Celluloid Memories (7 page)

“I hear that,” Donna nodded.

“So, how are you doing? Are you from L.A.?” Kay wanted to know.

“I graduated Yale, but I was born in Texas. I'm okay. I work.”

“Domino is also a wonderful fabric artist,” Savannah interjected, wanting to get away from the subject that seemed to be an interrogation of Dominique, even a friendly one.

“Really?” Donna asked, surprise. “Like what?”

“Like this shawl I brought with me,” Domino said, and pulled from her large tote bag one of her own creations.

Savannah sat smiling, as Donna and Kay exclaimed over the fine woven cloth. Then she told them she had a shawl on layaway, and took out her checkbook to write a second payment to Domino.

“You have my card. You can come by my studio anytime to make the final payment and pick it up,” Domino said to Savannah, then turned to Donna and Kay. “Sorry to be taking care of business during your dinner out.”

“Well, I want to know how I can get one, too,” Kay said, examining the work on Domino's shawl. “This is really nice.”

“Me, too,” Donna joined in.

The conversation turned to the recent crafts show. Kay was doubly sorry she'd missed the exhibit now that she and Donna had had a chance to see Domino's work.

“Thank you for inviting me to join you tonight. This was really great,” Domino said, as they finally walked out to the parking lot.

“I'm sorry for getting in your business the way I did,” Donna said.

“I didn't take it that way.”

“Now that we've met, I have to rent all the movies you've been in. Give me some titles,” Kay demanded.

Dominique laughed as she recited several.

Savannah was the last to say goodbye to Domino, while Donna and Kay got in Donna's car and waited for her.

“And you thought you were just going for dinner,” she smiled ruefully at Dominique.

“It was all good. I have black friends here in the business, but it's very competitive. I don't expect anyone to have sympathy for what I have to go through. I'm going up to Vancouver day after tomorrow to shoot a small part.”

“I'm glad,” Savannah said warmly.

“But I'm not giving up my day job yet.” They laughed. “Good night,” Dominique waved, walking away to her car.

“Good night,” Savannah called after her, before climbing into the backseat of Donna's car.

“Well! Surprise, surprise,” Kay said.

“I like her,” said Donna, who had a very good bull-shit detector.

“Me, too,” Savannah said. Then added reflectively. “This is the first time I've gotten a true sense of how hard it is to get your foot in the door without getting it slammed on. She reminds me of someone else who came out here to act.”

“That twinkie-dink guy you work with? What's his name? Taj?”

Savannah chuckled. “No, not Taj. Anyway, I have no doubts he's going to make it. I don't know how talented he is, but he's so determined. I'm thinking of someone else.”

My father.

S
avannah untied the red string around the first bundle in the box found in her father's closet. Little bits of dried and brittle paper flaked off from the edges of newspaper articles, layered in between letters, tear sheets and one composition notebook that looked as if it might be a journal. The dust spoke of the age of the materials and the need to be careful not to damage them further. She gently blew the dust away. Now, where to begin?

Savannah decided against any attempt to put the papers in some sort of order. For all she knew, they were already in order, just one that wasn't readily apparent. Right away a line in the top sheet caught her attention. It seemed to be a continuation of a review from some publication, the start of the piece either missing, or out of place in the two piles.

Savannah settled back more comfortably in the poolside lounger, preparing to spend the next hour reading about a white actress who had obviously come in contact with her father and developed a relationship. The partial review was older than she was. Did that mean her father knew Rae Marie Hilton before he'd left the east coast for Hollywood, or had met her afterward?

It was necessary for Savannah to shift her chair several times as the sun crossed the sky and the day slipped away. She ignored the telephone when it rang twice as she was reading. She distantly heard the front doorbell but made no attempt to find out who the caller was. She gave no thought to the chores she'd lined up for the day, and it never once occurred to her to put the documents aside, even for an hour or two. She was riveted by the unveiling portrait of a young Hollywood hopeful who was desperate for recognition from film power brokers, but who lived under some sort of cloud of uncertainty and fear.

When her cell phone rang around four o'clock, Savannah reached for the unit, conveniently placed on the flagstone patio next to her chair. She quickly tried to finish a sentence in which it was reported that Rae Marie was suspected of having an affair with one of Warner Brothers' hot young male properties, a blond former athlete with action-film aspirations.

“Hello?” Savannah answered absently.

“Where are you? I thought you were going to call me this morning.”

Savannah's concentration was abruptly broken. “Harris. I'm so sorry. I forgot all about calling.”

“Thanks a lot,” her brother said dryly. “I hope you had a good reason.”

“I don't know about that. I was going through some of Daddy's papers. I didn't want to just throw them out.”

“Sure, I understand. Find anything important?”

Savannah gnawed the inside of her jaw. “So far, the usual stuff. Plus, there are a lot of things from his career. Maybe not so much important as interesting. How are you?”

“Great. On my way to Germany.”

“Really? What's in Germany?”

“I'm going over to work with the foreign service contingent to train them in new government procedures.”

“Well, that sounds like fun,” she said.

“It's not, but it is Germany. It'll be my first time there. Just wanted to check in with you to see how it was going before I go.”

“Is Janet going with you?”

“Not this time. I'm only going to be away two weeks, and the boys are close to the end of the school year. She wants to be around for last-minute tests and projects.

“I thought I might fly out and see you when I get back. Maybe for a long weekend. Is that okay with you?”

“That would be great.”

“We can take care of whatever else needs to be done about Dad's affairs and spend some time together. Must be a little hard living in the house now that he's gone,” Harris observed.

Savannah sighed and tilted her head back against the cushioned lounger. “Not as bad as I thought it would be. I love the house, Harris, but right now it still feels like I'm just a visitor. I've decided it's time to put Daddy's things away. Since I'm going to stay in L.A., I don't want this house to look like a shrine. Have any thoughts about what I should do with everything?”

“I'd like to have some of the photographs, especially those of him with Poitier, Sammy Davis, Jr., and I think there was one with Lena Horne. Oh, and can I have any scripts you find?”

“Sure. What else?”

“That's all I can think of for the moment. But keep anything else that looks interesting until I come out.”

“I will. Harris, I have to ask you something. Do you know if Daddy was involved with anyone else? I mean, romanticwise, after he and Mommy separated?”

Harris laughed. “Are you kidding? The man was a good-looking dude. I'm sure there were lots of women who wouldn't necessarily kick him out of bed.”

“Yeah, but, do you think there was anyone in particular?”

“Probably more than one over the years, but he never talked about anyone special to me. Why all these questions about Dad's love life?”

“I'm just curious. I realize now how little I knew about his life out here.”

Harris sighed. “To be honest, Vann, you never seemed all that interested. I don't think you ever forgave him for going to L.A. to become an actor, and leaving us behind.”

“I know. I lost a lot of time, didn't I?” Savannah said quietly. “I wish I did know more. I wish now I hadn't stayed angry for so long.”

“It was hard for him, too. But he understood why you blamed him. He just didn't know what to do about it.”

“How do you know all that?”

“We talked about it. Whenever I came out to spend time with him it was about me and him, not him and his acting career. It really hurt him that for so many years you wouldn't give him a chance to show how much he loved you. He felt guilty about not being there while we were growing up, but I never blamed him for that.”

Savannah felt her throat starting to close. The feeling had come over her several times since her father had died. As if she was having a delayed reaction to the loss.

“I get the feeling there was a lot more to the story I didn't know about.”

“Maybe Dad didn't want us to. But when he knew he was dying he asked you to come out to L.A. and be with him. Not anyone else. And you went. That says something, don't you think?”

She swallowed hard, and took a deep breath. “I'm glad I came. I hope it's not too late.”

“Too late for what?”

“I…don't know exactly. That's just how I feel.”

“Let me know if I can do anything to help.”

“I do have another question. Did you ever hear Daddy talk about someone named Rae Marie Hilton? I think she was an actress he knew.”

“Doesn't ring a bell. Why?”

“Daddy has a lot of letters and papers from her. The thing is, she was white. Nothing romantic, as far as I can tell, but I'm curious.”

“No. Can't say that the name means anything.”

After Harris said goodbye, Savannah decided to take a break and run some errands. She'd decided, after going through all of her father's papers and records, that she would organize them. For a while she'd been thinking about giving some to her brother, and keeping some for herself. But she considered that his Hollywood history, particularly as a black actor, might be useful somewhere. Savannah considered that New York's Schomburg Center for the study of African-American history might be a good place.

A few hours later, when she returned to the house, she noticed that there was a small shopping bag that someone had left at the top of the driveway, just outside the wrought-iron gate to the property. Annoyed that someone would be so thoughtless as to leave garbage behind, Savannah parked her car, and then walked back to remove the bag. She was going to dump it in the trash bin when the weight of the bag made her curious. Glancing cautiously inside, she was surprised to find that it contained a potted plant. Reaching into the bag, Savannah carefully removed the contents, an African violet with rich purple blossoms and lush green leaves. It was beautifully planted in what seemed to be a blue and white ceramic sugar bowl.

Savannah glanced up and down the street, helplessly trying to figure out if the plant had been left by a neighbor or someone else. And why? The residential street was quiet and deserted. She looked inside the bag to see if there was a note or card, but it was empty. Puzzled, Savannah took the plant inside with her, trying to decide what to do about it. The phone was ringing as she entered the house through the garage.

“Hello,” she answered.

“Hi. It's McCoy.”

Savannah experienced an unexpected and instant reaction to McCoy identifying himself. It was a combination of surprise, wariness, and pleasure.

“Am I interrupting anything?” he asked, when she didn't immediately respond.

“No, not really. I just got back from taking care of a few things.”

“Good. I thought I'd check and see how things are going.”

She frowned. “How things are going? Like, what?”

“Well, I know your father died recently, so I'm assuming you're still dealing with that, his business and estate. You know. Are you managing okay?”

“Oh. Why do you want to know?”

After a second's pause, McCoy began to chuckle.

“You know, I'm the one who's usually giving people the third degree. You missed your calling.”

“I don't mean to sound rude, but I…I don't understand, frankly, why you're calling me.”

“You don't. Of course not,” he seemed to say more to himself than to her.

“I do have a question for you, since you called. I know this is going to sound strange, but did you leave a plant at my house sometime today?”

“Nice idea. But I don't know where you live,” McCoy responded. “And I remember what happened the last time I sent you flowers.”

Savannah felt like she was blushing, and was glad he couldn't see her expression. “That was different.”

“If you say so.”

She could hear the amusement in his voice.

“So, you found a plant. Maybe it's from a secret admirer.”

“Are you making fun of me?” she asked, keeping her tone light.

“Why don't you think that's possible?”

“I don't know that many people in L.A. I've only been here a little over a year.”

“Then I can't help you. But I wish I could.”

Again Savannah felt the urge to blush, the banter between them taking on a curious personal exchange.

“So…you're calling because…”

“I have something for you. No, it's not a plant, but I think you'd like to have what it is. I was going through some old programs and invitations, and I found several from events involving your father. He was either performing or sitting on a panel, or hosting. Are you interested?”

“Yes. Of course. I'm going through boxes right now of things he'd kept about his career.”

“Maybe we can get together and I can give you what I have. Are you doing anything this evening?”

“No, I'm not.”

“What's a good time?”

Although she was glad for the opportunity to receive anything of her father's, Savannah hesitated to accept McCoy's offer. She'd never had visitors to the house, certainly not while her father was ill. So much of the past year or more had been spent seeing to his needs that Savannah realized she was a bit out of practice when it came to entertaining. Donna and Kay notwithstanding, she hadn't been much in the mood.

“Well…”

“Look, we can meet somewhere, if you like. This shouldn't take that long.”

Of course he'd have other plans for the evening, Savannah considered. L.A., like New York, was a very social city. She didn't doubt for a minute that McCoy never lacked for things to do or places to be, or companionship. And while she'd not been all that impressed with some of the men she'd met here, Savannah had to be fair and admit that McCoy did not come across as being self-absorbed.

She agreed to meet him, and gave McCoy the name and location of one of the many cafés that lined the boulevard several blocks from the house. They set a time and said goodbye to each other.

 

After completing his call with Savannah, McCoy sat staring thoughtfully at his cordless telephone before replacing it in its cradle. A rueful smile lifted one corner of his mouth. Man, she'd really made him work for the privilege of getting together with her. And as annoying as that might be on the one hand, on the other it was a novelty and refreshing. Savannah Shelton was intriguing, her independence and attractiveness a sharp contrast to the Hollywood fetish of most women he tended to meet, with their it's-all-about-me focus.