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FLAPPER
Edna squirmed and ruined yet another shot. She giggled, then said in her charming southern accent:
“I’m so sorry, Professor.....I truly am. I guess I got a bad case of the Heebie Jeebies.”
Armand looked up from the tripoded camera.
“I hope it’s not me making you nervous, Miss Johnson.....”. His voice was kind and patient.
“No.....though the folks back home wouldn’t be too happy me being alone in a room with a.......”. She blushed as she realized what she was about to say.
Armand rescued her by completing her sentence.
“A Negro?”
Edna nodded yes, then continued.
“Look...I don’t mean nothing bad.....All the gals at the club swear y’all are on the up and up....that you can get girls into the pictures...and that’s my dream...”
Armand smiled benevolently as he changed the flash.
“I swear it ain’t you.....it’s probably this get up...I mean a bathing suit and a fur coat and all....who wears a fur to the beach?”
“I assure you look ravishing.....a real Pola Negri...... of course I’m speaking from an entirely professional perspective, that is.” Armand worried he’d gone too far with this white, southern woman.
He was relieved when a huge smile broke out on her face, highlighting her dimples. The words gushed out
“Y’all mean it? Really, truly mean it? I mean everyone back home says I’m pretty as all get out, but this is Hollywood...I mean there’s so many pretty gals here....do you really think I might have It?”
“Yes.... you just might...there’s a juicy role I think you may be perfect for.....but we’ll never know if you don’t sit still.”
Edna pouted. “I am sitting still.”
“Not your feet...stop wiggling your toes.”
“Can’t y’all shoot me above the ankles? I mean I’m used to going barefoot back home, but it don’t seem too ladylike for you to be taking pictures of my tootsies.”
“Oh no.....the gentleman who’ll be judging you wouldn’t like that at all. He wants to see his ladies head to toe.....especially the toes.”
Edna pondered that, then smiled.
“If it’ll get me in a studio screen test, he can see me that way.....in the flesh...head to toe, and everything in between.”
“I’m sure that can be arranged, Ma Chere.” Armand did not judge the girl, but her words made using her for his scheme easier on his conscious.
After that, there was a lull as Armand set up the next shot. Edna grew bored with the wait.
“Your face......Did that happen in the War?”
His hand involuntarily went to the jagged purple scar that covered most of the left side of his face. “I’m from Haiti....but yes, I did serve the French Republic....as a doctor far behind the front lines. This, I got in America afterward...in New Orleans in fact.
You see....I mistakenly assumed my education and profession afforded me liberties local men of color lacked. I was a veritable Icarus, flying too close to the sun.”
She looked quizzically at him, obviously she didn’t know much about the Classics.
“Let’s just say I crossed the wrong fellow.”
“That why y’all take photographs now, instead of being a doctor?”
Armand nodded his head, surprised he had revealed as much as he did to the girl. Perhaps it was because she looked so much like Rose. He needed to get back to business.
“Look, Ma Chere, I haven’t taken one useable shot of you... and if I ever do I still have to develop the film.....So you must sit still, before we run out of time.”
She looked stricken. “I’m trying....I really am......maybe a drink will relax me, y’all got any booze.....gin maybe?
“I have something much better.”
“Better than booze?” Her voice was skeptical.
“Yes. A technique from my medical past....one that will calm you...help you focus. All without making you....sloppy like booze would. Are you game?” He moved to a chest and opened it.
“I guess......but I ain’t taking some Haitian hoodoo voodoo potion.” She smiled showing that she was trying to make a joke. He laughed politely to show he took no offense.
“I assure you my method is both scientific and proven.” He placed an elaborate lamp on the table in front of her. A cylinder of multi colored glass panels surrounding a candle on a circular base.”
“How’s that doohickey gonna help me stay still, Prof?”
“Shhhhhhhh....just be patient and trust me.”
Taking a match, he lit the candle. He then went to the switch near the door and turned off the ceiling light. He returned to the table and inserted a key and began winding it. After a while, he removed the key and flipped a toggle switch.
The cylinder began to revolve as a music box began playing Debussy. The panels began flashing their individual colors. He crossed over to her side.
“The key is to be able relax and concentrate at the same time.”
“How’d am I supposed to do both....they’re kind of opposite?”
“If you want to realize your dreams, you have to trust me. I have helped many such as you, girls who went on to stardom on stage and screen. Girls who grace the magazines you read. Each of them because they trusted me to the depths of their souls. You can do both....if you trust me....trust me and focus your gaze on the flashes of colors.” His voice was deeper and words fell into a rhythmic patter.
Edna sat silent, he gaze fixed on the lamp. Pleased that she had no smart comment, Armand continued.
“Green, Red, Blue, Yellow, focusing on each....watching one color flow into the next. So relaxing to watch....to watch...and to listen. Listening to the pretty tune, to my voice...my compelling voice....my voice. The colors....my voice...relaxing you now...your breathing slowing and deepening. Each deep breath helps you sink into profound relaxation.
He looked at her in the flashes of colored light. Her eyes stared without blinking and her chest slowly rose and sank with each breath.
He slowly waived his hand vertically in front of her face and said:
“Sleep......deep, restful sleep.”
Edna’s eyes closed, and her head sank to her chest. Her arms and legs lost all tension as she fell into hypnotic slumber. Armand straightened up, and strode to the table to blew out the candle. Then he flipped the switch and stopped both the revolving and the music. He went over to the door and opened it, turning on the ceiling light.
“You can come in now, Mr. Bernstein.”
A short, wirey man in his late forties entered the studio. He wore an expensive black suit and held a bowler hat in his hands. He looked nervously at Edna.
“You’re sure she’s.....right for the part?” His accent was a melodious mix of Brooklyn and Poland.
“I assure you she’s perfectly cast. You’ve seen Rose’s photo...the painting....they could be sisters. What’s really bothering you, Mr. Bernstein?”
“She....she could be my daughter. It’s one thing to risk my life or yours...but.... “
“I’m not happy about it either, sir. But, how else will we get close enough to the bastard? If you truly want your studio back....this is the only way.”
A month later, Bernstein walked the long hallway to what had been once his office on the studio lot. A portfolio was tucked under his arm. The walls were now full of bad art, paintings of mythical goddesses and peasant women. None of them wore any footwear.
He nodded at Clarice, his former secretary, who told him to go on in.
He entered the spacious office. He looked that massive desk, then at the large portrait behind it. A beautiful woman garbed in white Grecian robes reclined on a coach, her pale bare feet prominently shown. As he did, he could hear raucous laughter coming from the inner, private office. He therefore did not notice Vanlander enter behind him.
“Rose was indeed a true beauty....such a tragedy.”
Bernstein looked at the dapper attorney.
“You knew the first Mrs. McCorckle?”
The lawyer simply nodded.
“She died in childbirth, right?”
Vanlander smiled his cryptic smile. “That’s what they say.”
Further conversation on the topic ended when the door to the inner sanctum burst open. Two giggling flappers, barely twenty one, came through the door, their heels and stockings in their hand. They were soon followed by the man himself, Charles “Duffy” McCorckle, a huge grin on his crew cut head. His jacket was off, and his shirt collar undone. He and the girls all stunk of whiskey and traces of white powder were on their faces. As he often did, Bernstein saw McCorckle as a short gorilla bursting out of a fine suit.
“Well if it ain’t my lawyer and my studio head. Sorry, Hyman, sorry about making you come all the way out here on a Friday night.”
Bernstein seethed. He knew the gangster loved making him violate the Sabbath. Once, on Passover, the Irishman had delivered a huge Easter Ham to his house.
“Forget about it, Duffy, business comes first.”
McCorckle turned to the lawyer. “That’s what I love about the Chosen People, Vandy, they know their priorities. So, Hymie, what’s your ace talent scout got for us? We need a new star, with profits being down.”
Profit was down because of the gangster’s mismanagement. Ever since he’d muscled control of Quality Studios, he had used the once thriving company into his personal playground. But for the studio’s popular “Kranky Koppers” one reelers , they would have been in dire straights.
Despite these thoughts, Bernstein kept his face impassive. He brought the gangster the portfolio, while Duffy poured himself a whiskey from a decanter. As always, he didn’t offer one to the other two men.
“Just one girl, Duffy...but my man thinks she’s got both looks and the right moxy. Based on these pics..I tend to agree.”
Vanlander spoke up. ”Yes...your ace talent scout.....when are we going to meet him, Mr. Bernstein?”
Bernstein was rescued by Duffy, and the sound of the whiskey tumbler falling onto the floor and breaking.
“Oh.....my God.....it’s my Rosie reborn...” Duffy stammered. Vanlander walked over, glanced down at the photo, then at the portrait. Suddenly, Duffy was jabbing his fat finger in Bernstein’s face.
“Tomorrow night...the yacht....you get her there.”
“But what about her screentest...and...and besides, I’m not your pimp..,”
McCorckle snarled, and began painfully poking Bernstein in the chest.
“I don’t give no shit about any of that Malarkey. Eight O’Clock. You got it?
He then turned and staggered back to his inner office without waiting on an answer, slamming the door. He took the portfolio with him.
Bernstein was shaking.
“He....he can’t treat me like this...”
Vanlander took out a cigar and lit is. He offered one to Bernstein, who declined. His voice was as reasonable as ever.
“Then, you should have never taken his money, Hyman. Look...I know you’re the one keeping the place going. So before you do or say anything rash, let me tell you a little more about the girl in the painting. Rosie was a girl in one of Duffy’s Storyville whorehouses.”
He paused to take a puff.
“Duffy fell for her real hard. For such a tough guy, he’s kind of an old fashioned romantic at heart. He got her out of the bordello, and married her. Now, Rosie was never a robust girl and she was plagued by headaches. Like lots of the girls in Storyville, she got hooked on Laudanum trying to get rid of her pain. There was this Haitian, a Negro. He was an alienist....a mesmerist, a real miracle worker. The girls all saw him for their problems. A real miracle worker. Rosie went, and the hypnosis worked. Her headaches went away, and she stopped taking the drug. Then they got close. Real close. Duffy found out. He assumed the Negro was hypnotizing Rose away from him. One evening, drunk as skunk, Duffy paid them a visit.”
Vanlander puffed again, then continued.
“Rosie begged for his life, so Duffy only took a red hot poker to the Negro’s face. He used his connections and got the man’s medical license pulled. A few months later, poor Rosie took too much Laudanum and died in her sleep. Some say the drug was for the returned headaches and she just got careless, others say she did it on purpose over a broken heart. Of course, Duffy blamed the Negro, but when he went to kill him, the man had disappeared.....gone abroad.”
Bernstein knew all of this, but it was still easy to look shocked.
“So why tell me all of this?
Vanlander’s smile faded.
“I just wanted to illustrate just how serious our friend takes matters of the heart. If I were you, Hyman, I’d make sure the girl is at his yacht tomorrow night.”
As Bernstein made his way back up the long hallway, he allowed himself a small smile.
The Packard Brewster limousine made its way through the waterfront. Edna was a sleeping beauty in the back of the limo. Bernstein stared at her, nervously, sitting as far from her as he could. The limo pulled into a dark space between warehouses. Bernstein slid open the glass partition.
Armand, dressed as a chauffeur, turned from the driver seat.
“Edna......can you hear me?”
Keeping her eyes closed, she quietly responded:
“Yes, Professor. I can hear you.”
“Good. Now, tell me, what is your fondest dream?”
She smiled. “Motion Picture Star....I want to be a star like Mary Pickford.....”
“Yes.....and you know what you must do to make your dream happen, don’t you?”
“I must obey your commands.......exactly like y’all say.”
“Good. Now in a moment, you will begin your first role. Tell me, what are you going to do when you meet Mr. McCorckle.”
“I will be sweet and...and demure. I will charm him, but act all innocent and proper... except.....except....”
“Go on, my dear.”
“I’ll let Mr. McCorckle see my bare feet.”
“Very good, Edna, you are going to have a smashing debut...be a real hit.”
Her somnolent face smiled again..
“Now, Edna, are you clear regarding the powder?”
“Yes, Professor. Just like we practiced..whenever he’s not looking, I’m to sprinkle it into his food...his drink. When it’s gone, I’ll find you on the wharf to get more,
Satisfied, Armand started the engine, and pulled the limo from behind the warehouse. Soon they were on the narrow wharf, then at the moored yacht, the “Sea Rose”. Duffy, in a blue and white suit with a ridiculous small captain’s cap, stood at the top of the gangplank. A large thug stood next to him.
Bernstein said:
“You shouldn’t have come....he’ll recognize you.”
“Calm down. All he sees is another negro in servant garb. Now, Edna, Mr. Bernstein is about to talk to you. You’ll wake and only see me as a chauffeur. You’ll get out of the limo, and begin your performance. Go ahead, Mr. Bernstein.”
“Ummm, Yeah....right. Wake up, Miss Johnson....we’re here.”
Edna blinked, then sat up. She looked momentarily disoriented.
“Ummm....what.....must’ve dozed off.....Sorry Mr. B.....”
“No worries, Miss......but we’re at the yacht.”
Her disorientation faded immediately as she turned and saw the vessel.
“Wow...if that ain’t the cat’s meow....I mean y’all said Mr. McCorckle was loaded and all...but...
“But, we best not keep him waiting, my dear.”
Armand, taking care to keep his back to the yacht, helped her out of the limo, then opened the door for Bernstein. The movie man took Edna’s arm and they ascended the gangplank. Armand resumed his place in the driver seat.
Once they were aboard, Bernstein spoke first.
“Duffy, may I present Miss Edna Johnson, formerly of Macon, Georgia. Edna, this is Mr. Duffy McCorckle, my.....partner, at the studio.”
There was an awkward moment as McCorckle just stared at the girl. Edna spoke first.
“Charmed to meet y’all, Mr. McCorckle.”
Her words snapped Duffy out of his daze.
“Please...Miss Thompson....everybody just calls me Duffy...and welcome aboard the Sea Rose.”
Attempting to be gallant, Duffy took and kissed her hand, then continued.
“I got a swell supper waiting for us, but...I gotta ask you to take them heels off cause of the teakwood deck. Bernstein shoulda told you,”
“Oh...dear, us being on a boat and all, I didn’t wear stockings...I truly hope y’all don’t mind me being barefoot.”
Duffy was furiously blushing, as Bernstein barely stifled a snigger. Edna was indeed a pro.
“Naw...that’ll be...that’ll be just fine....so long as you don’t mind, Miss.”
She smiled prettily. “Back home....it’s my natural state.” She the placed her hand on the gangster’s shoulder for balance and took off her shoes, which were taken by the bodyguard. Duffy couldn’t help gawking the entire time. He muttered:
“You can run along now back to your family, Hymie .”
Edna had passed his eyeball test with flying colors.
Back in the limo, Bernstein sighed in relief.
“She’s in....but it still feels like I just led a lamb to her slaughter.”
Armand shook his head. He was confident that Duffy would be quite the gentleman to Edna.
Bernstein broke his reverie. “How will we know it’s working?
“The potion is subtle..as are its initial effects. Most obvious will be the onset of intermittent palsy, minor hemorrhaging.
“I hope our gal is up to it.”
“Oh, I have no doubt she’ll play her part to perfection. It’s others I worry about.”
He thought about the brown envelope he had mailed a few days earlier. This was the scariest part of his plot as it involved actors not under his direction.
Edna lay atop the covers, smoking a cigarette. She was not happy. She thought Duffy was Ga Ga for her, but when it came time for bed, he just kissed her hand and said good night. She had been stunned when he then turned and went to his private stateroom.
Of course, she felt off her game. Something made her hold back and not be too seductive. Every time she thought about getting more touchy, she found herself keeping up the sweet naive act.
At at least he had provided the gorgeous white nightgown. The stateroom had came with a wardrobe of nightwear and casual, nautical themed clothes. Notably, no shoes were present.
Edna put out the cigarette, and lay back and tried to sleep. Just as she started to drift off, music came into her mind. Behind her closed eyes, she imagined colors. Green turned into red, then blue, then yellow, then green again. Her breathing slowed and deepened. Without thought, she first sat up and opened her purse. She pulled out a tiny bag.
She then stood and walked to the stateroom door. Cracking the door, she heard the bodyguard walking down the hallway to the stairs to the upper deck. She waited until his steps had completely faded.
Walking on bare tip toes, she crossed the hall to the yacht’s wardroom. She entered and went to the bar. She found the glass decanter, filled with his private stock of bourbon. She untied the small sack and poured a small amount into the booze. She closed the decanter.
A few moments later, she was in Duffy’s private office. She found another decanter on the cadenza behind his desk. She put the powder in that as well.
She returned to bed, smiling. Edna had done as she had been told and now it was time to sleep and forget.
Special Agent Hannigan found the large brown envelope on his desk. No return address was on it. Using a letter opener, he carefully unsealed it. A letter and photographs were inside. He read the letter aloud.
“Dear Sir,Please find enclosed photographs I took at various trade union events during the years 1910 to 1915. I’m sure you will recognize Mr. Eugen Debs, as well as other prominent socialists, anarchists, and Marxists. The stout, beefy man with the crew cut is Mr. Charles ‘Duffy’ McCorckle, who at the time controlled the New Orleans Longshoremen. See how chummy he is with these reds.
What you probably don’t know is that he currently owns Quality Studios. It is just not right that such a Bolshevik should be allowed such an influential position in the motion picture arts.
Sincerely,A Patriot”
Hannigan looked at the photos, then picked up his phone.
“Bernice, see if Mr. Hoover has time to see me. It’s important.”
There was a knock on the door just as Edna opened the door.. She got up and put the sheer silk coverup over her nightgown. There were no slippers. She padded over to the door and opened it. Jose, the yacht’s chief steward, was there with a wheeled cart with two trays.
“Breakfast, Miss.” The Filipino steward pushed the cart into the room. The food smelled wonderful.
Edna was delighted. Breakfast in bed...how elegant. Then she noticed the second tray on the cart.
“Is that Mr. Duffy’s tray, Jose?”
“Yes, Miss...he says he has to do the working breakfast, but he join you for lunch.”
Edna barely heard Jose after his first word. Instead, the music box melody ran through her head, and she thought about the colors. After a moment, her mouth began speaking on its own.
“Jose, Sweetie, ...my tummy is a tad Topsy Turvy....too much wine last night....could you run get me a glass of milk.”
Jose looked concerned. “Right away, Miss.” He left the stateroom. Edna quickly got out the small sack and liberally dosed Paddy’s stone cut oatmeal as well as his small pot of coffee.
Jose returned a couple of minutes later and found the flapper on the bed staring into her purse. She was blinking and seemed disorientated.
“I brought the milk, Miss.” When she did not respond, he placed the milk on the nightstand next to her, and finished setting up her breakfast. He then left.
The door closing brought Edna back to her senses. She tried to remember why she was looking in her purse. Finally, she closed it, then noticed the glass of cold milk. She wrinkled her nose.
“I guess Jose’s needs to work on his English....I didn’t order no milk. Hate the stuff.”
Hyman Bernstein enjoyed the next two weeks. Paddy was head over heels for Edna and mostly stayed on the yacht, leaving the studio to him.. He was therefore jolted when Vanlander came into Bernstein’s office unannounced.
“Duffy is here...we got a major problem. He wants to see us both.” He turned and left.
Bernstein took a deep breath and got up from his desk and headed for the lion’s den. Upon arrival, he heard the gangster yelling at Vanlander. He quietly entered.
“The Hell, Vanlander...what am I paying you for...I thought it was to prevent fixes like this? Besides...everyone knows I’m no Bolshevik...I’m a Knight of Columbus for cripes sake. If you run a union, sometimes you gotta rub elbows with them Reds...”
Vanlander kept his voice calm and even. “Rubbing elbows is enough to get you on Hoover’s shit list.”
“Screw him....so what if he don’t like me. What’s he gonna do, arrest me?”
Bernstein answered for Vanlander. “He doesn’t need to, Duffy. If he goes public that you’re a Red, no one will distribute our movies. No one.”
The gangster turned and looked like he was about to punch Bernstein. The lawyer came to his rescue.
“All’s not lost, Duffy..our friend Senator Langdon spoke to Hoover on our behalf. He’ll bury it if you divest yourself of any interest in the studio. That’s what he cares about, a potential Red owning a studio.”
Duffy whirled around and grabbed Vanlander by his coat. His voice was deadly quiet.
“I ain’t getting out of the movie business....got it?”
“No one said you got to get out...listen...you just need to find someone you trust...a relative...me...somebody....who’ll follow your lead....someone who’ll play ball and sign the studio back to you when things calm down...”
Duffy paused, then let go of Vanlander’s lapels. He thought a moment, then smiled.
“Nah......not you....and not you either, Bernstein. I got the perfect choice.”
Bernstein noticed a slight tremor in Duffy’s hands.
Harkins stood guard at the top of the gangplank and enjoyed the sea breeze. Mr. Vanlander and the boss had just left the yacht for the studio with the signed stock transfer papers . It was Harkins turn to stay aboard and babysit Duffy’s gal.
His reverie was broken by a high pitched bark. He turned and saw Edna, barefoot in her cute blue and white sailor outfit complete with white cap. She held a leash linking her to Mr. Fluffy, the lapdog Duffy had bought her to keep her company when he was gone.
He tipped his hat. “Afternoon, Miss.”
“I’m just taking Mr. Fluffy for his walk.”
“That’s fine Miss, but remember don’t go too far and stay in sight....Mr. Duffy don’t want no bad thing happening to you.”
“Gotcha, Harkins.”
The thug stared admiringly at her bare legs as she went down the gangplank. He watched as Edna took the dog to its favorite spots. She then went over to the other side of the wharf where an old negro man was fishing with a cane pole. He’d been there for a couple hours, occasionally throwing a fish in his pail. He seemed harmless, so Harkins picked up his newspaper.
Armand was not comfortable. His sweat mixed with the make up and wig to cause itching. He was therefore grateful when he heard the girl and dog come down the gangways. He kept his head down, focusing on the fishing. After a moment, two bare, female, feet were next to him. She spoke first.
“Wow...you’re good at that. How many fish.....Hey...Mr. Fluffy...that tickles.”
The dog was licking her feet.
Armand didn’t waste any time.
“It’s not really about catching the fish, Miss...it’s about relaxation. I just like staring at the harbor water.....watch how the sunlight reflects. Sometimes I even see colors...Green...then Red....”
“Blue.........Yellow......” Edna interrupted with a murmur. Armand began whistling Debussy. After a moment, the leash fell to the ground. Mr. Fluffy continued his licking, but Edna no longer noticed.
Armand quickly glanced back at the gangway and saw the thug was still engrossed in his paper. Satisfied, he began.
“Miss Johnson, can you hear me?”
“Yes......I can hear you....I....I hear only y’all’s voice.” She murmured in response.
“That’s right....very good....you’re doing so very well....soon you will be a star. Just a little more to do, then fame and fortune will be yours. How are things with Duffy?”
“Things are swell. He promised me he’s going to leave Beatrice.....divorce her....do whatever he needs to do so he can marry me.”
This bothered Armand. They would have to move quickly before the current Mrs. McCorckle met with a fatal “accident”. He didn’t need that on his conscience as well. He pushed away these distracting thoughts.
“What else?”
“To prove he’s serious .....he gave me the studio.....for a while. Course, he’ll still be Boss. But it shows how much he thinks of me. We signed the papers this morning.”
Armand had figured as much when he had seen Vanlander come to the yacht.
“Now tell me...tell me about the powder.”
“Gone...all gone....I sprinkled the last on his lunch.”
“Tell me...have you noticed anything odd about Duffy?”
“You mean like what he does with my toes?”
“No....I mean health wise.”
“His hands shake......and he keeps getting nosebleeds. Maybe Duffy needs more powder. Y’all got some more for me?”
“No need, Cheri, no need. But, there’s something else for you to do, to finish your screentest.”
Confirming again Harkins wasn’t watching, he handed her the rectangular object.
Duffy was snoring up a storm, his head at the foot of the bed. Edna, as instructed, had told him she wanted to celebrate his gift, and encouraged him to drink so much, he didn’t resist her spending the night in his stateroom. She carefully pulled her feet from his face, and got off the huge bed. She tip toed to where he had left his jacket and holster. A few moments later, she crawled back into bed, and was soon sleeping as well.
Harkins was fully absorbed with his horse racing form and didn’t hear Duffy approach.
“Where’s Miss Edna?” He demanded.
Harkins kept looking at the form, but pointed.
“She’s down there, talking to the old darky, the one fishing on the wharf.
Duffy slapped the racing form out of Harkins’ beefy hands.
“WHAT OLD DARKY, YOU BLOCKHEADED SHIT BIRD?”
Armand rowed the skiff hunched over, keeping his head below the wharf wall. Edna, in a white sailor’s blouse and matching bell bottoms, lay on her back, appearing deeply asleep. Mr. Fluffy was curled up near her bare feet.
Once they Hey were a couple hundred yards away from the “Sea Rose”, he started the small outboard engine.
Vanlander hurried behind as Duffy barreled down the studio hallway. He had arrived first, and saw right away something had changed. Duffy’s thugs were gone from the studio grounds, replaced by dour Pinkerton private detectives. When he asked who had hired them, them merely replied “The Studio”.
Duffy barged into the outer office, and found Bernstein sitting in his chair, with his feet on the desk.
“You wanna explain what’s going on here, Bernstein?” Duffy’s voice was a near whisper, but dripped malice.
Ignoring the gangster, Bernstein stood and held out a clump of papers to Vanlander, who immediately began reading them. Duffy whirled to the lawyer, who held up his hand to keep him momentarily silent. Finally, he spoke.
“It would seem Miss Edna has signed over all of the studio shares to Mr. Bernstein.”
Duffy let out a guttural roar and grabbed the movie man by his lapels. He snarled:
“If you hurt one hair of her head, you’ll be begging me to kill you.”
“Hurt her? She’s in there.” Bernstein pointed towards the inner office. Duffy pushed him away and went to the other room. What he saw there stopped him in his tracks like a Two by Four to the head. Studio craftsman had perfectly recreated the couch in the painting, and others had matched Edna’s hair and Grecian gown to Rose’s. It was if the portrait had been brought to life.
“Rosie?” He whispered. His hands were visibly shaking. She ignored him and placidly stared ahead, her smile matching the painting.
Armand stepped out of the shadows and sat on the sofa, near her head. Edna looked up to him and finally spoke: “Darling....where have you been.” Edna’s Georgian accent was replaced by an Irish lilt. Armand bent down and the two began to deeply kiss.
“You......the mesmerist.....you..” stammered the gangster.
Vanlander was now in the room. “Duffy.....your nose...”. A stream of blood was flowing from both nostrils. His eyes were deeply bloodshot. He ignored his lawyer and the blood, and roared again. His hand was shaking so bad he nearly dropped the pearl handled 45. He pointed at the couple and seven loud shots rang out in rapid succession.
Armand slowly broke the kiss, and began to laugh, and was joined by Edna. Despite his bravado, Armand was greatly relieved that Duffy hadn’t discovered that Edna had ejected the chambered round and replaced his gun’s magazine with one filled with blanks.
Duffy suddenly grabbed his head, the pistol falling quietly onto to the thick carpet.
“Rosie.....why?”
He fell dead just as Harkins and a Pinkerton man ran in, guns drawn. Vanlander yelled at both.
“Get the doctor from the studio infirmary, quick.” Harkins immediately left, and after Bernstein nodded, the private detective followed the thug. Edna kept laughing, ignoring what was happening. Armand stood, then waived his hand in front of her face, as he whistled the Debussy melody. She quieted, and stared blankly into space. He then turned to the lawyer.
“I’m afraid poor Duffy is beyond any earthly medicine. It’s been a long time, Mr. Vanlander.”
The lawyer squinted
“Professor Armand Nebel.....as I live and breath. I see your mesmeric talents are still intact. And I should have remembered you took photos at those rallies.” He turned to Bernstein. “This has been quite entertaining, but you know I can keep the stock transfer tied up in the courts for years. And if that doesn’t work, I still have plenty of weight with Duffy’s associates....enough to make all three of you pay for this.”
Armand smiled. “You could do that....be a real gangster, just like the late Mr. McCorckle.”
Bernstein spoke up. “But you don’t want that......you’re a man of ambition, not a criminal. And you know what a gold mine this studio could be without Duffy and his like leaching off of it.”
Armand stepped closer. “Imagine how high you could rise with a studio backing you.”
“Not just this one, I still got pull with the other studio heads.” Bernstein added.
Vanlander thought a moment. “I want one third interest.”
Bernstein laughed. “Ten percent. Final offer.”
The Lawyer nodded his head just as the studio doctor rushed in with his medical bag.
THREE YEARS LATER
Armand wore his finest suit as he walked into the cavernous movie stage. He carried a bag that held his magic lamp. Layne Probert, the star of the “Kranky Kops”, was in the midst of a fake jungle looking through a hand held telescope. Edna, a barefoot cave girl in a fur costume, tip toed behind him with a ridiculously large prop club and prepared to bring it down on his head.
The director yelled “Cut.....ok....everybody take 15 while we set up the next shot. Stay close.”
Edna saw Armand and ran over to him. After kissing him on the cheek, she said: “Oh Professor.....Thank you for coming all this way...I don’t know what I’d do without y’all. I’ll meet you in my dressing room...I just got one more scene.” She kissed him again, then scampered off before he could say anything.
Bernstein came up to him, and the men embraced. Armand spoke first:
“You’ve done magnificently my friend....so many studios failed after the Crash.”
“I wasn’t going to let that happen, not after all we went through. Luckily, poor people need a laugh as much as rich people. Maybe more. So, what do you think about our lovely starlet?”
“Ravishing. But do you have to keep her unshod in every show?”
“Yeah....’Kranky Kops and the Kave Kittens’ was a huge hit, and we had to make another one. I offered her fur booties, but she refused. That reminds me...the Mrs. and I took her to a concert...to give her a little culture. There we are, dressed to our nines, then the pianist plays ‘Clair de Lune’ by Debussy. Next thing you know, Edna’s kicked off her shoes and pulling off her stockings. Took a lot of explaining to the Mrs.”
Armand laughed heartily. “I’m sorry...in our session today, I’ll clean that up.”
“Anyway, I’m sure her next wardobe will have plenty of fancy shoes. Thalberg is going to sign her to a five year with MGM.”
Armand stared at his old friend. “Do you want me to change her thinking about that?”
He was gratified when Bernstein answered without hesitation. “No....of course not...that gal’s done enough for us....and then some. She saved the studio. I can’t...I won’t hold her back now she’s getting her big break.”
Armand just smiled, relieved his friend was as good a man as he had thought.
Bernstein broke the awkward silence. “So, how’s it feel to be a licensed doctor again?”
“Wonderful....please convey my thanks to Congressman Vanlander for his assistance with that.”
“He was glad to do it......he really appreciated your help with his coke fiend niece. So, why did Edna drag you from New Orleans?”
“She wants to lose her charming Southern accent. She’s worried about the switch to Talkies. She figures a little hypnosis can help.”
Armand looked up and saw that filming was over. He shook hands with Bernstein and headed towards the dressing room.
Fifteen minutes later Edna lay reclined on the sofa, the recreation of the one in the painting. The revolving colors spun to Debussy. Green, Red, Blue, Yellow, and Green again. Her eyes fell closed. She lay there in her dressing gown, once again absolutely in his power.
He looked at her, all the way down to her pale bare feet. Even in her long black costume wig, the resemblance was striking. Once again, he felt tempted to fully make her his Rose again and to recreate the bliss he had with his Irish Angel so many years ago. But he didn’t. Like Bernstein, she had done too much for him. And, more importantly, Rose would have been disappointed in him if he had. He never used hypnosis to abuse women, at least not that way. Not Rose, and not now Edna.
He took a deep breath, and began teaching Edna how upper class folks from Philadelphia spoke.