As I stepped into the elevator at the Royale Hotel, I reflected on how lucky I was. Pixie O'Donnell, one of the biggest stars in Hollywood, had agreed to give an interview to a local reporter, and she had chosen me. I had been with the Groveport Sentenel for a little less than a year, and I was beside myself with excitement at getting such a plum assignment.
Of course, any reporter would have jumped at the chance. Miss O'Donnell, perhaps the premier child star of 1922, was making a whistlesop tour on the Prairie Flyer to promote her latest picture,
Granpa Pockett's Old Grey Mare
. She had a private railroad car, and was stopping not only in the large cities, but also in the smaller towns like Groveport, where so many people loved her so dearly.
Pixie O'Donnell was America's Darling, the spunky little girl with blonde ringlets and a heart of gold.She had made the public fall in love with her in pictures like
Tess of Green Meadow Farm, Maggie the Little Match Girl
, and
Dixie Capers
. She could be funny, she could be courageous and bold, and she could play a sad scene so tenderly that sometimes the pianist in the theater had to pause to wipe away a tear. And now she was in Groveport and I was about to meet her.
The door to her suite was opened by a pretty mulatto girl in a maid's uniform. "
Bonjour, M'sieu'
," she said. "You are from
le journal
-the newspaper, yes?"
"Yes," I said, "I'm Oliver Gorse." She gestured me inside to a sitting room where a florid man with a bit of a paunch and the loudest necktie I have ever seen stood by the window. He had a pencil-thin moustache and Brilliantined hair and a smile popped onto his face when he saw me like it was controlled by a switch. He extended his hand and crossed to greet me.
"How do you do," he said, "I'm Miles Mandrake, Publicity Department, Mammoth Pictures."
I introduced myself and we sat down.
"Pixie will be right with us," he said, "She's just freshening up. You know how girls are, alway fussing about their looks." He rose and walked over to sideboard on which were two tumblers. He reached into his inside pocket and took out a pint flask and winked at me. "While we're waiting, how about a little hair of the dog? This is the good stuff-straight from Canada. I say, what the John Laws don't know won't hurt 'em." He poured two generous drinks and handed me one. I thanked him and put it on the side table. He made his disappear.
An inner door opened and Pixie walked in followed by the maid. It was like she had stepped off the screen. There were the same blonde ringlets, the same blue gingham dress, the same pink pinafore she had worn in so many of her roles. She smiled sweetly and curtseyed. "I'm so happy to meet you, Mr...?"
"Gorse, Oliver Gorse."
"Oh yes. Uncle Miles told me you were coming. Shall we all sit down?"
Her voice was lilting and sweet. It suggested innocence, like her rosy cheeks and clear blue eyes. We all sat down. Pixie sat in a morris chair that seemed far too big for her. I noticed Mr. Maxwell behind her pour himself another little tot.
"Now, Miss O'Donnell-" "I began.
She blushed. "Oh, please, it doesn't seem right you calling me 'Miss O'Donnell', you being a grown-up and all. Please call me Pixie."
I think I must have blushed. "OK, Pixie. Now, I understand you're here to promote your new picture
Granpa Pockett's Old Grey Mare
-"
"Damn fine picture," said Maxwell. His tongue seemed to be getting a little thick.
"Oh yes," said Pixie. "It's such a wonderful picture and I had such a wonderful time making it."
"And I believe you're starring once again with Roland Carstairs, who played Colonel Beauregard opposite you in
Dixie Capers
?"
"Oh, yes. Uncle Roland is so sweet and kind. He-"
"Damn fine actor," slurred Maxwell. "Damn fucking fine actor."
There was an awkward silence and then Pixie said to her maid, "Cosette, I think Uncle Miles isn't feeling well. Would you please help him to his room?"
The mullato maid hoisted Maxwell from his chair with an ease that indicated much practice, and conveyed him into a bedroom and closed the door.
"I hope he's going to be all right," I said.
"Oh, he'll be fine," answered Pixie. "Cosette just slipped a little veronal in his drink."
"I beg your pardon?"
"He'll be out for a couple of hours. Plenty of time for us to finish our business."
Something was different. The girlish lilt, the hint of naivete were gone. Pixie pulled the ringlets off her head, revealing a pretty light brown bob. She reached into a pocket of her pinafore and took out a packet of cigarettes and a box of matches. She lit up and sat puffing for a moment, and then stood up and crossed the room to me."Are you going to drink that?" she said, pointing to the whiskey on the table.
My head was spinning. I was speechless. I shook my head. She took the glass and downed in in one gulp as if it had been Dr. Pepper. I finally stammered, "I...I don't understand."
Pixie took a long drag on her cigarette and let the smoke out through her nostrils. "It's perfectly simple. It's been a while since I've had a good fuck. I had my eye on you when we arrived at the train station. You're a good looking boy. I think you're just what I need."
"You want me to...?"
She waved her hands, leaving a trail of smoke. "Hey,I'm human. I have needs like anybody else."
The maid reappeared from the bedroom and closed the door. "
Il est endormi
," she said.
"It's a long lonely haul, these publicity tours," Pixie went on. "If I didn't have Cosette with me I think I'd go crazy. She's the best pussy licker on the west coast."
Cosette looked coy. "