“I’ll miss you.” She wanted him to have no doubt about her feelings.
“No more’n I’ll miss you. You’re a real pal.”
“A pal? That’s all?”
Loy’s face turned deadly serious. “Hell, I’m not in any position to offer a girl anything else. Never have been.”
“You mean you’re not inclined. You don’t want attachments.”
He slapped his cowboy hat lightly against his leg. “You see right through me.” He laid the hat on the porch rail, gently took hold of her shoulders. “I’d like to keep things the way they are now, Fritzi.”
Trying to be flip, she said, “Well, you know what they say about half a loaf. I’ll settle for that tomorrow. But tonight—” She threw her arms around his neck, kissed him with more fervor than decorum permitted. Startled, he was awkward a moment. Then he slid his arms around her waist and hugged her, prolonging the kiss.
“Whew,” he said when they broke apart. “Any more of that, I’ll be in a real stew.” He picked up his hat. “See you when I get back.”
“I hope that’s a promise.” Her heart was beating fast. The embrace had loosened strands of her blond hair, and they straggled down both sides of her face. She must look a sight. She didn’t care. He overwhelmed her.
“Sure,” he said in a flat, almost reserved way. He strode down the walk, cranked up the Ford, and drove off. She leaned against a porch post, remembering the feel of his arms long after the red spot of a taillight disappeared in the dark.
An unexpected and initially alarming letter arrived from Terre Haute, Indiana. Hobart had been playing there in a tour of Julius Caesar when a heat wave struck the Midwest.
The temperature was so infernal, I am sure I lost several pounds each time the curtain rose. On the night to which I refer, both my knees and my sensibilities gave way at the same instant. The doctors say it was not simple heat prostration but a heart attack, which I was fortunate to survive. I shall be recuperating in this vale of rustic Philistines for at least three weeks. The cure may prove more dire than the illness!
Fritzi immediately telegraphed a Terre Haute florist to arrange for a large floral basket, along with a note urging the old actor to stay calm, get well, and consider coming to Hollywood at his earliest opportunity.
Liberty previewed Fritzi’s picture at another theater on South Broadway, the Arcade. Alexander Pantages, operator of a big vaudeville circuit, had built it and put his name in wrought iron letters on the facade above the marquee. In 1910 the theater became the Arcade and converted to showing pictures. Inside, it still resembled an English music hall, with boxes flanking the stage and footlight sconces in place.
The two-reeler followed a showing of an Ince Western, Desert Gold. Loy appeared as one of a hard-riding outlaw gang, though only in long shots, unrecognizable. He had to identify himself to Fritzi. She sat on his right, Eddie and Rita on her other side. Loy was starched and neat, his long hair trimmed and a high polish on his boots.
The audience loved the Western’s thrilling action and gave it a strong hand at the fade-out. Fritzi’s stomach knotted when the projector flashed the next title.
LIBERTY
Pictures International
presents
“KNOCKABOUT
NELL”
Directed by EDW. B. HEARN
Her hand flew over to clutch Loy’s right arm. “I’m scared.”
“Hush, it’ll be fine.” He put his left hand on top of hers, squeezing gently. Her eyes stayed on the flickering screen.
She knew every scene by heart. She winced at some of her mugging, but the audience laughed at appropriate moments. Eddie kept up a whispered commentary. “Too fast.” “I like that.” “Should have shot that over.” A burst of laughter greeted Nell’s fall with the chandelier, and a cheer went up when she threw a flatiron over her shoulder, accidentally felling the would-be thief. At the end, the camera irised down for a circular close-up of Nell delirious with happiness after receiving a kiss from the handsome young scion of the household. The audience applauded the picture, though one old grump in the aisle said, “Chaplin’s funnier.”
They bumped into Kelly and Bernadette in the lobby. Kelly said, “It’ll make money.” From him that amounted to paragraphs of praise.
She held tightly to Loy’s arm, elated by the picture’s good reception. Surprisingly, she didn’t hate herself as a comedienne. She was respectable, even more than that in a couple of places. Eddie was excited too, chattering to Rita like a schoolboy. He had to telephone B.B., who was in bed with a summer cold.
The summer evening was dry and warm. South Broadway was crowded; the people passing under the street lamps seemed carefree, unworried by news of a Russian army mobilization in response to Austria’s declaration of war against Serbia earlier in the week. Russia stood with France and Britain in the Triple Entente, ostensibly allied against Germany and Austria, the aggressor in the Balkans.
As the four of them turned into a spaghetti house, Loy said to her, “We should celebrate the picture in style. I know a mighty fine place for a picnic, on the coast above Inceville. Want to go up there tomorrow?”
“Do you need to ask?”
He grinned. “Didn’t expect so. Uncle Nate taught me it’s the polite thing. I’ll borrow the Ford.”
“Mighty fine fried chicken,” he said. “Pretty near the best I ever tasted.”
“Thank you. I wish I could take credit.”
Fritzi sat with her legs tucked under her and her skirt wrapped tightly to keep it from blowing and revealing too much leg, the way she’d learned as a girl. The sun beat on her face with a sensual warmth. The ocean wind tossed and tangled her blond hair.
“You didn’t fix this?”
“Sorry, no. Levy’s Boardwalk Delicatessen. Closed on Saturday but open Sundays. My mother’s a wonderful cook. She tried to teach me the domestic arts, but I was a grave disappointment to her. I can’t even make a neat bed.”
“Well, why should you? Another year or two, mail coming in like it is, you’ll be able to hire twenty maids.” She laughed.
Far below the hilltop where they’d spread their blue and white tablecloth, the cobalt sea rolled in from Asia, breaking into fans of foam on shoreline rocks. A bright red touring car flashed sunshine from its fenders as it passed on the coast road. Like an image from a moving picture, it made no sound; the wind and surf saw to that.
Loy closed the slaw carton, placed it back in the wicker hamper. He held up their bottle of Buena Vista wine, checking the level against the sun.
“There’s some of this wine left.”
“I don’t need another drop. This place is so beautiful, it would make a cold-water prohibitionist tipsy.”
He smiled, stretched his legs out. He was wearing tan whipcord pants, a dark blue shirt and red bandanna—a workingman’s outfit. To Fritzi he was as radiant as some Eastern mogul in silks and jewels.
He packed his pipe, cupped his hard brown hands around the match. Smoke trailing from the bowl and stem vanished in the wind. He ground the match head on his boot sole and carefully laid it on the checked cloth.
“Want to start back?”
“I want to stay here forever. I’m a hopeless romantic. Or haven’t you noticed?”
“Fact is, I have. Never met anyone like you in Texas. Not anyone even half like you.”
“I shouldn’t imagine. Actresses are crazy.”
“Oh, not you.” In the sunshine his strong profile glowed like a bronze sculpture. Heat radiated through her legs and breasts. Why didn’t he lean over and kiss her? They were completely alone.
A gull wheeled over, dove, and swooped by, checking for leftover morsels. Loy eased back on his elbows, squinting at the sea with his pipe in his teeth. She wanted him so badly she ached. She hadn’t pinned in her padding that morning, hoping. She realized the initiative had to be hers.
“Loy.”
“Mmm?”
“Thank you for bringing me here.” She rose on her knees, rested
her right hand on his shoulder. He laid his pipe on a flat rock. She kissed him, opening her lips a little to touch him with her tongue. “Thank you for today.”
He threw one arm around her, pulled her to him for a harder kiss. Fritzi shivered, eyes shut, feeling her hair flying around her ears, brushing his face. He smelled of the salt air and his tobacco. She wanted to pull him down on her, take him in, show him how much she loved him….
He broke the embrace. Patted the small of her back, giving her a swift, almost apologetic look. He took his pipe from the rock, bit down on the stem, and lit another match. The gull returned and left, disappointed.
Fritzi touched him again. “You know how I feel about you, don’t you?”
“I’ve a mighty good idea.”
She pushed hair away from her cheeks. “I suppose it’s obvious. I’ve done everything except hire a man to walk around advertising it with sandwich boards. You probably think I’m a cheap hussy.”
“I think you’re a jewel, Fritzi. A little more modern than I’m used to, but a special woman. I knew it when I met you. I’m strong for you too. I’d like you to be my friend forever.”
“Friend. It’s always that kind of word.”
He was silent a moment. “Can’t be anything else.”
“Why not? Because you’re restless, roving every few months? I don’t care. You can go to the South Pole, the Great Wall of China, anyplace. You can stay a year if you’ll just come back to me.”
He gazed seaward again, his eyes melancholy. “There’s more to it than an itch to go yondering. I can’t settle down, not even if I want to. I’ve been looking for the right time to tell you.”
Cold, she leaned back on her haunches. Her hands shook.
“I left Texas because I had to, Fritzi. I don’t sleep easy, here or anywhere. In the Bailey County jail—all the jails in Texas, I reckon—there’s a dodger, a wanted poster, with my picture. I killed a man.”
It had the effect of an earthquake. “Oh, dear God. How did it happen? Who was it?”
“You don’t need the details. That way, anybody ever shows up asking questions, you don’t know a thing.”
She jumped up, ran away from him. He scrambled to his feet, hurried after her with loping strides. His face seemed to smear, as though he stood on the other side of a rain-drenched window. Please, God, don’t let me bawl.
In the changing light the Pacific looked purplish, a poisonous color. The onshore wind blew cold. She dashed a hand across her eyes.
“You won’t tell me?”
“Maybe someday.”
“I think we should pack up.”
“Sure. Can I still see you? I won’t force it, but I’d like that.”
Bitterly: “You just want me to be convenient, is that it? A pal—available whenever you decide to drop from the sky?” She hammered her fist on her skirt. “That’s a lot to ask.”
“But a while ago you said—”
“I know what I said. I said it before you told me about Texas. I’d have to grow old wondering every time you left whether I’d see or hear from you again, unless it was from some jail cell. Or maybe I’d never hear at all. What would they do if they—if—?”
“Hang me. The man was a Texas Ranger.”
“Oh, my God.” She fought to steady herself. “Let’s go back to town.”
He didn’t argue.
The ride to the picnic site had been magical, electric with excitement, expectation, the possibility that he might make love to her. The return trip was hellishly long. Neither said a word. She’d never known such turmoil, disappointment and, yes, anger.
On a corner on Sunset they saw a vendor hawking papers. Unusual for this late on Sunday. A few blocks on, Loy said, “There’s another one. What’s he yelling?”
“I can’t hear.”
The newsie had drawn a small crowd. One by one they paid for papers, scanned the headlines without visible concern. The newsie began to shout again.
“Must be an extra edition. I’ll get one.”
He swung the Ford to the curb in front of a closed barber shop. He strode to the corner, bought the paper, looked at the front page, then walked rapidly back to the runabout.
“It’s what they’ve been jawing about for weeks. Kaiser Bill declared war on Russia yesterday.”
A new war involving Germany—she wondered about her father’s reaction. Loy stepped on the running board, gave her the Times as he took his seat.
FOUR POWERS AT WAR,
FRANCE IS MOBILIZING
First Shots Exchanged
In Russo-German War
ORDER FOR FRENCH MOBILIZATION
CAUSES THE WILDEST ENTHUSIASM
German Kaiser Unafraid,
His Back Against the Wall
Still numb from Loy’s revelation, Fritzi laid the paper in her lap. The thought of a widespread war shattering decades of peace and tranquility in Europe was disturbing. The General had long ago made his children understand that war, though it might at times be necessary, was most certainly not some high crusade carried out in radiant sunlight, but a dirty, nightmarish business that wrecked lives, destroyed dreams, and left its mark like a satanic cloven hoofprint even on those who survived.
Loy’s eye followed an open-air bus full of sightseers, then went beyond, to the Santa Monicas tinted by the dying light, and beyond that to some faraway place she couldn’t reach. The weakness of her voice distressed her:
“I hope it has nothing to do with us.”
“Don’t see how it could,” he said as he engaged the gears to drive on.
In Venice, Fritzi saw a paper fan flicker on the dark front porch—the Hongs taking the air. Loy started to slide out to open her door.
“I’ll go in by myself.”
“All right. Maybe I’ll see you when I get back.”
“Where are you going?”
“Arizona. For a month, maybe more. Ince hired me for a chapter play that doesn’t use many horses.”
“Good luck.”
He reached for her arm. “Fritzi—” She opened the door and ran up the walk.
The Ford puttered off into the night.
Mrs. Hong’s rocker creaked. Mr. Hong said, “Very bad day. You heard news?”
“Yes. Terrible,” Fritzi said, though she meant something entirely different.
PART SIX
BATTLEFIELDS
The United States is today exactly in the position Harvard would be if she had about one good football player weighing one hundred pounds and another substitute perhaps turning the scales at one hundred twenty pounds, but rather poorly trained, the first representing the Army and the second the Militia. They know they have got a game ahead with a first-class team trained to the hour and with at least five men for every position. No one knows when the game is coming off, but we know it is coming someday, and what is worse, we know we are not getting ready for it…. All of us should do everything possible to wake up the sleeping public, for I assure you that the position is one whose gravity cannot be overestimated.
—GENERAL LEONARD WOOD,
UNITED STATES ARMY, 1915
There is no room in this country for hyphenated Americanism.
—THEODORE ROOSEVELT, 1915
68. In Belgium
Hot morning sunshine dappled the trees. Yellow dust hazed the air. Paul sneezed as he drove the milk cart into a copse where it wouldn’t be seen from the road. The old farm nag pulling the cart tossed its head and snorted, as if glad to rest.
Sammy locked the Moy camera onto the tripod; Paul checked the magazine. Both men showed a week’s growth of beard and smelled to heaven. Both wore berets and blue smocks. To the wooden shoes common in the countryside Paul had said, “Absolutely not.”
They’d slept in a barn near a village a few kilometers east. As Sammy settled down for the night, he said, “That bit of fluff who owns the farm’s a looker.” Paul grunted. He’d hardly noticed; he missed Julie.
At daylight the sound of a motorcar woke him
. He ran into the farmyard to find a magnificent tan Bugatti, the chauffeur bargaining for bread and milk with the aforesaid bit of fluff. Paul peered in the open window, discovered an elderly manservant in silver-button livery riding beside his employer. He tapped on the glass. The servant cranked the window down. Speaking French, Paul asked for news of Liège.
“Surrendered last night. All the impregnable forts fell. Thousands are coming behind us. Please step back, you’re disturbing the countess.”
Now, in the copse, Paul heard the sounds of those refugees. Axles creaked, horses whinnied, chickens cackled, over the steady susurrus of trudging feet and the occasional spit and snarl of a fast car bumping along the shoulder to get around, get ahead, get away.
“You can stay here if you want,” Paul said to Sammy.
“Not on your life, gov. Not every day a chap’s in a war big as this ’un.”
Paul hoisted the tripod to his shoulder. “Let’s go, then.”
It was Monday of the third week in August. The war was three weeks old.
After August 1, the day the Kaiser went to war against the Czar, the dominoes fell over one after another. On August 3 Germany declared war against France. Next day Britain retaliated with a declaration of war against Germany, and a special tactical force of the German Second Army breached the Belgian border, violating her status of neutrality.
The Germans invaded Liège and bombarded the iron and concrete defense forts protecting it. Once Liège fell, the main armies could advance to the capital and on to Paris. It was General Schlieffen’s war plan of 1895, executed at last.
Paul kissed Julie and the children goodbye on August 6, Thursday. That day the transatlantic cables carried the text of Washington’s official proclamation on the European war. The United States would maintain strict neutrality. Its citizens could not enlist in the army of any belligerent. It would not aid in outfitting and arming vessels to serve either side. Paul assumed neutrality would please his Uncle Joe. The General still had strong emotional ties to the fatherland. Paul didn’t.