Chapter Twenty-One #4
Miss Hattie was trembling now. Her eyes were glassy, threatening tears. Mazelle glanced at Otis: Should we leave? But Otis sat stunned, not moving. Snow busied himself studying his cards as if he couldn’t hear a word.
Clark stared away at the tabletop with pursed lips as if looking at her seared his eyes.
Mazelle had heard about the furor over the portable toilets only thirty feet from Clark’s dressing room: Negro extras led by Lennie Bluett complained to Clark about the WHITE ONLY signs on the toilets and Clark had insisted that they be taken down.
Miss Hattie went on: “Yes, we’re grateful you spoke up about the toilets, but there’s a reason your word mattered and ours wouldn’t. They can’t replace Clark Gable. But they can damn sure replace Hattie McDaniel.”
“Darlin’, there’s no way they would try to—”
“That’s not the point!” Again, Miss Hattie wouldn’t let him finish.
“Only way I can matter to any of them is to be a professional. First one on the set. Get the take right on the first try. They know I’m a Negro as soon as they set eyes on me, but I give them no choice except to respect me.
And if they’re laughing at me, I just lost that respect.
And once respect is gone, it takes a hell of a lot to get it back—if you can get it back at all. ” Her voice wavered.
Clark ran his fingers anxiously through his hair. He looked exasperated. “You’re right—I’m a fool. What can I do?” he asked, looking up at Miss Hattie with hangdog eyes. “How do I make it up to you?”
“Tell Mr. Fleming you’re sorry you broke up the shoot—”
“Oh, for God’s sake…” Clark said. “Vic’s already about to have another nervous breakdown. You think that’s his biggest worry—?”
“And don’t you dare touch my props again!”
Clark slowly rose to his feet, courageous enough to meet Hattie face-to-face. He held out his hands to take hers. “I promise,” he said. “Come on—I’m counting the days to get off this goddamn shoot. It’ll just throw me off if you’re mad at me.”
“Well, you should have thought about that first,” Miss Hattie snapped, not taking his hands. “No one invited you in here, so now you can invite yourself on out!”
Miss Hattie was so solicitous to her costars that her outburst was shocking. Her voice seemed to shake the walls. Clark Gable’s ears and face turned red beneath his tan. Mazelle couldn’t help feeling sorry for him, but Hattie McDaniel’s fearlessness made her hold her breath.
Miss Hattie gave Clark one more scolding look, her eyes narrowed… then a grin broke across her face. She pointed at Clark, full of glee. “Got you back!”
And she laughed. After hesitating, Mazelle, Otis, and Snow laughed with her. Miss Hattie had been so convincing that only her deep belly laugh told Mazelle that she was returning his prank. And she’d made him blush! Mazelle’s body loosened with relief.
“Now you should see the look on your face,” Miss Hattie told Clark cheerfully. She pulled up a chair and squeezed to the table beside the spot where he stood. “Deal me in.”
“You mean that was a bunch of bull?” Clark asked, sitting back down. He looked sullen and embarrassed.
“Oh no, I meant most of it,” Miss Hattie said. “I’m just not mad about it. Can’t get mad at somebody who don’t know any better. It’s like getting mad if a child breaks a dinner plate.”
“Oh, that’s real nice,” Clark muttered. “Now you sound like Carole.” All the papers had made a sensation of Clark Gable’s elopement with Carole Lombard in March.
“Carole’s got sense,” Miss Hattie said. She leaned over to say the next part so softly to his ear that Mazelle barely heard her: “And you’d better treat that girl right.”
Clark squeezed Miss Hattie’s shoulder warmly, a gesture that looked like both thanks and another unspoken apology.
Miss Hattie had told Mazelle that she and Clark were friends—and he pushed to get her the role of Mammy—but now she was witnessing their bond up close.
Compared to Miss Hattie, who was working in pictures to avoid being a maid again, Clark Gable might as well be king of the world, not just the King of Hollywood. What an unusual friendship!
“When’s this game getting started?” Clark asked. He reached into his pocket and tossed down a ten-dollar note. Everyone at the table stared at the bill. If Mazelle had that much money, she would buy a new icebox for her family instead.
Mazelle spoke first, forcing herself beyond her shyness. “Mr. Gable,” she said, her voice more confident than she felt, “did you forget you’re making more for this picture than I am?”
Again, everyone laughed. Clark Gable looked at Mazelle, noticing her for the first time, a smile frozen on his lips.
She saw his eyes focus beyond her head wrap and rags to find her face, first with bemusement and then with a startling intensity she had only seen from boys at school who were sweet on her.
He stared at her a long time with those oddly soft eyes that seemed blue from a distance, but were a silvery gray from less than a foot away.
Miss Hattie noticed him staring. “Mazelle’s doing extra work, and she’s fresh out of high school,” she said. “She starred in Li’l Gumshoes. Ain’t that something?” Mazelle was eighteen, but Miss Hattie sounded like she was reminding Clark that she was more a child.
Clark’s eyes flitted away, all intrigue gone. “Good for you, kid.”
Mazelle’s heart pumped as if she were running uphill.
The way Clark Gable had looked at her! Not that she was interested in a married white man who looked forty and wouldn’t want her for anything except an adventure or a story.
But if she could catch Clark Gable’s eye dressed in rags, maybe there was no end to what she could do.
(She buried the ugly thought triggered by his costume shirt that made him look like a plantation owner—how slave masters had preyed on so many Negro girls and women in rags just like hers. She pushed that thought away too.)
This day felt like magic, so maybe magic hadn’t deserted her.
Miss Hattie pushed Clark’s money back at him and slapped two quarters on the table. Otis and Snow followed her example. Even Mazelle could spare a quarter or two.
“Deuces wild, like Mazelle said,” Miss Hattie said. “I’ve only got time for one game.”
Everyone at that table, it turned out, was a storyteller. They laughed so hard and enjoyed each other so much that they lost track of everything.
Standing.
Skin color.
Time.