Serenade. Part 8

"O.K., then. Let's see, this is on a six-week shooting schedule, that'll make seven and half for the picture. I'll have new contracts drawn up this afternoon with corresponding options."

"I'm afraid that won't do either."

"What the h.e.l.l are you getting at?"

"I want fifty thousand for the picture, with no options. I want to work, but I want every picture a separate deal. For this one, fifty thousand. When we see how that goes, we'll talk again."

"Talk like you had good sense."

"Listen, I've been out here a little while now, I know what you pay, and fifty thousand is the price. Very low it is, too, but as you say, I'm new here, and I've got to be reasonable."

London left, talking over his shoulder as he went. "Stop work on the sets. I'll wait for Thomas. If I can't get him I'll take Tibbett, and if I can't get him I'll put an actor in and dub the sound. But I'll be G.o.dd.a.m.ned if I'm paying fifty grand to this punk."

"Well, you heard him, Mr. Sharp. He's the producer. Fifty thousand is out of the question. We might up that seven and a half to ten, but that would be top. The picture can't stand it, Mr. Sharp. After all, we know what our productions cost."

"I heard him, and now in case you didn't hear me, I'll say it over again. The price is fifty thousand. Now beginning tomorrow I'm taking a little rest. I've been working hard, and I'm tired. But one week from today, if I don't hear from you, I'm taking the plane for New York. I've got plenty of work waiting for me there, and get this: I'm not just talking. I'm going."

"I hate to see you be so foolish."

"Fifty, or I go."

"Why--pictures could make you rich. And you can't get away with this. You're trying to put one over on us. You'll be blackballed all over Hollywood. No studio will have you."

"To h.e.l.l with that. Fifty or I don't work."

"Oh, to h.e.l.l with it, hey? I'll G.o.ddam well see that you don't don't work in Hollywood. We'll see if a lousy ham actor can put one like that over on Rex Gold." work in Hollywood. We'll see if a lousy ham actor can put one like that over on Rex Gold."

"Sit down."

He sat, and he sat pretty quick. "Once more. Fifty or I'm going to New York. You got a week."

"Get out of my office."

"On my way."

I had bought a little car by then, and every day we would start out early for the beach or some place, and every day when we got back, around one o'clock, so she could take her siesta, there would be a memo to call Mr. Ziskin, or Mr. London, or somebody. I never called. Around five o'clock they would call again, and it would turn out that if I would go over and apologize to Mr. Gold, there might be an adjustment on the price, say up to fifteen thousand or something like that. I did like h.e.l.l go over and apologize. I said I had done nothing to apologize for, and the price was still fifty thousand. Somewhere around the fifth day they got up to twenty-five. We were at the Burbank airport, going out to the plane, before they came around. A guy ran up, waving signed contracts. I looked them over. They said fifty thousand, but called for three pictures, one each at that price. I thought fast, and said if they'd pay for my tickets it was all right. He s.n.a.t.c.hed them out of my hand before I even finished. Next day I went into Gold's office and said I heard he wanted to apologize. He took that for a gag and we shook hands.

All that time I was making "Woolies," I hardly saw her at all. By the time I got in from the lot, around seven or eight o'clock, she would be gone to night school. I'd eat dinner alone, then go and get her, and we'd have a little snack at the Derby or somewhere. Then it would be time to go home and go to sleep. Believe me, you work on a picture lot, and don't let anybody tell you different. She'd be still asleep when I left in the morning, and the next night it would be the same thing over again. But that week I took off, we did go out and buy her some clothes. We got four or five dresses, and a fur coat, and some more hats. She loved the fur coat. It was mink, and she would stroke it the way she stroked the bull's ears. And she looked swell in it. But the hats she couldn't get the hang of at all. Between me and the saleswoman, we managed to fix her up with a few that seemed to be all right, a kind of soft brown felt hat that would do for regular dresses and that went nice with the coat, and a big filmy one for night, and a little one for knocking around in the morning, or at night school, and two or three that went with what the saleswoman called sports dresses, the kind of thing they wear at the beach. But she never could get it through her head which hat went with which dress. We'd start out for the beach, and she'd come out of the bedroom with white dress, white shoes, white handbag, and the big floppy evening hat. Or she'd start out in the afternoon with a street dress on, and the fur coat, and one of the sports hats. And I'd have a hard time arguing her out of it, make her put on what she ought to have. "But the hat is very pretty. I like."

"It's pretty, but you can't wear evening hats to the beach. It looks funny. It's all wrong."

"But why?"

"I don't know why. You just can't do it."

"But I I like." like."

"Well, can't you just take my word for it?"

"I no understand."

And then this thing happened that finished me with Hollywood, and everything about Hollywood, for good. Maybe you don't know what it's like to be a big Hollywood actor. Well, it's about like being the winning jockey in the Irish Sweepstakes, only worse. You can't turn around that somebody isn't asking you to some little party he's giving, or begging your autograph for some kid that is home sick in bed, or to take s.p.a.ce in some trade paper, or to sing at some banquet for a studio executive. Some of that stuff I had to do, like the banquet, but the parties, I ducked by saying I had to work. But when "Paul Bunyan" was finished, and I was waiting around for retakes, I got this call from Elsa Chadwick, that played opposite me in it, asking me to a little party at her house the next night, just a few friends, and would I sing? She caught me with my mouth hanging open, and I couldn't think of anything to say. I mumbled something about having an engagement to take a lady to dinner, and she began to gurgle that I should bring her. Of course I should bring her. She would expect us both around nine.

I didn't know what Juana was going to say, but instead of balking, she wanted to go. "Oh yes. I like, very much. This Miss Chadwick, I have seen her, in the cinema. She is very nice.

Next day, early, I was called over to re-shoot a scene, and I forgot about the party till I got home. Juana was under the shower, getting ready to go. By that time I had a Hollywood suit of evening clothes, and I put them on, and went out in the living-room and waited. In about a half hour she came out, and I got this feeling in the pit of my stomach. She had gone out, all by herself, and bought a special dress for the party. Do you know what a Mexican girl's idea of a party dress is? It's white silk, with red flowers all over it, a red rose in her hair, and white shoes with rhinestone buckles. G.o.d knows where she found that outfit. It looked like Ramona on Sunday afternoon. I opened my mouth to tell her it was all wrong but took her in my arms and held her to me. You see, it was all for me. She wanted to wear a red rebozo, rebozo, instead of a hat. It was evening, and didn't call for a hat, so I said all right. But when she put it on, that made it still worse. Those instead of a hat. It was evening, and didn't call for a hat, so I said all right. But when she put it on, that made it still worse. Those rebozos rebozos are hand-woven, but they're cotton, like everything else in Mexico. I'd hate to tell you what she looked like with that dress, and those shoes, and that cotton shawl over her head. are hand-woven, but they're cotton, like everything else in Mexico. I'd hate to tell you what she looked like with that dress, and those shoes, and that cotton shawl over her head.

Chadwick went into a gag clinch with me when we came in, but when she saw Juana the grin froze on her face and her eyes looked like a snake's. There were twenty or thirty people there, and she took us in and introduced us, but she didn't take us around. She stood with us, near the door, rattled off the names in a hard voice. Then she sat Juana down, got her a drink, put some cigarettes beside her, and that was all. She didn't go near her again, and neither did any of the other women. I sat down on the other side of the room, and in a minute they were all around me, particularly the women, with a line of Hollywood chatter, all of it loud and most of it off color. They haven't got the Hollywood touch till they cuss like mule-skinners and peddle the latest dirty crack that was made on some lot. I fed it back like they gave it, but I was watching Juana. I thought of the soft way she talked, and how she never had said a dirty word in her life, and the dignified way she had stood there while she was being introduced, and the screechy way they had acted. And I felt something getting thick in my throat. Who were they to leave her there all alone with a drink and a pack of Camels?

George Schultz, that had done the orchestrations for "Bunyan," went over to the piano and started to play. "Feel like singing, boy?"

"Just crazy to sing."

"Little Traviata?"

"Sure."

"O.K., give."

He went into the introduction of Di Provenza il Mar. Di Provenza il Mar. But this thing in my throat was choking me. I went over to Juana. "Come on. We're going home." But this thing in my throat was choking me. I went over to Juana. "Come on. We're going home."

"You no sing?"

"No. Come on."

"Hey, where are you? That's your cue."

"Yeah?"

"You're supposed to come in."

"I'm not coming in."

"What the h.e.l.l is this?"

We went out and put on our things and Chadwick followed us to the door. "Well, you don't seem to enjoy my little party?"

"Not much."

"It's mutual. And the next time you come don't show up with a cheap Mexican tart that--"

That's the only time a woman ever took a cuff in the puss from John Howard Sharp. She screamed and three or four guys came out there, screen he-men, all hot to defend the little woman and show how tough they were. I stepped back to let them out. I wanted them out. I was praying they'd come out. They didn't. I took Juana by the arm and started for the car. "There won't be any next time, baby."

"They no like me, Hoaney?"

"They didn't act like it."

"But why?"

"I don't know why."

"I do something wrong?"

"Not a thing. You were the sweetest one there."

"I no understand."

"You needn't even bother to try to understand. But if they ever pull something like that on you, just let me know. That's all I've got to say. Just let me know."

We went to the Golondrina. It's a Mexican restaurant on Olvera Street, a kind of Little Mexico they've got in Los Angeles, with mariachis, mariachis, pottery, jumping beans, b.u.m silverware, and all the rest of it. If she had dressed for me, I was bound she was going to have a good time if I had to stand the whole city on its ear to give it to her. She had it. She had never been there before, but as soon as they spotted her they all came around, and talked, and laughed, and she was back home. The couple in the floor show made up a special verse of their song for her, and she took the flower out of her hair and threw it out there, and they did a dance with it, and gave her some comedy. Their comedy is a lot of b.u.m pottery, jumping beans, b.u.m silverware, and all the rest of it. If she had dressed for me, I was bound she was going to have a good time if I had to stand the whole city on its ear to give it to her. She had it. She had never been there before, but as soon as they spotted her they all came around, and talked, and laughed, and she was back home. The couple in the floor show made up a special verse of their song for her, and she took the flower out of her hair and threw it out there, and they did a dance with it, and gave her some comedy. Their comedy is a lot of b.u.m cucaracha cucaracha gags, with a lot of belly-scratching and eye-rolling and finger-snapping, but it was funny to her, so it was funny to me. It was the first time I had ever had a friendly feeling toward Mexico. gags, with a lot of belly-scratching and eye-rolling and finger-snapping, but it was funny to her, so it was funny to me. It was the first time I had ever had a friendly feeling toward Mexico.

Then I sang. A big movie shot is an event in that place, but a Mexican would never pull anything, or let you know he was looking at you. I had to call for the guitar myself, but then I got a big hand. I sang to her, and to the girl in the floor show, and whanged out a number they danced to, and then we all sang the Golondrina. Golondrina. It was two o'clock before we left there. When we went to bed I held her in my arms, and long after she was asleep this fury would come over me, about how they had treated her. I knew then I hated Hollywood, and only waited for the day I could clear out of there for good. It was two o'clock before we left there. When we went to bed I held her in my arms, and long after she was asleep this fury would come over me, about how they had treated her. I knew then I hated Hollywood, and only waited for the day I could clear out of there for good.

Under their contract, they had three months to call me for the next picture, and the way the time was counted, that meant any date up to April 1. It was just before Christmas that I got the wire from the New York agent that she had a tip the Met was interested in me, and would I please, please, please, let her go ahead on the deal? I began to rave like a crazy man. "Hoaney, why you talk so?" let her go ahead on the deal? I began to rave like a crazy man. "Hoaney, why you talk so?"

"Read it! You've been going to school, there's something for you to practice on. Read it, and see what you've been missing all this time."

"What is 'Met'?"

"Just the best opera company in the world, that's all. The big one in New York, and they want me. They want me!--she'd never be sending that unless she knew something. A chance to get back to my trade at last, and here I am sewed up on a lousy contract to make two more pictures that I hate, that aren't worth making, that--"

"Why you make these pictures?"

"I'm under contract, I tell you. I've got to."

"But why?"

I tried to explain contract to her. It couldn't be done. An Indian has never heard of a contract. They didn't have them under Montezuma, and never bothered with them since. "The picture company, you make money for her, yes?"

"Plenty. I don't owe her a dime."

"Then it is right, you go?"

"Right? Did they ever give me anything I didn't take off them with a blackjack? Would they even give me a cup of coffee if I didn't pack them in at the box office? Would they even respect my trade? This isn't about right. It's about some ink on a dotted line."

"Then why you stay? Why you no sing at these Met?"

That was all. If it wasn't right, then to h.e.l.l with it. A contract was just something that you probably couldn't read anyway. I looked at her, where she was lying on the bed with nothing on but a rebozo rebozo around her middle, and knew I was looking across ten thousand years, but it popped in my mind that maybe they weren't as dumb ten thousand years ago as I had always thought. Well, why not? I thought of Malinche, and how she put Cortes on top of the world, and how his star went out like a light when he thought he didn't need her any more. "...That's an idea." around her middle, and knew I was looking across ten thousand years, but it popped in my mind that maybe they weren't as dumb ten thousand years ago as I had always thought. Well, why not? I thought of Malinche, and how she put Cortes on top of the world, and how his star went out like a light when he thought he didn't need her any more. "...That's an idea."

"I think you sing at these Met."

"Not so loud."

"Yes."

"I think you're a pretty bright girl."

Next day I hopped over to the Taft Building and saw a lawyer. He begged me not to do anything foolish. "In the first place, if you run out on this contract, they can make your life so miserable that you hardly dare go out of doors without some rat shoving a summons at you with a dollar bill in it, and you'll have to appear in court. Do you know what that means? Do you know what those blue summonses did to Jack Dempsey? They cost him a t.i.tle, that's all. They can sue you. They can sew you up with injunctions. They can just make you wish you never even heard of the law, or anything like it."

"That's what we got lawyers for, isn't it?"

"That's right. You can get a lawyer there in New York, and he can handle some of it. And he'll charge you plenty. But you can't hire as many lawyers as they've got."

"Listen, can they win, that's all I want to know. Can they bring me back? Can they keep me from working?"

"Maybe they can't. Who knows? But--"

"That's all I want to know. If I've got any kind of a fighting chance, I'm off."

"Not so fast. Maybe they don't even try. Maybe they think it's bad policy. But this is the main point: You run out on this contract, and your name is mud in Hollywood from now on--"

"I don't care about that."

"Oh yes you do. How do you know how well you do in grand "I've been in it before."

"And out of it before, from all I hear."

"My voice cracked up."

"It may again. This is my point. The way Gold is building you up, Hollywood is sure for you, as sure as anything can be, for quite some time to come. It makes no different to him if your voice cracks up. He'll buy a voice. He'll dub your sound for you--"

"Not for me he won't."

"Will you for Christ sake stop talking about art? I'm talking about money. I'm telling you that if your pictures really go, he'll do anything. He'll play you straight. He'll fix it up any way that makes you look good. And most of all, he'll pay you! More than any opera company will ever pay you! It's a backlog for you to fall back on, but but--"

"Yeah, but?"

"Only as long as you play ball. Once you start some funny business, not only he, but every other picture man in Hollywood turns thumbs down, and that's the end of you, in pictures. There's no black-list. n.o.body calls anybody up. They just hear about it, and that's all. I can give you names, if you want them, of bright boys like you that thought they could jump a Hollywood contract, and tell you what happened to them. These picture guys hate each other, they cut each other's throats all the time, but when something like this happens, they act with a unanimity that's touching. Now, have you seen Gold?"

"I thought I'd see you first."

"That's all right. Then there's no harm done. Now before you do anything rash, I want you to see him. There may be no trouble at all. He may want you to sing at the Met, just for build-up. He may be back of it, for all you know. Get over and see him, see if you can fix it up. After lunch, come back and see me."

So I went over and saw Gold. He wanted to talk about the four goals he made in the polo game the day before. When we did get around to it he shook his head. "Jack, I know what's good for you, even if you don't. I read the signs all the time, it's my business to know, and they'll all tell you Rex Gold don't make many mistakes. Jack, grand opera's through."

"What?"

"It's through, finished. Sure, I dropped in at the Metropolitan when I was east last week, saw Tosca, the same opera that we do a piece of in Bunyan, and I'd hate to tell you what they soaked me for the rights on it, too. And what do I see? Well, boy, I'm telling you, we just made a b.u.m out of them. That sequence in our picture is so much better than their job, note for note, production for production, that comparison is just ridiculous. Grand opera is through. Because why? Pictures have stepped in and done it so much better than they can do it that they can't get by any more, that's all. Opera is going the same way the theatre is going. Pictures have just rubbed them out.

"Well--before it dies, I'd like to have a final season in it. And I don't think the Metropolitan stamp would hurt me any, even in pictures."

"It would ruin you."

"How?"