Butterfly (44 page)

funds toward research into the parking problem, and to finance the construction of a

parking structure that will solve that problem for years to come.”

Beverly consulted the sheet she had been handed at the door. It contained a summary

of the president’s report and his proposal. The new parking structure was to be a five-level

garage that would accommodate two thousand automobiles.

She read the proposed location of that garage: It would stand on the corner directly

opposite Drummond’s department store.

When the president was finished the audience filled the chamber with applause. Then

members were invited to step up to the microphones for comments and suggestions. As

Beverly watched a small line form at the microphone in the aisle nearest her seat she

thought again about her diner.

It was doing well. Better than ever, in fact. But something was wrong with the rest of

the chain. Carmen reported that profits were not as good as they should be, even though

Beverly had instigated renovations in certain locations, hired more staff, and brought out

the Crown Burger and barbecued chicken. Royal Burgers, according to the accounting

sheets, was still falling way behind McDonald’s and Kentucky Fried Chicken. So Beverly

and Ann, who was in charge of quality control, had gone on a quick driving trip around

the Southland to see if they could determine what was wrong.

What they had found was nothing significant. The stores were clean, the food up to

standard, the service average. They were in fact just like any other fast-food stores, with

young, rather indifferent workers and the usual HELP WANTED sign in the windows. But in

the two years since she had inherited the chain and instituted the changes Eddie had

refused to make, Beverly had expected the company to be doing much better than it was.

What, she wondered, was lacking?

The man at the microphone, a prominent Hollywood realtor, caught her attention.

He was saying, “Mr. Drummond, I’m sure I speak for all of us when I commend you on

your excellent report. It’s a measure we all support every inch of the way.” He bent close

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to the microphone; his voice came too loud over the speakers. “And I also want to take

this opportunity, Mr. Drummond, to tell you and the others on the board that I think

you guys are doing one hell of a job serving the chamber!”

Beverly looked at the man. He couldn’t be serious! Anyone could see that the parking

proposal served no one’s interest but Drummond’s. And then she realized that the way he

was kowtowing to the men on the dais, the report could have been about anything and

this man would be voicing sycophantic approval.

There was a smattering of halfhearted applause, and a second person stepped up. He

was Mr. Mangioni, proprietor of three art galleries on Sunset. He echoed the realtor’s

praise and voiced his support of the parking-garage project. The third person to speak

brought up a new issue—garbage collection—and had it written into the agenda for the

next meeting.

The time for taking a vote on the parking structure was drawing near. A few more

people waited at the microphones, fanning themselves or mopping their brows, while the

men on the dais listened politely to complaints and praise, and the secretary took the

minutes.

As Beverly watched and listened, and studied the crowd gathered here today, it

occurred to her that everyone in this large room had something in common with every-

one else. They were all concerned members of Hollywood’s business community. But

even though they shared this bond, she detected an absence of cohesiveness. They were

like a band of restless people searching for direction. From a couple of rows behind her

she heard a muttered comment: “…meetings are always the same…” And another, from

somewhere in front of her: “…won’t come next time…”

And she thought, What was the purpose of such a body of people if they couldn’t get

together and achieve their goals?

She looked at the microphone in her aisle. One person was left. He was raising the

issue of the alarming number of X-rated theaters springing up along Santa Monica

Boulevard. The president, Mr. Drummond, assured the man, who owned several dress

boutiques in Hollywood, that the issue would be taken under advisement and the prob-

lem studied. But Beverly saw by the look on the man’s face, as he turned away from the

microphone, that he didn’t feel he had accomplished anything.

Why didn’t others speak up? she wondered. She clearly read discontent on many faces.

Why didn’t they challenge the president’s proposal?

And then she thought,
They’re afraid of him.

As Mr. Drummond was about to call for the vote on the funds for the parking struc-

ture, Beverly suddenly stood up and went to the microphone. “I would like to say some-

thing, please,” she said.

Everyone stared at her. Women rarely attended these meetings, much less spoke up at

them, and those who did certainly didn’t look like this attractive young woman. “I think,

Mr. President,” Beverly said, “that you haven’t looked at Hollywood’s problems from the

proper perspective.”

“How is that?”

“It seems to me that parking is not our most immediate problem.”

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191

“I see,” he said. “And what is, then?”

“Well—” Beverly had to think. She had stood up impulsively, not really knowing what

she was going to say. “We have lots of problems in this town, and parking isn’t the most

serious.”

Mr. Drummond exchanged a look with the chairman, who was seated next to him,

then said patiently, “Young lady, the purpose of these meetings is, of course, to give every-

one a chance to voice comments and concerns. However, miss, you will have to be more

specific. I suggest you get your ideas together and present them at the next meeting. In

the meantime, we will get on with the vote on the parking issue.”

“But, Mr. Drummond, we’re not ready to vote on it!”

“Miss— What is your name?”

“Beverly Highland.”

A murmur rolled through the audience. Mr. Drummond looked at her. Beverly

Highland? Was the girl aware that she had the same name as two major Hollywood

streets? “Well, Miss Highland,” he said with an amused look, “I did invite comment from

the audience and, as you can see, you are the last to speak. And now if you will please

resume your seat—”

“But surely there must be other opinions on this!” She looked around at the crowd.

They were watching her, but nobody made a move to join her.

Mr. Drummond and the chairman exchanged another amused look, then the presi-

dent said in a condescending tone, “We appreciate your concern, Miss Highland, and

that’s very commendable of you, but, as you can see, there are no other opinions. Now, if

you will please sit down we can get on with business.”

Beverly’s heart was racing. She felt the eyes of three hundred people on her. Why did-

n’t they speak up? Surely they weren’t going to pass such a ludicrous measure? “I think

that before we take a vote, Mr. President, it should be pointed out that the proposed park-

ing structure is going to be very expensive and is going to come out of the pockets of

everyone present.”

Drummond’s amusement was replaced by annoyance. “You haven’t properly identified

yourself, young lady. What business do you represent?”

“Eddie’s Royal Burgers.”

He smiled. He almost snickered. “I see. A hamburger stand. Well, Miss Highland, I’m

sure you think you have some very valuable things to say, but I doubt you have had

enough experience in business—”

“What I mean to say, Mr. Drummond, is that the proposed parking structure is going

to mean a great deal of profit to yourself.”

Now the audience stirred. Drummond’s tone went cold. “That parking structure is

going to profit everyone, Miss Highland.”

“And yet it will just happen to be located right across from your store.”

She heard a collective gasp around her. Drummond stiffened. His voice carried a hint

of warning. “That happens to be the only available land.”

Beverly’s heart was pounding. She felt all eyes on her, Drummond’s most of all. “As I

recall,” she said, “there are available locations on Cahuenga, Vine, and Sunset, any one of

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which would be more of a help to those small businesses that have no parking facilities at

all.”

“Meaning your own, of course.”

“I happen to be fortunate enough to have a parking lot for my store. I’m thinking of

Mr. Mangioni, over there, and Mr. Peterson, who have to rely on one or two curbside

spaces. Your store has four lots of its own, Mr. Drummond—why not locate the garage

somewhere else in the business district?”

A few members called out from the audience: “She’s right.” “Yeah! Why not have it on

Fairfax?”

The chairman banged his gavel and said, “Let’s have order in here. The discussion is

closed, we will now take the vote on—”

“Excuse me,” said Beverly, “but I believe I still have the floor.”

“You have said what you stood up to say, young lady, now—”

“Let’s really think about Hollywood’s problems and see what we can do to solve them.

Look around you! What do we see in our streets today? Prostitutes, runaway children,

drug pushers, people sleeping in doorways! Our neighborhoods have gone downhill. We

now have head shops and sex shops, filthy streets!”

More people spoke up, saying, “You said it!” and “You tell him!”

“The name Hollywood is known all over the world. We have over two million tourists

a year because they have heard of Hollywood. And what do they see when they get here?

A business thoroughfare with ten run-down shops for every decent business. Homeless

children who are prey to drug dealers and perverts. Girls
and
boys standing on the curb

selling their bodies. People with nowhere to go, living in doorways, panhandling from

everyone who passes by. And you’re telling us that the problem is
parking?”

The audience cheered. Suddenly, people were standing up and hurrying to the micro-

phones. The chairman banged his gavel.

Mr. Drummond said, “Miss Highland, you are out of order. If you wish to bring up

new business, we will put it on the next meeting’s agenda—”

“New
business! Mr. Drummond, what I’m talking about is
old
business and you know

it! I’m talking about something this chamber should have examined and done something

about long before now.”

“Young lady, you don’t know anything about this town—”

“Excuse me, sir, but I was
born
here. And I was here in a year when Hollywood was in

its glory, when the name Hollywood spelled magic and fantasy for millions the world

over. How have we let our city come to this? A place where foreign tourists are shocked

and scared to come out of their hotels! A place we are ashamed of! We need to do some-

thing about it, Mr. President. And we need to do something about it
now!”

The crowd cheered and applauded. People tried to speak out of turn. The gavel came

down again and again.

The president held up his hands for silence, and when order was restored, he said with

barely controlled anger, “If you can so easily identify our problems, Miss Highland, then

perhaps you have an easy solution for them? Because if you do, I would like to hear

them!”

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193

She looked at him. She was trembling. She was furious. A solution? Oh yes, she had a

solution. “What is the future of Hollywood?” she asked quietly. Beverly turned and

addressed the crowd. “What will the future image of our town be? How do you see it, Mr.

Mangioni, or you, Miss Withers? When you look into the years ahead, what do you see?

What
is
Hollywood’s image?” She turned back to the microphone and said in a rising

voice, “This is what we must decide here and now. We must decide which direction we

are going to take, and then act upon it. Will our focus be tourism? Shall we emphasize

business? Or are we a television and movie town? But however we view the future image

of Hollywood, we must accept the challenge today to begin working toward that new

future. We must dare to dream of a better place to work and live. We must dare to set high

goals for ourselves.” She raised an arm and curled a fist. “We must
dare
to make

Hollywood great again!”

The crowd was suddenly on their feet, cheering and clapping. The applause was deaf-

ening. People came running up to Beverly, to shake her hand, to pat her on the back. Up

on the dais the president was scowling and gathering his papers together. The chairman

banged his gavel to no avail. All around, the members were pushing to get close to

Beverly, to let her know they were on her side, that it was about time someone stood up

to those guys, and other things that she couldn’t hear because too many people were talk-

ing at once, and the auditorium had erupted in pandemonium. Beverly felt dizzy. She felt