Hollywoodland: Chapter 3

The dust in the room danced circlets and spirals in the light, softly drifting in the ray of hot California sun after being chucked through the air as only a fan on its lowest setting could.

James crashed on the sunken couch in the motel room. A small cloud of dust puffed off the couch. James gave an involuntary cough. Life was moving fast. Just a measly two weeks earlier he was getting off of a stage on Broadway. He had gotten a tip-off from an old friend that Hollywoodland was hiring. So, he was off to the sun of Cali and away from the Great White Way & the Big Apple. He had never been to the West Coast, but he had heard that the surf, sand and sun were mesmerizing.. The idea of a new place nauseated him, and the reality of potential failure in the job searches only worsened his nausea. He had no connections in the film industry. No friends to help him out with his big break, to put him up while he searches for his future.

James took a slow drag from a cigarette. He relaxed some as the nicotine flowed through his veins. He was getting his usual fix. It was the only vice that he afforded himself. He had seen what happened to others when they got hooked on the harder stuff. Blow, cocaine, angel's dust - it had many names that his other actor friends would call it. He tried it, once - it had given him a wicked headache and weird feelings of everything around him - the jitters, paranoia, and also hallucinogenic images. After he had come off of his terror of a high, he vowed never to touch the stuff ever again. He wasn't willing to sacrifice health just to get a cheap fix. He took another drag from his cigarette.

James Stewart shifted on the couch and looked up at the clock on the wall - 8:35 a.m. it read. He got up off the couch, ashed his smoke, then headed for the shower. He felt like hell, but he wasn't ready to look like it in front of his boss and the other actors.

"A shower and then a shave," he muttered to himself, rubbing the early shadow on his face. The sound of his tired body and feet shuffling along on the plastic tile floor of the bathroom only further showed his state of exhaustion from the road to Hollywoodland. The bathroom door creaked as he closed it.

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Charles Goldwyn smiled as he looked up at the face of Diane Slinger. She had taken to bringing him a fresh croissant and hot coffee to him every morning. Also, a small stack of the daily newspapers and magazines - among them the Hollywood Reporter, Los Angeles Times, New York Times and even the monthly issue of Variety would end up on his desk each morning when he would come in at promptly 7:30 a.m.

Charles found himself watching and staring as Diane went about her business in the other room. She had been working for him for what seem like his whole professional career. It was only now that he started to notice her for more than just as an assistant.

"Mr. Goldwyn? Good morning Mr. Goldwyn. In a half-hour you have an appointment with Mr. Capra. After that, you said you wanted me to remind you at noon that you want Mr. Stewart to come up and half lunch with you." Diane sat in a leather chair to the left of Charles. She was reading the schedule from her notepad. She felt a tingling - like she was being watched. She looked up.

"Mr. Goldwyn, what is ever the matter? You're staring at me, is there something on my blouse? Did I spill my coffee...or no. Is there something on my face? Oh Mr. Goldwyn, tell me, is there something on my face?" Diane fretted, checking her outfit and her face in her compact.

Charles laughed heartily. He surprised himself with his laugh, he hadn't laughed that hard in such a long time. "No, no my dear. There's nothing wrong. I'm just reveling in your beauty." Charles smiled warmly.

Diane blushed. She wasn't getting used to all of Mr. Goldwyn's compliments. Just months ago, he would just grunt at her in response to her questions. Now, she has his full attention. The divorce from Ms. Lipinski was doing some weird things to him - he went out of his way to find a new star, he would come in to work earlier than even the set builders come in, and he was always paying more and more attention to Diane Slinger.

Charles took a puff from his cigar. Diane was looking more and more beautiful each day. "Maybe I should take her out to dinner tonight...yea, that's what I'll do. We'll go downtown and get a nice steak dinner. Women like steaks - men like them so why shouldn't women?" Charles sat pondering, staring off into the distance, which happened to be in the direction of Diane.

"Well, Mr. Goldwyn, I've got papers and files to...umm..file. I'll be in the other room. Mr. Capra will be here in fifteen minutes." Diane got up and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her. She sat at her desk, thinking about what had just happened in the other room. Mr. Goldwyn was acting nice to her - a feeling she wasn't used to at all, but she was enjoying it.

The door to Diane's office opened. A Mr. Capra walked in and nodded to Diane. Mr. Capra walked over and went through Charles Goldwyn's door.

Before the door closed behind him, the voice of Mr. Capra carried out to where Diane sat, "Yes Mr. Goldwyn? You wanted to talk to me about a Christmas movie? I don't quite underst-" The door clicked closed.

Diane turned and picked up that day's copy of the Hollywood Reporter. Gossip will help take her mind off of Mr. Goldwyn, or so she thought.

Hollywoodland: Chapter 2

Diane sat at her desk, reading the copy of that month's Variety. Mr. Goldwyn had just been divorced, but Diane kept wondering when he would go back to the office. It had been two weeks since Mrs. Goldwyn, now Ms. Lipinski, had left him. Charles should have gotten back up on his feet. He was legend for his playboy fun in his youth. Back then, in three months, he managed to sleep through an entire dance troupe before taking a week off and relaxing in Tucson.

A knock on the door woke Diane out of her nostalgia fix. A young man, barely over twenty, stood in front of her. He was tall and had brown hair - she liked that. As soon as she heard his voice though, she heard bells in the distance.

"I, I, I, I have an appointment with a Mr. Goldwyn," the young man said, with a slight but not intrusive stammer.

Diane rose. "I'm sorry, but Mr. Goldwyn is out at the moment. He doesn't have any appointments lined up at all today. Wh-May I ask what your name is?"

"Oh, that's right, how rude of me." The young man took Diane's hand and shook it. "My name is James Stewart. I'm an, an, an, an actor. Mr. Goldwyn called me earlier, he said to come right in his office." James walked to the door with a sign reading Charles Goldwyn, not hearing Diane's protests.

"Mr. Stewart, he's out I tell you. He's not in there, see- Oh! Hello Mr. Goldwyn. I didn't hear you come in at all. When did you-" Diane looked around Mr. Goldwyn's office. Newspapers spread everywhere. A mountain of dishes and half-eaten food spread on the coffee table.

"Oh sir, I thought you were still home. Let me clean this up for you." Diane pulled her dirty blonde hair out of her face and started to clean up. "Ms. Lipinski must have gotten the house - poor man," Diane thought, "he's been in this office this whole time. Why didn't he tell me?"

A much older looking, yet still fifty Charles Goldwyn stepped out of Diane's way. He briefly glanced at James, eyeing him over before sitting behind his desk.

"Mr. James Stewart, is it alright if I call you Jimmy?"
"Well, sir, actually-"
"Now don't go interrupting me - its rude. You see Jimmy, this studio has seen you and your talents on Broadway, and we loved it. Didn't we love it Diane?"

"Yes Mr. Goldwyn." Diane responded, taking on the mountain of food and dishes.

Charles continued on. "We loved it so much that we want you to star in a new film we're going to shoot. The film is going to be a musical. A real boy-falls-in-love-with-girl, girl-falls-in-love-with-boy type of musical. What d'ya think? Eh, Jimmy?"

James sat on the couch, trying to take stock of where he was and what all just happened.
"Well, I, I, I'd have to think about this. I mean, where am I going to live? What about Broadway? I,I,I'm slated to do another play out there. I'm just a stage actor, not a movie star." James knew he wasn't cut out for film. He knew his stammer was going to get him places, maybe even in trouble. He never would have figured it would have gotten him out to Hollywoodland. He didn't want to leave his friends in Broadway, but he also knew this was the chance he always wanted and needed.

Charles sat behind his desk, watching everything unfold, watching as the thoughts and emotions play out on Jame's eyes and face. He knew the man would take the job. It was too good of an offer to decline - a role in a new film, a musical, being shot in Hollywoodland.

"Sir, not to sound too hasty, but I,I,I accept." James said, standing up tall.

"Good. I knew you would see the light. Be back on the lot tomorrow at ten o'clock. Oh, and Jimmy?"

"Yes Mr. Goldwyn?" James was already half-way out the door.

"We're gonna make you a star." Charles took a puff from a freshly lit cigar. He watched James "Jimmy" Stewart leave. Charles had a good feeling about the boy. Charles sat back and propped his feet on the edge of the desk. He hadn't felt this good since he had divorced his second, bless her soul that cheating -.

"Oh, Ms. Slinger? You look absolutely beautiful today."

Diane Slinger blushed, compliments from the Boss were rare at best.
"Thank you Mr. Goldwyn." Diane said, pulling the door behind her to give Charles some privacy.

Charles had found his star in the form of James "Jimmy" Stewart.

The door clicked shut with a feeling of finality.

Hollywoodland: Chapter 1

The gentle swaying of the music from the soundtrack to the last silent film faded to give way to the rhythmic whirring from the film projector. Nine Tuxes sat puffing on their cheap cigars, waiting for the lead Suit to speak. Mr. Goldwyn sat staring at the blank silver screen. He gave himself a few seconds of time to think over what he just saw. He already knew what he thought; the film was a bust. It was never going to compete with any of the new "talkies" that were being shot at Paramount and Warner Brothers. He was only taking a few puffs more of the expensive cigar, give the boys behind him more time to squirm about what the Suit's verdict would be. Those boys worked, but did they truly work hard enough, Mr. Goldwyn thought. He knew that the newly installed "Hay's Code" would shoot this movie down, so why was he still giving these "rent-a-tuxes" any time of day?

"God, I need to get out of this business," Charles Goldwyn muttered to himself.

He stood up, his fifty-year old body reacting to gravity the way he didn't want it to. He missed his youthful thirty-year old body. He missed all the chorus girls he had been with. All the pretty young things that were there and gone as quick as he was done with them. He missed them, but what he missed most of all was the thrill, the excitement, the climbing up of the ladder of Loew's Incorporated insides. He remembered long nights of arguing with bony script writers, glitzy directors, and seclusive editors in dark smokey editing rooms. Long nights of appeasing actors and actresses on sets, in trailers, pampering their twisted child-like egos. He remembered when he wormed and worked his way past other competing producers and directors to take over the company. He remembered when he changed the name of Loew's Incorporated to MGM.

Film and Hollywoodland was different then - silent films with lavish sets, beautiful women, and the big names on the marquees. It was spectacular, so gilded and beautiful. It all came down though with the scandal around Fatty Arbuckle. Fatty Arbuckle and that actress....what was her name again? Amanda or Louise something-or-other. It was all over the papers and news-reels. Fatty was accused of raping and killing the young starlet, snuffing out her shining flame before either old age, a wild lifestyle, or suicide snuffed it out for her. Fatty was never found guilty, but his career was over. Damn Arbuckle, his career was tarnished, and it managed to further splash tar on the gilded image of Hollywoodland, a sick punchline to his comedic career.

"Umm...Mr. Goldwyn...hello? What did you think of the film? Isn't Ms. Desmond just great?", one of the Tuxes was talking, trying to get Charles Goldwyn's attention. Two of the other Tuxes quietly ashed their cigars and started to get up to go.

"Oh, what?" Charles Goldwyn turned around. "Sorry, I was thinking about my wife. Damn near forgot our anniversary today. Would've been the third year in a row that this has happened."

Diane, Charles' secretary shook her head. He forgot the anniversary, again, this time by about two weeks. Mrs. Goldwyn was going to raise hell. She threatened divorce before, she might actually go ahead with it this time.

Charles Goldwyn kept going, "Did I like the picture? I thought it was good but its missing something...is there any way that it could be reshot to be a musical? A musical with some big dance numbers. Oh and beautiful girls. Those kinds of pictures have been selling like hotcakes.

Charles began to pace, smoking his Italian cigar. He could see that the one who had spoken to him was now feverishly writing down everything that he was saying. All of the Tuxes were writing now. Goldwyn knew that where the Tuxes lacked in total personal imagination, they more than made up for it in their "yes-man" attitude.

Mr. Goldwyn turned to the closest of the Tuxes, giving the young lad of around twenty his full attention. He quickly looked him over. Charles thought, "not too bad looking, but hell, he'll never be as good looking as I am."

"Can Ms. Desmond...can she sing?" Mr. Goldwyn asked the Tux in front of him, quickly looking about the room to the other Tuxes. "Well, out with it, haven't got all day. It's Friday, and I'm supposed to take my gal, Mrs. Goldwyn out for dinner."

The secretary cringed again, thinking of new forms of hell that Mrs. Goldwyn could imagine and create for Mr. Goldwyn.

"Come on boy, out with it. Speak!" Goldwyn barked at the young Tux.

The young Tux looked to the others for help. Here was THE Mr. Goldwyn, and he, the young Tux, suddenly wanted to be swallowed up by a hole, as well as to kiss Charles Goldwyn's feet at the same time.

Charles turned to another Tux, barking the same question. This time the Tux had an answer, but Charles didn't like it. Just as Charles feared; Ms. Desmond, a girl that the studio turned from a country bumpkin to a beautiful belle that lit up every marquee and screen credit, couldn't sing. Her voice, as the Tux so bluntly put it, needed years of work which meant many more years of money going to another aging actor who probably won't be remembered ten years down the road. Or, the same money and time could go to a new star.

Mr. Goldwyn realized that he needed a new star, this time the star had to have a voice to match their beauty. Charles just couldn't make up his mind if the new star was going to be a guy or a gal.

Go Check it Out!

Ok!

So it was getting a bit crowded here, so I've decided to do something drastic!

I've created the page Ten to Nowhere Photography for all of the photos!

That's right! Also, on that page, check every Friday for new photos!

Tootles!

The Maritime Death

Bring yourself to the edge of the cliff,

waves thrashing your ship higher and higher towards the sky,

Oh, Mariner, let the little voice in the background take over,

let the little voice start shouting on the waves and the winds;

“Do it! Crash into the rocks of your past sins!

There is no more God for you! There is no hope,

no salvation for a wretched soul, no peace for a

tainted life, no rest for a wicked man. Do it!

Cast your lot with those already sunk,

for their fate will match yours.

Let yourself become one with the unholy maritime death.”

Lament your loss of self,

lament your loss of your tomorrow,

you loss of your future.

Lament, dear unfortunate soul, lament,

your curtains are going down,

the cliff is breaking off,

the depths of Poseidon's hell will

swallow you up.

You argue with yourself,

modern-Hamlet, quoting

your own Fifth soliloquy

upon the watery stage

set against the storms

and the dark of night

and the pale final cliffs.

Only two members of the universal audience,

Life and Death,
clap to your water bound play.
No one else bothered to show up,

to see your fruits labored,

your life's final work displayed.

Learn, oh Mariner,

that your ship is no longer yours,

after you took your maiden voyage

on holy waters, His Holiness took over your sails.

Learn, oh Mariner,

that the beach, so small

and pure and white along

the tossing blue horizon,

will be your safe haven

in more of life's storms.

Oh, Mariner, your life is worth so more,

let your soul find its rest on the beach,

let your sails unfurl until you come Home.

Oh Mariner, follow the beacon of light,

the tolling of the midday bells,

follow fast before you crash and sink,

down into murky hells.

Signal your last breath,
only to lay amongst the others,

broken ships, knotted ropes and tattered sails,

to sink to final wicked rest,

sinking into the great

unholy maritime death.

Photo courtesy of: www.uncharted.com.ne.kr/