Tell All

ACT III, SCENE FOUR

Here we dissolve into yet another flashback.Let’s see the casting office at Monogram Picturesor Selig studios along GowerStreet, what everyone called “Poverty Row,” or maybe the old Central Casting offices on SunsetBoulevard, where a crowd of would-be actresses mill about allday with their fingers crossed. These, the prettiest girls from acrossthe world, voted Miss Sweet Corn Queen and Cherry Blossom Princess. A former reigning Winter Carnival Angel, a MissBountiful Sea Harvest. A pantheon of mythic goddesses made fleshand blood. Miss Best Jitterbug. A beautymigration, all of them vying for greater fame and glory. Among them, acouple of the girls draw your focus. One girl, her eyes are set tooclose together, her nose dwarfs her chin, her head rests squarely on herchest without any hint of an intervening neck.

The second young woman, waiting in thecasting office, cooling her heels … her eyes are the brightest amethystpurple. An almost supernatural violet.

In this flashback, we watch the ugly youngwoman, the plain woman, as she watches the lovely woman. The monstrousyoung woman, shoulders slumped, hands hanging all raw knuckled andgnawed fingernails, she spies on the young woman with the violet eyes.More important, the ugly woman watches the way in which the other peoplewatch the lovely woman. The other actors seem stunned by those violeteyes. When the pretty one smiles, everyone watching her also smiles.Within moments of first seeing her, other people stand taller, pullingtheir bellies back to their spines. These queens and ladies and angels,their hands cease fidgeting. They adopt her same shoulders-back posture.Even their breathing slows to match that of the lovely girl. Uponseeing her, every woman seems to become a lesser version of thisastonishing girl with violet eyes.

In this flashback, the ugly girl has almostgiven up hope. She’s studied her craft with ConstanceCollier and Guthrie McClintic and Margaret Webster, yet she still can’t find work.The homely girl does possess an innate, shrewd cunning; none of hergestures is ever without intention and motivation. In her underplaying,the ugly girl displays nothing short of brilliance. Even as she watchesthose present unconsciously mimic the lovely girl, the ugly oneconsiders a plan. As a possible alternative to becoming an actressherself, perhaps the better strategy would be to join forces—combiningher own skill and intelligence with the other girl’s beauty. Between thetwo of them, they might yield one immortal motion picture star.

The homely girl might coach the pretty one,steer her into the best parts, protect her from dangerous shoals andentanglements of business and romance. The beastly girl can boast of noprominent cheekbones or Cupid’s-bow mouth; still, such a bland facenurtures a nimble mind.

In contrast, beauty which evokes specialfavors and opens doors, such astounding eyes can cripple the brainbehind them.

Counting backward, before the Webster wasPaco, before him the senator. Before him the faggot chorus boy. Beforethat came the suicidal business tycoon, but even he wasn’t her firsthusband. The first “was-band” was her high school sweetheart—Allan … somebody—some nobody. Her second was the sleazyphotographer who snapped her picture and took it to a casting director;good riddance to him. Her third husband was an aspiring actor who’s nowselling real estate. None of those first three posed a threat.

While my position was never that of husbandor spouse or partner, I was always far more important.

Oliver “Red” Drake, Esq.,was another story. The founder of a steel smelting empire, only hepossessed the resources to marry my Miss Kathie and give her a life athome, a passel of children, reduce her to the status of a Gene Tierney hausfrau … which is the Italian wordfor loser. Steel would buy her away from thelarger world the way the Grimaldi familybought Grace Kelly, and I would be left withnothing to show for my effort.

Every husband had been a step forward in hercareer, but Oliver Drake represented a step forward in her personallife. By the time they’d met, Miss Kathie could no longer play theingénue, which is Spanish for slut. Thefuture meant scratching for character roles, featured cameos shot onlocation in obscure places. Instead of the glory of playing Mrs. Little Lord Fauntleroy or Mrs.Wizard of Oz, Miss Kathie would take billing in third place asthe mother of Captain Ahab or the maiden auntof John the Baptist.

Poised at that difficult fork in life, MissKathie was looking for an easier path.

It was so enormously selfish of her. Thelife’s work of writers and directors, artists and press agents had builtthis pedestal she was tempted to abandon. There were larger things atstake than love and peace. The independent, pioneering role model formillions was leaving the stage. A legend seemed about to retire. Thusthe tycoon’s apparent death by suicide would preserve a cultural icon.

It was no difficult task to persuade severaltop film executives and directors to testify to Mr. Drake’s depressedstate of mind. Some of Hollywood’s biggest names swore that Drake oftenspoke of ending his own life by cyanide. In that manner, the filmcommunity was able to retain one of its brightest investments.

In the flashback, we see the ugly girl wendher way closer to the pretty one. With a studied, rehearsed nonchalancethe homely girl stumbles into contact with the beauty. Jostling her, theclumsy beast says, “Gosh, I’m sorry.…”

The mob mills around them, that crowd ofpretty anonymous faces. The Hay Bale Queen.The Sweet Onion Princess. Lovely, forgettablefaces, born to flirt and fuck and die.

All those years and decades ago, the beautysmiles that astonishing smile, saying, “My name’s Kathie.” She says,“Really it’s Katherine.” Offering her hand, she says, “KatherineKenton.”

Every movie star is a slave to someone. Even the masters serve their own masters.

As if in friendly greeting, the beast offersher own hand in return, saying, “Pleased to meet you. I’m Hazie Coogan.”

And the two young women join hands.