The Blue Butterfly, page 19
“Okay, fine.” I said, trying to hide my irritation at his rudeness.
“Not here,” he said, looking around the room.
“Will you be gone long?” Lita asked.
“No,” he said curtly.
“Lead the way,” I said. Charlie took my hand and began to gently tug me. “Goodbye for now, Lita,” I said, trying to keep things from being too awkward. “I hope to see you soon.” I kept looking at her as Charlie whisked me into the crowd. Her smile disappeared in my last glimpse of her.
“In here,” Charlie said, opening a door that led to the back-room where the waiters staged the food on trays. He took my hand firmly and led the way. We walked to a smaller room and into a closet, where he pulled the door closed behind him. “Charlie, this is a closet. What are we doing here?”
When he leaned forward to kiss me, I pushed him back gently. “Not here. I can’t do this tonight, only feet away from our better halves. Besides, look at this dress. It’s a Victorian nightmare.”
“What do you have on underneath it?” he said, attempting to lift up the heavy hooped petticoat.
“Charlie! Stop!” He pulled back, startled. In a quieter voice I said, “We can get together next week when things have calmed down.” I reached for the doorknob. “Okay, Napoleon?”
He wrapped his arms around my waist, looking desperate. “I need you now.”
“Charlie, please don’t. I have to go. WR . . .” I let my sentence die midway through and left. Walking across the service area, Charlie ran to catch up, and I thought to ask about WR before we returned to the ballroom. “Hey, did WR ever talk to you about us?”
He offered his flask, and I took a long swig. “Yes, he called from San Simeon a few days ago to thank me for being such a dear friend and comedy mentor, blah, blah, blah. He also not so subtly reminded me of how precious you are to him and for me to focus on my life.”
I handed the flask back to him. “Really?” My eyebrows rose.
“Yes, it seems he really does love you—just like me.” He threw his head back and drained the rest of the flask, then rubbed his hand down my arm while leaning in for a kiss.
I pushed him away, grateful there were no service staff present. “You will ruin everything with this tantrum you’re having now. Leave me the hell alone tonight.” I adjusted my gown. “He’s been through a lot with Ince’s death,” I said, not that I owed Charlie an explanation. “I don’t want to hurt him anymore than he already is.”
Turning away, I fluffed my hair and opened the double doors to the ballroom and saw Lita standing near the buffet with John Barrymore. They each had plates in their hands, and John was pontificating about something. I rushed away to find WR in the crowd.
I passed men I recognized from the MGM and Universal film crew. I smiled, saying hello as I passed and heard “Happy Birthday” in return. “Hey Joe, how is your son doing?” I asked as I passed Joe from the maintenance crew.
“Oh, much better, Miss Davies. Thanks for asking.”
I waved to Conrad Nagel and the woman he was with, finally catching up with WR in deep discussion with Louis B. Mayer. They were standing in the middle of the party so close to each other you would have thought they were swapping secrets. I slid in next to WR and put my arm through his. “Are you two discussing business at my party?”
“I’m trying to tell Mr. Hearst here that there’s money in the movies,” Mr. Mayer said, winking at me.
“Yes, I know—mine!” WR grinned, pointing to LB, who let out a laugh.
“Well just remember Mr. Mayer, this is a party,” I said, leaning in and hugging WR’s arm.
“I know we haven’t properly met since you started working at MGM, but please, call me LB.”
I nodded, “LB it is.”
LB said, “We can’t hear a thing in here. Can you indulge us for a few minutes if we step outside the room? Afterward, I promise to properly enjoy your birthday party.”
“Of course,” I said.
“My seventeen-year-old daughter, Irene, begged for days to accompany me to this party. She’s sitting right there,” he said, nodding toward a young woman in a Raggedy Ann doll costume. She looked over our way and smiled.
“Would it be too much to ask you to say hello to her?”
“Not at all. I’d be happy to,” I said as I walked toward her. “Cute costume,” I offered, sitting down.
“You’re Marion Davies,” she said with a wide-eyed expression.
I nodded. “So you came to the party with your dad and he’s abandoned you?”
“I’m used to it. He’s always talking business with somebody. I came to see all the stars.”
“And are you getting your wish?”
“Yes, I am. I saw Charlie Chaplin a little bit ago. That was exciting.” I nodded, enjoying her childlike wonder. “Would you like something to drink?” I asked. “I’m going to get some champagne.”
Gretl slid in next to me with a full flute of champagne. “Here, I brought you this. Am I interrupting? I’ve been trying to catch you all night.”
I raised my glass in thanks to her. “You’re not interrupting. It’s good to see you, my dear.” I introduced the two girls, and we chatted about the food.
An hour or so later, I rounded the front of the room and saw my ensemble, the Marion Davies Orchestra, performing near a small dance floor. I waved and smiled as they played on, grabbing another glass of champagne from the bar as I strolled right into a crowd of actors.
“Happy Birthday, Marion,” Mary Pickford said, looking adorable in her trapeze black, pink, and white striped leotard. Her hair was pulled into a small bun.
“Thank you. When are we going to lunch to plan our attack on this outrageous notion of adding sound to movies?”
“It is ludicrous, for sure. How about next week? Doug is going on location to film in the desert for a few days.”
The buzz all over Hollywood was the addition of sound to movies. Nobody could believe it, especially the actors. After making movies a certain way for our whole career, everything was about to change. “Perfect, let’s do it,” I said as Charlie sauntered up to us.
“Charlie, how are you? What do you think of the talkies?” Mary asked. I nodded at him as if I hadn’t seen or talked to him yet this evening.
Charlie’s face looked pained. “It’s an abomination and can’t possibly last.”
The evening continued this way for hours. Making my way through the huge crowd as I looked for WR, Ethel, and Reine, I bumped into guests and had short bursts of conversation. I drank more glasses of champagne than I should have, and a headache set in shortly after the birthday cake was wheeled out and everyone sang. WR and I danced to our favorite song, “The Blue Danube Waltz,” and afterward we retired upstairs to WR’s suite. Tipsy and feeling warm and fuzzy, I was carried over the threshold by WR.
“Ah, what an amazing birthday. Thank you, Sweetheart, for everything.”
He put me down on the bed and pulled down the six-hoop petticoat. My heart filled with love and tenderness as my dress deflated and fell to my body. “Oh, thank you. Can you unlace the back, please?” He unlaced me, tossed my dress over the vanity chair in a sweeping motion, and turned back to me.
“How did you enjoy your Hollywood coming-out party?” he asked.
“Is that what it was? I enjoyed myself tremendously. Thank you for everything.”
He placed a hand on either side of my face and with tiny kisses caressed my body all the way down to my ankles. We made love like the old days, with tenderness and a slow rhythm. In the morning we snuggled, and I found my favorite spot near his shoulder and chest, nestling in like a duckling.
“What does LB say about sound coming to the movies?” I asked.
“It’s inevitable, my darling. You must start preparing for the transition.” I buried my face in the blanket and WR stroked my head gently. “You’ll be fine,” he said.
Anxiety built inside at the thought of speaking on camera, having to perfect the art of movie conversation without stuttering. It felt like a tidal wave was headed toward me in slow motion. I shook my head, willing all these thoughts away. “When will the beach house be finished?”
“In about a year,” WR said.
“That long?”
“Let’s order coffee and breakfast. I’m starving,” WR said. “I have work to do.”
“Don’t work today. Let’s go back to Santa Maria for a second honeymoon.”
“I think of those days so often when we’re apart, but I’m afraid I’ve worn them out.”
“Good. Let’s go and make new memories and disappear for a few days just like the old days when we were just visiting LA and our homes were in New York.”
“Soon. We’ll go soon,” he said, picking up the phone to order breakfast.
CHAPTER 28
A few days after my big party, Rose’s film, The Mad Marriage, premiered. Agreeing to go to the premiere as a family, Ethel, Reine, Mama, and I waited for more than two hours for Rose to come home and get us. We smoked cigarettes, made small talk, and read magazines until we finally gave up, changed into our pajamas and robes, and got comfortable.
“Do we know where she is?” I asked.
“Not a clue. I haven’t seen her in days,” Mama said. Reine and Ethel shook their heads too.
Rose never did come home that night, so the next day I made some calls and found out that her movie starring Harrison Ford—my friend and costar in several recent movies—had only opened in two lower-wrung B theaters in Hollywood and nowhere else. I’m sure she was too embarrassed to say anything. Her answer was to run away, I guessed. It was probably what I would have done in her place.
A week or so later Mama relayed that Rose had rushed into the house and packed a bag, saying she was headed to San Francisco with a friend. “What friend?” I pressed, but Mama didn’t know. She only knew the friend was a man. I shook my head in disgust when I thought about how willing she was to abandon Patricia and give all responsibility for her parenting to Mama and Ethel. I wished I had time to devote to Patricia. I promised myself to be a bigger part of her life.
My work schedule never let up and neither did my clandestine rendezvous with Charlie at his studio office. I took my dinners with him most nights, staying late in the evening after our mad lovemaking. I’d leave the house early and come home late, not even seeing Mama, Ethel, or Patricia regularly. Later I would regret being so disconnected from the events in my family’s life, especially after learning of the deep troubles that plagued Rose. Asleep in my bed at the Lexington house, the phone woke me at 3:00 a.m.
“Hello?” I murmured into the receiver.
“Marion, it’s me.” Rose’s voice was slurred. “Please come and get me. I’m at this horrible place, and I don’t have any money.”
“Rose? Where are you? Are you back from San Francisco?” I asked, shaking the sleep from my brain.
“Yes, come and get me now!” she demanded.
“Give me the address.” I scratched the address on a piece of paper and got dressed. On my way downstairs, I saw Mama standing at the end of the hallway. “Was that Rose on the phone?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m going to get her now.”
“Hang on. I’m coming with you,” Ethel said, emerging at the top of the stairs wearing a coat over her pajamas.
“We have to talk when you get back,” Mama said.
Ethel and I drove to Westchester, a farming community south of Beverly Hills, passing fields of lima beans, wheat, and barley lit up by the moonlight. “What’s going on with Rose?” I took Ethel’s cigarette from her and drew on it as we drove in the dark.
“When she got back from San Francisco, we only saw her intermittently. I thought you knew she was back. She’s been disappearing for days at a time. She met a carpenter on the MGM lot recently, and when that fell apart, she started seeing a boxer.”
“I didn’t know she was back. Why didn’t you tell me all this before?” I could feel her eyes on me as I drove. She didn’t say anything. “What?” I said, irritated at the silence.
“Because you’ve been otherwise engaged ever since we arrived in LA,” she said with a defiant tone. “Mama’s worried sick every night that she doesn’t come home.”
“Jesus! If Mama’s worried sick, you need to tell me. Don’t ever hold back information again, okay?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her nod. She was right, though. I had been spending less and less time with Mama, my sisters, and Patricia, leaving myself out of the loop on family matters as a result. Work was distracting, and then there was Charlie.
“I guess I should tell you the whole truth before we pick her up,” Ethel began.
“The whole truth?” I was incredulous.
“Patricia is gone. George took her a few times for long weekends . . . he took her two weeks ago, and they haven’t been back.” I raced through my memories to the last time I saw Patricia playing in the pool or in the living room with her dolls. “We thought it would be good for Patricia to spend time with her father, but he didn’t tell us he wasn’t bringing her back. We didn’t want to panic at the time, but now we think she’s really gone.”
“What does Rose say about it?”
“When she’s sober, she whines and cries and complains, but she doesn’t take care of her. She can’t. She’s always high on cocaine or drunk.”
“She’s taking cocaine?” I shook my head. We drove in silence for twenty minutes while my mind tumbled through the facts. My baby was missing, and nobody told me. My sister’s a drug addict and nobody told me. What was happening with my family?
“Turn here. The house is down here,” Ethel said.
“You’ve been here before?”
“Yes, twice,” she said. “Slow down. On the right side, there’s a driveway. And there she is, sitting by the side of the road.”
“What? Our sister is sitting by the side of the road in the middle of the night?”
“Stop!”
I slammed on the brakes, and we got out of the car. Rose clutched her purse in a hunched over position. “Rose, we’re here,” Ethel said. Rose lifted her head and I saw bleary eyes. Grabbing under her arms, we loaded her into the back seat. She lay down, dirty, drunk, and stinking like a bar.
“You’re welcome, Rose,” I bristled, getting back behind the wheel. She looked homeless and nothing like the sister I knew. We drove back in silence. Once we took her to her room, we stripped off her clothes. Bruises covered her legs and arms. The sun was coming up just as we put her to bed.
In the hallway, I said to Ethel, “We can talk later tonight. I’ll be home by dinner. Let Mama know.” I went to my bedroom. Ethel followed me and stood in the doorway as I quickly changed my clothes. “And let Rose know too. We all need to talk.”
The day before me was a big one. Luckily, I was only an uncredited player, doing a favor for my new movie studio. The movie was Ben Hur: A Tale of the Christ, starring Ramon Navarro. An all-hands-on-deck call had been put out for extras for the chariot scene being filmed at Thomas Ince’s Culver Studios. I would be joining many of the people from my birthday party, including Pickford and Fairbanks, John and Lionel Barrymore, Dorothy and Lillian Gish, Samuel Goldwyn, Sid Grauman, Carole Lombard, and Joan Crawford. We would spend the whole day perfecting the shot. By the time I got back home, I was exhausted.
I found Mama reading and my sisters in the library, listening to jazz on the radio while doing needlepoint. Rose sat alone, sulking in a corner.
“Hi, everyone. How was your day?” I asked, reaching for a cheerful tone in my voice.
“We’re all fine, Marion. Let’s just get through this,” Rose said without looking at me.
“Let’s start with Patricia. Where are they—she and George?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe they went back to Minnesota to visit George’s family,” Rose responded.
“I understand they’ve been gone weeks. Shouldn’t we be worried?”
“I don’t think so.” She pulled a piece of yarn from her sweater until it got longer and longer. Silence filled the room. I looked at Ethel and Mama and raised my eyebrows, hoping they would begin.
“We’re worried about you, Rose. What kind of trouble are you getting into?” Ethel asked.
“I’m not getting into trouble. Tony is nice.”
“How nice is Tony to let you sit by the side of the road at 3:00 a.m.?” I asked.
“Don’t judge me. I’m doing the best I can.”
The doorbell rang, stopping our conversation.
“Are we expecting somebody?” I asked. Nobody answered.
Ruby, our cook and general helper, came into the library and said quietly, “There is a Mr. Tony here to see you, Marion.”
Rose jumped up and ran to the entryway. I followed with Mama and Ethel trailing after me.
“Tony, what are you doing here?” Rose asked.
“I’m here to do business with your famous sister,” he said, stepping away from Rose.
“What do you mean? Get out of here right now!” Rose yelled. Mama and Ethel dragged Rose by the arms out of the room. Reine followed with squinted eyes and pursed lips, leaving me to talk to the infamous Tony.
“Okay, here we are. What do you want?” I asked.
“I need money. I’m in trouble and I can’t go home. A thousand dollars ought to do it.”
“You are brazen. I’ll give you that.”
“Yeah, well . . .”
“Will a thousand dollars keep you away from Rose permanently?”
Tony considered my offer for a moment as he slid his foot back and forth on the white marble floor. “I don’t know . . .” he said as his voice trailed off.
“Come with me.” I marched to my office. Sitting down at my desk, I pulled out a checkbook.
“I can’t take a check. I need cash—now!” I put the checkbook away, opened a larger drawer at the bottom of my desk, and pulled out an envelope. I knew it had three thousand dollars in it as petty cash. I held it out to him, saying, “Promise me you’ll leave Rose alone forever. This is a one-time payment.”
Extending his hand, he said, “I promise.”
