Silent Film Star
Lynette Vale reluctantly packed her suitcase, dreading having to leave her home for the next several months. Her husband, Garrison Vale, a well-known architect who specialized in restoring historic buildings, was hired to renovate an old sea captain's house that had over the past century suffered the indignity of a half dozen attempts to turn it into a modern home. Because the job would take most of the summer, Garrison wanted his wife to accompany him to the remote island off the coast of Maine where the captain's house was located. Used to the hectic pace of life in Boston, Lynette did not look forward to the leisurely existence she would no doubt find on the island.
"You can use a rest," Garrison said, trying to talk her into making the trip. "Besides, you can do some writing while we're up there. You haven't worked on your book in months."
Lynette was a journalist who had for the past two years been working on her first novel, but her job at The Boston Globe left her little opportunity for writing. Taking a leave of absence over the summer would give her free time to devote to her book. However, she would rather have her nose to the grindstone in Boston than struggle with writer's block in Maine.
"When are we supposed to get the boat for the island?" she asked her husband as she closed the lid of her suitcase.
"What boat? The client is sending his helicopter to fly us to the island."
"Must be nice to have money," she laughed.
"We're not exactly poor ourselves, or didn't you notice the price of our Beacon Hill brownstone?"
"I don't have a helicopter; do you?"
An hour later they were flying above the Atlantic coastline, heading north.
As they approached Penobscot Bay, Lynette commented, "I never realized there were so many islands off the coast of New England."
"There are quite a few," the helicopter pilot informed her. "Mackworth, Holbrook, Monhegan, Vinalhaven, Mount Desert, Eagle, Richmond, the Brothers and many more. Some of them—like Mr. McLaughlin's—are privately owned."
Lynette looked at Garrison.
"A helicopter and his own private island. I can't wait to meet this guy."
"Sorry to disappoint you, dear, but McLaughlin will be in Europe all summer. It'll be just you, me and the construction crew. Oh, and a few domestics, of course."
"Of course," his wife repeated sarcastically. "I wouldn't dream of spending three months on an island without a servant or two!"
As the helicopter started to descend, Lynette looked down at the neighboring island.
"What's that down there?" she asked.
"What's what, ma'am?"
"That building that looks like a large mausoleum."
"Oh," the pilot laughed, "that's Valentina Bergmann's place."
"Who's she?"
"A silent film star. To tell the truth, I'm not sure if she's still alive. She might have died years ago for all I know. Supposedly, she was quite famous and one of the great beauties of her day."
"I've never heard of her."
"As I understand it, her career came to a sudden end when the studio switched to talkies."
"That's a shame," Garrison said. "She must have had one of those deep, masculine voices. After all, who would pay to see an actress who looks like Mary Pickford and sounds like Douglas Fairbanks?"
"Or perhaps she had a heavy foreign accent," Lynette theorized.
Their speculations ended as the pilot landed the helicopter on a paved helipad on Mr. McLaughlin's island.
"Here we are," he announced, shutting down the engine.
Lynette ducked as she got out of the helicopter, terrified of imminent decapitation should she stand up straight.
"That's the place you were hired to restore?" she asked, looking up at the main house.
"That's it," Garrison replied.
"Good luck. There have been so many wings added onto it; I don't know how you can find the original structure."
"Aha! I was able to locate the architect's plans."
As they approached the front entrance, the Boston journalist took one look at the rambling expanse of annexes, towers and porches and groaned.
"This is definitely going to take you all summer!"
* * *
A week passed, yet the aspiring novelist had not written a single word. Every morning she took a handful of pencils and a pad of foolscap out onto the deck, intent on writing, but too many distractions broke her fragile concentration. Chief among them was a growing curiosity about Valentina Bergmann, the silent film star whose house was on an island clearly visible from Mr. McLaughlin's house.
Meanwhile, Garrison was kept busy revising the original plans to include modern conveniences without jeopardizing the faithful reproduction of the design.
"I want the building to look like the eighteenth-century federal-style home it once was," he said, "and yet be as comfortable and well-equipped as our modern technology allows."
Late one morning Lynette was sitting on the deck trying to write. After tearing up nearly a dozen sheets of paper, she finally put aside her pad and pencil.
"What's the use?" she groaned with disgust.
Discouraged, she sat back on the lounge chair, abandoning all hope of writing for the day. Her eyes again sought the outline of the silent film star's house on the neighboring island. Then she got up and headed for the room Garrison was using as a temporary office. When she saw her husband pouring over the blueprints spread across his drafting table, Lynette eyed the Dell notebook on his desk.
"Would you mind if I used your laptop for a while?" she asked. "I left mine back in Boston."
"Go right ahead."
Although the Globe reporter preferred writing in longhand to using a word processing program, she found the computer an invaluable research tool. After connecting to the Internet, Lynette searched for information on Valentina Bergmann and found an interesting website that featured photographs, biographies and film credits for most of the silent film stars. She quickly scanned the alphabetized list: Theda Bara, John Barrymore, Richard Barthelmess, Wallace Beery, Valentina Bergmann ....
Yes! There she is.
Lynette then spent the afternoon learning about the career and early life of the actress. She was so involved in her quest that she forgot about dinner. Her husband had to practically drag her away from the computer to get her downstairs to the dining room where the cook had served an excellent lobster dinner. Garrison savored every bite. Normally, he and Lynette, both career-oriented people, ate take-out food. They rarely even had time to go out to dinner. Having a professional cook prepare three scrumptious meals a day was an added perk to this already-choice assignment.
"Three months of this," he laughed, "and I'll gain twenty pounds."
Lynette looked at her husband's strong, lean, sun-tanned body. Although there was a sprinkling of gray in his black hair and a few laugh lines around his hazel eyes, Garrison was every bit as handsome as when they were married nearly fifteen years earlier. An additional twenty pounds would not make him any less attractive.
"So, what were you doing on the computer all afternoon? I thought you preferred writing the prehistoric way."
"I was doing research on our neighbor, the actress."
"You mean she's still alive?"
"I don't know," she answered with a puzzled expression on her face. "None of the articles I found said one way or the other. I did learn some very interesting facts about her, though. For one thing, she was married to Jordan Webb, a very handsome actor who was often cast as her leading man. They were quite the couple, just as popular in their day as Pickford and Fairbanks. Then in 1929, the two were cast in a movie based on Greek mythology. Webb was to play Hercules and Bergmann, the Goddess Athena. While they were making the movie, however, Jordan Webb disappeared."
"Disappeared like Jimmy Hoffa and Amelia Earhart?"
Lynette nodded and replied, "Vanished from the face of the earth. The movie was shelved, and Valentina went into seclusion. Apparently, she's been living out on that island since the early Thirties—if she's still alive, that is."
"That's fascinating," Garrison said nonchalantly as he gave his full attention to the lobster.
"Is that all you can say? 'That's fascinating'? You sound like Spock."
"What do you want me to say?"
"I want you to show a little more interest. The woman lived right across the bay. Aren't you the least bit curious about whether she's still alive or not?"
"No," he admitted with his usual honesty, "but it appears that you are. Look, if you can't find the answer on the Internet, why don't you just take one of the boats in the boat house and go over to the island and see if anyone is living there."
* * *
There was no dock on the eastern side of the island, so Lynette rowed right up onto the beach and secured the boat to the trunk of a large tree. Then she found a path that led in the direction of the house. Her first sight of Valentina's home left her speechless. Classic Greek in design, the building reminded her of a scaled-down version of the Parthenon. Dozens of tall white Doric columns supported the Corinthian roof. Lush gardens and fountains flanked the house. It was exactly the type of home one would expect a famous actress to own, more like a movie set than an actual house.
"Someone must live here," Lynette reasoned when she saw the well-manicured lawn, the trimmed hedges and the sparkling clear water in the pools and fountains.
Lynette walked up the marble stairs and knocked on the glass door. An elderly housekeeper answered, obviously surprised by the unannounced visit.
"May I help you?" she asked.
"I'm staying on the island across the bay," she began lamely. "My husband is an architect in the process of renovating the main house there, and he spends all his time working. I'm so hungry for companionship that I've begun talking to the snails on the beach. So, I decided to row over here and see if anyone lived on this island."
"I'm sorry, ma'am," the housekeeper replied. "There's no one here except ...."
"Isabel," a woman's voice called out from the interior of the house, "show the young woman into the drawing room."
The housekeeper obediently stepped aside and allowed Lynette to enter.
"This way, please."
Lynette was surprised to find a drawing room, which she always associated with old Victorian houses, inside an otherwise Greek building. The interior of the room was even more startling. There was a brick fireplace, hardwood floors and Chippendale furniture.
"Please have a seat," the owner of the house said when she walked into the room. "Isabel, bring us some tea. Or would you prefer coffee?"
"Tea is fine," Lynette replied, staring at her hostess.
It was hard to tell how old the woman was. She wore a long robe with a high collar and a turban around her hair. Although there were no lights on in the room, she wore dark glasses that obscured the top half of her face.
"I hope I haven't disturbed you," Lynette apologized.
"No. I welcome the visit. It's been years since anyone except Isabel, Gus, our handyman, and I have stepped foot on this island."
"I'm Lynette Vale," she said offering her hand.
"It's nice to meet you, Lynette," the woman replied but took no notice of the outstretched hand, leaving her guest to wonder if her hostess was blind. "So, your husband is an architect. How interesting."
"Yes, he is," Lynette said, eager to steer the conversation away from herself and focus on the mysterious woman sitting across from her. "You said only you, Gus and Isabel live on the island. Does that mean you're not married, Miss—I'm sorry, I don't know your name."
"I suspect you already know the answer, Mrs. Vale. I think you knew that I lived here before you rowed over."
Lynette took offense at the older woman's remarks. A girl of Irish-American extraction, whose temper was as fiery as her red hair, her first instinct was to give the actress a flippant reply and then leave, but her curiosity was too great.
"I heard a rumor that Valentina Bergmann lived on this island."
The woman neither denied nor confirmed the fact.
"Well," Lynette finally asked impatiently, "is it true? Are you Valentina Bergmann?"
"And what if I am?"
"Then I think it would be fascinating to get to know you."
"Don't be so sure of that," the old woman replied sorrowfully.
"Miss Bergmann was a talented actress and a great beauty."
"And how could you possibly know that? She left Hollywood decades before you were born, and her movies have never been shown on television."
"Indeed, I've never actually seen her perform, but I have read a good deal about her, and I've seen photographs of her when she was young. She was very beautiful."
"I suppose in the name of modesty I should deny it," the woman said, thus admitting that she was indeed the silent film star, "but it's true. I was one of the most beautiful women ever to grace the silver screen. I had a flawless complexion, my blue eyes were framed by long, thick lashes and my cheekbones were as finely sculpted as those of the statues in my gardens."
Lynette could hear the pain in the old woman's voice. Did all actresses mourn the loss of their youth that much or was there another reason for Valentina’s melancholy?
"But my most striking feature by far," the actress continued, "was my hair. It was magnificent! Long, thick and curly. And it was the most vibrant shade of blond—natural, of course. The so-called 'blond bombshells' that followed me—Harlow, Monroe, Mansfield—hell, their pale, peroxide locks couldn't compare with my exquisite golden tresses."
Lynette had never heard a woman praise herself so highly.
"You must think I'm a vain, silly old woman. Well, I suppose I am. You would think by now I would have learned my lesson. Perhaps we should discuss my career rather than my appearance."
Far from being reclusive, Valentina Bergmann was quite eager to talk about herself.
"I was born in Newark, New Jersey, in 1902—which makes me just over a century old—one hundred and one, to be exact. When I was a little girl, I was fascinated by Mr. Edison's moving pictures. I knew at a very early age that I wanted to be an actress. When the moviemakers headed west, and Hollywood became the capital of the film industry, I left New Jersey for good."
"You must have been quite young at the time."
"Oh yes. I was still in my teens, in fact, but I looked older. My first role was in a Mack Sennett one-reeler. Lucky for me, D.W. Griffith came to the set one day. He was looking for someone to play Helen of Troy, and there I was. From that point on, I worked on only the best films for the most artistically gifted producers and directors, and I worked opposite the most handsome leading men. I was brilliant as Cleopatra, divine as Juliet, dazzling as Queen Elizabeth ...."
Lynette wondered how so conceited a woman could have shut herself away from admirers for as long as she had. She was beginning to grow weary of Valentina's constant boasting.
"All the fuss about Mary Pickford, Marion Davies and that Mary Miles Minter! They were amateurs. What would Davies have been without Hearst to finance her career? And Minter—she was just a child. But then the William Desmond Taylor murder put a quick end to her career!"
"What about Jordan Webb?" Lynette blurted out suddenly. "When did you first meet him?"
It was as though she had slapped the woman across the face, for the actress immediately fell silent.
"You were married to him, weren't you?" Lynette prompted.
"Yes."
There was a thickness in Valentina's voice, and her lower lip began to quiver.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Vale. I'm afraid I've exhausted myself. As I said, I'm not used to getting visitors." The former actress then called for her maid, "Isabel. Please show my guest to the door."
"I apologize if I've upset you, Ms. Bergmann," Lynette said, honestly sorry for her insensitive question about a subject that was apparently still a painful one for the old woman. "It was thoughtless of me to question you about your husband."
"Not at all, my dear. Most people are curious about him. Perhaps you can come back another time and we can talk again."
* * *
"Honestly! She's the most conceited woman I've ever met!" Lynette told Garrison that evening at dinner.
"What did you expect? She was an actress. They've all got big egos."
"The only time she seemed human was when I mentioned her husband."
Garrison, who was eyeing an extremely tender, mouth-watering filet mignon, wished his wife would eat more and talk less so that he could enjoy his meal without interruption.
"I think you should give her a peace offering, maybe one of those delicious chocolate cakes the cook baked. After all, it was rather rude of you to show up unannounced and then ask her about her husband, knowing the man disappeared."
"I suppose you're right."
Normally, his wife would not have given in so easily, but she was anxious to return to the island and learn more about Valentina Bergmann.
When Lynette did return to the pseudo-Greek marmoreal mansion three days later, she saw the actress standing in her garden, running her hand appreciatively across the chest of a statue that stood in a place of honor.
"Is that real marble?" Lynette asked.
Valentina was startled, and her guest apologized for frightening her. She forgot that the woman was over a hundred years old and probably did not have the strongest heart. Still, in the light of day, the silent film star did not look nearly as old as she claimed to be. Her skin seemed to be free of wrinkles and age spots, but she was again wearing the concealing turban and dark glasses, so it was hard to tell her age for certain. Lynette would have given anything to see what she looked like without them.
"I was afraid you might be angry at me, so I brought you a peace offering: a chocolate mousse cake with peanut butter ganache. You did say I could come back again."
"Yes, of course. And, no, I'm not mad. Let's go inside," the former actress suggested, returning to the dimness of the drawing room. "It's so hot outside today. Perhaps you'd prefer something cold to drink. Isabel, bring us some lemonade, please—no, make that iced tea. It'll taste better with chocolate and peanut butter cake."
Lynette decided to start the conversation on a safe note.
"You have a lovely home. It's quite unusual."
"The exterior is an exact replica of one of the sets used in my last movie."
Eureka! Lynette thought triumphantly.
This was just the subject she had hoped to talk about.
"Back in those days no one could afford to travel halfway around the world to film on location, so set designers had to recreate ancient Greece on the studio's back lot. When I was chosen to play the role of Athena, I insisted that Jordan be cast as Hercules. He was like a god himself, so strong and handsome!"
Valentina sighed longingly, remembering the physical perfection of her missing husband.
"I met him when I was doing a picture for DeMille. He was working as a stuntman at the time, risking his life for a few measly dollars a week. I thought he was the most gorgeous man I'd ever seen. Naturally, being in the motion picture business, I had known quite a few good-looking men; but none could compare to Jordan Webb. I demanded that Cecil give him a supporting part in the movie; and in my next picture, I insisted he get a co-starring role. While Pickford and Fairbanks were being paraded as America's sweethearts, we became the king and queen of the silver screen."
"What happened to him?"
"He disappeared without a trace. Naturally, the studio wanted to avoid a scandal, so they swept the whole matter under the carpet, hinting he had run off with another woman. I was devastated. Without Jordan, I had no desire to live. In fact, I tried to kill myself."
This was news to Lynette. The former star's attempted suicide must have been hushed up by the studio, too.
"After I came to my senses, I got in my car and drove as far away from Hollywood as I could. When I reached the coast of Maine, I decided to buy an island. I became a recluse—and with the money I'd earned in Hollywood, I could afford to do so comfortably. And there you have it, Mrs. Vale: my life story in a nutshell."
"Haven't you ever wanted to leave here? Haven't you ever been lonely living out here on a remote island?"
"Every day for the past seventy years."
* * *
With her curiosity about Valentina Bergmann at last satisfied, Lynette was able to concentrate on her novel. By the time Garrison finished his design in early September, she had managed to write six chapters.
"I've got some good news for you. We'll be heading back to Boston on Friday," her husband informed her one day at breakfast. "I'm sure you'll be glad to get back to work. I know it hasn't been much fun for you this summer."
Lynette lovingly touched a stray lock of black hair that fell across his forehead.
"I didn't really mind. I'd rather be stranded here on an island with you than be without you in Boston. Besides, it was rather interesting getting to meet Valentina Bergmann."
"I'll bet it was," her husband agreed. "I only wish I'd had the opportunity to meet her, too. I've never met an actress before, much less one that old. No disrespect intended, but she must have looked like a prune."
"Not at all. Her skin was quite youthful in appearance, but then how many actresses look their age?"
"That's true. Some of them get so many facelifts they can't smile anymore," Garrison joked.
A sudden nagging doubt struck the journalist. Valentina Bergmann could not possibly have had a facelift, not if she hadn't left the island in seventy years. Plastic surgeons don't make house calls.
"Mind if I borrow your laptop again?"
"Sure. I'm going to start cleaning out the office and packing things up."
Lynette went back online and again searched for information on Valentina Bergmann. This time, she paid careful attention to the minor details, particularly the dates. After rereading all the articles, she came to the conclusion that the woman living across the bay could not possibly be Valentina Bergmann.
* * *
Lynette spent all day Wednesday helping Garrison close up the temporary office before packing her clothes and other personal belongings. On Thursday morning she rowed back to the neighboring island. As was the case on Lynette's previous visit, the woman posing as Valentina Bergmann was in the garden standing before the statue. Her appearance was once again obscured by the turban and dark glasses.
"I must say," Lynette began, no longer caring if she frightened the woman, "you look exceptionally young for someone of so many years."
"Mrs. Vale, I see you've come back again. What do you want to know this time?"
"Who you really are. And drop the act; I know you're not Valentina Bergmann."
"Oh? And what makes you think that?"
"I went back and reread the articles written about her. Only this time, I did the math. Valentina Bergman was born in 1887. If she were still alive, she'd be one hundred and sixteen years old."
The woman applauded and laughed.
"Very good, Mrs. Vale. You get to go to the head of the class."
"I don't know who you are, but I'm sure the police could find out."
"Believe me, Mrs. Vale; you wouldn't want that on your conscience."
"Are you threatening me?"
"Aren't you threatening me?"
"Look, if you want to hide yourself away on an island off the coast of Maine pretending to be some dead actress, that's your business. I'm not going to make any trouble for you, but I feel like a complete ass for ever believing you were Valentina Bergmann or that she could still be alive today. All I ask is that you tell me the truth. Did Valentina ever live on this island? Or was that just a ruse, a cover story?"
"I don't follow you."
"Whatever happened to her husband, Jordan Webb? Did she discover he'd been unfaithful to her and murder him?"
"Most certainly not!"
"Do you really know what happened to either of them?"
The woman hesitated a moment, and then replied, "All right, Mrs. Vale, you want the truth. I'll give it to you, but remember, you asked for it. Everything I told you about Valentina Bergmann was true, except for her age. And I wasn't completely honest about the circumstances of her husband's disappearance. Valentina did love Jordan Webb with all her heart, but unfortunately for her, she also loved herself a bit too much. She was a beautiful woman but an exceedingly vain one."
The old woman sat down on the marble bench and looked up at the statue before her.
"That's him: Jordan Webb."
Lynette looked at the statue and noticed for the first time that the subject was dressed as Hercules.
"Is it a good likeness of him?" she asked.
"It's a mockery: cold marble where there should be warm flesh."
It was several minutes before the distraught woman could continue.
"I know it's hard for you to believe, but I am Valentina Bergmann. No, don't argue with me; just hear me out. I have proof. When Jordan and I began filming our last movie, we'd been married for four years, but we still behaved like newlyweds. Anyway, we were a month into shooting the picture, when we were to do our first scene in what was supposed to be a temple to the goddess Athena. Jordan and I had arrived early and were alone on the set. There were plaster statues of gods and goddesses everywhere. Jordan was his usual charming self and claimed I was beautiful enough to be worshipped as a goddess.
"Oh! What a stupid, vain fool I was! I looked at the statue, laughed and boasted, 'I am far more beautiful than she is.' Suddenly, the statue came to life, and before us stood Athena herself, jealous and vengeful. She took one look at my beautiful blue eyes and my long gold curls and cursed me. My eyes became flaming embers and my hair ...," Valentina sobbed, "... my hair turned into a bed of serpents. But the goddess' cruel vengeance was not punishment enough. She would make me pay dearly for my thoughtless insult. I turned to Jordan, anxious to see love and acceptance in his eyes, but when I looked at him, he turned to stone! That statue is not a replica of my husband; it is what became of him when he set eyes on the gorgon that I'd become."
"Either you're insane," Lynette said, "or you think I am to believe such a story."
"I'm quite sane, even though when I saw my beloved Jordan like this ...."
She ran her hand lovingly over the face of the statue.
"I nearly did go mad. That was when I tried to kill myself. I took enough sleeping pills to kill the population of a small city, but I lived. Another one of Athena's curses: immortality. I don't look a hundred and sixteen because I haven't aged a day since 1929."
The actress laughed bitterly.
"It's every woman's dream, isn't it—eternal youth? But it's a nightmare when you can't be with the one you love or when you look like this."
Valentina reached up and removed the glasses and the turban. Lynette screamed in horror when she saw the glowing red eyes and the writhing snake hair.
"Don't worry. You're a woman; I can't hurt you. But I must remain here, hidden from the eyes of men forever."
Lynette wanted to run, to forget the abomination she had just seen, but she was unable to move. Then a familiar voice came from the path that led to the beach.
"Lynette, is that you? Are you all right?"
Valentina reached for her turban and glasses, but she was not quick enough. Garrison Vale, curious about the woman his wife had found so fascinating, had rowed over to meet her. Tragically, as a man, he fell victim to the gorgon's spell as soon as he laid eyes on her. When Lynette saw her strong, handsome husband turned to stone, she had proof beyond all doubt that Valentina Bergmann had told her the truth.
The photo in the upper left corner is of actress Mary Miles Minter.
I can see Salem as a gorgon. I can even picture him as a film star. But silent? Never!
