A/N: HAPPY ANDITH FEST 2015 EVERYONE! LONG LIVE ANDITH!
TW: Hollywood during the golden age was a well-established patriarchy, in which all female studio employees were subject to sexual manipulation.
HOLLYWOOD - 1936
Chapter 1
"How do I look?"
Edith Crawley struck a pose and made a small turn.
Thomas Barrow, who was leaning against the jamb of the apartment opposite, smoking a cigarette, ran an appraising eye over Edith's light cotton dress which clung in all the right places. Edith hadn't been in town long, but had quickly learned the law of Hollywood—that a producer wanted to see what you could do as much as they wanted to see what they could get their hands on.
Thomas smirked approvingly. "That'll do the trick."
It was Thomas who had tipped Edith off about the audition to which she was heading. Though first as cynical and unpleasant towards her as he was to all, Thomas had gradually warmed to her through the confidence of their shared indiscretion. Situated at one end of the apartment building, they shared the same back staircase to conduct their clandestine affairs; she with married producer Michael Gregson, and he with A-list actor Edward Courtenay. Now Thomas was as protective of her as he was of himself, and when Edward had been cast in producer-director Anthony Strallan's film adaptation of The Rosary and heard that the producer was holding auditions for the part of Jane Champion, he had been quick to relay the information.
"Fat Louis wants Jeannie Macdonald for Jane, but old Strallan is determined to have a new face—and one that looks the part."
Edith smiled at the memory as she cruised beneath arcing palms. Thomas Barrow was the only person in Hollywood who would have dared to refer to all-powerful MGM studio head Louis B. Mayer as "Fat Louis." His implication in the remark about looks was that reigning star Jeannette Macdonald was too beautiful to play a woman the author had described as "a perfectly beautiful woman in an absolutely plain shell." That was what gave Edith hope—she fit the physical description perfectly. She'd first read the novel in secondary school, and had instantly identified with the protagonist's independent spirit and artistic sensibility. As soon as she had heard of the film, she'd known the part must be hers. It seemed so right that her break, her chance to prove to her family that she could make her own unorthodox path successful, should be this role that would turn her greatest weakness, for which the world constantly punished her, into a great strength.
Edith felt the rumble of the elevator through her shoes. Above the door the indicator rose from one to two, to three… She held her breath momentarily. Michael's office was on the third floor. She could almost imagine him, sitting behind his broad ebony desk, clutching his telephone to his ear, looking up and smiling as she entered… The elevator continued to rise, and Edith exhaled, trying to loosen the achy tightness around her heart. Seconds later, the elevator stopped with a jolt and a ding at the fifth floor. The heavy doors rolled open to reveal an outer secretary, who promptly directed Edith down a corridor to her left.
The corridor was lined with vibrant posters from the silent era. As she walked slowly along, the languid gazes of Rudolph Valentino, John Gilbert, Greta Garbo, and Janet Gaynor. She stopped when she came to the poster for Triumph on the High Seas, and found herself arrested by the expressive blue eyes of Anthony Strallan. He had been one of Edith's favorites during her adolescent years, playing Lord Nelson, Orsino, and other refined heroes. He'd also done his fair share of swashbuckling, in such films as Intrigue, and The Valley of the Kings. His acting career had ended fairly abruptly when a stunt for The Mutineers had left his right arm incapacitated. Luckily, he had found a second career as a producer-director. Edith felt a sinking feeling as she realized that the noble hero she had fallen in love with as a girl was nothing but a shadow on film. She had grown up, and she knew that—especially in Hollywood—such men did not exist.
She had certainly been mistaken in Michael. Michael, who had welcomed the lonely, star struck young woman who had arrived in Tinseltown determined to make a success without her family's help and in spite of their disapproval. Michael, who had helped her find an apartment and a job in Metro's wardrobe department. Michael, who had given her bit parts in his films…all favors at the standard rate in Hollywood; intimate companionship. As Edith had fallen in love with him she had not protested. And why would she? Michael was kind and intelligent and encouraged her in her writing—even agreed to introduce her to prominent screenwriters and pass her finished drafts off to script doctors. He'd even talked about producing one of her screenplays once it had been finished. They'd even discussed casting, and he had made it all seem so real, so possible.
It had been lovely…until Mrs. Gregson, whose connections in Hollywood and in politics made her a woman to appease, discovered the affair and the mandate came down from Mayer's office—end the affair, or end their careers. For Edith this had seemed a harder sacrifice than for Michael, who cheerfully moved forward with development of his next film; based on her story. Worse, when she called to confront him about it he showed no remorse; warning her not to call again and remarking, "I'm sorry baby, but that's the movie business. You'd better get used to it if you want to make it in this town."
Edith had found herself completely lost. Without Michael's endorsement her fledgling career stalled, until she had considered returning to her family defeated. And now she was going to audition for Anthony Strallan, whose years as a top star probably made him even more of a Lothario than the average MGM exec. She felt her stomach turn, but reminded herself that this was an important opportunity. If this truly was the way "the movie business" was run, then she had no choice than to play the game. She glanced one final time at the sympathetic eyes beneath the bicorn hat, and hoped that the real man would be as gentle a lover as his on-screen alter ego.
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When Edith entered the large office, Anthony Strallan was industriously shuffling through various papers and portfolios on his desk, providing her ample opportunity to examine him. Beneath a shock of sandy blonde hair she saw the same bright eyes, long nose, and wide, boyish mouth that had supported his stardom a decade before. Though he sported more wrinkles and the hair was thinner, Edith could not help being struck by his looks as she had been when she had first seen him on the screen. Another marked difference to his dashing screen persona was his limp right arm, which hung at his side in a discreet black sling.
"Forgive me, Miss Crawley, I shall be with you in a moment," he said, looking up and flashing her a crooked, but kind, smile that instantly thawed her cynicism. She returned the smile nervously, feeling the color rush up into her cheeks. Oh don't be an idiot, she scolded internally, the charming professor act is probably just part of the strategy.
He returned to his search, opening drawers and peering into them. Edith couldn't help being amused by this performance, but she discreetly began to examine the room. The office suited him, from the two tall, well-filled bookcases, to the proverbial brown leather "casting couch," to the cluttered antique desk where his scripts so eluded him.
"Isobel," he called suddenly, and from the anteroom the redoubtable bespectacled woman of about sixty-five who had admitted Edith bustled into the room clutching a steno pad.
"I can't seem to find my sides," he complained.
The secretary pursed her lips and began to search, locating the mislaid scripts within seconds, pressed beneath a sizable stack of books balanced on the window ledge behind his desk.
He grinned again, sheepishly as she proffered the found papers. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Isobel, thanks."
She just shook her head fondly and disappeared through the door she had entered.
Alone again with the producer, Edith felt her anxiety building. She repressed it, leaning back on one hip and forcing her mouth into what she hoped was an alluring smile.
He stood, putting out his good hand. "Thank you for your patience, Miss Crawley."
She took it, her smile becoming more genuine. "Not at all."
"I've been looking over your resume," he said, coming out from behind his desk with a sheaf of papers in his hand. "You've been in town for about a year, that's right?"
"Yes."
"And you did some work with, Gregson, I see" he said, consulting the papers. He frowned a little, and she had the feeling that this fact was not precisely in her favor.
"Well, yes, a little. I've—he was helping me with some screenwriting." Edith blushed at the half-truth. Could it be he hadn't heard of their relationship?
"Ah?" He said, looking up with interest. His keen eyes examined her silently for a few moments.
Edith felt her heart quicken beneath his gaze. She waited for his opening move. But he made none.
"So," he continued, returning to the resume, "you've been working in wardrobe by day, Shakespearing by night, but you haven't done much in the way of acting…"
"Well, I did some dramatics in high school….," she protested lamely.
Edith felt the role slipping away from her. You've got to give him a reason to be interested in your work. You've got to get him interested in YOU.
She closed the distance between them, laying a hand on his arm and leaning towards him. She looked up at him under heavy lashes. "It's true I have a lot to learn," her lips curled around sultry undertones, "I'm sure you could teach me?"
His eyes instantly narrowed, and he turned away from her abruptly. His voice was frigid as he said "Let's move on to a reading."
He thrust a script into her hand and seated himself on the large couch, facing her. She felt her hands begin to tremble as she scanned the lines, a speech of Jane's, acutely aware of the scowl that had replaced the filmmaker's friendly smile.
You've disgusted him. She thought to herself. He could never be interested in you.
She began to read, her voice strained with emotion. Fortunately, her sentiments perfectly suited those of Jane, who was spurning the offered love of a beautiful young man, unwilling to saddle him with an older and plain wife. As she frankly described her own homeliness, Edith felt her throbbing heart relax, feeling the catharsis of the lines, words that had seemed to come from her own bruised heart when she first read them years before.
Anthony, who had leaned forward on the couch to watch her, had lost his scowl, his face diffused into transfixed contentment, his lips pressed together and one corner of his mouth ever so slightly crooked upward.
When she uttered her final, anguished "Oh God, send him back to me, oh, send him back!" neither spoke for several moments, the enchantment of the performance stilling the air between them. At last, he broke it.
"That was superb," he breathed. "Would you oblige me with another?"
Edith nodded, feeling herself focus in again on the audition.
"I'll be reading in, if you don't mind," he said, handing her the scene.
"Not at all," Edith replied, forgetting to be coy.
"Old habit I'm afraid," he explained, arranging two chairs in the empty space. "Still like to flex the old muscles every now and then." He punctuated this statement with a careless gesture towards the limp arm.
Edith smiled sympathetically. "I always loved your films," she said kindly. "I was so sorry to read about your accident."
Once again the blue eyes searched her face. "Thank you," he said gently, before snapping back into the director's role. "Now, Miss Crawley, have a look at that scene and begin when ready."
Again Edith felt the tingle of the character coming to life within her, as Jane turned from the piano and Garth sat rapturous at her feet. It was a scene in which they discussed music, but which held the weightier subtext of discovered love. Ironically, Jane even teased her young admirer, in this instance being read by a man at least twenty years her senior.
Strallan read eloquently, and Edith fleetingly observed that it was a pity he had not made the transition to sound pictures. She felt the chemistry crackle between them, thinking how easy it was to pretend to be in love with him. But in a moment the thought was banished as Jane embarked on another of her impassioned speeches. He fell back, scrutinizing her now not as a scene partner but with the eyes of the director. Again he was gratified by what he saw. He felt his creative vision click into place, and a surge of anticipation filled him. He itched to film her unconventional features, certain that with his camera he could reveal the grace and dignity beneath them; just as Garth, through her music, discovered a beloved face in Jane.
Unable to clasp his hands together, he squeezed his hand into an emphatic fist. "Good, very good!" Edith looked up from the paper into his broad grin and twinkling eyes.
Edith saw the warmth there and mistook it. She had read well, and she could tell he was interested in her for the role, but now, she told herself, came the transaction. Now was when he would ask her to dinner to "discuss the job," or ask for another private audition at his house, or give her a "congratulatory," kiss. She tried to remember the attraction she had felt as they acted together, tried to tell herself that it wouldn't be unpleasant to play amour to him. Yet she knew that though some part of her might have liked to have been wooed by him by choice, being made to as a force of will was unbearable.
Some of this thinking must have shown on her face, for as he reached for her script he knit his brows and asked, "Are you quite well, Miss Crawley?"
She forced a smile. "Perfectly, thank you."
"Well now, let's talk specifics," he said, unable to repress his excited energy. He crossed to a filing cabinet behind his desk.
Ok, Edith, this is it, she braced herself, following him. She felt her legs grow shaky and she put a hand on the desk to steady herself.
"Miss Crawley?"
She turned to face him, resting both hands behind her on the desk. But to her surprise (and relief) he didn't advance and draw her into his arm.
"Shall we take a look at the contract?" he suggested cheerily, giving a crooked grin. "Here's where you try to talk me into a fortune of a salary."
He's asking me how much I want the part. What am I willing to do for it? She closed her eyes, feeling every muscle in her body trembling as she heard Michael, "That's the movie business. You'd better get used to it…"
She opened her eyes determinedly, straightening and intercepting Strallan who was coming to sit down at his desk.
She heard herself murmur, "Must I talk you into it?"
She placed a shaky hand on his lapel and tilted her face up to his. She saw his lips twitch slightly, and then she was faintly conscious of a rush of dizziness.
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"Hello?!" called a voice not far away. "Isobel? What's g—Jesus!" The voice was much closer now.
"She was auditioning for Mr. Strallan and I'm afraid she fainted."
"Of all the star-struck yokels..." the voice scoffed. "Well, I came to see him. But I see he isn't in."
"No." Edith felt something damp and cool being pressed to her forhead. "He's gone for a walk. Just stuck his head out the door and asked me to take care of her and then left. He seemed quite upset."
"It's no wonder. How'd you like a stranger swooning on your floor? Anyway, I just dropped by to invite you both to my party tomorrow night. I thought I'd give Strallan a coming home bash."
"That's terribly kind of you. I accept for the both of us. He hasn't been out very much since we arrived from London."
"Hey look, she's coming to."
Edith opened her eyes and instinctively began to move to a sitting positon.
"Hello, I'm Mrs. Crawford," the secretary said. "We met before. How are you feeling?"
"I'm alright thank you," Edith dutifully replied, her eyes alighting on the stylish brunette standing behind Mrs. Crawford.
"And I'm Ms. Fox, how d'ya do?" the stylish brunette, A-list star Mabel Lane Fox, put forth a gloved hand.
Edith rose slowly and took it. "I'm pleased to meet you. I'm certainly a fan of your work." She then addressed Mrs. Crawford. "I'm sorry to have been a bother, I'll get out of your hair."
Despite her former scorn, Ms. Fox responded bracingly. "Ah, it's nothing Isobel can't handle. Besides, I get the feeling the audition is over."
"Yes," Edith said in a voice full of misery.
"Oh look honey, it can't be as bad as that. We all have trouble with nerves. There isn't an actor here doesn't use some kind of tonic to help 'em get up in front of the camera."
"Well, it wasn't that exactly. It's just…" Edith couldn't bring herself to explain. "I guess I'm just not—" she meant to say 'the right type,' but what she said was "-his type."
"His type?" Mrs. Crawford repeated a bit sharply, exchanging a glance with Ms. Fox. "Do I understand that you were not here to try for a role in a movie but instead—" she pursed her lips sternly.
Edith felt the slight like a slap in the face. Tears built behind her eyes. "No I was," she felt her voice breaking, "I want this part—more than anything. But…I thought…"
Ms. Fox nodded. "No wonder Strallan was upset," she put a comforting hand on Edith's shoulder. "He's not that kind, honey. There's producers that are—plenty," her face fell momentarily before she continued, "but you'll soon learn which ones are and which ones aren't. You're still new, so you don't know that Strallan doesn't go in for that sort of thing. Not even when he was a big star. There were women of course, but he never treated 'em that way."
Edith saw the truth written in both their faces. The remorse and mortification and emotional fatigue of the past hour crashed down upon her with an immense weight, and she surrendered to it. Sinking back into the large couch, she buried her hands in her face, and wept.
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A/N: If you haven't read the The Rosary by Florence L. Barclay, it's available on Project Gutenberg and I recommend it. You have to muscle through some overly poetic somewhat melodramatic sections, but in the end it's a really moving romance. I keyed into it because I am a big fan of Jeanette MacDonald and Nelson Eddy, and in 1948 he sent her a copy of the film with such tender letters discussing how it mirrored their own tragic love affair and their plan to star in a film version as a comeback. It was never filmed, but I think that Edith would be a perfect fit for the role of Jane Champion! If you have never delved into the delights of MacEddy, I would happily be your guide. I'd recommend starting with Rose Marie (1936) or Maytime (1937). Though perhaps more romantic than their films was their tempestuous and tragic clandestine love affair, thwarted by none other than MGM studio head Louis B. Mayer.