American Dreams (52 page)

He drank again. Villa might be an illiterate peasant, but he struck Paul as shrewd, and certainly he possessed innate military skills.

'You take the moving pictures?' Villa asked. Paul nodded. 'I like the pictures.

I have seen them in El Paso many times, five centavos.1

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'That's why I came down here, General. To make pictures of your war.

I have credentials to prove who I am.' He took hold of the thong that would pull out his passport pouch.

'Doesn't matter, I don't need to see them. I like you. On the other hand, you don't look stupid. Surely you know you are breaking the law.

President Huerta ordered all Americans out of Mexico. What you are doing is against the law, very dangerous.'

Paul tensed. He struggled to keep his face composed as he said, 'I know, but it's my job. I don't quite understand your concern. You're fighting Huerta and his regime. Why would you enforce his edicts?'

Villa scowled. 'Too many Yankees have bled this country dry. How do I know you're not secretly in their pay?'

'General, I'm not, but I have no proof except my word. So tell me. Are we under arrest or free to conduct our business?'

Responding with a thoughtful smile, Villa said, 'Let us say you are in my custody until we see how our talk comes out.' He regarded Paul silently for several moments. Then his eyes showed mirth again. 'I have been playing with you. Taking your measure. I heard someone was in town making pictures, my scouts reported it. I sent men to find you and capture you without harm.' Villa scratched his chin. 'So, what do you think of the people's revolution?'

'From what I've read, I'd say its goals are worthy. Mexico has a history Viva Villa!

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of allowing all the land to fall in the hands of a few. Many are not your countrymen. Do you know the name William Randolph I Iearst?7

'Yes. Very famous. He owns newspapers.'

'Hearst also has huge holdings in your country. For obvious reasons he doesn't want land reform, or education for your people. So what you're doing is laudable in that respect. But there's a lot of blood being spilled. I don't like killing. I don't like war for any cause.'

Villa tilted the bottle to his mouth. Some of the liquid ran down his chin.

His shrewd eyes stayed on Paul, focused through the flawed bottle.

'I might get a lot of money for you and your friend,' he said.

Paul shook his head, it's been tried. Last year my partner and I were in Serbia. Bandits caught us and demanded two thousand pounds sterling or they.were going to hang us.'

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i see no rope marks.'

'We escaped. You see, our employer's in London. He's a rich man but no fool. We knew he wouldn't pay. It wouldn't work if you tried it either'

Again Villa subjected him to a long, searching look. Then he waved.

'Truly, I was not speaking seriously. I admire a man like you. Brave. Big balls.' He stroked his mustache. 'Let us talk about the pictures you make.

Pictures are modern. They reach many educated people.'

'All over the civilized world,' Paul agreed.

'How would you like to make fine pictures of my army?'

'With your cooperation? I would indeed, General.'

'I'm speaking of pictures which no one else would be permitted to make.'

'Even better.' What the hell's going on?

Villa set the bottle on his knee, a small punctuation mark.

'Very well. Pay me twenty-five thousand dollars, and you will be permitted to accompany the army, photograph all my battles, and no one else will be granted the privilege.' *

'You want money for being news coverage?' Paul said, to be sure he'd heard correctly.

'The revolution needs money badly.' Like an old rug merchant the general leaned forward to wheedle the prospect, i will accommodate your every wish. If we attack an objective, for instance, Juarez or Ojinaga or some other border garrison, I will agree not to engage the enemy until you are ready and say conditions are favorable.'

Paul felt he'd fallen down Alice's rabbit hole. He took a deep puff of his 326

Nightmare

'General, you may not understand what I'm going to say, but please try. Pictures have to tell the truth because there's enough trickery and ignorance and other bullshit in the world without adding more. If you stage a battle according to some timetable we work out, that isn't the truth.'

Villa understood well enough; his bland smile changed to a frown, is this your answer? Or the answer of the man who employs you?'

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i don't know how he'd answer, he's back in England. I'll tell him what I said when I see him. If he doesn't like it, he'll discharge me.'

'And that is your answer?'

'Yes.'

Villa's brow darkened, and he spat between his boots. He tilted the bottle and emptied it, then waved the bottle in Paul's direction, i was wrong about you, gringo. When they brought you here I thought, ah, here's one with the look of a sensible man. I was deceived.' He threw the empty bottle away, and it broke noisily on the tiles.

'Let me tell you something. I know other picture men come to El Paso.

One of them will hear of my offer and accept.'

'Probably,' Paul said, nodding.

i will do business with that wise man.'

i don't doubt it.'

Villa jumped up, startling Paul and setting his heart to hammering again.

'You will leave this town and the state of Chihuahua. I will permit you to keep your camera so you will have a few pictures of our revolution, to make you wish you hadn't been so stupid. If you cross the border again, you and your helper, and we catch you, we will show you an adobe wall.

There will be no conversation first. Take them away.'

61 English Edgar

Fritzi and Lily rode the big red trolleys to Edendale six, sometimes seven days a week. Often Fritzi wasn't needed on Sunday, but Lily usually worked in her closet-sized office, or in her bedroom, turning out scenarios. The Chinese TorMre. Mad for Love. Smoking Pistols. She was English Edgar 327

facile, quick; she had a gift for telling stories. Pelzer liked her work, and he liked her personally. He raised her to sixty dollars a week.

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Gaining confidence, Lily studied each finished picture, the rights and wrongs of it. If she disliked something, she said so. She had a running argument with Eddie:

'It's nuts to put the dialogue title at the beginning of the scene. It should be inserted right where the dialogue occurs.7

Though an experimenter in some things, Eddie stuck to the conventional wisdom here:

'Everybody does it the other way.'

'Do you care about everybody, for God's sake? The best people making pictures don't. Griffith doesn't. Try it, Eddie. Just try it once.'

About the fifth time she hammered at him, he tried it, in a two-reel tear-jerker called Where's Father?' He was big enough to admit it worked.

He praised Lily for sticking to her'convictions, promised he'd adopt the technique when it was appropriate. 'The hell with what AI says.'

B.B. and Sophie left for two months, sailing from New York to England to set up a London exchange, then to cross the Channel to peddle Liberty's wares in Berlin and Paris. At the end of the trip, at Fritzi's insistence, the Pelzers had a grand dinner with Paul and Julie at Cafe Royal in London. Julie later wrote that B.B. fought for the bill and won.

The Edendale neighborhood was growing busy. Fritzi's old acquaintance Michael Sinnott, rechristened Mack Sennett, took up residence on a lot not far up the street. Mack's company was called Keystone, after the logo of the Pennsylvania Railroad, which he freely appropriated. Mack had brought his diminutive girlfriend, a brunette named Mabel Normand, out west with him, along with some dependable actors. He continued to produce the kind of zany police comedies Griffith had dismissed as silly.

The wife of the affable and talented actor who'd replaced Owen as the Lone Indian, Geoffrey Germann, worked as a freelance costumer for picture companies. In the late slimmer of 1913, Maybelle was employed for several weeks at Mack Sennett's lot up the street. Geoff invited Fritzi to join them for an evening showing of a new picture, to be followed by a picnic of the kind B.B. often threw when Liberty closed up production on a picture.

Sennett's lot at 1712 Alessandro resembled Liberty's, though it had a more imposing entrance, a wooden arch with a large sign reading: MACK SENNETT

Keystone Comedies

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Elaborate construction was underway just inside. Framing was complete for a new building with the skeleton of a tower at one corner. A man securing a tool chest for the night noticed Fritzi's interest in the tower. 'His office goes up there. Steam room, private bath -- got to hire a crane to lift the tub. I hear it's big as a swimming pool.'

Sennett greeted her warmly by the picnic tables where actors, crew people, and guests filled their plates with slices of ham and turkey, potato salad and beans and biscuits. Fritzi congratulated him on his success. 'It's wonderful, Mike - 1 mean Mack, I'm not used to that name yet. You're a tycoon. Your very own studio, with a lot of creature comforts in that tower of yours.'

'We'll have a gym in the new administration building. Man's got to be fit and comfortable to do his best work.' His smile faded as a new thought came into his mind. 'But it isn't as grand as it looks. For the first time I'm responsible for a payroll. And a pile of debt.' Despite his disclaimers he looked very successful in his fine three-piece suit of summer linen with a glittering cravat stickpin.

'Mr. Griffith's moved here permanently, hasn't he?'

'Yes, and most of the old Biograph gang came too. Billy Bitzer, Lionel Barrymore, Hank Walthall, the Gish girls. Little Mary left him for Zukor's Famous Players.'

'I know, I saw her there.'

'Hey, there's my leading lady. Over here, Mabel.'

He introduced Fritzi to a voluptuous five-foot brunette with snapping dark eyes. Fritzi and Mabel Normand hit it off and in five minutes were chatting like old friends. Mabel cracked and ate peanuts while she told a lengthy dirty joke. As Fritzi listened with a smile, she was aware of the attention she was getting from a funny little chap with wavy dark hair and bold eyes.

Another old friend turned up in the milling crowd. Roscoe Arbuckle Fatty, with whom she'd worked in A Merry Mix-Up. They hugged. 'Here's someone new in the outfit,' Fatty said, crooking a finger at whoever was standing behind her. It turned out to be the little fellow who'd been staring at her. Fatty introduced him as Charles Chaplin. 'Our nickname for him's English Edgar.'

'Charmed,' said English Edgar, alias Chaplin, in an accent that would have identified him anywhere in the world. He kissed Fritzi's hand and batted his eyes. Then he tipped his derby and let it tumble brim over crown straight down his arm to his waiting hand. A show-off, but an amusing one. %

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English Edgar 329

Chaplin sat beside her on the grass during the showing of Fatty's Fabulous Feast. Fatty, a pastry cook, was pursued by Sennett's comic policemen, who mistook him for a jewel thief. Afterward, in the soft summer dark where fireflies winked, Chaplin tipped his hat once more, this time as a gesture of politeness.

'Very enjoyable meeting you, Miss Crown. I hope I have the pleasure again.'

Something made her put her index finger under her chin, curtsey, and bat her eyes. 'Charmed.'

Chaplin laughed. 'You're poaching in my territory, lass.'

'Sorry. It isn't my forte.'

'I'm not so sure,' he said as they parted.

Their paths were soon to cross again. One Saturday night in September, Fritzi felt lonely and said yes to Lily's invitation to go to Poodles in Venice, where a colored jazz band played loud, peppy music. Not being welcome in established social circles, picture people entertained themselves with their own movable party. Every Thursday night the Hollywood Hotel rolled up its lobby rugs for dancing. Friday there was a picnic and dancing way out at Inceville, the ranch where Bison director Thomas Ince filmed his westerns. Saturdays, the party moved to Poodles, or the Ship's Cafe in Hollywood, lily was a regular on the circuit. She'd disappear with some new Lothario, then sneak him into the house in the middle of the night. The man would be gone by the time Fritzi's alarm clock rang.

The night out lifted Fritzi's spirits. A large glass of Crown lager furthered the process. She refused the invitation of a man with thick glasses who wanted to dance. He asked Lily, who had no such reservations.

About nine o'clock Mack walked in with Mabel, Fatty Arbuckle, Fatty's wife, Minta, and Chaplin. As Mabel sat down and reached for the peanut bowl, Fatty saw Fritzi and waved. Chaplin came over, affecting a comic waddle that reminded Fritzi of penguins. He let his hat tumble down his sleeve, bowed.

'Dear lady. I low grand to see you again. Care to step around the floor with me?'

'Yes, but please tell me what I should call you. Edgar or Charles?'

He led her by the hand. 'Charlie, please.'

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The tune was 'Oh, Gee,' a Harry Poland foxtrot. Charlie was expert on his feet, whirling and turning Fritzi until she began to feel giddy.

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Nightmare

'Another lager?' he asked when the music stopped. 'Or would you prefer a stroll on the pier? It's a lovely night.'

'Yes, let's go out.'

The music of the colored band faded, overlapped by 'Come Josephine in My Flying Machine' pumped out of the Ferris wheel calliope. Strung with colored lights, the wheel revolved prettily against the night sky. Rifles banged in a shooting gallery. Screams trailed out behind the hurtling cars of the Cloud Race roller coaster. On the long fishing pier, from which Mack's comedians had already driven a cop car more than once, a balmy breeze warmed Fritzi and induced a pleasant languor. The moonlit Pacific murmured. Charlie took her hand.

'Allow me to pay you a compliment. Fatty showed me/I Merry Mix-Up the other night. Very funny.'