Jack and Susan in 1913 (34 page)

Coughing, snagged every foot or so, short of breath, torn and stretched, nearly smothered by the mattress wrapped around his body, with clothing that was already smoking, Jack was pulled to the burning door of the barn and safety. Tripod, barking continuously, guided Susan out of the building.

When Jack reached the outside, he rolled in the cool earth and tumbled down an incline into a bed of sweet-smelling flowers. A few moments later, Susan knelt beside him and wiped his face with the hem of the dress she was to have worn at her wedding.

“You saved my life,” he said.

“Tripod brought down Hosmer,” Susan replied. “And the police have arrested him.”

Just then, Junius Fane appeared over her shoulder, staring down at Jack. The director wore a bandage jauntily over one ear. “Jack, I'm glad you're all right. Hosmer and his friends did such a good job on our cameras today that I'm afraid we're going to have to do that scene over.”

J
ACK SAT ON the curb across from the burned buildings. Susan helped him peel off his padding. It stuck in places where the barbed wire had pierced through and bloodied his skin. Junius Fane came across the road to them, more jauntily than they could have expected, under the circumstances.

“Well, Hosmer's been arrested for attempted murder,” said Fane cheerfully. “That ought to pick up your spirits.”

“It always seems like we're starting over,” said Jack.

“Not so bad as all that,” said Fane. “I'd only rented the livery stable, and everything inside was insured.”

“But the prints—the negatives,” Susan protested. “They're irreplaceable.”

“Exactly,” said Fane. “That's why I keep copies of everything in my house. They're stacked in the back bedroom, and we can have everything reproduced. In ten days' time, we'll be good as new and in full production again.” Fane checked his watch. “Are you two about ready?”

“Ready for what?” asked Jack. “I feel like I'm ready for a nice quiet grave in a cool green graveyard is what I'm ready—
aggggghhh
!”

“Stop bellowing,” said Susan. “That's the last of it.”

“Ready for what?” Jack repeated as he gasped for breath through gritted teeth.

“For the wedding, you dolt,” said Susan.

Half an hour later, Junius Fane's Speedking Sixty drew up before a tiny house in the suburb of Culver City, which was as quiet and as sedate as many people wished Hollywood was. Several huge old orange trees surrounded the house and a tangle of roses grew across the front and up on to the roof; the place desperately wanted a coat of paint. A sign on the door read “Justice of the Peace.”

The justice of the peace was a pudgy, middle-aged man with pomaded hair, a pursed smile, and eyeglasses with tiny round purple lenses. It was difficult to tell whether the odor inside the house emanated from the roses outside or some powder that the gentleman wore on his skin. He gasped in astonishment when the wedding party entered his parlor.

“It's the Lovers of the Decade!” he exclaimed. “Oh, Lord, I wish Ma was here today. Ma usually acts as my witness, but I was told you were bringing two with you, so she went out to have her hair curled. The Pacific Ocean takes the curl right out of a lady's hair, as I'm sure you have noticed. Wait till she discovers who was here, and who got married today! Miss Conquest, I admire you exceedingly. Mr. Beaumont, there is no other word for it, you are a man's man, I tell Ma that all the time. In
Plunder
, when you was dragged beneath that car, it was the most thrilling thing I ever saw in my life, and I said to Ma, ‘Ma,' I said, ‘Mr. Beaumont is a man's man.' I have lived in California for eleven years, and Ma has been out here six, and it is a different place, let me tell you, since you movies came in. Miss Conquest, you are very lovely today.”

“This is my new frock from
The Crimson Stain Mystery
,” Ida said. “It is made from my own sketch, and I chose the bolt of cloth myself.”

“And that is
really
your dog,” sighed the justice of the peace, seeing Tripod asleep in Ida's arms. “He is very well behaved.”

“Gave him a sleeping draft,” Ida explained chummily, “else he'd be right at Jack's throat. Jack and Tripod—well, they're not exactly friends of the bosom.”

“Oh, Lord,” exclaimed the justice, in barely restrained ecstasy, “this is the first time I have ever entertained true stars in my house. Is
Photoplay
going to take a photograph of the rose-covered wedding bower? This used to be an orange grove, but then there was these houses built here, and I moved in and started witnessing documents and marrying people and Ma suggested I plant roses to make it more appropriate. I have a photograph of the place, for couples that wants one for a souvenir, and usually I charge a dollar, but I can let you have it for free, and perhaps I should send one to
Photoplay
? Their address is listed inside, and it wouldn't be no trouble.”

“No,” Mr. Fane put in quickly. “This is to be a private ceremony. That is why we came here, because it's out of the way. We don't want—”

“But Miss Conquest and Mr. Beaumont are the Lovers of the Decade! All America will want to see a picture of the rose-covered cottage in which they was wed!”

“Ida is not the bride,” Susan said dryly. “I am.”

The justice of the peace stared at Susan as if she had just risen up out of the floor.

Jack put his arm around Susan. “I'm marrying this woman, Susan Bright,” said Jack. “Ida is here as a friend and witness.”

“And to hold the damn dog,” Ida interjected.

The justice of the peace shook his head ruefully, as if the shenanigans of moving-picture people were quite beyond him.

“Are you sure, Mr. Beaumont?” he asked, casting a doubtful eye at Susan, whose frock was as simple as Ida's getup was ornate.

Jack hesitated a moment, and Susan jabbed him in the ribs. “Quite sure,” he said.

Jack and Susan's week-long honeymoon was made up of equal parts of their bedroom and the sea. On one afternoon they took Tripod to the zoo, where he was the only animal with three legs. Junius Fane and Ida drove down toward the end of the week, and the two couples had dinner at the hotel together. Their table on the terrace overlooked the cool, sparkling Pacific.

Ida and Fane were celebrating not only Jack and Susan's wedding, but also the fact that Fane's wife in New York had just run off with a partner in Essanay, one of the members of the Patents Trust. So Fane was going to get not only his divorce. He could marry Ida, and—ultimately—he was going to have the satisfaction of seeing his wife's new lover fail.

It was becoming apparent the Trust was on its last legs.

“There are two anti-trust trials coming up this fall, in New York and Washington,” Fane said. “Guess who's going to be a star witness? Hosmer Collamore, in return for our dropping a conspiracy charge that was tacked on to his attempted murder. When the Trust brings up how we've stolen their patents, we're going to put Hosmer on the stand to testify how the Trust paid him to steal your invention.
That'll
take a little of the wind out of their sails,” said Fane. “We've already instituted a suit to recover your property.”

“Property?” echoed Susan.

“That device has already brought in more than thirty thousand dollars,” said Fane. “We're suing for that, we're suing for damages—we're suing them for the polish on their shoes.”

“Thirty thousand dollars?” Jack exclaimed. “Maybe I should invent something else.”

“No,” said Fane. “I want you and Ida to go on making pictures. I don't want you tinkering with machinery. That can be dangerous—and the last thing in the world I want is for you to go off and get yourself hurt.”

Bad fortune never comes singly; in balance, nor does good fortune. When Jack and Susan returned to Jack's cottage on the edge of the oil field, a telegram awaited them. Jack's uncle was forgiving him his former betrayal and begging him to return to New York.

“I know what happened,” said Jack. “He discovered that his stepsons knew nothing about the business, and that they were driving a hundred-year-old company right off the track. That's what my uncle found out, and now he wants me back to help him out of his difficulties.”

Susan blinked and looked around. “What are you going to do? Are you going back to New York? Or are you going to stay here in California?”

“We're married now,” said Jack. “Isn't the question, ‘What are
we
going to do?'”

“Not necessarily,” said Susan. “I like it out here.”

“That speaks volumes for my capacity to inspire love and devotion. You mean that if I went back to my uncle, you'd remain here with Fane and Ida?”

“And Tripod,” said Susan. “I didn't marry a rich young broker. I didn't marry an impoverished inventor. I married the Lover of the Decade.”

Jack read the telegram again. “Uncle says he can hardly wait to meet Ida Conquest. He's seen every one of our pictures, and greatly admires her beauty and her courage in the face of danger.”

“What are you going to tell Junius?” Susan demanded, as she unpinned her hat.

Jack considered for a few moments, and then said, “I'm going to tell Fane that I'm moving back to New York.”

Susan's face fell, and the light of love fled from her eyes.

Jack grinned. “Then he'll double my salary again, and I'll stay on here, as the Lover of the Century.”

Susan hit Jack over the head with her hat, crushing the plumes.

“Bite him, Tripod,” Susan commanded.

Tripod stood silently in the door of the room and wagged his stumpy little tail. Tripod had evidently forgiven Jack, possibly because Susan had married the man, and possibly because he was just too well pleased with the new leg—handsomely carved of whalebone ivory—that Jack had commissioned an old retired sailor to carve for him in San Diego.

THE END OF

JACK AND SUSAN'S ADVENTURE

IN 1913

 

 

 

For Ann Leigh

 

 

All the characters and events portrayed in this work are fictitious.

JACK & SUSAN IN 1913

A Felony & Mayhem “Wild Card” mystery

PUBLISHING HISTORY
First edition (Ballantine): 1986
Felony & Mayhem print and electronic editions: 2013

Copyright © 1986 by Michael McDowell

All rights reserved

E-book ISBN: 978-1-937384-63-0

 

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