The Role of a Lifetime
Rod Mason walked away from the casting office, feeling good about his audition. He had studied and rehearsed for weeks in the hope of beating out the competition. False modesty aside, he believed that, although relatively unknown in Hollywood circles, he was a far better actor than many of the stars that were idolized by millions of American moviegoers.
Seven years earlier, Selznick's Civil War saga, Gone with the Wind, took the world by storm. Now, with World War II over at last, Liberty Studios intended to produce a historical blockbuster of its own. It purchased the rights to a bestselling book about England's Civil Wars, its days as a republican commonwealth and the eventual restoration of the monarchy. The highly coveted lead role in the film was that of Oliver Cromwell, the military and political leader who went on to become Lord Protector of England.
Rod believed he was the right actor for the part. Not only did he have a background in Shakespearean theater, but he was also capable of speaking with a believable British accent—something neither Tyrone Power nor Clark Gable could do. Three days later, however, Rod's agent telephoned him with the disappointing news. The part of Oliver Cromwell was going to Godric London, a well-established fixture at Liberty Studios.
"Godric London? You can't be serious! He's an ex-vaudeville star who appeared in those corny Depression-era song and dance movies," Rod remarked bitterly. "I wasn't aware Cromwell was going to be a musical."
"Don't take it so hard," the agent advised. "You're an unknown entity, after all. Godric London is a former Oscar winner, a big name who draws people into the theaters. And let's face it: box office is what it's all about."
After hearing from his agent, Rod was despondent. He did not want to go home and face his wife with the news. Instead, he phoned his friend, Dino Valero, a bit player at MGM, who, as usual, was not working that day. The two men agreed to meet at a bar in one of the worst sections of Hollywood. More aptly described as a dive, it was a hangout for washed-up stuntmen, out-of-work actors and extras and dozens of others who had come to Hollywood with dreams of fame and fortune, only to have those dreams dashed.
Rod and Dino sat at the end of the bar next to a young woman who looked as though she had just stepped out of a Universal horror movie. Her long, straight, black hair hung limply down her back, and her complexion was deathly pale, a rarity in Southern California.
"Hey, didn't I see you in that Bela Lugosi film?" Dino joked.
The dark woman gave him a scathing look before dramatically turning her back on him.
Dino smiled at Rod and shrugged his shoulders.
"Some people have no sense of humor."
The two old friends ordered drinks and began reminiscing about the good times they had shared working with the USO during the war. Neither wanted to discuss the lackluster careers they were having in postwar Hollywood. As they recalled a certain well-endowed mademoiselle from Marseille, the dark woman at the bar began to speak.
"You will be offered the part of Charles II," she announced in a low monotone, "but you will turn it down."
"What did you say?" Rod asked. "Were you speaking to me?"
"A better part will come your way, the role of a lifetime, that of Oliver Cromwell."
"That's not possible. Godric London got that part."
The woman blinked her eyes and turned her head toward Dino.
"Stop bothering me," she warned.
Then she got up and moved to a table at the far side of the room. Dino stared at her, open-mouthed, scratching his head in consternation.
When Rod walked through his front door later that evening, his wife, Faye, was pacing the floor, impatiently waiting for him.
"Your agent called," she announced jubilantly. "The people at Liberty Studios were so impressed by your audition that they want to offer you the part of Charles II."
Rod was flabbergasted. Only a few hours earlier the dark woman in the bar had predicted he would be offered that role.
"What's the matter?" Faye asked, concerned about her husband's apparent lack of enthusiasm.
"Nothing. It's just that I met this woman today—a complete stranger—and she told me I was going to get the part."
A look of anger and jealousy crossed Faye's pretty face.
"A woman? Where did you meet her?"
"In a bar. I had a drink with Dino Valero after I left the casting office."
"How'd she know about the audition?"
"I don't know. Perhaps she was a fortuneteller or a mind-reader or something."
"You expect me to believe that psychic crap?"
Faye was a passionate woman who spoke her mind freely.
"And that's not all she said," Rod went on. "She told me to turn down the part, that I would later get the role of Oliver Cromwell."
"Didn't the studio give that part to someone else?"
"Yes. Godric London. Of course, her prediction about the role of Charles II might be nothing more than a lucky guess."
Faye did not reply. She was too busy wondering how she might help make the dark woman's prediction come true.
* * *
Rod and his wife drove to the Hollywood Hills mansion of Constantine Stefano, the director of Cromwell, for a weekend party to which the principal actors were invited. Faye, who had been born and raised in a small Ohio town, was visibly impressed by the splendor of the director's palatial home.
"I hope someday we can afford a place like this," she said, staring at the Bentley, the Rolls Royce and the Packard in Stefano's driveway.
No sooner had the young couple parked their Ford and gotten their bags out of the trunk than a vintage Duesenberg roadster came to a screeching halt a hair's breadth from the Bentley's rear bumper. Out of the car stumbled a somewhat intoxicated Godric London.
"Mr. London!" Faye exclaimed. "What a thrill it is to meet you."
"The honor is all mine, my dear woman."
The drunken actor made an exaggerated bow and stumbled forward. Had Rod not caught him, the Oscar winner would have fallen on his face.
And this is the man who will play Cromwell, Rod thought with disgust.
* * *
As the Masons dressed for dinner that evening, Faye approached her husband with a proposition.
"You'd make a much better Cromwell than that old rummy!" she declared.
"Too bad the studio doesn't think so."
"Perhaps if Godric were out of the picture, they'd give the part to you. Your agent did say they loved your audition."
"Yes, and that's why they gave me the role of Charles II."
"A supporting role. You should be a leading man."
"Maybe someday I will be."
"Why wait? If you want something badly, you have to grab it."
"Oh? And how am I supposed to do that? Hold the casting director's children hostage until he gives me the part?"
"No. We make sure Godric London won't be able to play Cromwell."
Rod saw the look of naked ambition on his wife's face, and it chilled his blood.
"Whatever idea you have, just forget about it."
"Sure. I'll forget about it. While I'm at it, I'll forget about your career and our future, too."
"I'll do fine with my talent. I don't need ...."
"That's what you think!" Faye sneered. "Are you telling me Godric London got the role because of his talent?"
Rod hung his head and lapsed into silence, knowing it was useless to try to win an argument with his wife.
Throughout dinner, Rod found it difficult to concentrate on the conversation around him. His eyes kept darting to his wife, who managed to get a seat beside Godric London and was shamelessly flirting with the aging actor. He wondered if anyone else noticed the way Faye leaned forward, allowing Godric an excellent view of her tantalizing cleavage. Did they hear her low, throaty laughter whenever her dinner companion spoke?
Mercifully, the unpleasant evening eventually came to an end. Rod took his wife by the arm and, after saying goodnight to his host and the other guests, led her upstairs to their room.
"What was all that about?" he whispered angrily once the door was shut and they were afforded a modicum of privacy.
"You don't want to do anything to further your career, so I'll have to do it for you."
"I told you to forget about it."
"No. It's my future at stake, too. I don't want to live in that crummy basement apartment for the rest of my life."
Rod continued to argue, but it did little good. He knew when he was beaten. He sighed with resignation and got ready for bed.
The next morning when he woke up, he was alone in the guest room. After a brief search, he found his wife sitting beside the pool, smoking. The hand that held the cigarette trembled slightly.
"What are you doing up so early?" he asked.
Faye shook her head, offering no explanation.
The cook had prepared a delicious buffet, yet despite a fondness for breakfast foods, Faye ate nothing.
"Aren't you hungry?" her husband asked.
She shook her head again and lit another cigarette. Her anxiety lasted until nearly noon when someone finally noticed that Godric London had not come downstairs.
"I'd better go and see what's keeping him," the director's wife volunteered.
Faye lit yet another cigarette and began biting her nails. Rod felt the gnawing of apprehension in the pit of his stomach. Suddenly, a scream from the upper floor echoed down to the dining room. Faye closed her eyes and held her breath. Apparently, she knew what was coming.
* * *
The official account—the one approved by the studio bigwigs—was that Godric London died quietly in his sleep, the victim of a massive heart attack. The rumors, however, told a different story: the well-loved actor had graduated from alcohol to drugs. The coroner, as a personal favor to the all-powerful head of Liberty Studios, neglected to mention the high levels of barbiturates in the actor's system when he prepared his autopsy report.
Just as the dark woman in the bar had predicted, Rod Mason was offered the role of Oliver Cromwell, and he readily accepted. Ironically, he found little joy in his success. Since the morning Godric's body was discovered, Faye had been slowly but surely losing her mind. By the time filming on Cromwell began, she had aged close to twenty years. The once pretty young starlet looked like an unkempt hag.
His wife's physical and mental deterioration preyed on Rod's mind. He often could not concentrate on his performance and frequently forgot his lines. Word soon got back to Rod that the studio was dissatisfied with him. There was even talk that he would be replaced with another actor.
After a particularly trying day on the set, Rod decided to stop for a drink before going home. Not wanting to attract too much attention to himself, he chose to return to the seedy bar he had once visited with Dino Valero. To his surprise, the same dark, vampire-like woman was seated at the bar. He sat down on the stool next to hers and nodded his head in greeting.
"Don't I know you?" the dark woman asked. "You look familiar."
"We met once, here in this bar. You told me I would be given the starring role in the upcoming movie Cromwell."
"And was I right?"
"Yes."
Taking the news in stride, the woman turned her attention back to her drink.
"How did you know?" Rod asked.
"I didn't," the dark woman confessed. "Hell, I don't even remember what I say most of the time. I guess it's the booze."
"I believe there's more to it than that. I think ...."
The woman's eyes suddenly glazed over and she announced in a dull monotone, "A life for a life."
"What did you say?"
"The evil deed will have been done for naught should the vile crime not be avenged."
Rod paled. Did the dark woman know that Faye had given Godric London a lethal dose of barbiturates? But how could she?
Rod threw money on the bar and staggered outside—not drunk, but frightened. If his wife was suspected of the murder, suspicion would naturally fall on him, too.
* * *
When the actor entered his suite at the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel, Faye was in the bathroom, her sanctuary of late. He made himself another drink and went out onto the balcony. Beneath him, the lights of Hollywood shone brightly in the night's gathering darkness. Somewhere in the buildings below, deals were being negotiated, careers were being made and dreams were being realized. Dwelling on the darker side of Hollywood, he wondered how many people in that dazzling town were on the verge of ruination. How many were as desperate as he was?
The sound of soft footsteps broke his reverie. He turned and saw his wife standing beside him, staring at her palms.
"I tried to wash the blood away," she moaned, wringing her hands. "Yet here's a spot. Out, damned spot! Out, I say!"
"There's no blood. It's just your imagination."
"I must wash my hands," she said.
Rod grabbed her by the shoulders, and in a moment of anger, he shouted, "There is no blood on your hands! Godric London died from a drug overdose; you didn't stab him. It's only your guilty conscience that conjures up the image."
"I have killed the king," she whimpered, casting herself in the role of Lady Macbeth. "I did murder the mighty Duncan to further my husband's career."
Rod closed his eyes in despair, believing his wife was hopelessly insane.
"We will burn in hell for our evil deed!" Faye screamed hysterically.
"Our deed? I had no part in your damned plot to murder Godric London. I had no wish to see him harmed."
"You and I are man and wife, one in the eyes of God. It may have been my hand that struck the blow, but it was your heart that coveted the king's crown."
Rod panicked. What if someone should hear his wife's insane ramblings? How would he ever be able to prove his innocence when he was the one who benefited most from London's death? He had to silence his wife, and there was only one way to do so. In what he believed was an act of both mercy and self-defense, he picked up his wife and threw her over the balcony railing.
* * *
Rod believed the dark woman's last prediction had come true. "A life for a life," she had said. He took her words to mean that Faye had to pay with her life for killing Godric London. Now that she was dead, her evil deed would not be for naught. London's death would not be in vain. He, Rod Mason, would give the performance of a lifetime as Oliver Cromwell. In doing so, he would become a star and fulfill his and Faye's dreams. Only Faye would not be there to enjoy his success.
After his wife's death, Rod's acting skills were top form. He learned his lines backward and forward and delivered them flawlessly. The casting director sighed with relief and congratulated himself on his choice of lead actor. The producer was equally pleased with Rod. In fact, the entire cast and crew of Cromwell were certain that the film would be a hit. Maybe it would never reach the heights of Gone with the Wind, but it was sure to be a box office smash and a serious contender at the next Academy Awards ceremony.
But just as not all of Hollywood's films have a happy ending, life does not always go as planned. One day in the middle of filming a crucial scene between Cromwell and a group of royalists, the police arrested Rod Mason for the murder of his wife and also that of Godric London.
* * *
While the Leopold and Loeb case was often touted as the trial of the century, in 1940s Hollywood it was the murder trial of Rod Mason that caused a media sensation, not so much for the identity of the killer as for the celebrity of his victim, Godric London.
Based primarily on circumstantial evidence, the defendant was convicted of both murders and sentenced to die in the gas chamber. Against his lawyer's advice, Rod refused to appeal the court's decision, for he felt it was a just one. He had murdered his wife. He deserved to die.
Shortly after the sentencing, studio execs ordered the director to shelf Cromwell. In hopes of recouping a portion of their investment, they decided to use some of the footage in a movie based on Rod Mason's crimes. Two writers visited the condemned actor on death row. Rod agreed to give them his story. In exchange, they would cast Dino Valero in the title role. For the struggling young actor, it would be a great opportunity, the role of a lifetime.
* * *
Rod finished his last meal: a Delmonico steak cooked to perfection, a tossed salad with bleu cheese dressing, a baked potato with sour cream and chives and a piece of apple pie topped with vanilla ice cream for dessert.
"It's funny how well they treat you just before they kill you," he laughed without humor.
The guard did not reply. He had seen the worst of humanity pass through the prison, and he had no sympathy for any murderer.
"There are two people here to see you," he announced gruffly as he unlocked the door to the actor's cell.
Rod assumed the two screenwriters had come to ask a few final questions before the execution, so he was surprised to see Dino Valero waiting in the visitation room.
"I didn't expect you to be here," the condemned man said, touched by his friend's visit.
"I had to come and thank you. I ...."
Dino could not continue.
"No need to. I figured if I could do some good before I go—hell! Why not?"
An awkward silence followed; Rod broke it by asking, "Did you bring anyone with you? The guard said I had two visitors."
"Yeah. I brought Natasha with me. She's my new girlfriend."
The door to the visitor's restroom opened and out stepped the dark woman from the seedy bar.
"Natasha," Dino called. "This is my friend, Rod Mason."
The dark woman did not look nearly as cadaverous as she had the previous two times Rod encountered her. Perhaps it was the cheerful yellow dress she wore or the smile on her face.
"I remember you," Natasha said.
"I don't suppose you recall what you told me when we met."
"Did we talk? I just remember seeing you with Dino, the first time I met him. What did I say?"
"Nothing important."
The two young lovers looked uncomfortable. What did one say to a man who was to die in the gas chamber at the stroke of midnight? Rod took pity on them and excused himself, claiming he had letters to write.
"I have a number of people I'd like to say goodbye to."
Dino reached forward to shake his friend's hand. Rod did likewise, but he stopped when he saw what appeared to be blood on his palm.
Was he, like his late wife, to suffer from Lady Macbeth's brain sickness? He wrung his hands nervously.
"The blood will soon fade," Natasha whispered. "The prophecy is fulfilled. A life for a life. The innocent blood that was spilled has been avenged."
"But it will be Dino who will benefit, not me," Rod declared.
Dino hung his head, unable to meet his friend's eyes, knowing his good fortune came as a direct result of Rod's tragedy.
"Goodbye and good luck," Rod said, feeling no animosity toward the other actor.
Then he nodded to the guard, a signal that he was ready to return to his cell.
Dino took Natasha's hand, and like the heroic Malcolm who had slain the traitorous Macbeth, he left the prison to claim his kingdom.
Salem auditioned for a role in a Harry Potter movie. Had he gotten it, it would have been the role of his nine lifetimes!
