Elizabeth Gage has been a screen actress and high-fashionmodel. After taking two graduate degrees she turned towriting and A Glimpse of Stocking was the result. She nowlives in San Francisco with her husband and daughter.

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CORGI BOOKS

A GLIMPSE OF STOCKINGA CORGI BOOK 0552134732

Originally published in Great Britain by Bantam Press, a division ofTransworld Publishers Ltd

PRINTING HISTORY

Bantam Press edition published 1988Corgi edition published 1989

"Anything Goes" by Cole Porter

1934 Warner Bros Inc (Renewed)

All Rights Reserved Used by Permission

Copyright Elizabeth Gage 1988

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1This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of tradeor otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of

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similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent

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2This book is sold sub|ect to the Standard Conditions of Sale of Net Booksand may not be re-sold in the UK below the net price fixed by the publishers

for the book

This book is set in 10/1 Ipt Electra

Corgi Books are published by Transworld Publishers Ltd.,

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Made and printed in Great Britain byCox & Wyman Ltd, Reading, Berks

I

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Though the final responsibility for historical and factual materialincluded in A Glimpse of Stocking rests entirely with me, I wouldlike to extend my heartfelt thanks to the following for theirinvaluable cooperation and advice in the preparation of this novel:

The San Francisco General Hospital Trauma CenterThe Massachusetts General Hospital Trauma CenterThe UCLA Pain Management Clinic

Dr Edward Falces

The Plastic Surgery Medical Group, San Francisco,

California

The California Historical SocietyThe New York State Historical Society

The Hollywood and Beverly Hills Chambers ofCommerce

Columbia Pictures Corporation

Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer/United Artists EntertainmentCompany

Warner Bros. Inc.Universal Studios 1 Twentieth Century-Fox Film Corporation

' Finally I would like to thank Dr Ernst they. Huneck for hisindispensable help at every stage of my work: Michael Korda,Patricia Lande and William Grose, my editors at Simon and

I Schuster/Pocket Books, for their expert advice and unfailing support;Jay Garon, for believing in A Glimpse of Stocking and for making adifference; and, even closer to home, Joan, Daisy, Arthur andSpring, who were with me at the beginning, and who are with metoday.

Elizabeth Gage

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CONTENTS

PROLOGUE1

Book One: SENSATION7

Book Two: ANGEL255

Book Three: SOMETHING SHOCKING45 5

EPILOGUE747

In olden days a glimpse of stockingWas looked on as something shocking.Now, Heaven knows, ''Anything goes.

The world has gone mad today,And good's bad today,And black's white today,And day's night today . . .

Cole Porter

PROLOGUE

/974

In the wake of the tragedy which shocked the film world thenight before this year's Academy Awards ceremony, policefound the following letter among the private papers of theyoung woman known as Margot Swift. Though it is addressedto her close friend Annie Havilland, who at the time of writingwas on the verge of winning her first Oscar, it was evidentlynot intended to be sent, and was never seen by MissHavilland.Certain changes in Miss Swift's normally neat handwritingsuggest that these lines were written only hours before heruntimely death.

Dear Annie,I know you'll never read this. I'm taking my leave of you inthe best way I know, here in my solitude, where my wordscan never reach you.I'm sorry, in a way, that in our time together I've neverfound the chance to tell you that I love you, and the way Ilove you. Ironically, now that things are coming to their end,my fondest hope is that you'll be spared the knowledge ofhow much andwhy.All I care is that we found our way to each other, and toDamon. Once we were together, I already had more goodluck than I ever deserved.Unfortunately I was less wise than I planned. Our happinesswas so tempting that for the first time in my life I allowedmyself to feel it and to want it. My guard came down, andI'm paying the price.

I've killed three times to protect us. But I know it can't work.For a long time the efficiency of my skills fooled me aboutthe shape of my destiny. You can't know it, of course, but in3my years I made so many men jump through hoops that Inever dreamed my turn to be the victim would come so soon.Most ironic of all, Annie, is that two people as different asyou and me have both been called upon to be the princesses ofmen's fantasies youunwillingly, and I because it suited me,and seemed the shortest and easiest route to what I wanted.Long ago, in the beginning, I used to get a nasty little thrillfrom it. From knowing it was happening. I had so many slavesthat it sometimes seemed the earth itself was at my feet.Now that it is opening under me, and under the baby insideme and,oh! if I could only have been stillborn, or neverexisted, and this little life born of your healthy body! I'm thankful that our paths were meant to diverge, and to leave thefuture for you. You've fought hard to be good, while being badcame all too naturally to me. And you've suffered agonies Inever had to, because I never felt anything. You rose fromyour own ashes. I want to drown in mine.Be the best, Annie. As Damon would say, there are so manyAnnies waiting for you to give them life as you grow and learn.The orbit you follow leads to unknown climes and painfulchallenges butyou'll see it through, for in the darkest ofdistances you'll still be you.For me it's finished. I'm sorry I won't be there to see whatyou dream and what you create, but I turn my back on my ownfuture with relief.I'm going to the desert to be with Our Dad. He'll know whatmust be done.

I thought I had learned laws as immutable as life itself. Anopen heart must break. An outstretched hand grasps thin air.The solid ground we walk on is a frozen sea of lies. Words,kisses, voices spring from those lies.Most of all I learned thougha little too late howwrongpeople are about time. It is the future that is already gone andout of reach. The past is what lies in wait for us, coming closerand closer, no matter how we struggle to escape it. The futurewe have killed in ourselves. The past will kill us in its own goodtime.I

I These were my truths. But now that I've known you, Irealize they were meant for me. Not for everyone.

Be happy! Your pain is behind you, where it belongs, andtime is truly on your side. I know it.

You'll never hear me take my leave, so I'll say it herelone.Goodbye, Annie.

BOOK ONE

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1

1947-October 20-3:13 P.M.

The hotel room was in shadow. Afternoon's light was mutedby dirty Venetian blinds. The thump of downtown trafficoutside made a lazy counterpoint to the murmur of theradio.In the adjoining room the child was asleep. Her motherhad promised that nothing would wake her.'She sleeps like a rock/ she had said as she stripped offher stockings. 'That's one good thing about her.'He had allowed her to reassure him, for he knew lessthan nothing about children. He was well aware that in thepursuit of her own appetites she would say just aboutanything; but the tickle in his loins took away his courage todistrust her.It was her own business, after all. She, a married womanwith a toddler . . . she ought to know what she was doing.'Come on. It will be fun/ she had said in the coffee shop,her eyes on him as the child toyed with the sugar cubes onthe table. 'It was fate that we ran into each other this way. Itwouldn't be fair to let the chance go by.'The old half-smile of hunger and triumph had been onher sensual lips, and he had felt himself stir under his pantsas he looked at her.'I've missed you/ she added.'I thought you were well ensconced with your -- what didyou call him? -- your country gentleman/ he had objected.'And what about . . .?' He had raised an eyebrow towardsthe child.'What he doesn't know won't hurt him.' Her voice wasI

contemptuous. 'Nobody knows me here. We're sixty milesfrom home. And it's time for her nap, anyway.' With a coldgrin she chucked the child under her chin. 'Isn't it, baby?'And now here they were.

She lay naked beside him, her hands already exploring himwith the expertise of old familiarity. His excitement increasedquickly, abetted by the heavy drinks he had poured from hisflask into the scratched hotel glasses.He heard her murmur coy approval as she saw hishardness. She knew every inch of him. Two fingers slid alonghis thighs and walked mockingly through the maze of hair athis crotch.For an instant he thought of her husband. He wonderedwhy she had come to rest on a country lawyer with noprospects. She could do a lot better. She could sleep her wayto the top of anything if she tried. It made no sense.|And why the child? He would have thought her too smartto allow it into the world. Had she used it to bind thehusband somehow? Or was it merely another product of theodd perversity that made her a bit less than real, a bit toofrightening for reality?IWhen she had slipped off her panties in the shadows hehad seen the difference childbirth had made in her figure. Itwas clear she was fighting hard to minimize it.Funny, he thought, how women must bear the marks ofchildbearing, while a man can father thousands and beindistinguishable from a virgin.In any case, her attractiveness went far deeper than thecurves of her flesh.It came from her eyes. They were the clearest, mostperfectly selfish eyes he had ever seen or imagined.Her hunger for power, far more important than her needfor sex, was what made her so seductive. Since there wasnothing inside her but greed, her clever strokes were amazinglysensual. To be with her was to be smack on the surfaceof things, where there were no depths, no heights, no good,no bad, but just the madness of contact. . . .How fortuitous, he mused, that he had crossed paths withher again. How long had it been? Three years? Two?Memory was vague, for he had been living by his imaginationfor a long time now, borne by it to strange heights farfrom the everyday world of men.

But she was perhaps right in saying that it was fate. He-might never have returned to this city if chance had notbrought him here this week to check the production at theCivic out of curiosity.

Her again, hungrily at his sex! Here she was, slippingdown his stomach to take him in her mouth. His flesh awoketo her touch in surprise and recognition.I Amazing, he mused. He thought he had seen the last ofher. But even the most divergent of trajectories found ways tointersect.

_ And the past never stayed past. Furtive, it intruded upon (the present, lurked in the future. Everything that came hadcome before, somewhere, somehow, like these lips tastingv."

'So?' he asked suspiciously.

'So why don't we get together?' she asked, a shy smile in hervoice. 'Let me prove I'm sincere.'

'You've got to be kidding, Christine. What do you take mefor?'

'If you want to wait until I get the money back to you, I'llunderstand. I'm only suggesting that on the basis of mypromise, we could be together in the meantime. If I fail todeliver what I promise, you're none the worse.'

He weighed his choices. He knew it would be suicide tohave anything more to do with her. But something in her voicerecalled the glimmering, unspeakable place he had been withher. His thoughts became desperate.

'And how much is this supposed to cost me?' he asked.

'If I'm sincere with you/ she said quietly, 'you should besincere with me. It would be the same as always.'

'Plus how much for Tony?' Though he spoke sarcastically,he was on tenterhooks.

'Don't say that.' Her voice was even softer. 'It would be justwhat it always was. I'm not inexpensive, I know. But I takepride in what I do.'

He was silent. She must know he was tempted, since he hadnot hung up on her.

'Besides/ she said, a mellifluous new tone colouring herwords, 'if you want to be a bad boy, you have to pay for it.'

Her words echoed like caresses over the line. He could feelher will seeking to paralyze him.

'Don't you want to be a bad boy for me any more?' A tinysigh stirred in her voice.

He said nothing. His eyes were on the erection thatdistended his underpants.'I like it when you're bad/ she said softly.His own nudity seemed to expand to fill the room. Theunderpants were wet. His breath came shallow. Thoughtturned to pleasure, pleasure to mad cunning inside his mind.

'I can be there in twenty minutes,' she murmured. Tm allundressed now, but I could put on my panties, my bra, andstockings . . . it would only take a second.'Again she sighed.'And I hate to say so, but a little bird is telling me you havesome very nasty thoughts in your mind about me at this verymoment.'His teeth were gritted, his eyes closed tight.'What's the matter?' she asked. 'Can't you tell Mommy?'With a fatal sense of relief he gave her the room number.

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May 2,1968

Annie had taken the IRT to Fifty-ninth and Lexington andwas hurrying northward towards the unfamiliar building atopwhich Hal Parry's penthouse sat.She was dressed in a clinging silk evening shift with thinshoulder straps, matching shoes whose heels were just highenough to show off the slender curve of her calves, and theivory sunrise pendant that was her good luck charm.The perfume she wore mingled with her natural scentalmost too alluringly, suggesting something between anEnglish garden and a jungle mating call.The hour was late: eleven-thirty. She was aware of HalParry's drinking habits, and did not intend to approach himwhen he was sober.IThough the Upper East Side looked staid and silent againstthe dark sky, she watched carefully when crossing streets andstayed clear of doorways.Nevertheless she -heard more than one whistle fromunseen nightwalkers as she went her way. And a block fromher destination a car pulled up to the kerb beside her and thedriver tried to call out an invitation. Without listening sheturned on her heel and resumed her brisk walk.As luck would have it, her momentary inattention causedher to bump full length into someone.'Excuse me,' she said, seeing an astonishingly pretty girl,perhaps a bit younger than she, bending to pick up a plasticshopping bag that had fallen to the sidewalk in the collision.Dressed in a crisp raincoat, her blonde hair flowing in thenight breeze, the girl said nothing. On an impulse Annieknelt to help her retrieve the items that had half fallen fromthe bag.Her hand stopped in midair as she caught a glimpse of alength of nylon cord alongside the black leather handle ofsome sort of tool. Deeper inside the bag, obscured by theshadows, was a fold of silken fabric that could only belong toa female undergarment.The girl pushed the things into the bag and stood up. Shesmiled briefly at Annie through clear blue eyes that bore notrace of self-consciousness.'Sorry,' Annie said. 'I wasn't looking where I was going.'The girl said nothing. But as she gave Annie a last glancesomething odd stirred at the back of her eyes.With a shrug, Annie was on her way. She had passedhundreds of New Yorkers whose eyes told complicated,fascinating, and possibly dangerous stories. One glimpsedthem in instantaneous little flashes, and was perhaps betteroff not knowing their details.A moment later she had forgotten the girl, for her mind'seye was fixed firmly on the challenge ahead. Nevertheless afugitive image of sleek blonde hair and fresh, supple limbsmade her wonder how many beautiful girls she would have tocompete with for Hal Parry's attention tonight. He was anotorious womanizer, after all, and not likely to be hostinghis personal gala in dour celibacy.She would have to be at her best.

Hal Parry had been pixillated by eight-thirty, and was doinghis level best to stay halfway sober until at least midnight.After that, noblesse oblige having been paid proper tribute,he would leave the hired butler and bartender to handle themob of dancers, actors, directors, producers, ad men, andhangers-on drifting in and out of the penthouse.It was an uneven battle, for the levity of the occasion,combined with Hal's sense of fraternity with those present,decreed that he pour down one bourbon after another,while a remnant of common sense kept him sipping atglasses of champagne between bourbons, and munching oncanapes in an attempt to stay reasonably sober.He had no idea what the hour was when a creature ofalmost otherwordly beauty appeared before him in anevening dress which bared her soft shoulders.Waves of sable hair fell to those shoulders, and theperfect curve of her breasts caressed his vision at the sameinstant that her unforgettable scent teased his nostrils.It took him a second to recover enough sang-froid to meether silver cat's eyes. Then he was a goner. Her gaze wasclear and kind, but they were bedroom eyes, filled withinvitation and subtle charm, speaking a dozen seductivemessages before she said a word.'Glad to see ya,' he said boisterously, shaking her hand.'Did I catch your name, darling?''Why, Mr Parry, I'm surprised at you! We met at JuliusMeara's party just last week.' Her eyes teased him. 'Haveyou forgotten me? Or are you just making fun again?'Hal could not recall having met her. Surely he wouldhave remembered that lilting voice, so coy and clever, andthe strange amalgam of trim good health, bright inquisiiveness,and sultry sexuality that were usually dividedamong at least two specimens of her sex, never united injust one.But he had been drunk as a lord at Meara's party.Anything was possible.Still, something about her rang a bell.He looked at her with -his practiced choreographer's eyeand asked the logical question. 'Are you a dancer, sweet?''Among other things/ she nodded. 'I love to sing. Butdon't you remember, Mr Parry? We talked all about me lastweek. Can't we,talk about you for a change?'Her words jarred him, for Hal well knew that he alwaystalked exclusively about himself.On the other hand, it was nice of her to be so polite about it.He let her take his arm. As they strolled from room to room hetried to get her to repeat the basic information about herself thathe had heard and forgotten last week. Her words were blurred bythe haze of alcohol around his head no less than by the distractingmagic of her pert manner and stunning body. But whenshe mentioned her modelling her face came to him at last as thatof the anonymous mannequin who had graced the fashionmagazines.Hal had a good memory for faces. Even in the magazines adshe had feasted on the contours of her beautiful legs and hips.She was dynamite in still pictures, cool on the surface but hot asthe devil underneath. Almost too hot for fashion work.And now she was here in the flesh, on his arm, treating himlike an adored father.For once his little eyes stopped roving among all the femalesin the penthouse. The liquor seemed under control at last,giving him a pleasant, steady glow. Confusion receded, and helet his gorgeous companion buoy him above the crowd.

The night was a signal success.Hal was awake until long past three. To his delight the girlnever left his side. He told her all about his illustrious past andexciting future. She hung on every word.He rambled on about the Daisy commercial, hispreproduction chores, and the headaches of casting, worryinginwardly that he could not remember her name, thoughhe was sure she had told it to him.

He followed old habit by simply addressing her as 'Darling.'She seemed more than pleased.He hid his growing excitement as she helped him say goodnightto the first departing guests, and even helped him supervisethe bartender and butler as they set about cleaning up inpreparation for leaving.Hal was in heaven, and this marvellous girl was his helpmate,his private angel. Desire flitted thrillingly through his senses.He hardly dared imagine what would happen if she consented tostrip off those clinging clothes and offer herself to him tonight.He would die of happiness.Yet it was not with disappointment, but with awe and a senseof inner peace, that he lay down at last and looked up at her asshe tucked him in, kissing his brow like a mother before takingher leave.He dimly recalled his insistence that she must come andaudition for the lead in his commercial tomorrow at one. Hehad grandiloquently marked the hour in his appointment bookwhile she watched.But she was like Cinderella. Surely she must turn into anatural object by daybreak, shorn of her superhuman beauty.Surely the appointment must be forgotten. She was too incredi-ji _ bletobereal.Staring up at her shadowed smile framed by the halo of lightfrom the hall, Hal slipped towards pleasant dreams.As he did so he was surprised to feel her name come back to hislips of its own accord. It hovered there all night long.Annie Havilland.

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May 3, 1968

The young man felt Christine stir beside him in the darkness.Outside the window the city murmured, a quiet accomplice.Warm and soft in her nudity, she cuddled close to him. Shewould remain in his embrace for a few more minutes beforeslipping away.She had arrived a half-hour after her call, dressed in a prettyskirt and blouse under which, he knew, were the sheer under-thingsshe would use to tease and excite him until his semenbelonged to her once more.And she had.But the very fatality of it had made tonight special somehow.So special that when it was over he had pulled her naked into thebed and held her to him, filling himself with the reality of hersmooth flesh, kissing her breasts and shoulders and cheeks asshe looked at him through inscrutable eyes.He understood that it was gratitude and relief he was feeling.For he had believed he would never see her again, until herphone call tonight. And he had known something inside himwould die if he never saw her again. Her call had been areprieve.But now he was to be five hundred dollars poorer. And he hadcome to New York specifically to get his hands on more moneyto put in the bank.He knew it would not end here. The lovely blonde creature inthe bed would suck him dry before she dropped him. Her infinitemalignancy, her murderous essence, was part of her unbearableattractiveness.Even as he spoke to her on the phone he had realized hewas letting himself in for a tortuous route to his own destruction.But at the same moment he had suddenly seen where salvationlay.The soft flesh enfolded by his arms would haunt him until hedied, and would cause his death if he let his desire rule him.But desire was what he lived for now.His ordeal would end only with Christine's death.And without her in the world there would be no point in hiscontinuing to inhabit it.So he held her gently now, amazed to think that so mystical amachine of fatality could be made up of simple, warm humanflesh. It calmed him to know that his days with her were numbered.He hardly cared that the future he had once planned forhimself was ebbing to nothingness.A few more weeks, a few more months to hold her this way, towatch her take off her clothes, to hear her voice . . . then hewould end it for both of them.He had time to plan it. When the day came he would be calmand resigned. His hand would be sure.Dying with Christine would almost make death itself apleasure.

15

May 3,1968

The next afternoon, promptly at one, before a bleary-eyed butimpressed Hal Parry, Annie threw every ounce of her talent andambition into her audition for the lead role in the Daisy commercial.Having dreamed of her all night, Hal was on tenterhooks.Though aghast at his impulsive decision to test her, he wasdying to see her in the flesh once more.He was not disappointed. She was every bit as beautifulunder the sound stage's bright lights as she had been in hispenthouse. And when -she stripped down to her leotard tocolour-test the dance sequence, the sight of her creamy limbstook his breath away.As he gave her instructions and chatted with her betweentakes, she still had a special look for him in her silver eyes. Itseduced him utterly and left him confused in the mostblissful way.f the fittest did not necessarily meansurvival of the best.Yet she-must survive regardlessof the consequences.Even though those consequences might be serious.The conundrum was like a hot light blincLng her intellect.It persisted in coming to her late at night, on the heels of theday's backbreaking work, haunting her briefly before it sent herhurtling into heavy sleep.Luckily for her it could not compete with her fatigue.On the other hand, it did not go away.

But there were so many Annies now, and so little time to sortthem all out . . .It was now over a year since the day when on RoyDeran's battered couch she had first discovered the blackdepth of nausea into which she must descend in order tocreate a character. She had learned to breathe and functionwithin its grip rather than to be destroyed by its terriblepower.But the vertigo of the experience had slowly spreadthrough all the corners of her performer's personality. Andnow it seemed a sort of cosmic rabbit hole into which she wasfalling deeper each day, a place where intoxicating filterstransformed her into beings of outlandish proportions, leavingher identity far behind.They were her characters, those weird metamorphoses.Each night she gambled her own self against the seductiveemptiness of the fictional personage she created. In thisdangerous game she might find herself as an artist, or loseherself forever.The feeling was so heady, so sensual, that she emerged atcurtain call like a sleepwalker, drugged by the intensity of herown performance.She thought of Roy's oft-repeated dictum: You kill a littleof yourself in favour of the character. If you do it well enough,the character will give you something back. Something you can hold onto.She hoped he was right. But more and more she found shewas thriving on the gamble itself. It had become her life'sblood.Annie was fast becoming a master of illusion. It was adangerous, impersonal mastery, for the closer she got to anaudience entranced by her beauty, her mysterious sexuality,her perfect technique, the further the real Annie Havillandreceded, a pale shadow caught endlessly between characterand audience.

Meanwhile she threw the full force of her energy, and acunning she had never before possessed, into the struggle tofind work.She went after parts with a vengeance, and admitted asmuch to herself. There seemed, indeed, something bloodthirstyand inhuman at the core of her obsession, as though itwere not success she wanted, but pure power, a power tomake things happen, to move people, to change others andherself.The devouring compulsion behind her work frightenedher. Sometimes she wondered in confused dismay whetherthis roller-coaster ride was what she wanted from life.Perhaps deep inside herself she yearned for that calmingsense of private peace she had not felt since Harry Havilland'sdeath, and indeed had never known completely. A peace thatlay just out of reach, behind the next role, the nextaccomplishment, the next challenge . . .But she dared not linger on thoughts like these, for theytore away the little balance she had left.Find work. Get another part. Create another character.Get noticed. Keep working! Let the producers hire her for thewrong reasons if they liked -- as long as they hired her! And letthe audience applaud for whatever unknowable reasonsmight be hiding in its multiple heart. As long as it came tothe theatre, as long as it gave her the precious chance todrown in her character, and thus to weave her spell.Work, work, work. Find more work! Keep working! AHelse succumbed to Annie's single and indivisible quest. Shewas like a missile guided by a force beyond her understanding.Her talent was burning a hole in her pocket, its growthso urgent that she must get it out, out, out at all costs.And, to her surprise, she found that this maelstrom inwhich she whirled madly included an ironic countervoicethat congratulated her on the very process that was consumingher.It was the reviews./ I'llWithout exception they were raves, their impact bluntedonly by the size of her roles or of the productions in whichshe played.'Haunting, beautiful ..."' An actress of precocious maturity and great talent . . .''The most promising student to emerge from Roy Deran'sexclusive Studio 37 in two decades . . .''Her eyes beckon with strange energies, projecting all bythemselves to the last row of the house . . .''A performer with a great future. We'll be watchingher ..."Annie paid no attention to the details of her notices, notonly because Roy had warned her a hundred times not toread reviews, but also because what the critics said so gliblyalways seemed irrelevant to what she had tried to put into hercharacterization, and to what she felt she had achieved.But the very fact of the glowing notices, and of the brightfuture they unanimously promised, was something elseagain. For Annie knew that her career had reached a plateauat which she could not allow it to remain much longer. Hertimetable could not be broken.And, reviews or no reviews, her work was bringing her nocloser to Hollywood, where she knew the next turn of her fatelay.

At her insistence Barry Stein had sent feelers to the Coast onher behalf.She was ready to take any role, she told him, no matterhow small, provided it came through a Hollywood productioncompany. Television would do as well as a movie, aslong as she got before a camera. Surely her credits sufficed forhim to find her something.When he came up empty she seemed more reflective thanangry.'You've got to be patient, honey/ he reassured her.'Nobody's finding work on the Coast. Relax and stay in NewYork. You're known here.''That's where you're wrong.' Annie shook her head.'People here know my face from commercials and ads. Butthey don't know who I am. I'm just a face. I'm anonymous.Even those who have seen me in the theatre don't connectme to my name, because I haven't been visible enough yet.'Barry sighed. 'Annie, there's an old saying among agents:recognition comes first. Identification comes later. All youhave to do is keep your face before the public. They'll findout who you are soon enough. You can get the identificationovernight with one gig. And you will! Stop worrying.'But he had misinterpreted her concern. His unsuccessfulattempt to find her work irr Hollywood was merely the litmustest that confirmed her suspicions about the unseen obstaclesshe faced there.Even the most influential of agents, she knew, could nothave succeeded where Barry had failed. No, there would beno work.It would not matter if she climbed all the way to the top ofthe Broadway ladder and had every critic in town at her feet.She would still not find work in Hollywood.Not as long, that is, as the work must come through thechannels of the Hollywood production hierarchy ahierarchycaptained by Harmon Kurth.

But her predicament did not daunt her. Instead, it was aconundrum that teased her sharp intellect.She spent her free hours pondering the distant walls shewas determined to scale, and imagining where the chinks intheir heavy armour must lie.She would have to start small, she decided. Even smaller,no doubt, than she had started with Hal Parry, who after allhad cast her in an important, big-budget commercial.Smaller than that.

What a challenge! She had to get herself noticed, but in away so small that the powers ruling Hollywood would notnotice her getting noticed.Not until it was. too late to stop her, that is.But how?

Her courage warmed to the battle, but she could not findthe key to the puzzle.

Weeks went by. She interrogated everyone she knew aboutopportunities in film and television. She reevaluated everythingshe had ever known or assumed about Hollywood.

The fortress seemed impregnable. It was a closed world inwhich everybody knew everybody. Those exiled from it couldnot show their faces without having all doors slam in them.I Even today many of the blacklist victims from the McCarthy] era could still not find work.

How could a perfectly closed edifice possess intersticesI through which something from outside could penetrate? It| was impossible, Annie reasoned in frustration.Then, amazingly, the answer came to her.She was sitting in her loft, three thousand miles from theI target, reading a day-old Los Angeles Times on a snowyDecember morning. She had read through the local news ofracial disturbances, landslides, smog, and traffic for thehundredth time. Her eye was caught, ironically, by an itemannouncing the State Legislature's intention of bestowing itsAward of Merit on Harmon Kurth for his outstanding serviceto the community, complete with a resolution of gratitude to| be read into the Congressional Record.

Annie smiled, and quietly nodded to acknowledge theI enemy's strength. But her amusement was short-lived, forher perusal of the California news had left her without aI glimmer of inspiration.

Then her eye began wandering aimlessly through the ad| pages.

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18

Los Angeles January 3, 1969

Al Cantele was a worried man.Cantele & Beale, Inc., the foremost import car dealer inLos Angeles County for over a dozen years, was losingmoney. And losing it fast.Domestic car incentives, combined with cheap gas, lowunemployment, and a strong money supply, had reducedCantele & Beale's sales by thirty per cent in the last two years.Americans' suspicions of foreign products in the wake of thecontinuing Vietnam madness were making things worse.Al had got heavily into the import business when the cute,diminutive foreign cars were a budding fad. It had seemedthe only way for a smart dealer to go.Now the fad was going sour.The beleaguered firm's three L.A. locations were concentratingon used-car sales in a frantic effort to stem the tide ofloss. But unless an upturn came soon to save the day, one ofthe showrooms would have to close, perhaps two.On the advice of his accountants, Al Cantele had convincedhis partner Jerry to step up their local advertisingcampaign. The traditional Cantele & Beale ad began appearingmore often on the network stations at odd hours. Theseslots complemented its regular showings during the Fridayand Saturday night movies on Channel 4, which had beensponsored by the dealers for nearly a decade.The ad, a virtual institution among late-night TV watchers,showed the two corpulent, middle-aged jjien standingbeside one or another shiny import, its price proudly displayedas they extolled its virtues and ended the commercial

by exclaiming in unison, 'Cantele and Beale is the place todeal!'Al Cantele and Jerry Beale were Los Angeles fixtures.But they were about to go dow'n the drain.Jerry's marriage to Doris Beale had been on the rocks, like theweakOld-fashioneds Doris sipped at the country club, foryears.Al, born Alonzo Cantele in Detroit fifty-four years ago, hadthings hardly better.-Hiswife Shirley was menopausal andquerulous, and had notallowed him in her bed in nearly a year.Their son David, entering college as a theatre major,showed all the signs of being gay, and took a Cantele car withdealer plates to San Francisco every other weekend.Daughter Lia, so adorable at thirteen, was now a horridteenybopper who hung around with the useless son of theCanteles' wealthy neighbours, the Lagadons. The boy was aspoiled brat and, Al suspected, a doper. He was pale andsniffly and sinister-looking, he wore all sorts of amulets to gowith his dirty long hair, and he flashed Al that ridiculouspeace sign with a knowing smile every time he came to pickup Lia.The family was falling apart. And unless things looked upsoon Cantele and Beale would have to be sold at a huge lossand Al would be struggling to find a new career in middleage.

These sour thoughts were in Al's mind one Thursdaymorning as he sat drinking his usual coffee with cream andsugar and staring at the piles of invoices that showed howbadly the business was doing.Jerry, as usual, was on the golf course. That was his answerto everything.The secretary appeared at the door, looking sceptical overher glasses.'There's a girl here to see you. She says it's important. Shewon't tell me what it's about.'Irritably Al stood up and looked through the glass door tothe outer office. Suspicion mingled with his unsuccessfulattempt to contain his admiration as he took in the girl seatedon the vinyl sofa beside the water cooler, her eyes coollyresting on the TV screen.She looked up and gave him a sunny smile. It harmonizedoddly with the sensual surface of her eyes. She waved to him,tossing lush waves of sable hair over the slim shoulder underher leather jacket.Al flipped a mental coin. 'Show her in, but make it quick/he said to Margaret, who, he knew, was on the phone withShirley at least twice a week, and must at all costs remainignorant of the sexual liaisons he kept going in order to retainhis sanity.At the secretary's nod the girl stood up and walked jauntilyinto his office, her purse slung over her shoulder.'Miss . . .?' Al said, motioning her to the chair by hisdesk.'Havilland,' she said. 'Annie Havilland. Thank you forseeing me, Mr Cantele.''Well.' Al placed his fingertips together, looking warilyinto her eyes. To what do I owe the pleasure?'till come right to the point/ she said, crossing her legs. 'Ithink we can help each other. I'm looking for some interestingwork in the advertising field, and if my suspicions arecorrect, you need some help in that area yourself.''I don't understand/ Al said. 'We're quite adequatelyrepresented by Fiore and Associates, and have been for years.I don't know what brought you here, Miss . . .''Call me Annie. What brought me here is the fact thatCantele and Beale has lost nearly a million dollars in the pasttwo years, and that the money you're spending on those tiredold ads on the late show is wasted dollars/Al's face turned red.'Listen, young lady/ he said. 'I don't need some nobodyoff the street to come in here and tell me my business. Now,if you want to buy a car . . .'She stood up abruptly. The sight of the thighs stirringunder her slacks almost took Al's breath away. He resolved tobe more polite to her.That's exactly my point/ she said, brushing a tumbledlock of hair from her cheek as the outline of a pert youngbreast appeared under her blouse. 'If I wanted to buy a car,I'd look where the inventory suited my image of myself.Those ads of yours present Cantele and Beale as a couple ofoverweight used-car dealers looking for suckers. Personally,I'd look for something more streamlined and modern, ,lessstereotyped.'

She smiled down at him.

'I didn't mean what I said about overweight,' she said.'You're really a very attractive man, Mr Cantele. I just meantthe commercial/

Al's mind wondered what her angle was as his emotionslingered on her stunning body. He had never seen sobeautiful a girl in the flesh.

'What are you suggesting?' he asked.

'I've given it some thought/ she said. 'I think you need agirl in your ads. Someone to project a more youthful, playfulimage.'

'Someone like you,' Al said through pursed lips.

She nodded, her hair dancing above her shoulders. 'I'dlike you to see something, if you have a moment. In yourshowroom/

With a shrug he got up to follow her, his eyes following thegentle sway of her hips as she walked.

In the showroom she opened the door of one of his newsedans and sat down behind the wheel. She pulled the seatbelt around her and looked up at him.

'Come to Cantele and Beale/ she said huskily, a littlesmile curling her lips, 'and get yourself into somethingcomfortable, like I did/

The seat belt hugged her slim waist while the shoulderharness seemed to caress her breast. Al looked down at her,intrigued.

'Cantele and Beale turned me on to a great deal/ shewhispered, giving him an up-from-under look as her kneesstirred beneath the wheel. 'Why not let them turn you on,too?'

So sensual was her delivery that Al almost flushed.

She was still smiling, her gaze gripping him hypnotically.

'Well?' she asked. 'Have I convinced you?'

Al took a deep breath. His sigh betrayed a shudder hecould not stifle.

'Well/ he said in resignation, 'you've convinced me thatI'd be willing to take you to lunch.'

'It's a deal,' she said, unlocking the belt and slipping easilyfrom the seat. Al took her slender hand in his as he helpedher out.

He felt a hunger in his loins a hundred times more urgentthan the one in his stomach. He could hear the girl out, hedecided. If it led nowhere, at least he would have spent an hour in her company. A man could build a thousandfantasies on an hour like that.

But perhaps, perhaps, it would lead to something bigger.

He had not made love to his wife in eleven months.

Al Cantele never knew what hit him.

Driven by an imponderable force to impress the lovelyyoung girl who had invaded the confines of his troubledbusiness, he took her to one of the most intimate of WilshireBoulevard restaurants.

There they discussed her concept of Cantele and Beale'snew image. Every aspect of it went against Al's own ideas,not only of himself and the Corporation, but of the properimage of the unromantic, sturdily economical import cars hesold.

Yet, after two martinis and thirty minutes of staring intothe wide silver eyes of his companion, the whole thingseemed to make sense after all.

Later that afternoon he sobered up, gave himself a longlook in the men's room mirror back at the store, and decidedthat Fiore & Associates ought to be informed of his new idea,and of the young woman he had personally found to auditionfor the key role.

Martin Fiore seemed sceptical at first. After all, he and hisagency had made Cantele and Beale a Los Angeles institution.The smiling, ingenuous faces of the two dealers were

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associated in the public mind with the eleven-thirty LateShow and a thousand old movies. Their slogan, 'Cantele & Beale is the place to deal!' was as dear to Martin Fiore as hisown family, for he had created it himself a decade ago.On the other hand, he had been worried about theCantele-Beale account for some time. It was costing theclients money, and their business was losing profits hand overfist. If-things went on this way, they would soon switch toanother agency or fold altogether.So Martin Fiore was in "a mood to listen to whatever AlCantele had to say.And the girl, Annie Havilland, was so amazing to look atthat Martin could not help being intrigued. He wonderedabout Al's real relationship with her. Everyone knew ShirleyCantele had kicked Al out of bed months ago, and that Al, agood family man, had never been above a little innocentphilandering.So Martin Fiore listened, his eyes moving from Al to thegirl and back again.When they finished he smiled.'Let's make a few test tapes,' he said, nodding his willingnessto try anything out at least once.

Jerry Beale, away for two weeks on a golfing vacation in PalmSprings, heard nothing of his partner's new plans until, onhis return, he found a message asking him to meet Al at Fiore& Associates for a 'little surprise.'More heavily tanned than ever under his thinning blondhair, Jerry sat in Martin Fiore's office as the lights wereturned off and the video monitor started.What he saw made him blink.Annie Havilland was shown sitting behind the wheel of aflashy little import car, her designer slacks hugging lithe hipsand thighs, her tight tank top revealing the curves of firmbreasts, her bare arms creamy and slim as she held the wheel.'I came to Cantele and Beale to slip into somethingcomfortable,' she smiled, her voice sensual and inviting.'And, believe me, I came away satisfied. If you're into drivingfor fun like I am, why not come down and see us? Canteleand Beale will turn you on to a super deal.'She slipped the seat belt about her waist. The shoulderharness hugged her breast.the sexy ones are here, read the graphic that ended thecommercial.Al Cantele turned to his astonished partner. Behind hisPalm Springs tan Jerry Beale had gone pale.'Well?' Al asked. 'We've seen the enemy, and he is us, pal.Why not try something new for a change?'Jerry thought desperately. He was sick and tired of AlCantele. For years he had wished he could let Al buy himout so that he could go into an early golfing retirement. Butwith the business losing so much money recently, his dreamhad been out of the question.Now, though, here was this girl, with her flowing hair, herbedroom eyes and seductive smile, coming from nowhere.She was simply beyond belief.If anything on God's earth could turn a sick businessaround, it would be her.'If you think it will work, Al,' Jerry said carefully, 'it can'thurt to try it for a while.'Al smiled. 'We have ourselves a deal, Marty.'They shook hands all around. Proudly Al squired Anniefrom the room.For over two weeks he had been constantly on her arm oron the other end of the phone from her. But he had not gotone inch closer to the beautiful body she held before him likea talisman.Somehow it did not seem to matter. What she did onvideotape was so tremendous that his hopes for the businessconsoled him for his forlorn fantasies about her flesh.

The commercial aired for the first time at the end ofFebruary. It had been timed to appear with a film known tobe popular among young people.The result was an instant sensation.Cantele and Beale's showrooms were twice as busythe next morning as they had been on any Saturday in sixyears.

Martin Fiore had been canny enough to have severallife-size cardboard figures of Annie printed in full colour anddisplayed among the new cars as the customers movedthrough the rooms.

A dozen salesmen were urgently called at home by thethree store managers and asked to give up their days off inorder to help handle the sudden load.

No one had time for lunch or even a coffee break. In thewelter of jingling keys, slamming doors, test drives, invoices,and financing arrangements, the day passed frantically.

When it was over Cantele and Beale had had their bestSaturday ever.

Their new image had demolished the old in twenty-fourhours.

The commercial aired again on Saturday night, andthroughout the sports day Sunday.

News travels fast in the automobile business, and everymajor dealer in the greater metropolitan area, from Malibuto San Bernardino, tuned in to see the new ad. All wereimpressed by Cantele & Beale's courage in abandoning atried-and-true traditional image. Their initiative was to beapplauded, however desperate it might seem in the wake ofthe money they had been losing.

No one realized that three particular auto dealers watchedthe commercial with special interest. For those three werehardly inclined to make public their chagrin.

Don McCarthy of Pacific Motors recognized AnnieHavilland immediately. She had approached him four weeksago with the same idea and been politely shown to the doorby his secretary.

Paul Piotrowski of West Side Imports recognized Annie asthe pretty young woman who had appeared in his outer officea month or so ago and whom he had refused to see, since hiswife and daughter were with him at the time.

Dean Ferratin of Ferratin Motors turned red as a beetwhen he saw the commercial. Annie Havilland had shown

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him the entire routine she was now doing for Al Cantele,right down to the sensually clinging seat belt.And he had flatly refused her.

19

Los Angeles April 16, 1969

On a Friday night six weeks later Annie was strolling withBeth Holland along the brightly lit pavement on the southside of Santa Monica Boulevard, bound for La Cienega,where Beth was to meet her boyfriend Michael for a drink,while Annie intended to finish the evening at home reading.Since the startlingly successful broadcast of the first Cantele & Beale commercial, Annie had returned to the Coasttwice to plan a series of sequels, gratefully accepting Beth'sinvitation to make her Valley apartment the base of her L.A.operations.Annie's face had already made its anonymous but provokingimpression on two and a half million Angelenos, andmany of these were in the process of deciding that agas-cheap foreign import would be an ideal vehicle forcommuting on the freeways, despite the familiar warningsabout small cars being more dangerous than big ones in theevent of high-speed pileups.Al^ Cantele was in heaven, for he had one-upped his lazypartner and increased business dramatically at the same time.Jerry Beale was rethinking his old plan of letting Al buyhim out so he could retire to Palm Springs and devote all histime to golf. The business seemed too exciting to leave now.And Annie was guardedly optimistic about her strategicincursion into the world of public images on the periphery ofHollywood. She had succeeded in getting herself noticed, allright thoughcertainly not yet by the right people. Shewondered what her next move should be, now that she wasensconced as Cantele & Beale's spokesperson.Meanwhile she" enjoyed her opportunity to renew heracquaintance with Hollywood. When not working withMartin Fiore and his video men, she explored the area in adealership car graciously provided by Al Cantele. Her progressin 'overcoming her terror of the freeways was slow, forshe had grown up in a quiet little town and never driven at allin New York City.But the crowded traffic on the major roads did not daunther, and she adored exploring the quiet old streets in the Flatsas well as the opulent residential areas in the hills.Thus it was that she had found time to wander thecharming blocks south of Sunset that she had just shownBeth, where some of the city's most venerable and historicapartment buildings were located.Beth had listened in amazement as Annie pointed out little-knownHollywood landmarks like the old grey building onNorth Laurel in which F. Scott Fitzgerald had written The LastTycoon during the final months before his death, and the Hay-worthAvenue building where he had died in columnist SheilahGraham's apartment, worn out by alcohol and despair.'Kid,' Beth exclaimed, tossing her sandy hair, 'you alreadyknow more about this place than I ever will. And I grew upjust over the hills. I'm glad you brought me here. It's a far cryfrom Sherman Oaks, isn't it?'She shook her head to think of the bland suburban streetsand barrackslike apartment building she had lived in sinceleaving her family six years ago. She had never thought ofthis part of West Hollywood as anything more than an urbanfixture one passed on the way to Beverly Hills or back to thefreeway. It had taken Annie, an outsider, to show her thatbehind the familiar facades one saw through one's windshieldlurked some fascinating history.'Who knows?' Annie smiled, swinging her purse as shewalked. 'Maybe some day you'll move in around here, justfor fun.''With these rents? Dream on,' Beth said, mentally calculatingher secretary's salary and her hope that she andMichael orsome other Michael wouldsettle down toraise a family, undoubtedly in the Valley. 'Still, it's a nicethought. How do you find these little out-ofthe-waycorners?''I love to explore new places. It makes them feel real tome,' Annie said. 'Sometimes I feel I can't live in them unlessI can place them in time somehow. You know torelatethem to things that went on when the buildings were new.I'm a born tourist.'Her words were truer than Beth could know. In her firstyear in New York Annie had used her weekends to exploreevery street, alley, and mews from Battery Park to theCloisters, cheerfully ignoring the dangers of those places shehad been warned off.Now that her determination to find work in Hollywoodwas bringing her back on a regular basis, she firmly expectedto pursue the same intrepid wandering here, though sherealized that much of it would have to be done by car, sincenothing resembling the New York subway existed in L.A. orwas ever likely to.But she had more than a mere tourist's motive in exploringthe area so thoroughly. For she was convinced that one daysoon she would cut her many links to New York and comehere to make her livelihood.

She drove the length of Sunset Boulevard dozens of times,from the distant beaches at Pacific Palisades through the hillsto the gaudy, grotesque Sunset Strip, and on through theFlats all the way to the mad tangle of the freeways.Everywhere she looked she saw the mark of movie history,albeit in the forlorn figures of shrunken and disused studiolots, disintegrating landmarks, boulevards and intersectionsshorn of their legendary glitter and playing host to fast-foodrestaurants and discount stores.Hollywood was a land of relics. From the crumblinghollywood sign on Mount Lee, one of whose O's wasalready missing, to the uncanny footprints in cement atGrauman's Chinese Theater commemorating bigger-than-lifestars many of whorft were dead or in forgotten old age bynow, to the famous props and costumes being sold at auctionby the major studios, the artifacts of a golden age seemed topine for the glamorous people they had outlived.As everyone said, Hollywood was a depressing place.Annie could not deny that. Yet as she took it all in she feltsomething more akin to a scientist's enthusiastic curiositythan to a tourist's gaping awe or a critic's disappointment.The present-day surface of Hollywood reminded her of thegeological cross sections she had seen in her schoolbooks as agirl, showing the earth's levels with soil and living plants atthe top, and layers of decaying organic material leading tobedrock at the bottom as time and erosion altered them.Of course, in her schoolbooks the layers of green, brown,and grey had been marked with notations in the hundreds ofthousands of years. But was not the mystic landscape ofHollywood like a geology exhibit speeded up a millionfold?After all, from the days when the first primitive filmmakersirritated local landowners by using their quiet streets aslocations for one--andtwo-reelers, to the great years ofHollywood and the postwar decline allthis busy history wastelescoped into so few decades that many witnesses to thebeginnings of the movie era were still actually alive.Some of them were venerable stars who lived in monumentalhouses in the hills. Others were ailing octogenariansfinishing out their lives in small bungalows far from thelimelight, in poor furnished rooms in the Flats, or perhaps atthe Country House, Hollywood's famed home for its seniorgeneration.Nearly all, of course, were unemployed now, and had beensince the studios' power ended in the fifties. But they were here,many ofthem, in flesh and blood, like the trees and grasses at thetop level of the geological cross sections in Annie's schoolbooks. Still alive despite the inevitable decay that must soon end theirtime on the earth's surface butfull of living memories of thosewho had already passed from the scene.1651I

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They remembered! Annie saw them interviewed on localtelevision shows, heard them on the radio, read theirreminiscences in trade publications and popular magazines.Their words left her in awe. Self-serving they often were, anduncertain of memory butthey were actual witnesses to theearthly presence of the Barrymores, the Harlows, the Lombards,names garlanded with royalty, grandeur and ineffableromance.But for how long? When would the last witness disappear?Perishable indeed were the human beings who had builtand inhabited the majestic, fleeting Hollywood of old. Yet,most bitter irony of all, the permanent, deathless record ofthese professionals' superb work unanimouslyhailed as thegreatest collective effort in the history of world cinema was rotting faster than its creators.For the record was on frail celluloid, in reels of filmgradually mutilated by reshowings, lost, or thrown away asunprofitable by the studios.It saddened Annie to think that in many cases the wrinkledsurvivors still existed, while the records of their fresh-facedyouth, their larger-than-life talent and glamour, had decayedand been lost. Lost in the bedrock, while the fallen leaves,soon to wither into the earth, still lay conscious on itssurface, alive with memories, old loves and resentments andpersistent, though failing, hopes.For Hollywood had always been, and still remained, aland of inextinguishable hopes, a dreamland indefatigable inits creation of fantasy.Employing perhaps five per cent of its army of actors,directors, designers and technicians, the town went onmaking films. And the most desperate of its hangers-onand has-beens wore their best smiles as they imagined afuture in which by some unfathomable miracle the starsystem would come back to life, and their careers withit.Those brave smiles tore at Annie's heart more thananything else. They bespoke the almost insane capacity bywhich human beings cling to the future even when its crueltendrils are already squeezing the life from their bodies aswell as their dreams.But it was, in spite "of everything, a future full of vibrantvoices and bright, inquisitive eyes. For with each new daythrongs of aspiring young performers found their way intotown, filling apartments in the Flats alongside Hispanic andOriental immigrants more interested in survival than fame,or commuting from the Valley for audition after audition.Scarcely aware of the history around them, undaunted bythe poverty of their condition, the hopefuls came with theiryouth and talent to scale the heights of the film industry.Nearly all would go away disabused of their ambition. Ahandful would make it to the top and perhaps fall off. Nonewas ready to give up yet.And Annie was one of them.

Of course, her mind's eye never quite focused on the fact thatshe belonged to that hurrying crowd. For her confidence inher talent, along with her almost religious belief in her ownfuture, told her she was different.Acutely aware though Annie was of the multiple levels thatmade Hollywood so fascinating a place, she did not bother towonder about her own levels. She let them coexist side byside, unaware of each other, just as the poor shopkeepers andrestaurant workers in the Flats occupied apartments oncelived in by young actors destined to become the great stars ofthe twenties and thirties.She simply could not step back and get a clear view of herown complexity. Thus she never really saw the youthfulidealism that persisted in her alongside the cool, brittlecynicism that protected her from the traps life laid for theunsuspecting.Nor did she realize that she possessed an archaic butcrucial need to be loved, cared for, and comforted, as well as a hard-nosed realism of character that recoiled from thenotion of depending on anyone else.Under her calm surface lay brute ambition, repressedterrors, girlish fantasies, fears of being alone, a desperateneed to be happy, and a craving for something beyondhappiness.Each of these forces claimed its territory without acknowledgingthe others, just as the cross-sectioned levels of earth inthe schoolbooks lay oblivious of those above and below them.And so it was that when Annie asked herself why shecontinued to hope for success in a show business communitydecimated by decline and unemployment, she sidestepped theassault of her own fear and reflected calmly that no matter howthe world had changed, and was still changing, the publicwould always need entertainment.People would always call upon actors and actresses to createcharacters for them, to live out their dreams and fantasies forthem theglorious fates and horrid punishments that thankfullynever befell them in their daily lives, but that they wantedand needed to identify with through theatre.And theatre, in the modern world, meant film.The history of Hollywood's rise and fall did not include onlythe past. It required a future. And where there was future theremust necessarily be opportunities.That was clear to Annie's quick mind. But one crucialquestion remained.Why, among the thousands of talented young people burningwith ambition and dedication to their craft who nowconverged on Hollywood, all destined for -failure, wouldAnnie Havilland find her way somehow to success?Because she had to.The answer was simple and unspoken, for here her commonsense gave way to fanatic belief and determination.And that mute transition took place each night when, inher Manhattan loft or in Beth's Valley apartment, Anniedrifted from her preoccupations of the waking day throughthe brief twilight realm of introspection that led to herdreams.She would succeed becauseshe had to. She would neverbetray her mission or abandon her timetable.And there was another reason.Beth Holland could not know as she walked beside herpretty roommate that Annie's travels through Hollywood werenot those of a mere tourist.Every day without far! she journeyed to Harmon Kurth'sHolmby Hills estate and stopped her car across the street fromits iron gates.As she studied the barrier through her windshield sheturned over in her mind the words with which Kurth had triedto bar her from her own future.You will never work in Hollywood under any circumstances. Never.Kurth's telephone voice still rang with perfect clarity in hermemory.If you come near me at any time in the future, I will make itmy business to destroy you.She repeated the words with slow deliberation as she gazedat the forbidding gates to his dominion. He did not frightenher. On the contrary, the very echo of his words on her ownlips somehow made her feel dangerously strong, and Kurth'sprotected world fragile and unsuspecting.Then she turned the wheel and drove away until her nextvisit. But his shadow lurked in the rearview mirror before hereyes, forcing the road ahead to mingle with the one she hadalready travelled.She was not finished with Harmon Kurth.

'Well, kid, it's getting to be time,'Beth said with a glance at herwatch as they waited at a stoplight on La Cienega. 'Let's see ifMichael is keeping lawyer's hours today.''He'll be there.' Annie laughed. 'He's mad about you.''Don't I wish/ Beth rejoined wryly. 'I think he wants tohave a house with two cars in the garage, three dogs and aparakeet, and a fully furnished nursery all waiting before heasks some girl to marry him.''Just you wait and see,' Annie insisted.She glanced at her tall, attractive friend, mentally weighingthe profound differences separating them.The daughter of modest San Fernando Valley professionals,Beth had grown so pretty in high school that she had169

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decided to make the trek over the Santa Monica mountainsto see if she had a chance at show business.The slight prominence of her nose and her somewhat closeset eyes had done her in, and after a few insignificant rolesshe had begun subtly rearranging her priorities in thedirection of finding suitable male companionship on apermanent and financially secure basis.Though she still had an agent and occasionally auditionedfor roles, read Daily Variety, and talked rumours about jobs,it was clear her heart was not in it any more, and that hersalary increments as a secretary were what her bank accountmust depend on.Annie could not know that it was partly due to this gradualrenunciation that Beth so enjoyed having her around. Eversince the day, now over sixteen months ago, when Annie hadreturned from the hospital, quietly declining to explain thesuspicious origin of her injuries, Beth had been amazed bythe light of single-minded purpose in her complex eyes.Annie's laconic letters since then had modestly documentedher steady progress in New York. And now that workhad brought her to the Coast, it was easy to see that herambition for herself had hardened into an armour that wouldwithstand the harshest of blows. She was a stayer, all right.Beth enjoyed wondering whether so imperious a missioncould bring success in moribund Hollywood. And she wasintrigued by the enigma of Annie, whose clean, straightforwardpersonality concealed a sort of occult spot, a mysteriouscore of which Annie herself was perhaps not aware.Whatever it was, it added immeasurably to her alreadystunning attractiveness. Tonight as always the pavementswere full of the beautiful girls with which Hollywood hadbeen surfeited for generations. Yet it was obvious that thejaded eyes of the males at large were on Annie.Despite the casual and rather conservative look of herjeans, the crisp cotton top hugging her breasts, and thedecidedly ordinary sneakers on her feet, her impact on thenight was extraordinary.She was recognized by a few passersby as Cantele & Beale's

1hot new spokeswoman, and a couple of people even askedher for her autograph, which she accorded with a laugh, forthey could not know her name.'You're terrific/ a-teenagegirl told her, obviously star-struck.'Haven't I seen you in anything else?''Not likely,' Annie said. 'I'm just a beginner. But I havedone a little modelling. Maybe that was it.''Keep up the good work Annie,.'the girls said, looking atthe autograph.till do my best.'When the girl had gone, Beth patted Annie's shoulder.'That's what I call recognition,' she said. 'You're halfwayto the Oscars already.'But even as she spoke she knew that Annie had no need ofher modest fame to attract attention. Had she been entirelyunknown she would have been the cynosure of the hundredsof looks darting back and forth across these sidewalks.Annie was special. On film or in the flesh, there wassomething different about her. Beth enjoyed basking in alittle of her glow as they walked among their peers.It might be the closest she would ever get to femalemagnetism that extraordinary, or to a person actually on herway to real fame, even to a great destiny.For Beth believed that Annie would succeed in Hollywoodordie trying.

They reached Tangerine, the music bar where Beth was tomeet Michael. The sounds of a loud rock band inspired bythe popular Creedence Clearwater Revival emanated withrhythmic thumps from the busy establishment.'Come on, Annie,' Beth pleaded halfheartedly. 'Come inwith us. Maybe you'll meet someone you'll like. Nice peoplecome here.''Got to go,' Annie demurred with a smile. 'Give my best toMichael.''Really, kid/ Beth remonstrated, 'you never have any fun.You can't spend your life just working and wandering aroundalone. You need companionship.'Annie shrugged polite refusal. till keep the home firesburning,'she said.'Don't wait up,' said Beth, whose large purse containedeverything necessary for an overnight stay at Michael's,where she was familiar with every bedsheet and pillowcase.'And be careful on your way. There are a lot of weirdosaround these days.''Have fun,' Annie said with a shade of knowing humour.She gave Beth a last wave as the doors of Tangerine closed onher. Then she turned away, prepared to journey home for aquiet evening alone.

She began walking towards the Santa Monica Boulevardparking lot where Al Cantele's cherry-red subcompact waswaiting. Her strides were brisk and athletic despite the longwalk she had already made with Beth.Shops and restaurants alternated with night spots of alldescriptions in this area, which was frequented by wealthysuburbanites as well as city dwellers, many gays, and youngpeople eager to see each other and be seen It was a crowdedand noisy section, but not a particularly dangerous one.So Annie was strolling without hurry past an unknowntavern when the unexpected happened.Her gaze was caught by the premises' mixture of Art Decocharm and seedy commercialism, so common a combinationin this part of town, and she did not see the door openbrusquely in front of her.A rather heavyset man dressed in faded khaki pants and achecked hunting jacket lurched out of the bar and bumpedclean into her, almost knocking her off her feet.She staggered backwards to regain her balance. As she didso, she realized the man was very drunk. He weaveduncertainly and leaned back against the tavern's facade, hisfooting failing him despite the fact that his considerableweight ought to have unbalanced the frail girl he hadbumped into far more than himself.For a brief instant his eyes focused on Annie. They werethe strangest eyes she had ever seen. Small, of a blue sobright they seemed lit from within, they were alert behind theveil of his drunkenness, and oddly tortured. Their intensitymade him look like a creature of another race.But anger, Annie guessed, might after all be the source ofthat weird light, for at that instant a youthful bartenderemerged-fromthe lounge and grabbed the man by his jacket.'Go home/ he said. 'You've had your quota. There arethree guys inside who would love to kick your brains out. Justbeat it allright? Want me to call you a cab?'The man replied with surprising distinctness.'One more drink,' he said. till give you a tip so big you cantake your mother off the streets for a month.'The young man reddened. 'Beat it/ he said. 'Fuck off.Who do you think you are?''Liberace, with one hand tied behind my back.' The mansmiled. 'And man enough to sling your candy ass around theblock any time you say.''Listen/ the bartender said. 'I know your kind, buddy. Youdon't like to quit until somebody pokes you. Do me a favourand get yourself pounded somewhere else. I don't needtrouble here.''Delighted/ the man said.With a coy look in his eyes he suddenly swung an ungainlyarm, which surprisingly led his clenched fist straight into thebartender's handsome chin. Drunk as he was, he put enoughweight behind the blow to stagger the young man, whoinstantly responded with a well-timed punch to his opponent'sbloated stomach.The man doubled over as Annie stood watching, shockedby the violence before her.Cursing, the bartender went back inside.The drunken man sat heavily on the pavement, his backagainst the briek wall. Slow laughter sounded in his throatalong with the groan of his pain. He had been hit very hard.It occurred to Annie, looking down at him, that thebartender's psychological observation had been acute. Theman seemed distinctly more at ease, even victorious, nowthat he had provoked a physical assault on himself.173

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She looked from his crumpled form to the window, behindwhich the bartender was visible, a phone in his hand.Something about the hurt man's prideful, ironic demeanourmade her hesitate to step past him along her way.He looked up at her slowly. The blue eyes still had theiralien glare, but their expression was blank. He probably didnot recognize her as the girl he had just bumped into.Then he raised a mocking eyebrow.'Concepcin?' he said in a histrionic voice. 'You? Here?What a surprise. How are the girls at the orphanage? Have youbeen reduced to this shameful condition out of regard for theirsalvation?'Annie bent to help him up.'That bartender is calling the police,' she said, ignoring hisgibberish. 'If you don't get out of here you're going to spend thenight in jail.''Marvellous/ he said, his weight almost pulling her down tothe pavement as she struggled to support him. 'We'll gotogether, my ancient one. Give us a chance to talk over ourdead loves. The tank is the perfect place for a chat. The jack ofhearts and the queen of spades, what? Take my arm.'He lurched backwards so suddenly that Annie nearly fellover him. It was obvious he was too drunk to walk. Theliquor's power was overwhelming his reflexes. The punchhad sapped his last strength.Impulsively Annie turned her head just in time to see arare Hollywood cab crawling slowly towards the busyintersection a dozen yards away. She hailed it, and the drivercame to the curb.She motioned him out of the taxi and helped him take thedrunken man by the arms.'Please hurry,' she said. She sensed that the man was in allprobability eager to be arrested, and might even assault apolice officer if he got the chance.Together they got him into the back seat. Annie closed thedoor as the driver got in behind the wheel.'Go on home, now,' she said to the man. 'You've hadenough for tonight.'1'Enough?'His eyes focused on her all at once with a clarity that seemedonly to gain power from -his intoxication. She could seefearsome intelligence and equally fearsome self-destructivenessin them alongwith something else that ranga hollow bell deep inside her, frightening her.'You must never say that word, my child,' he said. 'You'rean angel of mercy ,,and you shall lead me properly to my deathbutnever say that word.'He waved a long finger at her in mack warning, his bushyeyebrow raised.The driver turned around in his seat. 'I've driven youbefore, Mr Rhys,'he said. 'Benedict Canyon, isn't it?'The man nodded distractedly. As Annie peered through theopen window his eyes rested on her flowing hair, and again hislips curled in a little smile of irony and triumph.Then, as though on an invisible cue, the blue irises dimmed,and he seemed not to recognize or remember her. Shesensed that he was closing a mental door on her, offended byher efforts to be helpful. He did not want redemption.The back of his frizzy head looked corpselike as, withdeliberate passivity, he allowed himself to be borne away intothe traffic.Annie had already reached the end of the block when apolice car pulled up to the curb with a brief whoop of its siren.Turning back to glance at it, she saw the name Harvey's outlined in pink neon in the window of the tavern.She smiled to think of her improbable and unappreciatedgood deed for the day. The stranger had most likely lookedforward to a night in jail.Then she forgot him as she walked quickly to the parkinglot, found the car, and drove home to Beth's.By the time she had showered and was in bed with the novelshe was reading, the last thing in the world she could haverecalled was the name on the taxi driver's lips.Later she fell into a deep, restful sleep, entirely unawarethat she had just had the most fateful meeting of her younglife.20

More months went by.They were painful Months for Annie. Her timetable wasbeing stretched to its l ^its and she was making n palpableprogressBack in New York she continued her dance and voicelessons, her work wit^ % Deran, and her exciting butvery tiring repertory vA'Ork with the Century Players Shetook enough modelling jobs to keep herself in rent moneyand to finance her reg*^31 trips to Los Angeles, \v here Bethgreeted her as a friend and asked few questions about hercareer.Most of all she wond^redwhat her next move should be.She had watched Ni^'* Marciano take the plunge before herby leaving Roy Deran a