ‘No girl?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What about the one you live with?’

  ‘Mona? She’s not my girl. She’s more of a sister.’

  ‘Or mother perhaps?’

  ‘Something like that,’ I said.

  She held up her glass to my lips and I took a sip of the Scotch and soda.

  ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Twenty-three.’

  ‘You’re a big boy for twenty-three.’

  ‘Well, I spent most of my life on a farm. You have to be big to be a farmer.’

  Neither of us said anything for a moment.

  ‘Did anybody ever tell you you were handsome?’ she asked.

  ‘No, ma’am,’ I said, feeling my cheeks get hot.

  ‘You are. You’re the handsomest boy I’ve seen in my life.’

  I looked away, out the window. She put her drink on the tray and leaned over, her body touching mine.

  ‘And I’m crazy about you,’ she said. ‘I’m mad about you.’

  Before I could do or say anything she took my head in her hands, kissing me all over the face and eyes and biting my ear. I finally pushed her away, standing up. She pulled me down beside her again.

  ‘Please—please—’ she said. ‘Don’t you like me a little?’

  ‘Of course, I like you. I like you a lot. Why shouldn’t I? You’ve been nice to me.’

  ‘Kiss me,’ she said. ‘Touch me. Hit me. Anything.’

  I kissed her on the lips.

  ‘Not like that,’ she said. ‘Not like that. Like this.’

  She grabbed my head between her hands again and kissed me furiously all over the face, biting my chin. I put my hand on her shoulders, not pushing her away this time, just holding her off. I could feel the wrinkles of skin between my fingers. It made me a little sick. She was as old as my mother.

  She kept on kissing me, finally, unbuttoning my shirt, kissing me on the chest. In a moment she stopped, looking at me, the muscles in her face quivering, her lower lip between her teeth. I had never seen anybody look like this before. I was scared.

  ‘I’ve got to get out of here,’ I told myself.

  Suddenly she reached over and slapped me hard in the face. I stood up, trembling like a leaf.

  ‘If you were a man I’d kick your teeth out,’ I said.

  She stood up beside me, her hands on her hips, sticking out her chin.

  ‘Go on—hit me. Hit me,’ she said.

  ‘I’m not going to hit you,’ I said. ‘I’m going home.’

  ‘Go home, you stupid son of a bitch, you stupid farmer son of a bitch, you hick-town farmer son of a bitch, you dumb-ox son of a bitch—’

  I walked out, leaving her standing, still swearing at me.

  ...chapter nine

  THE NEXT MORNING IT was raining. I waked up and saw the rain and turned over and went back to sleep again, feeling very cozy. When I waked up again some man was standing by the davenport looking down at me, a total stranger. He was about thirty-five and his clothes were wrinkled, as if he had slept in them, and smelled of liquor.

  ‘Who’re you?’ he said.

  ‘Who’re you?’ I asked, sitting up, kicking the blankets off, buttoning the coat of my pajamas.

  ‘Do you live here?’ he asked.

  ‘Certainly I live here,’ I said.

  He frowned, looking around the room.

  ‘Where is this place? Am I in Hollywood?’

  ‘Certainly, you’re in Hollywood,’ I said. He’s still drunk I thought. I looked around to see if the door was open, thinking he may have strayed in. The door was closed.

  ‘How’d you get in here?’ I asked.

  ‘I’ll be goddamed if I know,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘All I know is I slept up there.’

  He pointed up towards Mona’s room. I got up, slipping on my shoes.

  ‘I hope I didn’t rob you of your bed,’ he said.

  ‘It’s not my bed,’ I answered.

  He sat down in the chair and lighted a cigarette.

  ‘Somebody must’ve brought me here,’ he said. ‘Maybe I can remember—’

  I stood there wondering whether to throw him out, and then I thought I’d see what Mona had to say about it. If he had slept with her she should know him, I thought. I went upstairs and looked into the bedroom. Mona was not there.

  ‘Did Mona bring you here?’ I asked him, coming downstairs.

  His face lighted up.

  ‘Is this Mona’s place?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I guess she did,’ he said, apologetically. ‘I was on a party with her last night and I got stinking—or can you tell that?’

  ‘Oh, no,’ I said.

  He pushed himself out of the chair, coming to me with his hand stretched out.

  ‘My name’s Hill—Johnny Hill.’

  I took his hand.

  ‘I hope you’re not sore,’ he said.

  ‘I’m not sore.’

  ‘Christ, I got stinking,’ he said.

  ‘Sit down,’ I told him. ‘I don’t know where Mona is. Didn’t she come home with you?’

  ‘I’ll be goddamed if I know. She must have. I didn’t just wander in here accidentally, because I’ve never been here before. I couldn’t very well wander in a place I’d never seen before, could I?’

  ‘Not very well,’ I said.

  ‘Are you in pictures?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What studio?’

  ‘I’m an extra.’

  ‘Oh,’ he said. Then: ‘Where do you suppose Mona is?’

 

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