Dragonflies Chapter Three
Callie, Hildy, Lillian and Maud had formed a tight foursome when they were all readers at Universal in the mid teens.
Callie, Hildy, Lillian and Maud had formed a tight foursome when they were all readers at Universal in the mid teens.
Five years later, Callie's friends were all steadily moving up the ranks. Hildy had left the industry to become a reporter on one of the fastest growing newspapers in California. Lillian was a film cutter at Paramount, and Maud had stayed on at Universal, having been recently promoted to production manager. She was currently engaged with the prestigious Lois Weber company.
Only Callie, who had made the leap from the readers' pool first, back in 1917 when she sold an original story to Famous-Players-Lasky, seemed to be sliding alarmingly downwards. The production of her story had been quietly shelved a year after its purchase, when the young actor contracted to star in it had run into a little trouble with opium and had to be sent to a sanatorium in San Diego. Since then she had only been able to find brief assignments writing title cards for B pictures and or as participating writer on set at the smaller studios.
Last year, Callie had ghost-written a column for a magazine giving lifestyle advice on behalf of Mary Pickford. This had paid her rent for several months, but since Mary was now tied up with the formation of her new United Artists studio, she had cancelled the column.
'My boss thinks this new crop of young directors are all ridiculous,' Maud announced, taking a sip of the cocktail Lillian handed to her.
'This gin is quite good, Lillian,' Callie said, raising her glass. She had drunk three cocktails already and was beginning to feel quite pleasantly squiffy.
Lillian was somewhat obsessed with perfecting her bathtub gin since too many of their friends had been on the receiving end of unwanted attentions from the bootleggers of the city. Her experiments had been patchy so far, but Callie admired her tenacity. The latest batch was at least drinkable, provided one added plenty of lime and seltzer to mask the worst of the harsh taste. That night, Lillian had made them what she called a Bees Knees, flavouring the rough gin with honey and lemon, and it had proven quite a success.
Lillian lived in an apartment in the famed Ambassador Hotel, regularly rubbing shoulders with stars and moguls alike over breakfast. Her father was somebody terribly important in Wall Street, and he had agreed to fund Lillian's Hollywood venture for two years, after such time she was either to make it on her own or come home and marry an appropriate son of one of his investors. However, in the interim, it had been discovered that Lillian's mother had been having an affair with the doorman of their Park Avenue building — in his late twenties, barely older than Lillian herself — and in the ensuing bitter divorce, her father quite forgot to stop paying Lillian's rent.
Lillian had been making quite a good salary as one of the top film cutters at Paramount for over a year now, and she regularly announced that first thing in the morning she would telephone her parents and announce she was going it alone. Somehow or other, though, she always seemed to forget her intentions before actually placing the call. The trouble with Lillian, as Hildy had pronounced many a time, was that, try as you might, you just couldn't help but like her.
'She says all young directors these days are puffed-up peacocks who are more concerned with representing their idea of a vision, whatever that is, than telling a story,' Maud continued. 'Remember the old days when everyone just worked together to get a picture made? Nobody knew who the writer or director or producer was, they all just did whatever needed to be done. This new idea of the director being a little god on set will be the ruin of pictures, Miss Weber believes.'
The boys Lillian had invited turned out to be the worst kind of sheiks. Stunt men — as Lillian had promised — all charm, twinkling eyes and athletic physiques and — as Hildy had predicted — absolutely no conversation whatsoever. Lillian had rented a gramophone for the occasion and had intended for everyone to dance. The boys, however, seemed only interested in drinking and trying to see through Lillian's chiffon dress, something she did a very good impression of finding hilarious, much to the others' chagrin.
Callie could never understand why Lillian turned into a completely different person, one without a single brain for that matter, whenever the male of the species was present. It made her feel uncomfortable. Hildy got annoyed, and would sit in the corner, openly rolling her eyes as Lillian's laughter pealed over the music, but Callie occasionally worried if she ought to be doing the same.
She was far from certain that she wanted to get married, and quite sure she didn't want to marry anyone who stared blankly when asked what he thought about the threat of steel strikes dominating the headlines, but the secret truth was, she would like to have the option. Hildy, who openly scoffed men when they were being dull and boorish, had received three proposals already – even if one was from a cousin. Lillian had received seven — Callie suspected that she was deliberately collecting them for some reason — and even Maud had one.
In the small hours after a beach party the previous summer, Maud finally confessed to what her friends had long suspected, that her tastes ran to the Sapphic. Hildy had promptly announced that she quite envied her, men could be such bores. Lillian briskly insisted that everyone felt that way after a romantic disappointment or two. Callie noted the hurt that leapt into Maud's eyes at that remark, but hadn't been sure of the right thing to say herself, so had opted simply to reach over and squeeze her friend's hand. Maud was currently employed embroiled in an affair with an Argentinian acrobat named Carlotta, which sounded beyond thrilling.
Maud sat on one of Lillian's grey silk stools, listening intently to one of the boys, who hadn’t stopped talking to take a breath in almost an hour. Maud was always afraid of gaining a reputation of a man-hater on account of her not being a man-lover, and as a result often endured endless lectures on the inner workings of motorcars or the finer points of college football, long after even Lillian had given up feigning interest. The boy appeared to be lecturing her on the inner workings of motor car engines, and Callie had twice tried to interrupt in hopes of rescuing poor Maud.
Hildy and Callie played a round of cards while Lillian and Maud entertained the boys, then Hildy announced her intention to go to Cole's for a late night hamburger sandwich. She had heard that a group of young Hollywood hotshots including Anita Loos and Irving Thalberg had made up a party that evening, and were likely to be ending up in Cole's right about now. Hildy had her eye on a new actor, Jack McCann, recently signed to RLP and he was likely to be found in the company of Anita Loos set.
Callie's heart began to beat faster. Irving Thalberg was Louis B Mayer's production manager. He was popularly considered to be a boy genius where pictures were concerned and on the up in the industry. If she could just get him chatting over hamburgers, she would be in with a chance of getting him to listen to a pitch. She was sure of it.
She felt a little guilty leaving Maud to suffer, but as Maud showed them out — Lillian had begun necking with the tallest of the boys — she reminded them that she had just purchased her first motorcar and was glad to receive such a thorough education in its maintenance.
'Besides, Carlotta is working tonight,' she added. 'She's giving a performance of acrobatics at a party thrown by Joseph Schneck and Norma Talmage. I want to stay where I'll be sure to receive the call the moment she is is ready to be collected.'
Thus reassured, Callie and Hildy headed out into the night.