he: A Novel(86)

He reflects.

– I’m happiest when I’m by the sea.





166


As he has Alyce Ardell, so too does Babe have Viola Morse.

Babe and Viola Morse have been together for so many years that they are more of a married couple than Babe and Myrtle ever were. Viola Morse is a handsome woman; not striking like Alyce Ardell, but with a considerateness that is a complement to Babe’s own benevolence, and a son from her marriage to whom she is devoted. Viola Morse accompanies Babe to Santa Anita and Agua Caliente, and dines with Babe in clubs and restaurants. But when they are photographed together, Babe often looks away from the camera. He thinks that this may not be unconnected to Babe’s sense of propriety, although he cannot blame his friend for guarding his privacy. After all, Babe has only to glance in his direction to be reminded of the consequences of allowing one’s private life to become public property.

Alyce Ardell joins him on the set of The Flying Deuces. Hal Roach has loaned out Babe and him to Boris Morros for the picture, so Hal Roach can have no say in the company he keeps. The script is not good, but it is work, and he is with Babe. Boris Morros, meanwhile, is a Russian émigré who spies for the Soviets for ten years before recanting and working as a double agent for the FBI for another ten. Nobody is very surprised to learn of this. Nothing in Hollywood is genuine, not even treachery.

Perhaps, he thinks, Babe should marry Viola Morse. The word ‘fiancée’ is often used of Viola Morse, sometimes even by Babe, although no formal arrangement exists between them. But he believes that it is Viola Morse’s misfortune to have been Babe’s mistress and companion for too long, and so Babe can no longer think of her in any other way. He understands this because he shares the same reservations about Alyce Ardell. He and Alyce Ardell have used each other – for sex, for consolation, for the staving off of loneliness – and though a kind of love may exist between them, the years have stripped it of depth and meaning. But he says nothing of this to Babe, as they stand in the July heat after the master shot has been completed, waiting for their close-ups.

How goes the Great Wall? Babe asks.

He is building an even higher barrier around his property. Babe jokes that it is to keep out all of his ex-wives, but there is weight to the jest.

– I think it might be cheaper just to lower the house.

A woman approaches them. She is not unpretty. When she smiles, her cheeks bunch like those of a squirrel in fall. Her name is Virginia, but everyone calls her by her second name, Lucille, so she is Lucille Jones. She is the continuity girl, responsible for ensuring that there are no discrepancies between shots. She tries to make some small correction to Babe’s costume, but Babe is always prepared, and always remembers, and so she leaves Babe to his own devices. When Babe takes to the set, all will be as it should.

He notices Babe watching Lucille Jones depart.

He says nothing.





167


At the Oceana Apartments, a bad memory.

A club in wartime, champagne flowing. He is there. Babe is there. Babe is with Lucille. And he – he reckons, he is not sure – is with Alyce Ardell, but if so, then their time together is coming to an end.

He is moving through the crowd, almost unrecognizable: a middle-aged man in a tuxedo that no longer fits as it should, a face less familiar without a derby to hide the thinning gray hair.

An arm appears before him, blocking his way.

– Hey.

He sees him now: an actor, one of those who believe that portraying gangsters on screen by day, and consorting with them in clubs by night, imbues the imitator with the aura of the original. The faces of the actor’s companions are flushed with alcohol and hostility, flashing like warning beacons in the gloom. They have glasses in their hands, but these glasses are not filled with champagne. Whatever is happening here, it is no celebration.

Hey, the voice says again.

– Yes?

– Are you still queer for Babe Hardy?

They laugh. He pushes past the outstretched arm.

– Hey, don’t take it so hard.

Another voice replies, the words obscured, and they laugh again.

He reaches the table. Babe has watched the confrontation but has not heard its substance over the shouting and the music.

What did they say to you? Babe asks.

– Nothing.

Nothing worth repeating.





168


He employs a bodyguard, and a private detective. He continues to live in fear of Vera. She has damaged him in ways that he cannot yet entirely comprehend. A high wall is insufficient protection from her, or from those who follow in her stead.

At night, when alone, he sometimes glimpses the silhouette of the Dancing Master, and then it is gone.

The bodyguard’s name is Martin Wolfkeil, but the actor Will Rogers gives him the nickname ‘Tonnage’. Tonnage Martin is a ship’s engineer, and a former brakeman for the Lehigh Valley Railroad Company.

‘Tonnage’ is not a misnomer. Tonnage Martin weighs four hundred pounds.

Tonnage Martin comes to live with him for nine months. They are, Tonnage Martin will later admit, the worst nine months of Tonnage Martin’s life. Even Tonnage Martin, who thrice survives being torpedoed in the Great War, would rather face the Germans again than Vera, because at least those Germans weren’t crazy, although Tonnage Martin can’t speak for the new Germans, who may well be crazy, if still not as crazy as Vera.