Pages of Promise (3 page)
A
dam Stuart sat on the couch, slumping comfortably into the small canyon his body had made in it through many years of use. No more than five foot ten, Stuart was still at thirty-two almost as trim and fit as he had been at twenty. He had a square face and rather cold blue eyes that could light up with warmth at times. He was good-looking enough that fawning starlets would flirt with him even if he wasn’t a movie producer. He looked over at Maris, his German-born wife, who was sitting beside him with a new book she was reading,
Common Sense Book of Baby and Child
Care,
written by Dr. Benjamin Spock. Mischief brightened Adam’s eyes, and he reached over and shut the book, remarking, “You don’t need that book. You know how to raise kids.”
Maris turned to look at him with surprise. She was tall, with ash-blonde hair, blue eyes, and an oval face. Her birth name was von Richthofen, and her father had been a distant cousin of the famous Red Baron, World War I ace Manfred von Richthofen. None except the immediate family knew that Adam was the illegitimate son of the famous German flyer. When Adam was shot down over Germany during World War II , he encountered Maris, and they had fallen in love. She and her family helped him get back to England, and as soon as he could after the war, he went back to Germany to find her, and they married. He brought her to the United States, and now every day of his life he thanked God for such a wife. “Almost time for
Howdy Doody,
” he said. “We couldn’t miss that.”
Maris moved over closer to him, and they held hands. She had made a place for herself in America, although her speech betrayed her German birth. They had returned to Germany twice since the war to visit family there.
She looked down at the two children on the floor. Suzanne, age three, with blonde hair and blue eyes, and one-year-old Samuel were, for once, sitting still watching the image on the television.
A black-haired, broad-faced man with a wide grin appeared on the screen holding a puppet with freckles and also with a wide grin and large ears. Buffalo Bob Smith smiled at the “peanut gallery,” the audience of young children in the studio, and called out, “Hey, kids! What time is it?”
A chorus of voices sounded out, and Suzanne joined them. “It’s Howdy Doody time!”
“I don’t like this one as much as
Hopalong Cassidy,”
Adam remarked, squeezing Maris’s hand.
“Well, I don’t like it as well as
Kukla, Fran, and Ollie
, but Suzie does.”
“When Samuel gets a little older, we men will have
Hopalong
Cassidy.”
Maris shushed him, and they watched the program. Afterward, it was time for the news, and Suzie pouted but finally contented herself by playing with Samuel. She treated him like a big doll, although she was barely able to pick him up. The two of them were engaged in some sort of argument in the corner of the room when the news came on.
The announcer spoke in a solemn voice directly into the camera. “The powerful American war machine,” he said, “has been strengthened as President Truman authorizes a broad military buildup for the fighting in Korea and grants the military the power to wage war.
“Today, the president ordered the mobilization of marine corps and national guard troops, bringing into service 114,000 American men, with another 100,000 soon to swell the military ranks by way of the Selective Service System. With increasing manpower, Truman also boosted funding to meet the challenges of Communist aggression made more apparent by the Korean War. Congress approved his request of $1.2 billion to continue the mutual defense assistance program, which aids nations combating Communism. . . .”
Maris asked, “What does it all mean, Adam? Are we losing the war?”
“We are right now. The North Koreans have swept down through most of South Korea, and so far we haven’t been able to stop them.”
“What about the South Koreans?”
“They’re overwhelmed. They’re under UN command now.” Adam shook his head grimly and added, “The troops made a good stand north of Taejon, but eventually they had to pull back south of the Kum River.”
“General MacArthur’s in command. He will win.”
“A commander’s only as good as the troops, the planes, the tanks he’s got—and til now he hasn’t had much.”
There was an eruption in the corner, and Maris got up to settle the argument. Looking over Suzie’s head, she asked Adam, “Can’t you help? You always want to play, but you never want to discipline.”
“Yes, dear. Come on, you two, let’s get ready for bed!”
Lylah Stuart Hart sat in her office listening to phonograph records that were playing songs at least twenty years old. A wave of grief suddenly engulfed her. She murmured, “Jesse—!” At seventy, Lylah was still a lovely woman, although more fragile since Jesse’s death. Her auburn hair had turned silver, and her large violet eyes, deep set and wide spaced, had not lost their luster. She leaned back in her chair. Jesse had been dead for two years, but every day Lylah had to make the adjustment to being alone—to being a widow. She looked at the papers piled on her desk but had no inclination to go through them.
Lylah started when the phone rang beside her hand. She picked it up to hear her secretary say, “You have a call from Mona Stuart, Miss Lylah.”
“Put her on,” she responded, willing herself to composure.
Lylah waited until a voice said, “Hello? Is this you, Aunt Lylah?”
“Yes. Hello, Mona. Where are you?”
“At Mom and Dad’s, in Oklahoma City. The play in New York closed after only a few weeks. I came home to consider my options and, of course, to see Mom and Dad and Stephen. And I’d like to come and see you, if you don’t mind.”
“Why, of course, dear. When would you like to come?”
“There’s a flight out this afternoon, late. I could come in and spend the night and meet you tomorrow morning, if you’re not too busy.”
“Why, that will be fine. Will you be coming alone?”
“Yes, Stephen would like to see you, too, and, of course, the folks, but that’ll have to wait, I guess. Will tomorrow be all right?”
“Call me as soon as you get in town.”
“I will, Aunt Lylah. Good-bye. See you tomorrow.”
Lylah replaced the phone in the cradle and leaned back, her thoughts going to her niece. Lylah’s brother Peter and his wife, Leslie, lived in Oklahoma City where they were in the oil business. Their son, Stephen, was in business there, too, but Mona led a different kind of existence. She had been active in the USO in World War II, longing to be an actress. She had fallen in love with a second-rate leading man, and Lylah suspected she’d had an affair with him. Since the war Mona had not been able to find her way. She had been in several second-class theatrical productions but hadn’t had much success.
Mona is not a young woman anymore, at least not
to me,
Lylah thought as she leaned back.
Let’s see, she’s twenty-seven—
no longer able to take just any role that comes along.
Restlessly Lylah rose and went to look out the window. Her eyes went to the pictures of Jesse on the wall, and she wished to hear his cheerful voice, to feel his arms go around her, and his kiss—but that was gone. She and Jesse had made Monarch Productions the best of the smaller studios in Hollywood. It would never be as large as MGM or Columbia, but the quality of the pictures it turned out was the equal of anything the larger studios did, and they worked hard at keeping pace with the innovations ever changing the movie industry.
Lylah moved back to the desk and started wading through the papers that called for her attention. Her staff shielded her from all except the most critical and pressing items. When her son, Adam, had come back from the war he had thrown himself into the workings of Monarch Studios, until, since Jesse’s death, she felt no qualms about letting him take the reins.
Her eyes went again to the pictures of Jesse, and her heart ached. She knew that Mona was unhappy, and for Peter’s sake she hoped she could help. But it was hard to help young people these days.
Mona’s brother, Stephen, arrived to take her to the airport. He was wearing an off-white shirt with long sleeves, its pointed collar open at the neck, a brown checked sport jacket, brown narrow-legged trousers with cuffs turned up at the bottom, and two-tone suede shoes with crepe soles. He looked tan and healthy. “Better hurry up, Sis!” he said. “The plane leaves in an hour.”
“I’m all ready.” Mona had dressed for her flight in a green rayon dress with a rounded shoulder line, a scooped neck, three-quarter-length sleeves, a calf-length narrow wrap-over skirt with a wide inset panel that buttoned on the side, and a pair of low-heeled black shoes. She was carrying a large suitcase and a smaller one with her cosmetics. Stephen took the large suitcase, and the two made their way out to his car, a maroon 1951 Cadillac convertible just off the assembly line. Tossing the bags into the backseat, Stephen opened the door and grinned. “First class, eh?”
“Beautiful car. How much did it cost?”
“Twice as much as it was worth,” Stephen quipped. He wore no hat, and his tawny hair ruffled in the breeze, his gray eyes keeping a sharp look on the traffic. “You never did tell me why you’re going to see Aunt Lylah.”
“I’m going to ask her to give me a part in a movie.”
“Hey, now, that’s a good idea. I don’t know why you haven’t done it before.” Stephen swerved sharply and cut around a motorcycle rider, then slapped the Cadillac’s dashboard. The car’s action was smooth and effortless. He glanced at her. “Why
haven’t
you asked her for a job before?”
“I suppose I wanted to make it on my own,” Mona said. Her hair was blowing in the wind, and she put up her hand in an effort to hold it down. “Does this thing have a top on it?”
“Why spend all that extra money for a convertible then leave the top up?” Stephen grinned brashly. He had a practical side to him, and those who went up against him in business deals found his toughness, also. But he was amiable and willing to help any of his many friends and even those who were not his friends. He hadn’t married yet, and, at twenty-nine, good-looking and well off, he was the prime target of many a woman’s eye.
They were about to part at the airport, and a sudden thought came to Mona. She asked, “Stephen, will you have to go into the army?”
“The army? Why, no!”
“But they’re going to be drafting men, and you’re not married, and you don’t have any of the other deferments.”
Stephen’s teeth were white against his tan as he chuckled deep in his chest. “That’s no problem, Sis. I’m an essential part of the war effort. My plants are making electronic parts for planes and subs and tanks. Can’t win a war without those,” he said cheerfully. Then he shrugged and said more seriously, “You know, Mona, this war’s a bad thing, and I wish it weren’t happening—but I’m going to make a lot of money out of it. Doesn’t seem right, getting rich off a war, but somebody’s going to make the parts, and it might as well be me.” He leaned over and kissed her, saying, “Have a good time in Hollywood. Don’t fall for any of those phony leading men. They’re all pansies.”
The next morning at her hotel, Mona rose early, feeling refreshed, and donned a new outfit, a dark blue linen suit with a fitted jacket and a high collar worn buttoned so that no blouse was showing, a belt around the waist of the jacket, a narrow skirt, and black high-heeled shoes; a large black handbag completed her attire. She had breakfast in the hotel’s spacious restaurant—California orange juice, cereal, and eggs Benedict. She drank her coffee slowly, trying to get the things she wanted to say to Lylah clearly in her mind.
When Mona arrived at Monarch Studios and gave her name at the gate, the guard smiled and said, “Yes, ma’am, Miss Lylah is expecting you. Go right on in. Do you know the way to her office?”
“Yes, I know it. Thank you.”
Miss Lesley was a cheerful, sweet-faced woman of fifty who had been Lylah’s assistant for many years. She greeted Mona, then said, “Your aunt said to show you in as soon as you arrived. Adam is with her.”
Mona entered the office and was greeted at once by Adam, who came over and gave her a hug. “I have a bad habit of hugging pretty girls,” he said, kissing her on the cheek. “And Hollywood folks always kiss everybody, even total strangers. It’s one of the good things about the place—or maybe it isn’t. I have to kiss ugly people, too.”
“Adam, you shouldn’t say that!” She loved this cousin, five years her senior, and admired him greatly. Turning to Lylah, she said, “Aunt Lylah, you’re looking beautiful as usual.”
“And you’re talking Hollywood talk as usual.” Lylah smiled as Mona came over and kissed her. “Sit down. We’ll make some coffee, or do you prefer something cold? I made a cake last night. Not a very good attempt, though. I miss Jesse’s cooking. He was the best cook I ever saw. He spoiled me, I’m afraid.”
Mona saw the grief in her aunt’s eyes but said nothing. She knew that Lylah and Jesse had been closer than most married couples, and she had always admired and envied them a little for that. Sitting down, Mona accepted coffee and tasted the cake, and although it was not very good, she bragged on it with enthusiasm.
They talked about the family, and it was a large family, the Stuarts, scattered all the way from the hills of Arkansas to the skyscrapers of Chicago and the sandy beaches of Los Angeles.
Mona finally sensed the right moment and said, “I feel like a beggar with a hand out coming to you two, but I stayed away as long as I could.”
Quickly Lylah said, “You don’t have to feel that way, Mona. What is it? I think I already suspect.”
“You’re probably both more than suspicious,” Mona said wryly. “I want a part in one of your pictures.” She had planned it this way, to say only the bare fundamentals. No begging, no pleading, just a simple, straightforward request. Now that she had made it, she picked up her coffee and waited for their response.
Adam at once said, “What sort of picture do you have in mind, Mona?”