City of Girls (15 page)

“I thought I’d pay you a visit, honey,” Billy said.

“So Olive informed me. You might have let me know.”

“I didn’t want to bother you. And I didn’t
want you to tell me not to come. I figured it’d be best if I made my own arrangements. I have a secretary now, who takes care of everything for me. She made all the travel plans. Jean-Marie is her name. She’s bright, efficient, devoted. You’d love her, Peg. She’s like a female version of Olive.”

Peg pulled away from him. “Jesus, Billy, you never quit.”

“Hey, don’t be sore at me! I’m just teasing.
You know I can’t help it.
I’m just
nervous,
Pegsy. I’m afraid you’ll throw me out, honey, and I just got here.”

Mr. Herbert stood up from the kitchen table, said, “I’m going somewhere else now,” and left.

Peg took Mr. Herbert’s seat and helped herself to a sip of his cold Sanka. She frowned at the cup, so I got up to make her a fresh cup of coffee. I wasn’t sure if I should even be in the kitchen
at this sensitive moment, but then Peg said, “Good morning, Vivian. Did you enjoy your birthday celebration?”

“A bit too much,” I said.

“And you’ve met your Uncle Billy?”

“Yes, we’ve been talking.”

“Oh, dear. Be careful not to absorb anything he tells you.”

“Peg,” said Billy, “you look gorgeous.”

She ran a hand through her cropped hair and smiled—a big smile that settled deeply into her
lined face. “That’s quite a compliment, for a woman like me.”

“There
is
no woman like you. I’ve checked into it. Doesn’t exist.”

“Billy,” she said, “give it a rest.”

“Never.”

“So what are you doing here, Billy? Do you have a job in the city?”

“No job. I’m on civilian furlough. I couldn’t resist making the trip when you told me Edna was here, and that you’re trying to make a good show for
her. I haven’t seen Edna since 1919. Christ, I’d love to see her. I adore that woman. And when you told me you’d enlisted
Donald Herbert
to write the script, of all people, I knew I had to come back east and rescue you.”

“Thank you. That’s terribly kind of you. But if I needed rescue, Billy, I’d let you know. I promise. You’d be the fourteenth or fifteenth person I’d call.”

He grinned. “But
still on the list!”

Peg lit a cigarette and handed it to me, then lit another one for herself. “What are you working on out there in Hollywood?”

“A bunch of nothing. Everything I write is proudly stamped NSA—No Significance Attempted. I’m bored. But they pay me well. Enough to keep me comfortable. Me and my simple needs.”

Peg burst out laughing. “Your simple needs. Your
famously
simple needs.
Yes, Billy, you’re quite the renunciate. Practically a monk.”

“I’m a man of humble tastes, as you know,” said Billy.

“Himself, who comes to the breakfast table dressed like he’s about to be knighted. Himself, with his house in Malibu. How many swimming pools do you have now?”

“None. I just borrow Joan Fontaine’s.”

“And what does Joan get out of that arrangement?”

“The pleasure of my company.”

“Jesus, Billy, she’s married. She’s Brian’s wife. He’s your friend.”

“I love married women, Peg. You know that. Ideally, happily married ones. A happily married woman is the most solid friend a man could ever have. Don’t worry, Pegsy—Joan is just a pal. Brian Aherne is in no danger from the likes of me.”

I could not stop looking from Peg to Billy and back again, trying to imagine these two as
a romantic couple. They didn’t look like they belonged together physically—but their conversation flickered so bright and sharp. The teasing, the jabs of
knowing,
the fullness of the attention they gave each other. The intimacy was more than obvious, but what
were
they, within that intimacy? Lovers? Friends? Siblings? Rivals? Who knew? I gave up trying to figure it out and just watched the lightning
flash between them.

“I’d like to spend some time with you while I’m here, Pegsy,” he said. “It’s been too long.”

“Who is she?” Peg asked.

“Who is who?”

“The woman who just left you, which has caused you to feel so suddenly nostalgic and lonely for me. Come on, spill it: who was the latest Miss Billy to leave your side?”

“I’m insulted. You think you know me so well.”

Peg just gazed at him,
waiting.

“If you must know,” said Billy, “her name was Camilla.”

“A dancer, I boldly predict,” said Peg.

“Ha! There’s where you’re wrong! A
swimmer
! She works in a mermaid show. We had a pretty serious thing going for a few weeks, but then she decided to take another path in life, and she no longer comes around.”

Peg started laughing. “A pretty serious thing, for a few weeks. Listen to you.”

“Let’s go out together while I’m here, Pegsy. Just you and me. Let’s go out and allow some jazz musicians to waste their talents on us. Let’s go to some of those bars we used to like, that close at eight o’clock in the morning. It’s no fun going out without you. I went to El Morocco last night and I found it so disappointing—filled with all the same people as ever, making all the same conversation
as ever.”

Peg smiled. “Lucky for you that you live in Hollywood, where the conversation is so much more varied and engaging! But no, no, no. We shan’t be going out, Billy. I don’t have that kind of durability anymore. That kind of drinking isn’t good for me, anyhow. You know that.”

“Really? You’re telling me you and Olive don’t get drunk together?”

“You’re joking, but since you asked—no. Here’s
how it works around here now: I try to get drunk and Olive tries to stop it from happening. It’s a good arrangement for me. Not sure what Olive gets out of it, but I’m awfully glad she’s there to be my guard dog.”

“Listen, Peg—at least let me help you with the show. You know that this pile of pages is a long way from being a script.” Billy tapped a manicured finger on Mr. Herbert’s dismal notebook.
“And you know
Donald can’t get it any closer to being a script, no matter how hard he tries. You can’t squeeze this out of him. So let me go at it with my typewriter and my big blue pencil. You know I can do this. Let’s make a great play. Let’s give Edna something worthy of her talents.”

“Shush.” Peg had put her hands over her face.

“Come on, Peg. Take a risk.”

“
Hush,
” she said. “I’m thinking
at the top of my lungs.”

Billy hushed and waited her out.

“I can’t pay you,” she said, finally looking up at him again.

“I’m independently wealthy, Peg. That’s always been a talent of mine.”

“You can’t own the rights to anything that we make here. Olive won’t stand for it.”

“You can have all of it, Peg. And you might even make a nice lump of brass off this venture, too. If you’ll only let
me write this show for you—and if it’s as good as I think it could be—why, you’ll make so much money, your ancestors will never have to work again.”

“You’ll have to put that in writing—that you’re not expecting to earn anything out of this. Olive will insist on it. And we’ll have to produce it on my budget, not yours. I don’t want to get tangled up with your money again. It never ends well for
me. Those have to be the rules, Billy. It’s the only way Olive will let you stick around.”

“Isn’t it
your
theater, Peg?”

“Technically, yes. But I can’t do anything without Olive, Billy. You know that. She’s essential.”

“Essential but bothersome.”

“Yes, but you are only one of those things. I need Olive. I don’t need you. That’s always been the difference between you.”

“By God—that Olive!
Such staying power! I never could understand what you saw in her—other than that she comes dashing to serve you whenever you have the smallest need. That must be the appeal. I
never could offer you such loyalty, I suppose. Solid as furniture, that Olive. But she doesn’t trust me.”

“Yes. Precisely true on all counts.”

“Honestly, Peg—I don’t know why that woman doesn’t trust me. I’m very, very,
very trustworthy.”

“The more ‘very’s’ you use, Billy, the less trustworthy you sound. You do know that, right?”

Billy laughed. “I do know that. But, Peg—
you
know that I can write this script with my left hand while playing tennis with my right hand and bouncing a ball off my nose like a trained seal.”

“Without spilling a drop of your booze in the process.”

“Without spilling a drop of
your
booze,” corrected Billy, lifting his glass. “I took this from your bar.”

“Better you than me at this hour.”

“I want to see Edna. Is she awake?”

“She doesn’t get up till later. Let her sleep. Her country is at war and she just lost her house and everything. She deserves some rest.”

“I’ll come back, then. I’ll head back to the club, take a shower, have a rest, come back later, and we’ll get
started. Hey, thanks for giving my apartment away, I forgot to mention! Your niece and her girlfriend have stolen my bed and thrown their underwear all over my precious place that I never once used. It smells like a bomb went off in a perfume factory in there.”

“I’m sorry,” I began, but both of them waved at me dismissively, cutting me off. It obviously didn’t matter in the least. I’m not sure
I
mattered in the least, when Peg and Billy were so focused on each other. I was lucky I got to be sitting there at all. It occurred to me that I should just keep my mouth shut so I would
get
to stay.

“What’s her husband like, by the way?” Billy asked Peg.

“Edna’s husband? Apart from being stupid and talentless, he has no faults. I will say he’s alarmingly good-looking.”

“That, I knew. I’ve
seen him act, if you can call it acting. I saw him in
Gates of Noon
. He’s got the vacant eyes of a milk cow, but he looked like a million bucks in his aviator scarf. What’s he like as a person? Is he faithful to her?”

“I’ve never heard otherwise.”

“Well, that’s a thing, isn’t it?” said Billy.

Peg smiled. “Yes, it’s a real marvel, isn’t it, Billy? Imagine! Fidelity! But yes, that’s a thing.
So she could do worse, I suppose.”

“And probably will someday,” added Billy.

“She thinks he’s a great actor, is the problem.”

“He has offered the world no evidence of this fact. Bottom line—do we have to put him in the show?”

Peg smiled, ruefully this time. “It’s slightly disconcerting to hear you use the word ‘we.’”

“Why is that? I’m simply crazy about that word.” He grinned.

“Until the
moment you stop being crazy about it, and you disappear,” she said. “Are you really part of this venture now, Billy? Or will you be on the next train back to Los Angeles as soon as you grow bored?”

“If you’ll have me, I’ll be part of it. I’ll be good. I’ll behave as if I’m on parole.”

“You
should
be on parole. And yes, we do have to put Arthur Watson in the play. You’ll figure out a way to use
him. He’s a handsome man who isn’t very bright, so have him play the role of a handsome man who isn’t very bright. You’re the one who taught me that rule, Billy—that we must work with what we have. What did you always tell me, when we were on the road? You’d say, ‘If all we’ve got is a fat lady and a stepladder, I’ll write a play called
The Fat Lady and the Stepladder.
’”

“I can’t believe you
still remember that!” said Billy. “And
The Fat Lady and the Stepladder
is not such a bad title for a play, if I do say so myself.”

“You do say so yourself. You always do.”

Billy reached over and laid his hand on top of hers. She let him do it.

“Pegsy,” he said, and that one word—the way he said it—seemed to contain decades of love.

“William,” she said, and that one word—the way
she
said it—also
seemed to contain decades of love. But also decades of exasperation.

“Olive’s not too upset that I’m here?” he asked.

She took back her hand.

“Do us a favor, Billy? Don’t pretend to care. I love you, but I hate it when you pretend to care.”

“I’ll tell you what,” he said. “I care a lot more than people think I care.”

TWELVE

Within a week of his arrival, Billy Buell had written a script for
City of Girls
.

A week is an awfully short time in which to write a script, or so I’ve been told, but Billy worked nonstop on it, sitting at our kitchen table in a cloud of pipe smoke, clattering away steadily at his typewriter till the thing was done. Say what you want about Billy Buell, but the man knew how to bang out
words. Moreover, he didn’t seem to suffer at all during his creative burst—no crises of confidence, no tearing at the hair. He hardly paused to think, or so it appeared. He just sat there in his fine doeskin trousers, and his bright white cashmere sweater, and his spotless ecru Maxwell’s of London custom-made shoes, calmly typing away as though taking dictation from some invisible and divine source.

“He’s monstrously talented, you know,” Peg said to me, as we sat in the living room one afternoon, making sketches for costumes and listening to Billy’s typing in the kitchen. “He’s the kind of man who makes everything look easy. Hell, he even makes it look easy to make
things easy. He produces ideas in torrents. The problem is, you can usually only get Billy to work when his Rolls-Royce needs
a new engine, or when he gets back from vacationing in Italy and notices that his bank account is down a few bucks. Monstrously talented, but also monstrously inclined toward laziness. That’s what you get for coming from the lolling-about class, I suppose.”

“So why is he working so hard now?” I asked.

“I’m not able to say,” said Peg. “Could be because he loves Edna. Could be because he loves
me. Could be because he needs something from me and we just don’t know what it is yet. Could be because he’s gotten bored out there in California, or even lonely. I’m not going to examine his motives too fiercely. I’m glad he’s doing the job, in any case. But the important thing is not to count on him for anything in the future. By future, I mean ‘tomorrow’ or ‘in the next hour’—because you never
know when he’s going to lose interest and vanish. Billy doesn’t like it when you count on him. If I ever want privacy from Billy, I’ll just tell him that I desperately need him for something, and then he’ll run straight out the door and I won’t see him for another four years.”

The script was intact on the day Billy typed the last word. I don’t recall him editing any of it. And his script didn’t
just have dialogue and stage directions; it also included lyrics of the songs that Billy wanted Benjamin to write.

And it was a
good
script—or at least I thought so, based on my limited experience. But even I could understand that Billy’s writing was bright and funny, fast-paced and upbeat. I could see why 20th Century Fox kept him on payroll, and why Louella Parsons had once written in her column:
“Everything Billy Buell touches is box office! Even in Europe!”

Billy’s version of
City of Girls
was still the tale of one Mrs. Elenora Alabaster—a wealthy widow who loses all her money in the crash of 1929 and transforms her mansion into a casino and bordello in order to keep herself afloat.

But Billy added some interesting new characters, as well. Now the play also included Mrs. Alabaster’s
fantastically snobbish daughter, Victoria (who would sing a comic song at the beginning of the show called “Mummy Is a Rumrunner”). There was also a gold-digging, penniless aristocrat of a cousin from England, played by Arthur Watson, who is trying to win Victoria’s hand in marriage, in order to lay claim to the family mansion. (“You can’t have Arthur Watson playing an American police officer,”
Billy explained to Peg. “Nobody would believe it. He has to be a British dolt. He’ll like this role better, anyway—he gets to wear finer suits and he can pretend to be important.”)

The romantic male lead would be a scrappy young kid from the wrong side of the tracks named Lucky Bobby, who used to fix Mrs. Alabaster’s cars but who now helps her set up an illegal casino in her home—the result being
that they both get stinking rich. The romantic female lead was a dazzling showgirl named Daisy. Daisy has a body that won’t quit, but her simple dream is to get married and have a dozen children. (“Let Me Knit Your Booties, Baby,” would be her signature song—performed in the manner of a striptease.) That role, of course, would be played by Celia Ray.

At the end of the play, Daisy the showgirl
ends up with Lucky Bobby, and the two of them head off to Yonkers to have a dozen babies together. The snobbish daughter falls in love with the toughest gangster in town, learns how to shoot a machine gun, and goes on a bank-robbing spree in order to finance her expensive tastes. (Her big number is “I’m Down to My Last Pint of Diamonds.”) The shady cousin from England is banished back to his shores
without inheriting the mansion. And Mrs. Alabaster falls in love with the mayor of the city—a real
law-and-order type, who has been trying and failing to shut down her speakeasy throughout the entire production. The two of them get married, and the mayor resigns his political post in order to become her bartender. (Their final duet, which would turn into the big closing number for the whole cast,
was called “Let’s Make Ours a Double.”)

There were some new smaller roles in the play, too. There would be a purely comical drunkard character who pretends to be blind so he doesn’t have to work, but who is still a mighty fine poker player and pickpocket. (Billy talked Mr. Herbert into taking the role: “If you can’t write the script, Donald, at least be in the damn play!”) There would be the
showgirl’s mother—an old floozy who still wants to be in the spotlight. (“Call Me Mrs. Casanova” was her signature tune.) There would be a banker, trying to repossess the mansion. And there would be a large company of dancers and singers—far more than our usual four boys and four girls, if Billy had anything to say about it—in order to make the play into a bigger and more energized production.

Peg loved the script.

“I can’t write for free seeds,” she said, “but I know what a smashing story is, and this is a smashing story.”

Edna loved it, too. Billy had transformed Mrs. Alabaster from a mere caricature of a society dame into a woman of real wit and intelligence and irony. Edna had all the funniest lines in the play, and she was in every single scene.

“Billy!” exclaimed Edna, after
reading the script for the first time. “This is delightful, but you’re spoiling me! Doesn’t anyone else in the show get to speak?”

“Why would I take you offstage for a moment?” Billy said to her. “If I have the chance to work with Edna Parker Watson, I want the world to
know
I’m working with Edna Parker Watson.”

“You’re a dear,” said Edna. “But I haven’t performed comedy in so long, Billy. I’m
afraid I’ll be quite stale.”

“The trick of comedy,” said Billy, “is not to perform it in a comic manner. Don’t try to be funny, and you’ll be funny. Just do that effortless thing you Brits do, of throwing away half the lines as though you can scarcely be bothered to care, and it’ll be brilliant. Comedy is always best when it’s thrown away.”

It was interesting to watch Edna and Billy interact.
They had a real friendship, it appeared—based not only on teasing and playfulness, but on mutual respect. They admired each other’s talents, and genuinely had a good time together. The first night they saw each other, Billy had said to Edna, “Very much of little consequence has transpired since last we met, my dear. Let’s sit down for a drink and talk about none of it.”

To which she had replied,
“There is nothing I would rather not talk about, Billy, and nobody whom I would rather not talk about it
with
!”

Billy once told me, in front of Edna, “So many men had the pleasure of having their hearts broken by our dear Edna, back when I knew her in London so long ago. I didn’t happen to be one of them, but that’s only because I was already in love with Peg. But back in her prime, Edna cut
down man after man. It was something to see. Plutocrats, artists, generals, politicians—she mowed them all to bits.”

“No, I didn’t,” Edna protested—while smiling in a manner that suggested:
Yes, I did
.

“I used to love to watch you break a man apart, Edna,” Billy said. “You did it so beautifully. You broke them with such force that they would be enfeebled forever, and then some other woman could
come and scoop them up and control them. It was a service to humanity, really. I know she looks like a little doll, Vivian, but never underestimate this woman. She is to be respected. Be aware that there’s an iron spine hidden under all those stylish clothes of hers.”

“You give me far too much credit, Billy,” said Edna—but again, she smiled in a manner that suggested:
You, sir, are absolutely
correct
.

A few weeks later, I was fitting Edna in my apartment. The dress I’d designed was for her final scene. Edna wanted it to be sensational, and so did I. “Make me a dress I have to live up to” had been her direct instruction—and forgive my boasting, but I had done it.

It was an evening gown composed of two layers of robin’s-egg-blue silk soufflé, draped with sheer rhinestone netting. (I’d
found a bolt of the silk at Lowtsky’s and had spent nearly all my personal savings on it.) The dress sparkled with every movement—not in a garish way, but like light reflected on water. The silk clung to Edna’s figure without clinging
too
hard (she was in her fifties, after all) and there was a slit up the right side so she could dance. The effect was to make Edna look like a fairy queen, out
for a night on the town.

Edna loved it, and was spinning in the mirror, to capture every twinkle and gleam.

“I swear, Vivian, you’ve somehow made me look
tall,
though I can’t credit how you’ve done it. And that blue is so refreshingly youthful. I was petrified you would put me in black, and I would look as though I should be embalmed. Oh, I cannot
wait
to show this dress to Billy. He has the
best comprehension of women’s fashion of any man I’ve ever met. He’ll be just as excited as I am. I’ll tell you something about your uncle, Vivian. Billy Buell is that rare man who claims to love women and actually
does
.”

“Celia says he’s a playboy,” I said.

“But of course he’s a playboy, darling. What handsome man worth his salt is not? Though Billy is a special sort. There are a million playboys
out there, you must understand, but they don’t typically enjoy a woman’s company past the obvious gratifications. A man who gets to
conquer all the women he wants, but who does not prize any of them? Now,
that
is a man to be avoided. But Billy genuinely likes women, whether he’s vanquishing them or not. We’ve always had a wonderful time together, he and I. He’d be just as happy talking with me
about fashion as trying to seduce me. And he writes the most delicious dialogue for women, which most men cannot. Most male playwrights can’t create a woman for the stage who does anything more than seduce or weep or be loyal to their husbands, and that’s awfully dull.”

“Olive thinks he’s not trustworthy.”

“She’s wrong about that. You
can
trust Billy. You can absolutely trust him to be himself.
Olive just doesn’t like what he is.”

“And what is he?”

Edna paused and thought about it. “He’s
free
,” she decided. “You won’t meet many people in life who are, Vivian. He’s a person who does quite as he pleases, and I find that refreshing. Olive is a more regimented soul by nature—and thank goodness for it, or nothing around here would function—and thus she’s suspicious of anyone who is free.
But I myself enjoy being around the free. They excite me. The other magical thing about Billy, I dare say, is that he’s so handsome. I do love a handsome man, Vivian—as surely you have already gathered. It’s always been a pleasure just to be in the room with Billy’s handsomeness. But with that charm of his, beware! If he ever puts the full game on you, you’re a dead pigeon.”

I had to wonder if
Billy had ever “put the full game” on Edna, but I was too polite to pursue it. I did, however, have the courage to ask: “About Peg and Billy . . . ?”

I wasn’t even sure how to finish the question, but Edna instantly understood my gist.

“You’re wondering about the nature of their alliance?” She smiled. “All I can tell you is that they do love each other. Always have. They are so similar in intellect
and humor, you see. They used to positively
spark off each other when they were younger. If you were a non-initiate into their brand of wit, it could be intimidating—one never quite knew how to jump into the mix. But Billy adores Peg and always did. Now, to be
loyal
to just one woman would be awfully narrowing to a man like Billy Buell, of course, but his heart has always belonged to her. And
they delight in working together—as soon you shall see. The only problem is that Billy has a deft hand with chaos, and I’m not certain that Peg is seeking chaos anymore. These days, she wants loyalty more than fun.”

“But are they still
married
?” I asked.

By which I meant, of course:
Do they still sleep together?

“Married by whose standard?” Edna asked, folding her arms and looking at me with
her head tilted. When I didn’t answer the question, she smiled again and said, “There are subtleties, my dear. You will discover as you get older that there’s practically nothing
but
subtleties. And I hate to disappoint you, but it’s best you learn now: most marriages are neither heavenly nor hellish, but vaguely purgatorial. Still and all, love must be respected, and Billy and Peg possess true
love. Now if you could fix this belt for me, darling, and find a way to stop it bunching about my ribs whenever I lift my arms, I will absolutely die with gratitude.”

Because Edna’s prestige was going to elevate the tone of the play, Billy was convinced that the rest of the production had to be of equal quality to its star. (“The Lily Playhouse just got her pedigree papers” was how he described
the situation. “This is a whole new dog show, kids.”) Everything we created for
City of Girls,
he instructed, would have to be far better than what we were accustomed to creating.