Chapter 14 #2
“You didn’t enjoy yourself?” He turned on the car and pulled out of the parking lot, waving at my family as we passed. Vicky was already in the Dodge, looking the other way.
“I wasn’t miserable,” I conceded. “But it’s not something I’d care to do again.”
He took a right on Hollywood Boulevard and said, “Don’t worry. We’re heading back to Santa Monica, but this time, we’re not going to the pier—or the gambling boats.”
The sun had already set behind the horizon, but the last vestiges of daylight still tinted the sky with color. I rolled down the window and let the fresh air blow into the car as another yawn stole over me.
It had been a long and arduous day. Papa needed to complete filming as soon as possible because the longer it took, the more it cost. He was hanging on by a thread and needed all the gold I could get in 1849.
I leaned my head against the door frame, allowing the wind to wash over me, trying not to worry—and the next thing I knew, we were pulling up to a large Spanish-influenced house on the coast.
“Wake up, Ally,” Spencer said in a tender voice. “We’re here.”
I sat up, a little shaken. I never crossed over until after midnight, so if I napped here, I woke up here, but it wasn’t something I did often. My body was exhausted, though, and I shouldn’t have been surprised.
“How long was I sleeping?” I asked, blinking my eyes to focus on our surroundings. It was now dark, but the lights on the back of the house shined onto the road.
“About thirty minutes.”
The house had terra-cotta shingles and stucco walls. It sat close to the road, and looked plain from the back side, but I suspected inside it was large and grand with a view of the ocean.
“Where are we?”
“We’ve been invited to a dinner party.” He stepped out of the automobile and came around to open my door.
“But I’m not dressed for a dinner party,” I protested.
“This is a very informal gathering,” he assured me as he offered me his hand.
“Whose house is it?”
“Louis B. Mayer’s.”
I hesitated. “Mr. Mayer invited us to his house for supper?”
“His wife wanted to meet you,” he said with a shrug. “And L. B. is eager to talk to us about something important.”
“I wish you would have told me so I could have put on something a little more formal.” I was wearing a simple sailor suit with a blue cloche cap.
“You look as beautiful as ever.” The way he looked at me convinced me he was telling the truth. He did think I was beautiful—at least that wasn’t an act.
He motioned to the house with a tilt of his head. “Come on. The Mayers are waiting.”
“Are we late?” I took his hand and stepped out of the vehicle.
“A little.”
“How late?”
He shrugged. “An hour or so.”
“We’re an hour late to Mr. Mayer’s house? Spencer!”
“What? Did you want me to tell your father to hurry up?”
“You could have told him Mr. Mayer was waiting for us.”
Spencer closed the door and wrapped my hand through the crook of his elbow, drawing me close to his side. His cologne was subtle and elicited my senses. “L. B. wanted to keep this meeting quiet for now. He would prefer if your folks don’t know about it.”
“Why not?” I tried pulling back to look at him, but he held me close.
“You’ll see.”
“Spencer, so help me, if you say that to me one more—”
“It’s not my place to question L. B. Mayer.”
“You exasperate me.”
He grinned.
When we reached the wood door, he lifted the knocker, and a maid appeared in a black dress, white apron, and white hat. She was young and cute and immediately aware of Spencer. Her cheeks turned pink as she stepped aside and said, “Mr. Mayer has been expecting you, Mr. Hayes.”
Spencer winked and handed her his bowler hat.
She giggled and held it close to her chest as we passed by.
The inside of the house was spacious and beautifully decorated. We walked from the entrance into a living room where the Spanish influence continued with clay-tiled floors, stucco walls, mosaic tiles inside the fireplace, and wooden beams on the ceilings.
“There you are!” a boisterous voice said as Mr. Mayer appeared from a door off to the side of the living room.
“Sorry we’re late, L. B.,” Spencer said. “Got tied up filming.”
“I completely understand.” He smiled at me. “Welcome to my home, Miss Bennett. Do you mind if I call you Ally?”
“Of course not.”
“Good. Good. Come onto the veranda. Margaret has some refreshments for us.” He motioned for us to follow him out a back door.
The veranda was stunning with a large pool and breathtaking views of the beach and the ocean beyond.
A manicured hedge lined either side of the patio around the pool, but the third side was open to look at the water.
Chinese paper lanterns were strung across the top of the veranda, swaying in the wind and offering a soft glow.
“Welcome,” a woman said as she stood from the table where food and drinks had been laid to wait.
“I don’t think we’ve ever been properly introduced.
I’m Margaret Mayer.” She had a pleasant face with dark eyebrows and hair.
I’d seen her at events around Hollywood, most recently the Academy Awards, but we hadn’t met.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Mayer. I’m Ally Bennett.”
“Please, call me Margaret.”
“Won’t you have a seat and enjoy some refreshments?” Mr. Mayer asked.
Spencer held out a chair for me, and I took the seat, though my confusion continued to increase. Why had Spencer brought me here, and why had Mr. Mayer wanted the meeting?
More importantly, why didn’t they want my parents to know?
The Mayers made small talk, commenting on how they didn’t use the veranda as much now that their two daughters were grown. Spencer filled a plate with appetizers and accepted a lemonade from one of the maids who brought out a tray of drinks.
I had been starving before we arrived, but my stomach was in knots now, and I picked at the meat, cheese, crackers, and vegetables they had spread out on trays.
“You’re probably curious why we had Spencer bring you here,” Mr. Mayer finally said when they’d exhausted the small talk.
I sat up a little straighter and pushed my plate back on the table. “I’m very curious.”
“I’ll check on dinner while you talk business,” Margaret said, excusing herself.
Business? What kind of business did Mr. Mayer have with me?
He leaned forward on his chair, staring at me from behind his thick glasses. “I like your work, Ally. You’re not only talented, but you have that spark—you’ve got it. People are either born with it or they’re not. The camera loves you, and so does your audience.”
Spencer’s tender regard matched Mr. Mayer’s words.
But the praise was starting to make me feel a little uncomfortable, so I adjusted in my seat. “Thank you, Mr. Mayer.”
“Call me L. B.”
I nodded, though I wasn’t sure I would ever feel comfortable calling him L. B.
“I know you’re tied up at the moment with your father’s film,” he continued, “but I asked you here because I have a role coming up and I think you would be perfect for it.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but he held up his hand.
“Hear me out, please.” He continued to lean forward, his gaze locked on mine.
“I just acquired rights to Anna Christie, and I think you would be perfect for the starring role. The play won a Pulitzer Prize a few years ago, and the studio believes it will be the best picture made next year, perhaps worthy of the Academy Award if done correctly. There is no one else I can think of who would play the part so well, Ally.” He took a breath.
“I know you work for your father, but let’s be frank, shall we?
Even if Little Women is a raging success, the chance of it saving Bennett Studios is small.
He’d have to have another success and another success if he wants to make a go of it.
All that to say, I do not think you will have a career with Bennett Studios for much longer, and if your father can string things along for a few years, you’ll be giving the best part of your career to his dying company. ”
I stared at him, appalled at what he’d said about my father. “I’d rather give him the best years of my career than betray him.”
Mr. Mayer held up his hands again. “Hold on, there. I wasn’t suggesting you betray your father.
I have work for him, too. We need a good director, and he’s one of the best in the business.
I’d even be willing to sign your sister Victoria on for a seven-year contract and see what we could do with her.
” He finally leaned back and steepled his hands together.
“I’m prepared to pay you well, Ally.” He paused.
“How would two hundred thousand a year sound? More if Anna Christie does well.”
My mouth dropped open.
Spencer, too, lowered his fork, blinking in surprise at the extraordinary offer.
“Why would you do this?” I asked, stunned.
“Because you’re a rising star, Ally, and to be honest—after all, we said we would be—Bennett Studios might not survive long, but until the company folds, they are getting in my way.
Your father is one of the last holdouts when it comes to anything in Hollywood, and I’d like to be done with that problem.
We’re on the brink of a new era with talking films, and Hollywood is poised to soar.
If I can pay you well enough and provide a decent income for him and Vicky, I think we all win. ”
I was too shocked to even comment.
“I’ve given you a lot to think about,” he said.
“But I’d like for you to make this decision on your own.
I’d rather you didn’t discuss it with your parents or sister just yet.
Mull it over, ask yourself what you could do with two hundred thousand dollars a year, and if you decide it’s the best move for you, then let me know and we’ll talk to your parents together. How’s that?”
I had never kept anything from my parents. But the truth was, this was a good deal for all of us. And if I talked to Papa about it now, he’d find a way to dissuade me. “I will take some time to think about it.”
“Good.” He paused. “There is one caveat, however, and I believe it was implied, but I want to be crystal clear. If you agree to work for me and I offer Vicky a job, it’s with the understanding that Bennett Studios closes their doors for good.
I don’t want you making films for me and helping your father on the side. ”
I nodded my understanding as I contemplated what his offer meant. I also had 1849 to consider. I wasn’t sure if I would even stay in 1929 past my next birthday. And what if I found enough gold to give Papa what he needed to build Bennett Studios to compete with Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer?
“Take your time thinking about it,” Mr. Mayer said as he motioned to one of the maids standing near the door to bring more lemonade. “I don’t need an answer right away, though the sooner the better. Let’s put the business aside for now and enjoy our meal.”
As he and Spencer began to chat about industry news, I sat back in my chair, my gaze slipping to the moonbeams on the ocean waves.
How could I turn down two hundred thousand dollars a year when the average person made two thousand a year? And how would I make this decision without consulting my parents? Did I even want to?
I had a lot of choices to make in the coming weeks, and I didn’t even know where to start.