Chapter Four #2
Mazelle finally noticed a smallish white man in a businesslike gray hat she didn’t know standing in the corner.
His eyes glowed at her like blue marbles, his dark hair streaked with silver at his forehead above a tanned, smooth face.
The man marched forward with a wide grin, his arm outstretched to shake Mazelle’s hand.
His face was kind, even familiar, so Mazelle took a step toward him—but before the man reached her, his foot caught the edge of Lorenzo’s thick rug…
and his body twisted and flew! Mother gasped as he seemed sure to crash into Mazelle, or Lorenzo’s desk, but he landed in a perfect somersault and kept up his stride with his arm outstretched as if it had never happened. Scout barked and paced with excitement.
“Pleased to meet you, little lady,” the man said in a fancy accent. And winked at her.
Mazelle shook his hand, amazed at his grace. She had seen great stage shows, but never anyone with this stranger’s fluidity, as if his body were rubber. His blue eyes twinkled.
“Hold on now—you’re Charlie Chaplin!” Daddy said, the first to recognize him.
Charlie Chaplin! Mazelle stared up at the man with amazement.
She couldn’t see it: He wasn’t much taller than she was!
And he wasn’t wearing his signature makeup and mustache, or his oversized Little Tramp costume, so he looked nothing like the star on-screen.
But his grin told her it must be true. How often had Mazelle skinned her knees trying to balance on railings the way he walked a tightrope in The Circus?
Once, Aunt Ruby had covered her legs with welts when she caught her trying to slide down the stairs like Charlie Chaplin after she’d seen his stunt in a picture.
“My goodness, it’s an honor to meet you!” Mother said. “We’ve seen all your pictures. Mazelle idolizes you.”
“The regard is mutual,” he said to Mazelle. “I’m sure I’ve seen all your pictures too.” His voice was from a land far away. England, maybe? And so refined! Although she played a role herself, she was stunned by the differences between the actor and his famous character.
“I can do it too—see?” Mazelle said, and she backed up a few steps. Now that she was in the room with Chaplin, something she had only dreamed of, she was eager to show off for him.
“Mazelle, don’t—” Mother started, but Mazelle was already pretending to trip on the rug.
She instructed her limbs to mimic Chaplin’s awkward fall and graceful somersault.
She landed almost perfectly, but she bumped a table.
The colorful stained glass lamp she jostled would have crashed to the floor if Mr. Sharpe hadn’t caught it.
Mazelle quickly pulled her dress back down; she’d forgotten how it would fly up to her waist.
“Holy bejeezus!” Lorenzo said. “That’s a Tiffany lamp! No more stunts in my office, both of you. What’s the idea, Chaplin? You could have hurt the dog!”
Mr. Lorenzo’s accent from Brooklyn sounded blunt and ugly.
Mazelle was surprised to hear him scold Charlie Chaplin the way he scolded the Sharpes, but Chaplin didn’t seem to hear Lorenzo.
Chaplin clutched Mazelle’s forearms and leaned close to her as if no one else was in the office.
“You, my dear, have a genius knack for comedy,” he said.
“You’re the one worth a fortune. It’s not just the dog. ”
“Yessir,” Mazelle said. She bounced on her feet. Hearing praise from Charlie Chaplin made Aunt Ruby vanish from her mind—although her arms were still sore where Chaplin was holding her after Aunt Ruby’s strikes with the hairbrush. And he thought she had talent!
Scout barked with joy and walked in circles between them, sharing her excitement.
Chaplin went on earnestly. “I started with nothing too. Look at me: I’m puny.
People get fooled by that and underestimate me…
” For the first time, he glanced back at Lorenzo before bringing his liquid-blue eyes back to hers.
“But everyone loves an underdog. Use your comedy to show your heart—and then the world will know your name, Mazelle Washington.”
His eyes were sad despite his smile. Chaplin pinched her cheek and said to her parents, “Watch over her. This is a dodgy bloody business for children.”
“Oh, you bet we do,” Mother said.
“Yeah, we’re all watching over her just fine,” Lorenzo said. “Didn’t you say you had to rush off? A meeting to make sure your next shoot isn’t another circus like The Circus?”
Chaplin’s face knotted with annoyance—or real anger.
The Sharpes looked startled by Mr. Lorenzo’s remark, their eyes bulging.
Mazelle had laughed herself silly watching The Circus, so why was Mr. Lorenzo naming it as an insult?
She felt uneasy witnessing the slow-motion argument between Mr. Lorenzo and one of her favorite stars, and she noticed her parents shifting uncomfortably too.
A minor storm left Chaplin’s eyes before he tipped his dapper hat, but his sweet smile was gone. “Cheers, Lorenzo. You’re cheeky, I’ll give you that. Remember what I said.”
“Remember what I said.”
The Sharpes walked Chaplin out of the office, whispering apologies.
“Guess he thinks I’ll roll over because he’s some kind of big shot?
” Lorenzo said, fumbling with his cigar and quickly lighting it with the sweep of a match.
He had forgotten Mother’s objections, and he was talking to himself more than her parents.
“I already told him Lorenzo Studios doesn’t need to be in business with United Artists—or anyone else.
Some people don’t know how to take no for an answer. ”
Her parents were dead silent. Surprisingly, Mother didn’t complain about the cigar smoke, although she took a few steps away from Mr. Lorenzo.
It dawned on Mazelle that Mr. Lorenzo might be more important than she had believed.
Sure, he had his own studio, but Mother had once called him a small fish who had needed her to make his name.
He didn’t seem small now. Mazelle’s veins prickled with nervousness, and Scout sat near her like a sentry.
Maybe Mr. Lorenzo didn’t think he needed to be in business with her either.
Mr. Lorenzo clapped his hands to break his own bad mood, lighting up in a boyish smile. “Sorry about that, folks,” he said, sweetening his voice. The look on Mother’s face must have shamed him. “Ah—that’s right. Sorry about this too. And it’s Cuban. This will break my heart.”
With ceremony, Mr. Lorenzo snipped off the burning end of his cigar.
The gray tendrils of smoke in his ashtray wound up like dancing snakes before they melted into the room to stink.
Mother was right: Cigars smelled horrid.
Mother coughed softly behind her hand. She had been sensitive to any kind of smoke ever since they moved to Los Angeles.
But Lorenzo was smiling and happy again, so she wasn’t in trouble.
Daddy’s worries had melted from his face, and Mother’s arms weren’t crossed in the pose she used when she thought she would have to argue.
Mazelle’s breath thinned with excitement as she remembered Charlie Chaplin saying, The world will know your name, Mazelle Washington.
The Sharpes returned, closing the office door behind them. “I think you’re officially off his Christmas list,” Mr. Sharpe said.
Mr. Lorenzo ignored him, going on brightly: “Anyway, time to unveil my surprise. Scout will wanna see this too!”
Scout barked, hearing his name. Mr. Lorenzo held up a framed Western Union telegram, only two short sentences:
MAZY AND SCOUT ARE YOURS. ROACH SAYS HE ALREADY HAS A DOG. —RN
Mazelle peered at the wire with her parents, but none of them laughed. Daddy was smiling widely, but Mazelle didn’t think he got the joke either.
“From Richard Norman, exactly two years ago!” Mr. Lorenzo explained. “I found this under some papers on my desk. I was sloppy seconds, but this was the day my life changed. That rat sent your reel to Hal Roach first. But Roach passed.”
“Roach compared that useless dog in Our Gang to Scout!” Mr. Sharpe said, giggling. His laugh didn’t fit his height or balding head.
Mr. Lorenzo went on: “Lemme tell you, Roach is sorry about it now. I bet this keeps him up nights. That’s why I gotta pay you so much, Mazy—so he can’t steal you away! That’s exactly what that mutt Chaplin was in here trying to do.”
Mazelle’s head whirled. Steal her? She looked at her parents and saw her own confusion.
Lorenzo and Mr. Sharpe laughed again, and Millie Sharpe hugged Mazelle tight with one arm. “Don’t worry, nobody’s stealing anyone,” she said. “And don’t mind them: They’re drunk on the competition.”
“Pearl!” Mr. Lorenzo called out toward his doorway, where his secretary was always waiting. “Bring in the lemonade, will ya? Let’s make this a real party.”
“What are we celebrating?” Mother asked. When she was in Mr. Lorenzo’s office, she only thought about business.
“Have a seat—I can’t wait to tell you,” Mr. Lorenzo said, jouncing on his soles as he walked behind his desk. “But this can’t leave the office. Hear me, Mazy? I know how you kids like to gossip.” He sounded stern.
Mazelle sat in the closest straight-back chair, swinging her feet that didn’t yet touch the floor.
“I don’t gossip!” she said, indignant. When she first came to work, she had been too nervous to hardly speak to Mr. Lorenzo, much less contradict him, but she hated it when Doris accused her of things she hadn’t done.
Although she wasn’t as afraid of displeasing Mr. Lorenzo anymore, she hesitated to remind him that Mazy was only her stage name.
Even Charlie Chaplin knew better. The world will know your name, Mazelle Washington.
“Are you saying Mazelle has divulged things she shouldn’t?” Mother asked, emphasizing her full name, using her schoolteacher words. Mother was annoyed too.
“Relax—not at all,” Mr. Lorenzo said. “I’m saying we need to be extra careful now.”