JOHN AND ROSE
Chapter Five

August 11, 1926
Los Angeles, California

Mary followed behind Mr. Ross, carrying both her suitcase and his. When they had arrived in Los Angeles, he had gotten off the train before her, looking around the station. When he was confident that all was clear—to keep her from being sent home, he had told her—he had handed her both pieces of luggage and told her to follow him.

The train had arrived half an hour early, for which Mary was grateful. She was sure that her father had contacted Aunt Rose by now, and had half-expected her to be waiting in the station, a ticket back to Cedar Rapids in her hand. But there had been only the usual press of travelers coming and going, and people waiting to meet them or see them off.

It had seemed odd to Mary that they had to walk to Mr. Ross’s studio—she had thought, from the way he talked about Hollywood and how he would make her a star, that he would have been able to afford a car to take them wherever they were going. But, she rationalized, maybe he wanted to familiarize her with the town, or maybe there was no way to leave his car at the train station while he was traveling, though there seemed to have been plenty of cars parked nearby when they had left.

Or maybe he isn’t as rich as he said, her mind nagged her, the same worry that had been plaguing her since she had left with him. Maybe Nadia was right, and he is a scam artist. But she didn’t want to believe it. He had taken her to Hollywood, hadn’t he? She recognized it from pictures she had seen, and from the trip she had taken to California nine years earlier with Nadia and Grandma. Maybe he hadn’t had a chance to make a lot of money yet. After all, a person had to start somewhere. Aunt Rose hadn’t been rich and famous at first, either.

But what about Mabel Love? she thought. Didn’t he discover her? She didn’t want to admit that, despite wracking her brain, she still had no idea who Mabel Love was. But, she thought, maybe he had discovered Mabel, and then she had left to work with someone who would make her rise more quickly. Or maybe she wasn’t as great an actress as he had said, which was why Mary had never heard of her. Perhaps he was just getting started in the moving picture industry. After all, it could take a while to catch people’s attention, and the movie magazines usually paid the most attention to big stars and famous directors. Couldn’t that be it?

Mary looked around as she followed him, liking the neighborhood less and less. She supposed that it could add atmosphere to a picture, but it looked like a slum—maybe not as run-down as the neighborhood her family had first lived in when they arrived in America, but still not a nice place.

"Here we are." Mr. Ross stopped outside a rickety-looking warehouse. Pulling a key from his pocket, he opened the door, cursing at the rusty lock. When he finally had the door open, he went inside, Mary following him.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimness inside. Mr. Ross turned on a light, but it wasn’t nearly as bright as the summer sun outside. Looking around, Mary set the suitcases down, sighing inwardly with relief when she saw the cameras set up at various points around the building, which had been divided into sets. There were sets of various scenes, from an outdoor, western scene, to a cozy-looking bedroom.

Mary smiled to herself. She had been right all along. Mr. Ross really was a director. Why else would he have this building with movie sets in it? Nadia doesn’t know anything, she thought, gloating at the idea that she had been right. She had been discovered, and soon she would be a star.

"Where is everyone else?" she asked, as Ross walked back to her, taking the suitcases and setting them behind a large desk.

"What?" He seemed a little surprised at the question. "Oh...what we’re going to do first doesn’t require any help. I need to take publicity shots of you—for posters and the newspaper and such. In fact..." He gestured to a tall cabinet. "You can look in there for something a little more...glamorous...to wear for these pictures. There’s a dressing room next to it. See that door?"

Mary nodded, heading toward where he had pointed to. She opened the cabinet, pulling out an elegant silk dress, high-heeled shoes, and cosmetics. Publicity pictures were very important, she realized.

She dressed quickly, listening as Ross moved around the building, opening and closing doors. She stepped out in time to see him fussing with the lock on the warehouse door.

"Mr. Ross?"

He turned around quickly, dropping the key. "Ah...Mary. You look lovely. Simply lovely. Just give me a moment—I was trying to fix this damnable lock." Shrugging, he picked up the key and put it in his pocket, frowning a little at her attire. The dress was modest, covering her from her collarbone to her knees, and the three-quarter length sleeves hid her arms.

Mary watched him, puzzled by his reaction. She thought that she looked very elegant. Was the dress wrong for her? Did she need to wear something else?

Ross gave her a smile. "I think we’ll start with some glamour poses over here." He gestured to an almost empty area, decorated only with a chair. "Pictures that show only you, you understand."

Mary nodded, standing where he told her and posing. The poses seemed natural enough at first, but she began to grow uncomfortable at some of the ways he told her to pose, making her appear to be doing immoral things, or showing more of her body than she was comfortable with. Were these pictures really going to be used for publicity? She had seen some risqué pictures, but some of these poses went beyond even that, especially after he asked her to change into more revealing clothes.

Ross waved off her concerns, telling her that some of the publicity shots were for the movie people, who looked more closely at such things than the public did, but it still made her uncomfortable. Aunt Rose had never said anything about such pictures, or about movie people looking at different pictures from the public. She supposed that it made sense, but she wished that the pictures weren’t so revealing. She was still very young; wouldn’t it make more sense for her to play characters that were young and innocent, rather than worldly? Even if she did play worldly characters, did she really have to make such poses for the other movie people? She thought that Mr. Ross would be directing her.

But as nervous as she was, Mary didn’t want to object. She was on the verge of having all of her dreams realized—she couldn’t afford to upset the man who had discovered her. He was her ticket to stardom.

It wasn’t until Ross had her dress in the sort of lingerie that had been popular twenty years earlier—and insisted upon helping her with the corset—that she began to object.

"Mr. Ross..." Mary hesitated, not wanting to offend him. "I don’t feel right, dressing like this. Why do I need pictures like this?"

"Do you want to be a star or not?" he demanded, more rudely than he had ever spoken to her before.

"I...I do, but..."

"Then do what I tell you!"

Mary quieted, not responding to the reprimand. She wanted to be an actress—but this didn’t seem like anything she had read about. This sort of publicity seemed more like what would suit an actress in one of the dirty pictures that some men liked to watch. This wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted a career like Aunt Rose had, appearing in the moving pictures as different characters, winning fame and admiration for her talent and beauty, not for what she looked like without her clothes.

She jumped as Ross reached around her to adjust the corset. He hadn’t given her a chemise to wear under it, so his tug on the tight garment pulled it far down, revealing her breasts. She pulled away from him, quickly tugging it back up.

"Mr. Ross, I really don’t like this–"

"And I really don’t care what you like." He grabbed the corset, pulling loose the top hooks.

Mary clutched the torn garment in front of her. "Stop!" She stepped back, staring at him. "I think Nadia was right. You’re not a real director."

"Oh, I’m a real director, girlie. Maybe not the kind you wanted to discover you, but I’m the best chance you’ll ever get."

"No, you’re not." Mary started to walk around him. "I want to be a real actress, not a–a porn queen!"

"You don’t really think you’ll ever amount to anything else, do you?"

"You’ve never even seen me act! I’m good, I really am–and I don’t want to be in dirty movies! My aunt, Rose Dawson, never had to appear in any of those movies."

"Rose Dawson isn’t your aunt. You’ll be laughed out of Hollywood if you go around telling people she is."

"She is my aunt, and–and she has a lot of influence! If you hurt me, she’ll make sure that you never make another picture. My dad will go after you, too. He’s a rich man, Mr. Ross–much richer than you’ll ever be! He could put a stop to you so easily–"

"Your daddy probably watches my pictures. Once he sees you, he’ll disown you, if he’s really as rich and respectable as you say."

"He won’t." Mary drew herself up to her full five feet, three inches of height. "Because I’m not going to be in your pictures! I’m leaving! Aunt Rose will see that I get back to Iowa safely–and next time she’ll help me get into pictures. She’s a real movie star."

She turned toward the dressing room, but Ross grabbed her arm, jerking her back. "You’re not going anywhere. You owe me for bringing you out here." He pulled her closer, yanking at the strings that bound her corset.

Mary screamed, struggling against him. She wished that she had never left Cedar Rapids. She would be at home now, listening to the phonograph, or visiting her friends, or shopping with Nadia. Instead, she was fighting against the man that Nadia had warned her about, as he tried to take his "payment" from her. And who would believe the story of a girl who ran away from home with him? No one! Except perhaps her father and sister, and Aunt Rose, who knew about the dangers of running away to be an actress. Her reputation would be ruined, even if nothing happened.

Ross had almost wrestled her to the floor when Mary realized that she had a weapon he hadn’t thought of–the very high-heeled shoes had insisted she wear. As he pushed her down on the concrete floor, she kicked out, catching him in the stomach with the sharp heel of her shoe. He let go for a moment, giving her enough time to get up.

There was no time to fetch her suitcase. Grabbing the coverlet from the bed he had wanted her to pose on, she ran, wrapping it around herself as she went. The heavy material was miserably hot, but it covered her.

Ross grabbed her again as she headed for the door, trying to rip the makeshift covering from her body. He still hadn’t learned his lesson about high-heeled shoes, however, and Mary took advantage of his closeness, stomping hard on his foot just above where his shoe ended, breaking his skin and the heel from the shoe.

He howled in pain, holding his foot and extracting the broken heel from his foot. Mary ran for the door, limping as she tried to run in only one shoe.

Ross went after her again, but he was too slow. Mary pulled the door open, breaking off the rusty lock, and raced out into the sunshine. She could hear him coming after her, so she discarded the remaining shoe and hurried around a corner, darting between two buildings. She limped as she stepped in a patch of bullthorns, the sharp stickers piercing her tender feet, but she ran on, fueled by fear and desperation. She could hear Ross coming after her, but his injured foot, combined with her greater speed and agility, enabled her to get away from him.

After she had raced down another street and around another corner, Mary stopped long enough to pick the thorns from her feet and rearrange the blanket around herself. Still limping–the sharp thorns had done some damage–she hurried on, soon leaving Ross far behind.

Chapter Six
Stories