Missing Reels (17 page)

“That’s kind of clever.”

“She was diabolical. But I’d had it. I had a notion that if this one fell through, I could persuade her to give things up. We’d run through most of the money Father left us and were living on what little I earned and some sewing Mother did on the side. I could sew too, but she wouldn’t let me do it for more than an hour or so at a time, because it would make me squint and I’d get lines around my eyes. I’d just turned nineteen without a single friend to share a slice of cake with me, and I told myself that would be the last birthday I’d have in Hollywood.

“We went to Civitas and waited outside his office and right away I thought things were different. There was only one other girl ahead of me, a different type altogether, very blonde, like Emily in the novel. The secretary told her to go in and she stayed a bit longer than I expected, and Mother didn’t like that at all. Then it was my turn.

“And we walked in and it was just him, no assistants. He was rather handsome and a bit younger than I’d expected. And he takes my hand and he shakes it—I was used to having it kissed by the Europeans, which I always hated. He kept calling me Fraulein, which I thought was dreadfully affected. His English was excellent and anyway, how hard is the word ‘Miss’? And he didn’t want to know about what I had done before, instead he asked me questions about myself. At first I answered yes and no and right around the time I thought Mother was going to kick me he switched to questions that required real answers. Impertinent things, I thought, like what was my favorite fabric for a dress.

“We hadn’t been there very long when he sat on the edge of the desk and said, ‘You don’t want to be here, do you, Fraulein Clare?’ And I snapped, ‘No.’ That was when Mother really did kick me. But I didn’t care, I was sick of it all. He said, ‘Where would you rather be?’ I said, ‘I wish I were at home reading a book.’ He asked, what would I be reading, then? And Mother jumped in and said I’d been reading
The Scarlet Pimpernel
all week. He gave her a look and said, ‘Why, that’s exactly the sort of the thing a romantic heroine should be reading.’ And she said yes, that was the sort of thing I read all the time, she couldn’t stop me. I was the most romantic girl in the world, all day long I dreamed of finding a soulmate.

“And he asked if he might speak to me alone. She didn’t like that. Mind you, I don’t think she was worried about my virtue at all. She was worried I was going to tell him I hated the movies and I hated Mrs. Radcliffe and I hated him and that would be that, I’d never be the next Lillian Gish. She said surely he understood that a mother had to think about even the appearance of impropriety. And he said he understood of course, but still, ‘Frau Clare, I can’t tell whether your daughter is suitable if I can’t see how she is without her mama around.’ He was putting it to her plainly; she left us alone, or else.

“She was stuck, and she left. He shut the door behind her and went back to sit on the desk. The only other time I was left alone with a director he’d asked to see my legs, and I’m sure I wasn’t looking very friendly. He said, ‘All right Miriam’—not Fraulein, not Miss Clare, Miriam—‘what are you really reading?’

“I said, ‘I’m reading
Manhattan Transfer
.’

“He let out this huge laugh, and then I started laughing too, because all I could think of was Mother hearing him through the door and how she must be planning to kill me for clowning around with a director who was casting a serious part.

“He asked me if I’d read the novel, and since he hadn’t fallen for any of our other lines I told him yes, as much as I could stand. He said they were changing the setting to the Napoleonic era, because he liked the look of the costumes better than the sixteenth century. And they were changing the heroine’s name to Madeleine, because the publicity people said they didn’t want to spend all their time explaining the difference between Emil and Emily. And we both started laughing all over again.

“He asked me if I thought I could play Madeleine, and I told him no, I could barely walk across a set. Then he said he’d called us only because I was the most beautiful girl in any of the photos. He never once considered me for Madeleine, he figured he could use me in one of the ball scenes. I said, ‘Please don’t do that. It will only encourage Mother and I’ll have to spend another year here at least.’ And he laughed some more and said he’d give me a screen test. And if I was truly as awful as all that, he’d tell Mother I was never going to get anywhere, and she should take me back to Milwaukee and let me read modern novels and get married.

“He tells Mother that he’s going to give me a screen test day after tomorrow. She spent the next day trying to get me to move like an aristocrat and act more Napoleonic instead of sixteenth century, and I did everything she asked, thinking this would be the last of it.

“We got to the studio and they put me in makeup and this costume that had obviously been made for a woman with a much bigger bosom. They forgot to pad me out and it was hanging off me, and I didn’t say anything because what did I care, it wasn’t a real test anyway. When I walked out, Emil did kiss my hand, which thrilled Mother, and for once I didn’t mind because he winked at me as soon as her back was turned. And he told her, very politely, that it was best she wait off set. And she left. It was glorious.

“Now you know in those days with no sound, the director could talk to you the whole time. As soon as the cameras started turning, he started telling me what to do. It was a scene between Count Morano and Madeleine, and I was supposed to be recoiling from his advances. The actor playing the Count didn’t much appeal to me and I thought that would help, but then I started and Emil ordered the camera off after just a minute or two, and I knew I’d been as terrible as ever.

“And he took me aside and told me that if I didn’t at least try, Mother would be able to tell and who knew how’d she react. He said he knew I must have had men trying to flirt with me in the casting offices, and I probably hadn’t liked it. He was so kind that I told him about the other director who’d made me lift my skirt, and getting poked and sometimes pinched and having to stand up and turn around so they could comment on my legs or my chest, and how awful it always made me feel. He said fine, think about that. We started over and I realized this wasn’t bad. He was going to get me out of there, and I did everything he asked. It took longer than I expected, maybe six or seven takes, and I wondered about that. When the test was over he told me to go out and have a good time. I told him I wouldn’t be going anywhere, I’d be going home with Mother, like always. He said I wouldn’t have to do that much longer.

“We didn’t hear anything for a couple of days, and then a couple more days, and Mother was beside herself. Then a week had gone by and we were at home, I don’t remember doing what, and the phone rang in the hallway and Mother went to answer it. And she starts shrieking. ‘Miriam, Miriam! You’re Madeleine!’ It was absolutely the last thing I had expected. It was a catastrophe. I wasn’t blonde, I wasn’t sweet, or blushing, or aristocratic, and I couldn’t act. Everyone was going to find out I couldn’t act. She told me, ‘Miriam, he wants to talk to you.’

“First thing he said was, ‘Are you terribly angry with me?’ I told him, ‘Yes. You’re making a mistake. I’ll ruin your movie, I’ll be awful.’ Mother grabbed my shoulder and shook it and I had to pull away so she wouldn’t be close enough to hear him. He said I should be sensible and realize it would be much easier for a successful actress in Hollywood to get rid of her mother than for an unmarried girl in Milwaukee. I told him—I had to be careful, because if I said much more Mother would have apoplexy—I told him if it didn’t work out that way, things would be worse than ever. He said, ‘I don’t want some actress who already thinks she knows everything arguing with me. I want someone who will trust me to tell her how it should be.’ And he asked me if I trusted him. I didn’t, I thought he was crazy. But I told him I did.

“The contract wasn’t much by the standards of a real leading lady, a few hundred a week. But it was a world of money to us. We moved into a little bungalow and we had the studio car instead of having to take the streetcar all the time. I went out and bought some new clothes and Mother did too, and we thought we were living it up.” She looked at the clock, a big brass thing under a dome on the mantel. “It’s past 10:30. Time for my cigarette. I know you smoke too, would you like one of mine?” She reached for a lacquered box on the table.

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

“I have two in the evening.” It was the most disciplined thing Ceinwen had ever heard. Miriam took the top off the box, took one and handed the box over. The cigarettes were filters with a gold band around the middle.

“Never seen these before.”

“They’re St. Moritz.” Ceinwen’s hand stopped. “What’s so funny?”

She took one and snapped the lid back on the rest. “Nothing. I’m happy to set St. Moritz on fire at the moment.” Miriam got up and pulled a large silver table lighter off the server, along with a big silver ashtray, lit Ceinwen’s cigarette and then her own.

“Did he treat you well on set?”

“Very well. It didn’t take long to see that wasn’t the case with others. He wasn’t a shouter, he told me once he’d had enough shouting in the army. But if he didn’t like what was happening he’d walk over to whoever was offending him and quietly tell them what he thought. And he was vicious. I’ve never known anyone who could be so cutting in so few words. About a week into the shoot he said something to the DP, I didn’t hear what. But the man went white and walked off and didn’t come back. We shut down for a couple of days while they found someone else.

“But with me he was always reassuring. He set aside a car for Mother during the day and she would go out to lunch and brag to people that I was going to be a star. He knew how to get on my good side. I was the teacher’s pet, and all I wanted was to make him happy. But it wasn’t a happy set. Push, push, push. We were filming late almost every day, and no one dared complain to his face, although they did plenty behind his back.

“We were about a week into shooting and it was very late in the day, and we were doing a simple scene where I entered a room and collapsed into a chair. I did it once and Emil told me it didn’t look right. Still no good the second time. He demonstrated and I tried not to laugh and I could tell he was annoyed. The third time I did it he yelled ‘cut’ and he shouted, ‘Is that how women sit in Milwaukee? Ass first like a dog?’

“He’d never raised his voice on set before, and it was me he did it to. I yelled right back at him, ‘If that’s how they talk to women in Berlin, you can take your movie and go straight to hell.’ I ran to my dressing room and locked the door so I could cry. I threw all my costumes off the rack. But I wasn’t very good at tantrums. Costumes cost money, and I didn’t think to rip them up.

“People started knocking. The assistant director, the art director, the hairdresser, he was sending anyone I had ever seemed to like. I kept the door locked and I told them all to go away. Finally Emil knocked. Him I told—well, I don’t think he had realized I knew that phrase. I took off my makeup and put on my street clothes and sat down to wait until it sounded as though they’d all left for the night. When the set got quiet I walked out and he was by himself, sitting on one of the prop sofas. He asked if I was calm enough to talk.

“He told me he was sorry. It was the only time I ever heard him apologize to anybody for anything. Emil said he had to be the way he was, because Gregory was the biggest skinflint in Hollywood. He didn’t want to be von Stroheim, spending too much money and taking too much time, and winding up with his movie taken away from him and no work. He was going to do it his way, but on time and on budget, and if that meant he had to browbeat everyone that was how it would be. I told him I understood, and he kissed me.”

“Did you, ah …”

For the first time, Miriam looked as though she were enjoying herself. “Did we what?”

“Did you go to bed with him?” Ceinwen winced at herself.

“Not that night. The set was cold and back in my dressing room the costumes were still all over everywhere. I wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to mess them up. No, he took me home. The next evening I told Mother I had to go to his house to rehearse. She didn’t make the slightest objection. That was when we went to bed. You should ash that.” Miriam held out the ashtray and Ceinwen flicked her cigarette. “I’ve shocked you.”

“No, why should I be shocked. You were in love.”

“Because it is shocking, you know. It was wicked of him. Not much better than Chaplin. I was nineteen and he was thirty-eight. I teased him about that later, him being exactly twice my age. He said he could have waited for my next birthday, to make the difference less embarrassing, but he didn’t like waiting for anything. I asked if he wanted to give me more life experience so I’d be a better actress, and he said it was exactly the wrong thing to do. Madeleine was a virgin, that was the whole point to her, and he’d fixed that for me forever, hadn’t he.”

Miriam wasn’t much easier to rattle than Matthew. She might as well ask. “You think that’s why he cast you? To sleep with you?”

“I thought about that, even at the time. Of course he said that wasn’t it, what else would he say. But I’m sure he thought about it as soon as I walked in the office. Probably even from the photos. That’s how it works with a man, just a few minutes.”

“I don’t think that’s true at all,” protested Ceinwen.

“You really are a romantic, aren’t you.” Miriam put out her cigarette. “That’s the real reason you wanted to hear all this. If I’d had an affair with a train conductor you’d be just as fascinated.”

“I wouldn’t say that. I love movies.”

“But if the story is as good as a movie …”

“Maybe.” She thought back. “Did you ever see
Closely Watched Trains
?”

Miriam let out a hoot. “No! A romantic movie about train conductors! You know one!”

“He isn’t a conductor, he’s a station employee. The girl’s a conductor.”

“I think,” said Miriam, “I can tell why you didn’t want to stay in Mississippi. Well, New York usually knocks some sense into romantics. And you’ll be better off.”