The Dream Girl
Clifton Henry was born on May 28th, 1899 in the dusty town of Post, Texas. Growing up in Post taught Clifton two things: First, how to be a gentleman to a lady. Second, the finer things and prettier things took their sweet time coming to Post, if at all.
So, when he turned 17, Clifton enlisted in the army. It's his time in the army that explains how Clifton came to Hollywood from Post, Texas. He had stop-offs along the way in the Argonne Forest, Paris and New York.
In the Argonne he learned that life was fleeting and there is very little time for regret. In Paris he learned how to love a woman and that they don't always love you back. And in New York he learned how to act. It was only natural that a tall Texan leave the footlights of Broadway (or just off it) to the bright lights of Hollywood.
In Hollywood, time slowed down. Or rather, his career did. It was a year before he even got signed by Famous-Lasky studios, and even then it was only a bit contract for bit roles. But things were looking up. It was on one of those bit roles, as a heavy in the latest Inspector Lightley Mystery, that Inspector Lightley himself took an interest to him.
In 1924 Basil Montjoy was not the big star he had been in 1914 but he was still a well-respected draw. When Clifton was 14 he'd spent every cent he'd owned to go to Lubbock just to see Basil in The Dark Hand of Death at the Odeon. And here he was not only promising Clifton a bigger role in the next movie, but showing him about the town.
He took Clifton golfing along the ocean. He took Clifton out for steaks and whiskey at Musso & Frank. And now he was taking Clifton to the Garden of Alla.
"Do you suppose the rumors are true, what they say about miss Nazimova?" Clifton asked as Basil's Packard 8 zoomed down Sunset boulevard.
"What, that she fancies the lasses?" Clifton nodded. "Ha, it's no rumor, old boy. I've seen her with women. It's not like she hides it."
"And it's safe to go to this place? Will we get in trouble?"
"No it's not, and one can certainly hope so." Basil pulled the Packard on to Hayvenhurst and parked. "Follow me."
They walked through a cool green courtyard up to an ornate Italianate style house. The sounds of revelry could be heard all the way from the street corner. Inside it was near deafening. The place was packed to the rafters with men and women dancing, drinking, smoking. Everyone was stylish and beautiful. Clifton felt bashful and outmatched.
Basil seemed to recognize that look. He patted him on the shoulder. "Cheer up, lad. You're the best looking bloke here. Stay put. I'll fetch us some victuals and drinks." Basil tottered off, leaving Clifton alone to gawk.
Apart from the rooms being generally full of people, the deck was full, the pool was full. Every antechamber and hidden corner had men and women engaged in some form of frolic. Some corners had just women, a scant few had just men.
He recognized some of them. Valentino held court by the pool, surrounded by adoring women and jealous men. A woman who looked a lot like Clara Bow strolled by. He was pretty sure it was her, but there were at least six other women who looked like Clara Bow.
Basil returned with canapes and champagne. "Come with me, lad. Let me introduce you." Basil took him by the hand and led him through the throng. He took him on a whirlwind tour, always leading him by the hand and always whispering conspiratorial information as he introduced him to producers ('He likes young girls, they say. Very young.'), actresses ('She's on her 4th husband.') and directors ('Stay off his yacht. You're just his type.').
When the tour was done they were both a little drunk and a little overwhelmed from the sheer magnitude and spectacle of an Alla Nazimova party. Basil pulled him into a little alcove in the back covered porch and the two collapsed on the couch. Basil leaned over. "So what do you think, lad? Told you I'd show you Hollywood. Warts and all."
"It's not quite what I expected. It's a lot. It's a bit like Sodom."
"Oh, it's exactly like Sodom." He said, grabbing a bottle of champagne off the floor and refilling both their glasses. "So we better drink to it before we're turned to pillars of salt by an angry God."
Basil cheered the glass and downed it. Clifton did the same. When he brought the glass down, Basil moved in and kissed him. Clifton broke the kiss and pushed him away.
"Basil, I'm not a fey."
"Ask me if I care." He went in for another kiss, but Clifton pushed him back again. "I mean it. Stop. I'm not mad. I mean there were a ton of you guys in the trenches. You bled like the rest of us. But I ain't one of em. You've roped the wrong bull."
"Oh I think I've roped the right bull. Don't play the ingenue with me." Once again he reached for Clifton's face.
"Dammit, Basil. I'm serious."
Basil's mood turned from amorous to angry. "Don't be a tease!"
Clifton went to tell Basil to shove it, but got distracted by the most lovely creature he had ever seen. She appeared out of the corner of his eye, sparkling like a mermaid in a full length gold sequin dress. Her long naked arms hugged her curvy hips.
She twirled an empty glass in her fingers and looked around for another bottle to fill it, finally resting her eyes on Clifton and the bottle next to him. She moved across the floor towards them in a motion that was a cross between an exotic bird and predatory cat.
He knew her instantaneously. It was Rose McQueen, better known to folks on the other side of the silver screen as The Harpy. It was the #1 hit of 1916 and it made little 20 year old Rose a star, at least for a little while.
She sauntered up to the pair. Basil took his arms from around Clifton and returned to a more neutral position.
Clifton released his own defensive guard and simply watched her approach. He was too star struck to think of how he looked or acted, for before him was the platonic ideal of femininity. Rose McQueen had gotten him through the end of the war. Rose McQueen had convinced him to go into acting.
France got movies much later than the US, so The Harpy's European distribution coincided with his post-war time in Paris. He must have seen her slap the evil baron fifty times in the theater. And the end, when she cried for her lost Eldridge, well he cried right along with her. He'd seen her image a thousand times in magazines and seen that saunter a hundred times in film, all to profound effect. But he had never heard her voice. Miss McQueen stopped in front of the couch, rocked on her lovely hips, parted her delicate bright red lips and spoke.
"Fuck off, Barry."
It was the most beautiful phrase in the English language, made even more delightful by her cockney accent. Basil promptly stood up, adjusted his tux and wandered off into the party.
Miss McQueen flopped down on the couch next to Clifton, coming to rest against him. She turned her side towards him and leaned her arm into his, then folded her left leg over the right so that her left heel just grazed his shin, ever so slightly.
She was much smaller than he expected, a little slip of a thing really. Maybe 5'2" and a hundred pounds soaking wet, but her personality made her seem larger than life, even if she was a foot shorter than him.
"Barry is his real name." she said. "Dirty little poof. Not that I mind them, mind you. It's just that it seems like he was cornering you and you could use some help." She twirled a short curl of her hair waiting for an answer, but Clifton was still stupefied by her presence. "Unless I got that totally wrong and I ruined a lovely date! Did I get it wrong?"
"No, you didn't" he said bashfully. "Not that I couldn't handle myself."
"Oh, no, of course not."
"But still, much obliged."
"Barry's harmless, really. Just lonely these days and a sucker for tall yanks. You just have to be forceful with him. That's why I told him to fuck off."
"Shouldn't you have told him to 'piss off'?"
"Nonsense! Barry's not British, he's from Oregon. He wouldn't know what it means." She moved her right hand from her hair to his shoulder. "But you seem to. Can I take that to mean you've been in the wars?" Clifton nodded. She eyeballed him head to toe. "And did you come back all in one piece? All your parts in working order?" She playfully lifted up his arm and let it fall.
"Yes, ma'am." he laughed.
