Career in C Major: And Other Fiction

  “Wait till Fanchon and Marco see it,” Happy tells Kennelly. “Will they be sore, or will they be sore? Listen, Tim, how we do it. First we put on a hold-up, see? … No, you got me wrong. That’d be swell, wouldn’t it, to have a goat-getter there, taking guys’ pocketbooks? Pay Vincent Barnett fifty bucks to make everybody sore! You got me wrong. We put on a real old-time Western hold-up, stagecoach and all, a regular high-class up-to-date job, that takes people back. You get it, Timmy? That gives them romance. That gives them real romance.”

  “Yeah,” says Kennelly, “but where do I come in?” An actor can’t listen long if he don’t see where he comes in.

  “Wait.”

  Happy walked around Kennelly and burned him with his flashing eye. “Wait. You got that, Tim? Wait. They’re all there. They haven’t seen you yet. It’s your party, and it’s getting late, and they’re all asking where is Kennelly. They’re crazy to see you, and what do we do? Wemake ’em wait. We make ’em wait. Because look at Fields! After all, Tim, what makes him what he is? Ain’t that all there is to it? He can make ’em wait. He can make ’em wait till he’s ready to shoot it.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “You ride in! On Silver Heels, you ride in! Remind me to tell you about that horse, Timmy. I got him for a hundred and fifty bucks, and if I ever saw personality on four feet, that horse has got it. You ride in! You rope those bad men! You rescue the stagecoach! They’re for you! It’s the first they’ve seen of you, and they’re crazy about you! You take it on the gallop; the band goes into ‘The Lone Cowboy,’ and you give it to ’em while they’re hot! You sing to ’em, right while they’re cheering for you! … Wait a minute—I’ve got to make a call.”

  Every agent, if he don’t do anything else all day long, he makes calls. So Happy dialed a number, and said where you been—I thought you were going to tip me off how that deal is going—well, I want to see you soon—we’re working on our end of it every minute. And while he talked, Kennelly thought it over.

  “That kind of hits me a little bit,” says Kennelly, soon as Happy hung up.

  “You get it, Tim? Out of the black. That’s you from now on. Out of the black. Because look! We’ve made some mistakes, but I hope there’s one mistake we never make. Those kids are never wrong. They know. You know what I mean, Tim? They know. From now on, that’s you. The man of sorrows. Out of the black, into the dawn. In with the sunset, off with the rising sun. And in the end, in the end, Timmy, what do we see? A cloud of dust along the ridge, a lone rider against the sky—fade, cut, and that’s all.”

  “Yeah,” says Kennelly. “You know what I mean? There’s something to it.”

  “Out of the black.”

  “That’s it. And off with the dawn. After all, that’s me, isn’t it?”

  “They know, Timmy. They know.”

  I guess I don’t have to tell you it laid an egg. First off, those guys on the stagecoach swung in too far on the lawn, and broke a whole circuit of Japanese lanterns where the mob was sitting. Then Kennelly’s horse, the new one with personality plus, began to squeal where Kennelly and Happy had him hid out back, and that wasn’t so good, because there was some tip-toe stuff in the stagecoach part, and every time the horse would squeal, the mob would laugh. So they were right back of the stables of the place next to Happy’s, or anyway what looked like stables, and Happy yanked open the door of one, and began whispering at Kennelly.

  “Shove him in here!” he says. “Quick, before he ruins it!”

  If Kennelly had thought about it, he would have known that a horse don’t squeal for nothing, and been a little careful how he let Happy go opening doors. But just then the guys on the hold-up began yipping his cue, and he jumped on and went riding out of the black, and Happy ran around to where the mob was, to catch how things were going.

  Well, of course they had gave the wrong cue, and he had to go riding out of the black again, because the hold-up part hadn’t even started yet, and that was a laugh. And then, when he finally did get all the bad men roped, and went into his number, all the horses began to squeal, and that was a laugh, so it all went pretty sour.

  “Where’s Thalberg?” says Kennelly, soon as he had got rid of his horse. “I got to tell him how it was those horses that busted it up.”

  “Thalberg couldn’t get here,” says Happy. “They’re cutting a picture over there tonight, and he couldn’t make it.”

  “Where’s Laemmle?”

  “He had to go out of town.”

  “I want to see Harry Cohn, too. No need to tell him, though. He was a singer. He knows.”

  “I don’t know what’s keeping him,” says Happy. “He swore up and down he would be here, and he hasn’t showed.”

  So then Kennelly knew he was sunk. He had been looking them over while they were talking, and there wasn’t anybody there but a lot of third-rate hams and fourth assistant cameramen, that Happy must have pulled in off the Mojave Desert, the thirst they had. He didn’t wait to hear any more. He didn’t go back to the house, where they had all scrammed after the show was over, to get next to the liquor. He didn’t even go upstairs to change from his cow suit into his evening clothes, like he had intended to. He felt sick to his stomach, and went right out to his car, and began sliding down the drive. But he had to stop at the Malibu Inn to get some gas, and that was where he ran into Burton Silbro.

  Silbro is a little independent that used to be a parachute-jumper, and Jack Hornison had invited him to Malibu Beach for the week-end, to use his cottage while he and the family was away. It cost eighty thousand dollars, and is more like a duke’s palace than a cottage; so of course Silbro, with a set like that that wasn’t costing him anything, he no sooner got there on Saturday afternoon, than he brought in a whole truckload of cameras and punks, and began shooting a lousy short called “Malibu Nights,” working both nights and all day Sunday to get it done before Hornison would get back on Monday. When he saw Kennelly, he grabbed him around the neck like he was a long-lost brother.

  “Tim!” he says. “The very one I was looking for! I was beating it into Hollywood after you, and ain’t that a break I ran into you here!” It was a break, all right, but he hadn’t thought of Kennelly until just that second. He was beating it into Hollywood for anybody he could pull out of a night-club, after what had happened—but when he saw Kennelly, why, Kennelly was the one he was looking for.

  “Yeah?” says Kennelly. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Tim,” says Silbro, “would you do something for me? Would you lead me a number? Just one number, that was made to order for you, and actually written for you, and if you don’t believe me you can ask Manny Roberts, that put it up for me, and he’ll tell you the same.”

  “I don’t know,” says Kennelly. “I’m pretty busy right now.”

  An actor, if he hadn’t had a meal for a week, and you told him you were doing “Macbeth,” and wanted some real eating in the banquet-scene, and would he eat the chow while the rest of them were speaking their pieces, he would have to say he couldn’t consider anything but Banquo’s ghost, because of course a ghost is the one part in show business that don’t eat.

  “But get a load of it, Tim!” Silbro urged. “Listen how it goes.”

  “Malibu-bu-bu, by the blue, blue, blue, Malibu by the beautiful sea.”

  “I’ll think about it. See me tomorrow.”

  “But Tim! I mean now! The cameras are waiting for you! I’m sunk if I don’t finish up tonight, and Buddy Sadler has broke a leg! He went swimming this afternoon, and now he’s got the pip! He can’t sing! You got to do it for me!”

  “I thought you said it was written for me.”

  “It was wrote for you, but we didn’t know where you was. We had to take Buddy, and now he has laid down and died. Tim, five hundred for the job, and feature billing.”

  “Not tonight, Silbro. Not tired like I am. Look at me. I just came off the set.”

  “Tim, I’ll give you a grand, and star billing. Don’t you get i
t? I got to finish tonight, or I’m sunk!”

  You understand how this was. Kennelly had three bucks in his pants, and maybe two more in the bank. He wanted it the worst way, but the great soul of the actor just wouldn’t let him say yes. He’d have been shaking his head yet if this girl, this Polly Dukas you read about in the papers, hadn’t put her head out of Silbro’s car. She was driving him to Hollywood, because he was so shot he couldn’t even find the gear-shift.

  “Please, Mr. Kennelly,” she says. “I’ve been wishing all this time, just to work in a picture with you. Won’t you do it? Just for me?”

  “Are you in it?” says Kennelly.

  “I do the tap-dance,” she says.

  Well, of course that was different. They fixed it up pretty quick; then Silbro, he didn’t mean that Kennelly should get away from him, so he sent Polly with him while he went up to get his evening clothes, where he had left them at Happy’s. Everybody brings their own clothes when they work for Silbro.

  “You don’t know what you’ve done for me,” she says as they drove up the drive. “It’s my first chance in pictures.”

  “O. K.,” says Kennelly. “Glad to do it for you.”

  “Of course I know it doesn’t mean anything to you. But it does to me. I just wanted you to know how grateful I am.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. Of course in one way it’s just another picture. But an actor ought never be ashamed to do his best. It ought to be new to him. Just a little bit.”

  “I’ll always remember that, Mr. Kennelly.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Polly. Polly Dukas.”

  “Well, Polly, if I go in there, I’ve got to do a lot of handshaking that’ll take all night. It’s a little party in my honor, and I walked out on it. So suppose I park out back here, and you slide in and get the grip. Then we can blow quick. O. K.?”

  “That’s funny.”

  “What’s funny?”

  “That you can just walk out on a party in your honor. I hope I get that famous.”

  “After you’ve been a star awhile, you get a little fed up on parties in your honor.”

  “I don’t think I ever would.”

  “Just tell Happy you’ve come for my grip. And for the love of Pete, don’t get him out here or we’ll never get away.”

  “I won’t.”

  He parked and cut his lights, and she slipped in the house, where the party was just getting good. He lit a cigarette, and sat there watching the limb of a tree, where it was waving at him in the wind. He was feeling all excited, because even if it was only a lousy short, it gave him the chance he had been praying for. But then all of a sudden a funny feeling began to go over him. The smoke from his cigarette was going straight up, so there wasn’t any wind. The limb was thick as your arm, but it was limber in the middle. It didn’t have any leaves on the end of it, but had a tassel. Then it popped in his mind that he had heard somewhere that a guy up near Happy had a private zoo. Then it popped in his mind about those horses squealing. Then he remembered about that door, and he knew what he was looking at.

  The car was an open roadster, and he was afraid to step on the starter, and he knew he didn’t dare sit in it. He opened the door easy, and slid out.

  Just then Polly came back, with the grip. “I didn’t even see him,” she says. “I got one of the servants to get it for me.”

  He took hold of her. “Don’t run and don’t yell,” he whispered. “But we got to get in the house quick. There’s a lion on that wall.”

  She didn’t make a sound, and they started out. But the lion saw what they were up to, jumped down and slid around between them and the house. They backed away, and he came on. He came on two or three steps at a time, and in between he would crouch down on his belly. One of those times Kennelly grabbed Polly up, turned, and lined for the swimming-pool. It was about twenty feet away. The lion sprang, but they fell into the water a few inches ahead of him, and he skidded to a stop on the edge. Lions don’t like water much.

  They stood up and waded out to the middle, in water about up to their waists. The lion began pacing up and down, at the side of the pool. Inside, they could hear the party going on, the jazz band playing, guys singing, women laughing.

  “I’m going to call for help,” she says after a minute.

  “No, you’ll get all those people out here, and it’ll be murder.”

  “But they’re waiting for us.”

  “They’ll have to wait.”

  “We’ve got to do something. We can’t just stand here.”

  “Somebody’ll come out in a minute. We’ll tell them quiet what it is, and get them to call the police.”

  But then the buzz in the house stopped like a director had yelled “Cut!” The lion was getting a little peeved by now, and he began to tell the world what he thought of it. I don’t know if you ever heard that sound. The cough that a lion gets off inside, like in a circus, is nothing like it. Outside, at night, he puts his head to the ground and cuts loose, and it’s like what you read in the books, a roar. It’s an awful thing to hear. You can’t tell where it’s coming from, in the first place, and it shakes the earth, in the second place, and it shakes your heart, in the third place. Even a drunk can understand it. Those people looked at each other, and tried to get the comical talk going again, but it wasn’t quite so comical any more, and yet none of them was so very hot to go out and see what it was.

  But of course Happy, after the lion had let three or four of them go, he was a big masterful guy, and he went out to see about it, the cocktail shaker still in his hand, with a towel around it, where he was shaking it. He was stepping a little high.in the feet, but he got there, and when he saw what it was, he went crazy. “’S a grea’ gag,” he says to Kennelly. “Jus’ hol’ ’m there, ri’ like he is, till I ge’m all ou’ here.”

  “Happy!” says Kennelly. “It’s not a gag! He’s real, and he’s a killer! Call the police, or do something, but for God’s sake don’t get those people out here!”

  “Wha y’ mean, ’s not a gag?” says Happy. “’S grea’s gag ev’ pulled. Shows y’ can do com’dy, get it? Y’r las’ chance. ’S all y’ go’ lef.”

  “Happy! Will you—”

  But the lion saved him the breath it would take to make Happy understand anything. He must have been getting sick of it himself, because he charged at Happy, and would have got him, only Happy dropped the cocktail shaker when he ran. The lion jumped on the towel, started tearing it to pieces, and Happy reached the house and began calling up the police, yelling at the mob that there was a lion loose out there, and starting a panic. They fell all over themselves getting upstairs, and then some of them climbed out on the portico roof to look; and that was swell, because that lion could take the portico roof at one jump, and still have a couple of feet to spare.

  “Come on!” says Kennelly, when the lion started into the towel. “Now’s our chance!”

  But those roars, and that charge at Happy, had got Polly. She just stood there, holding on to Kennelly and swallowing; and then the lion left the towel and began running around the pool again, and saw the springboard, and came out to the end of it, and stood there snarling at them, where they were standing in the water twenty or thirty feet away.

  “What did he mean when he said it was your last chance?” says Polly, then.

  “He meant I’m through,” says Kennelly. “If I don’t get on that set tonight, I can sing ‘Brother, Can You Spare a Dime!’”

  “Oh!”

  “I been handing you a line. Now you know the truth.”

  “If I’d only run when you said!”

  “You were right. He’d have got us.”

  “Your last chance and my first. We’ll get there, Tim.”

  “Yeah, but how? It would be just my luck to have a crazy lion—”

  “Tim!”

  “Yes?”

  “Could you rope him? Is that your rope in the car?”

  When she said that, Kennelly knew she had
thought of something. “You bet I can rope him,” he says. “You hold him here, while I get the rope. If he moves off the board, yell.”

  He started to sneak back out of the pool, but he didn’t have a chance. Soon as he was three feet away from Polly, the lion ran around to cut him off.

  “Get him back there!” says Polly. “I know a way. I’ll get it!”

  They splashed water at him, and got him back on the board. They had a tough time doing it, because the drunks on the roof kept yelling how they should stay in the water, and not come out, and a couple of times the lion looked their way, and wouldn’t pay any attention to the water. But they got him out there after a minute, and then Polly stooped down, braced against Kennelly, and shot away for the far end of the pool, swimming under water. The lion stopped snarling and blinked. First there had been two of them there; now there was only one. But Kennelly kept the water going, to keep him interested, and he started snarling again. Then Polly was back with the rope, holding it high to keep it from getting wet, and Kennelly went to work.

  He had about the toughest roping job ever. But Kennelly could rope standing on his head if he had to, and it wasn’t long before he had it going right, and shot it. The lion saw it coming and made a swipe at it, but it settled on him pretty, over his head and one shoulder, where his paw struck into it.

  Then Kennelly began to move fast. He didn’t brace back and start a tug-of-war with the lion. He slewed over to the side quick, so that when the lion fought the rope he had to do it crosswise of the board, and he was so big he couldn’t get his feet planted right, and couldn’t make use of his weight to pull Kennelly over. Soon as he got to the side, Kennelly hooked his fingers in the gutter, and held there while Polly got out and held while he jumped out. Then they both grabbed the rope and pulled. They couldn’t budge the lion. But then they pulled steady for a second, and eased off quick, and he went toppling into the pool backwards.