Songs of Willow Frost (31 page)

“Did you hear what I said?” Liu Song asked. “You can never marry a
sai yan
.”

Mildred smoothed out her lipstick with a tissue. “Good!” She laughed. “Because I’m never getting married—ever. Look around you. It’s 1924, not 1824. I’m American-born and so are you. I’m going to be a modern girl and live it up. All I want is to let my stockings down and have fun and do what I please, whenever I please,
with whomever I please. I don’t care what my parents think. They’re stuck in the past. I’m not. That makes all the difference in the world. Don’t you think?”

Like Mildred, Liu Song had been born here but raised in a family steeped in tradition. She was a citizen, Colin wasn’t. But in many ways he was more modern than she. Their relationship was all so confusing. She thought about the Wishing Chair and marriage, remembering that he was foreign-born. She wouldn’t be able to marry him either, without losing her citizenship. If that happened (as she dared to dream), what would become of William? What price might he have to pay?

A
WEEK LATER
the hotel manager stopped Liu Song in the hallway as she was heading off to work and handed her an envelope. She felt dread in her stomach as she opened it beneath the man’s stern gaze. She’d lived with the lingering fear that her living arrangement would result in her eviction, or worse. She breathed a sigh of relief and even giggled as she held up a pair of movie tickets to the Coliseum Theatre. The tickets were for a Wednesday showing of
The Thief of Bagdad
, starring her favorite actress, Anna May Wong. There wasn’t a note, but Liu Song knew who they were from. She showed off the tickets to the manager, who grumbled and scratched his head as he walked away.

On Wednesday night she had Mildred stay with William once again. In exchange, she let her friend use the telephone in the hallway to call her boyfriend, a suitable arrangement for both. Liu Song kissed William as he sat on the floor playing with a shoe box full of mismatched blocks. She helped him spell C-A-T and B-I-R-D. He was such a cheerful boy, given to only an occasional tantrum, which just made Liu Song laugh. To her that was the truest definition of a man, so stubborn but needy at the same time—he didn’t know what he wanted, and even when he did, he wouldn’t recognize it if it came up and bit him.

Liu Song walked past the desk clerk of the hotel, down the steps, and out the door. She practically ran into Colin, who stood next to his car. She’d planned to walk, but like on so many of their occasions together, he’d planned ahead, leaving little to chance.

“You didn’t have to,” Liu Song said.

“I could drive alongside, serenading you through the window. Or you could rent a Packard across the street and follow me.”

She shook her head as he opened the door for her. The car was already warm, and the leather seats felt supple and smooth.

“Who’s watching the man of the house?”

“A friend.”

The comment hung between them like an uninvited passenger, lazing in the backseat, snoring, kicking, and distracting them from their pleasant evening.

Liu Song spoke before he did. “Her name is Mildred Chew. I took correspondence courses and graduated not long after William was born. But she’s still in school. We stayed in touch, and we’ve become quite close. She watches William, but that’s not really what you wanted to ask me, is it?”

“What do you think I want to ask?”

The car stopped at a red light. Liu Song looked longingly out the window toward men and women, couples, families, all of them walking about with purpose, with hope, with places to go where they were wanted, even loved.

“Well, I’ve wondered why you’ve never asked who William’s father is.” Liu Song felt regret that she’d steered the conversation in this direction, but she knew the delicate subject had to come up sooner or later. She’d thought about this dilemma and preferred to scare Colin away now, rather than spend these weeks titillating each other. “You’ve never asked if he’s still around. You’ve never asked anything …”

“I won’t ask. It’s obvious that whoever it was, he isn’t around now. You have a handsome, healthy baby boy who fills you with
pride. You’re a good mother. You have talent and youth and a future that I’m excited to watch unfold. Some things are best left in the past. It’s clear that you’ve left that part of your life behind. I see no need to dig up the bones of another man. And it’s not really any of my business …”

“But …” Liu Song spoke, knowing that with each word she was giving him an opportunity to pull the car over, to let her off on some side street and drive away without looking back. “You come from a family of means. You’re kind. You’re more handsome than you realize. You’re a performer—there are plenty of girls out there who’d love for you to fill up their dance cards. Why …”

“Why you?” He answered her question with a question. “Why not you?”

For the first time Liu Song realized why her parents had been so close. They’d both been actors, products of the stage. They’d lived in a world that few appreciated. Liu Song thought about her own disconnection from her peers, from her traditional Chinese community, and knew that Colin must feel the same way.
But what about William
, she asked herself,
what kind of reputation would he inherit? What am I burdening him with?

Liu Song’s worries vanished when they arrived at the Coliseum, which was like no movie palace she’d ever seen. She marveled at the ornate lobby, filled with brass cages that hung from the vaulted ceiling. Dozens of songbirds chirped and cooed as the orchestra tuned their instruments to the biggest pipe organ she’d ever seen, or heard.

“It’s the largest musical instrument in the world,” Colin said as they found their seats. “It’s only appropriate for the most expensive film ever made. They spent two million, if you can believe it.”

Liu Song couldn’t. That much money seemed unfathomable. Colin came from wealth. Perhaps this whole business could impress his family after all.

In the dark they listened to the rhapsodic score, which filled the house and swept them to someplace far away where men climbed
magic ropes, horses flew, and a shirtless Douglas Fairbanks rode through the air atop a magic carpet. But the best part, the most memorable moment, etched into Liu Song’s imagination, was the first scene, when she felt Colin’s arm around her. She could smell the woolen fabric of his suit and the spice of his cologne. She felt joy, but also tremors of doubt and tendrils of dread, as she watched an old mage on-screen who sat on a hillside directing smoke into the heavens, where the aphorism “Happiness must be earned” lay written in the stars.

Stand-Ins

(1924)

Liu Song inhaled, trying not to worry. The strange neighborhood she found herself in was redolent of pine trees, gasoline, and bleach—lots of bleach. The pungent smell tickled her nose and reminded her of Uncle Leo’s laundry business—a memory she didn’t care to relive as she waited for Colin to arrive. For the past two weeks he’d seen her off and on, though lately more off than on. He’d been haunting a local film production and had finally landed a small role and invited her to join him on the set—extras were always needed and he’d talked her up as some kind of seasoned performer, even though her venue had merely been a sidewalk and her audience, passing motorists.

Liu Song waited on the corner of Virginia and Third Avenue, looking away and fidgeting as men drove by and tooted their horns, until Colin finally arrived.

“Ah … can you smell that?” Colin said, smiling as delivery trucks rattled by.

Liu Song wrinkled her nose. She’d never been to Seattle’s Film Row, which was located in the northern tip of Belltown, where the streets were lined with long rows of cozy brick offices and small warehouses.

“That’s our future,” Colin said, breathing it in, savoring the chemical stench, and exhaling slowly.

Liu Song had hoped their future together was something less toxic.

“Nitrocellulose film. That’s what money smells like. A few small production companies are located here,” Colin said as they walked. “But most of these buildings are just administrative offices and film exchanges—where the larger studios house their movie reels, all except the U.S. Army Motion Picture Service and the Kodascope Library, which are located on Cherry Street. Local authorities felt it was safer to group these places together in one part of the city—film is a fire hazard, you know.”

Liu Song noted the exchange offices for Columbia Pictures, Universal, and MGM, among others, nestled between the William Tell Hotel and the Jewel Box Theatre. She stopped counting after twenty.

“What’s the matter?” Colin asked as he noticed the concern on her face.

Where do I begin?
Liu Song thought. Her doubts had taken root. “I’m not certain that I’m cut out for this kind of work.” She thought about her mother. “I’ve grown up around the stage, but this moviemaking is all so strange.”

“On the stage you get one chance to get your lines right—to get your dance moves just perfect,” Colin reassured her. “With movies, they can roll the camera again and again until they get it just so. Trust me. You’ll do fine.”

Liu Song wished she felt as confident. Colin had found bit parts here and there all over the Northwest. He’d encouraged her to audition. But he knew what to expect. Liu Song put on a brave face. “Is the studio you’re working for around here?”

“It’s not a studio, exactly,” Colin said. “The local unions produce small movies and shorts to further their cause. Ever since Upton Sinclair signed on to write screenplays for the railway unions, labor films have been all the rage. This one is called
The New Disciple
. It’s a political film in the form of a love story. I’m just a
walk-on, but it’s a real photoplay—a real movie. Even if it’s not quite a real set. It’s a wonderful place for you to learn the ropes, I think.”

As they turned the corner Liu Song saw a throng of people crowding the sidewalk in front of a large display window. The painted marquee read,
ALL ROADS LEAD TO RHODES
. The retailer’s storefront was so crowded Liu Song could hardly see inside. At first she assumed that the store must have received a new shipment of console radios, which were growing in popularity, but as they crossed the street and got closer, she saw that the window display had been decorated like a living room with sofa, chairs, lamps, potted plants, and even a high-walled backdrop with curtained windows and a wooden fireplace. Instead of mannequins, a film crew in shirtsleeves and hanging suspenders were setting up lights and giant reflectors. A cameraman stretched a measuring tape from the lens of a large movie camera to the middle of the set. Liu Song stared wide-eyed as Colin led her inside and through the housewares department to where a small corner of the store had been roped off. A security guard stopped them until he found Colin’s name on a clipboard, then he stepped aside and tipped his hat. A production assistant ushered them to a busy area behind the set where they sat on a bench with other extras and bit players.

Liu Song pointed to a pair of tall folding chairs in front of them. The canvas chair backs faced in their direction as a makeup artist attended to the occupants.

“Those are the stars: Pell Trenton and Norris Johnson,” Colin whispered.

Liu Song read their names, which were written in grease pencil on the backs of the chairs. Even from behind she could admire Pell’s dashing, broad-shouldered physique and Norris’s elegantly styled hair and long gown.

“I’m so grateful you’re here,” Colin said. “You calm my nerves.”

Liu Song felt the opposite. She wished he could return the favor as she forced a smile. “How many movies have you been in now?”

“Five,” Colin said. “Each time as an extra. Today I play a servant in a rich man’s house. I don’t get a credit, but at least I appear on-screen quite a bit—that is, if I don’t end up on the cutting room floor when they edit everything together. And of course I get another notch on my résumé.”

The production assistant wandered back and shouted for stand-ins. Liu Song had no idea what he meant. Colin smiled and took her hand as he stood up, waved, and quickly volunteered the two of them.

“What are we doing?” Liu Song felt lost. “I have no idea what …”

Colin whispered in her ear as they were being led onto the set. “The director has called for stand-ins. They need two extras in front of the camera for a practice run. We’ll just be in for a few minutes so the camera operator can adjust the timing and measure the lens’s focal length. We stand in until they’re ready to roll film. This way the stars look fresh for the camera instead of melting. It’s fun, you’ll see. Just mind that you don’t look directly into the lights—they can do permanent damage. Miriam Cooper burned her eyes by looking into the lights on the set of
Kindred of the Dust
.”

Liu Song hardly understood a word he said. She wondered if this was what it was like for her mother, stepping onstage for the very first time. But this audience was a film crew who seemed unimpressed. To the crew, she and Colin were merely placeholders, living statues that they casually regarded as they moved lights, adjusted reflectors, and took measurements.