he: A Novel(59)

– Yes.

– Let me tell you something. You and Babe Hardy, you’re sweet men. I like you both very, very much. Babe’s problems are different from yours, and that’s all I’ll say about them. You probably know as much as I do about Babe’s private life, but I’m still his lawyer, and I won’t discuss his difficulties with you any more than I would discuss yours with him.

But you, you didn’t have a terrible marriage. Lois wasn’t a bad woman, and you’re not a bad man. The two of you made a lovely daughter together. As for what happened to your boy, that was bad luck – the worst, just the worst – but you don’t need me to tell you that.

So no one got beaten. No one got cheated out of money. No one was a drunk. No one was an addict. Two people met, they got along, they fell in love, they stopped getting along, they separated. You’re not blameless – you know your own weaknesses, and I’m not going to remind you of what they are; although, God knows, women aren’t low on the list – but neither was Lois entirely without fault.

What I’m trying to explain is that there’s no reason for you to feel relieved, not at this moment. Relief may come later, when you want to try again and no obstacle will stand in your path. But, you know, for now it’s okay to feel something else. It’s okay to feel sad, and maybe you should feel sad. In fact, I would expect nothing less of you.

Go home. Get some sleep. Tomorrow will be better, and the day after that will be better still. I’ll call you when I have any news, or you can just call me if you want to talk. I won’t even bill you for my time.

But he doesn’t have a home, not any longer, so he goes back to South Palm Drive. In a bedroom that is not his own, he stares at his divorce papers. When he first began seeing Ruth, he promised to bring the papers to her as confirmation that he was serious in his intentions. They are already past that stage, but eventually he will show them to her nonetheless.

Just not yet.

Just not now.

He starts to cry. He cries for a dead marriage and a dead child. He climbs into bed, pulls a blanket over his head, and stays there as the light fades. He does not eat, and eventually he falls asleep.

Ben Shipman lies. The next day is no better.

But the day after is.





116


At the Oceana Apartments, he keeps in his desk a letter to Lois Neilson, his ex-wife, a letter he writes and rewrites but never sends. He and Lois still see each other occasionally, because of their daughter. Too many years have gone by for them to remain angry at each other.

He cannot say why the letter remains unfinished, and therefore unsent. It may be that Lois already knows everything it contains. If so, then he is writing it not for her but for himself. It is an ongoing conversation with his grief.

The substance of the letter, in all its forms, is the same. Only the words change. It tells Lois Neilson that he thinks of her with fondness. It tells her that no day goes by without some small remembrance of their son. It tells her that he has imagined many different lives for their lost child, but in each the boy is happy.

It tells her that he is sorry.





117


The Hal Roach publicity department keeps a clippings file on each of its stars. The files devoted to Babe and him are larger than the rest, and the secretaries sometimes fall behind in removing the stories from the newspapers.

The studio is closing for the holiday season, but he has some notes he needs to collect, and in passing he goes to the publicity departments to catch up on the reviews for Busy Bodies, which was released in the week of his divorce. He is proud of the picture. Left to his own devices, he would happily make such two-reelers for the rest of his career, although he knows that Babe’s memories of Busy Bodies are less fond. It is a physically arduous shoot for all, but particularly for Babe, who tears the ligaments in his left shoulder so badly that his golfing routine is profoundly disrupted, which leaves Babe in a foul mood.

He takes a seat, and opens the most recent file. Its contents relate not only to his pictures: his divorce also features prominently. The publicity department maintains a record of all stories, good and bad, and entire pages in even the most obscure of journals are devoted to Hollywood gossip. When there are no divorces to fill the columns, or no new pictures to review, the newspapers will accept whatever is fed to them. From the Meramec Valley Transcript of Pacific, Missouri, he learns that Dolores Del Rio has built an ultra-modern kennel for her dog, Mitchell, which includes a bathtub, an electric dryer, and a dressing room. Miriam Hopkins always orders chop suey if she finds it on a menu. James Cagney does not drink or smoke or permit gatecrashers at his home. All or none of these statements may be true. It is enough that someone in a publicity department not unlike this one has claimed they are true, and even this may be open to dispute. He has not forgotten that Hal Roach signed off on a statement announcing his reconciliation with Lois, even though Hal Roach has consistently denied any involvement.

Of more concern to many in Hollywood is the decision by President Roosevelt to order an investigation into the salaries of actors and actresses, given that so many citizens in the country are out of work and struggling to survive. Beside the description of his divorce proceedings contained in the Daily Republican of Monongahela, Pennsylvania, he finds a UP report listing stars’ estimated earnings. This one is longer than some of the others he has seen, and continues on a second page.