The Leaving Of Liverpool (31 page)

‘He won’t pull out,’ Vandervelt sneered. ‘He’s already spent too much and he can’t afford to start again with someone else.’

‘I can’t see Mr Blinker going with the hooker and pimp line, Mr Vandervelt, sir, I really can’t.’ Abe was desperate. He couldn’t stand another day like today - and yesterday and all the days before. Being a movie director wasn’t quite the dream job that people supposed. ‘He wants a blue skies movie where the sun never stops shining and nothing bad ever happens.’

Hughie reached for the script to make more changes, but must have thought better of it. He withdrew his hand. ‘In that case, let him have it,’ he said contemptuously. ‘I can always disown his stupid movie. But wrap it up as fast as you can, Collins. We’ve already wasted enough time.’ He snapped his fingers, as if expecting his director to wrap it up there and then.

But Ollie Blinker refused to be rushed. He demanded an orchestra to accompany the songs, dismissing the piano in a rage. ‘It’s pathetic,’ he screamed. ‘Pathetic.’ He wanted more costumes, more extras, grander sets. Staircases had to be built or borrowed from other companies’ sets, a balcony was required for Herbie to swing from, a church for Anne to sing in, a hospital for the kid who was sick, and an angel in full regalia to visit him during the night he thinks he’s about to die, while a choir sang full-throated in the background.

Abe Collins, used to shooting Hughie Vandervelt’s tawdry, dimly-lit movies in a couple of rooms with a single camera and a handful of actors, and taking no more than a fortnight to do it, was beginning to enjoy himself. This was what being a director was all about; using his imagination, improvising now and then, creating something that might not exactly be a work of art, but was a million times better than the crap he normally churned out. Mr Blinker, whom he was beginning to like, provided another two cameras, extra lighting, and an overhead gantry.

Hughie Vandervelt had stopped watching the rushes, but fumed at the ever-increasing costs - Blinker paid for the equipment, but he was responsible for the wages of the actors and crew. Costs were mounting daily, he complained between gritted teeth. Abe pretended to sympathize, but privately he was indifferent to everything apart from the making of
When Angels Sing
.

 

‘How Ollie and Herbie can play golf in this weather is beyond me,’ Lizzie panted. She wore a full-length kaftan, a straw hat as big as an umbrella, and sunglasses, leaving the minimum amount of skin exposed. It was Sunday afternoon and the movie had been put on hold for the day. Ollie would have continued, but the crew had mutinied and insisted on a break.

Anne said it was beyond her, too. The men had really taken to Los Angeles, but the women couldn’t get used to the place. With Lizzie, it was the heat. She couldn’t bear to go out and remained in the house all day on her own, feeling lonely without her New York friends. Anne didn’t mind the heat, but she didn’t like making movies.

She and Lizzie were sitting in canvas chairs on the patio at the back of the house where the sun only shone in the morning and it was as cool as it was possible to be on a Los Angeles afternoon. The heart-shaped pool shone brightly in the distance. Anne wouldn’t have minded a swim, but she didn’t want to desert Lizzie: Sunday was the only day she had company.

‘How’s the movie going?’ Lizzie enquired. ‘Whenever I ask Ollie, he just goes into a tirade about that Vandervelt chap, and Herbie says he doesn’t know.’

‘I don’t know, either,’ Anne confessed. ‘It’s such a muddle, you can’t tell. The scenes aren’t shot in the order they’re in the script, but all over the place. Yesterday, we did a scene from the middle and one at the end - it was something to do with having the choir present and saving money having to hire them again. I much prefer the theatre. At least you know where you are.’ The worst thing was the dance sequences were frequently interrupted when she was in full flow and she had to do them again and again, sometimes commencing halfway through a number, which meant she was unable to get back into the swing of things. It bothered her so much that the headaches she thought she’d got rid of had started again.

Lizzie nodded. ‘The theatre’s live, the people are real, there’s a lovely atmosphere. A movie just doesn’t compare. Oh, Anne,’ she said with a throb in her voice, ‘I don’t know about you, but I badly miss New York.’

‘So do I.’ She missed it so much she wanted to cry when she woke up and saw through the window the blue waters of the Pacific rolling on to a golden beach, when she would have far preferred Central Park with the sun shining, the rain falling, or the entire park covered with snow. She missed the shops, she missed Lev, but most of all she missed the theatre, in particular the last few weeks of
Roses are Red
after Herbie had sprained his ankle and Flip Ungar had become her partner.

She would never have said it to a soul, certainly not Herbie’s mother, but dancing with Flip had been sheer bliss, like dancing with another version of herself, who knew exactly what to do next and how to do it. She hadn’t been looking forward to Herbie’s ankle getting better and having to dance with him again. In a way, Herbie was a liability. She worried all the time he’d make a mistake and she’d have to cover it with a mistake of her own so no one would notice. Flip never made mistakes.

Then, one night in February, very late, Ollie had got into one of his terrible rages and began to curse Conrad Abel for all he was worth. ‘It’s all his fault, he’s behind it,’ he yelled at Lizzie, ‘But I’m not going to let him get away with it. I’ll get the bastard, you’ll see.’

No one except his family - and Anne - knew about Ollie’s rages, the way he threw things about and kicked the furniture. When people were there, he was all sweetness and light. Once, he’d smashed one of Lizzie’s paintings against the wall, breaking the frame and making her cry. The rages never lasted long, though, and afterwards he was as nice as pie.

When he was cross, Anne would shut herself in the bedroom till he’d stopped shouting, but on that particular night she was already in bed and was surprised when there was a knock on the door and Ollie said, ‘Can I speak to you for a minute, honey?’ He no longer sounded mad, but then he was never angry with her.

He came in and told her to start packing first thing in the morning. ‘We’re going to California,’ he told her. ‘I’ve been planning it for a long while, just felt like a change from New York. I’m gonna produce movies.’

‘But what about the show?’ she protested. ‘I can’t let everyone down.’

‘You won’t be,’ he said abruptly. ‘It’s closed. I’ve just had a phone call. The backers have dropped out.’

‘But we were doing so well.’ She’d understood they were booked solid for six months. Did it matter if the backers had dropped out so late in the day? It didn’t make sense. And why tell Ollie rather than her or Herbie? It was nothing to do with him. But Ollie didn’t look in the mood to explain.

The next morning, she packed her clothes, leaving most behind for Christina to send on. Lizzie positively refused to give up the apartment and Christina was being kept on as caretaker, though Eric would have to find another chauffeur’s job after he’d arranged to have the Deusenberg put away in a long-term garage.

Anne wished she could have said goodbye to the Schultzes and wanted to ring the theatre to speak to someone, but the telephone in the lounge didn’t appear to be working and Ollie was monopolizing the one in the den.

Eric drove them to Grand Central. Lizzie was almost in tears, but Herbie was his usual sunny self. Ollie had recovered his temper and showed them a script he’d commissioned. ‘It’s called
When Angels Sing
. It only arrived the other day. When I heard about the backers pulling the plug on the show I decided it was now or never. I’ve been putting it off long enough; it’s time for action.’ He smacked his lips, pleased with himself.

‘I think I’ll make another cold drink,’ Lizzie said now. She removed her hat and fanned herself with it. Her hair was soaking. ‘One of these days I’ll melt away to nothing.’ She went indoors.

Anne felt genuinely sorry for Lizzie, who was now her mother-in-law and had always been so kind. She reached for a magazine that lay under her chair and saw it was open on the page that carried a photo of her and Herbie’s wedding.

It had been a shock, Herbie asking her to marry him. They’d been in Los Angeles only a couple of weeks and were by the pool studying the script of
When Angels Sing
when, all of a sudden, he’d fallen on one knee beside her and proposed marriage.

‘But why?’ she’d asked, not very romantically.

‘Because I love you,’ he’d said, brushing away the lock of blond hair that always hung over his eyes. ‘And you’re already a member of the family. Why not become a fully paid-up member - Mrs Herbie Blinker? You’ll never want for anything, darling. It means I’ll stop worrying that one day you’ll go away, desert us, and I’m not sure if I can live without you. Don’t you love me just the teensiest little bit?’

‘Well, yes,’ she conceded.

‘There then,’ he said gleefully. ‘If we love each other, the obvious thing for us to do is get married.’

‘No.’ Anne shook her head. ‘I don’t want to marry you,’ she said vehemently. ‘I don’t want to marry anyone. I’ll never get married; never, never,
never
.’

Herbie had been taken aback by the force of her words. ‘Whyever not, darling?’ he asked gently. When she didn’t reply, he went on. ‘Something bad happened to you in the past, didn’t it? I think I understand. If you’re worried about a . . . a certain side of marriage, then I promise on my heart I won’t touch you till you’re ready.’

‘But what if I’m never ready?’ she cried.

‘I’ll take a chance on that, darling. There’s more to marriage than just the things people do in bed. There’s loving and caring and just being there for somebody.’ He kissed her hand. ‘Please marry me, Anne. I love you so very much.’

How could she have refused? Six weeks later they were married and nothing, apart from her name, had changed. Even then, everybody still referred to her as Anne Murray - the name that would appear on the screen when - if -
When Angels Sing
was shown in the cinema. She still slept in the same bedroom on her own and Herbie slept in his.

But she belonged, she had a family, and she didn’t feel quite so lost.

 

Three weeks later, the movie was finished. ‘That’s a wrap,’ Abe Collins shouted when the very last scene was shot. That night, they had a party on the set. Anne was relieved it was all over, at least, that her part in it was. All sorts of things had to be done to the film before it was ready to be seen by an audience. As far as she was concerned, she never wanted to make another movie for as long as she lived, but Ollie was already talking about the next one. It made her feel physically sick. She desperately wished Lev were there to talk to.

It was another Sunday afternoon and Ollie and Herbie were playing golf again. ‘I never thought a game like golf would appeal to either of them,’ Lizzie complained. ‘It’s too strenuous. They’re a pair of lazy buggers, and until now all they’ve ever played is pool or darts.’ It was June and the weather was getting even warmer. Lizzie was talking about going to New York for a while.

‘It’ll be just as hot there,’ Anne warned. New York summers were notorious for their blistering heat.

‘Not as much as it is here.’ California had done Lizzie no good at all. She looked pale and quite ill. ‘Anyway, the walls of the apartment are so thick it always felt quite cool inside. Trouble is, I don’t like deserting Ollie.’

 

A few days later, Lizzie changed her mind about deserting Ollie when a packet of photographs of him and Herbie cavorting in a pool with two buxom blondes, all of them naked, came through the post.

‘Funny sort of golf,’ Lizzie sneered when she showed them to Ollie, who blamed Hughie Vandervelt for sending them. He and Lizzie had a flaming row that lasted most of the night. Herbie shut himself in his bedroom.

Next morning, Lizzie told Anne that she was leaving Ollie and returning to live permanently in New York. ‘We’re not getting divorced - believe it or not, I still love the wretched man and he loves me - but from now on we’re going to lead separate lives and just see each other occasionally. Are you coming with me, Anne?’

‘To New York?’ Anne asked, startled.

‘Where else, pet?’ Lizzie looked triumphant. ‘Any other time, I’d’ve cried meself to death over what Ollie’s done, but it doesn’t feel nearly so bad if it means I can escape from Los Angeles.’

‘But Herbie and I have only been married a few months.’ Nevertheless, a little worm of hope crawled into Anne’s brain. She didn’t care that Herbie had been unfaithful.

‘So what, pet? Herbie’s my son and I know I shouldn’t say this, but he’s let you down, just like Ollie did me. You don’t have to get divorced: no one will see anything odd about a wife pursuing her stage career in one part of the country, while the husband makes movies in another. Come on, pet,’ she urged, eyes shining in a face that was no longer pale, ‘pack your bags and we’ll go home together.’