Thelma Todd attends the preview of The Bohemian Girl on December 11th, 1935. She seems to him distracted, but no more than that. He cannot understand how, five days later, Thelma Todd ends up choking to death on carbon monoxide fumes in her own car, locked in the garage of her lover, Roland West.
Suicide, says Jimmy Finlayson, but Jimmy Finlayson offers this with the mien of one who is testing the word for the taste of a lie.
No, he replies, not Thelma.
—She had blood on her face. A reporter told me.
—How could she have blood on her face if she died of poisoning?
—Maybe she hit her head when she lost consciousness. Except—
—Except what?
—The reporter said there was a lot of blood, and more than one wound. But the reporter could be mistaken.
—What do you think?
—I think it’s hard to make that kind of mistake.
—Oh Lord.
Thelma, concludes Jimmy Finlayson, always did have terrible taste in men.
Hal Roach calls a meeting. Henry Ginsberg is present, and James Horne and Charlie Rogers, the directors of The Bohemian Girl. Babe attends, also. They sit in Hal Roach’s office, surrounded by dead animals.
Hal Roach liked Thelma Todd, but Hal Roach plans to release The Bohemian Girl on Valentine’s Day. Hal Roach fears that rumors of suicide—or God forbid, murder—may damage the picture’s prospects, but neither does Hal Roach wish to appear to be capitalizing on Thelma Todd’s passing should the opposite occur.
They’re saying it was DiCicco, says Henry Ginsberg.
Who’s saying? Babe asks.
—People. People I know.
Babe is skeptical. Babe doesn’t believe Henry Ginsberg knows any people, or none worth knowing.
That fucking crook, says Hal Roach. I warned her about him.
Pressure is already being placed on the county attorney’s office. A verdict of suicide would cast a pall over Thelma Todd’s life and career, which would be undesirable, but the chances of murder charges being brought are as likely as the reappearance of dinosaurs. Rumors will remain rumors, disseminated by reporters and Henry Ginsberg’s mythical people.
We can’t show the picture as it is, says Hal Roach. It’ll become a freak show.
In this, he knows, Hal Roach is correct. No one in the room wishes for The Bohemian Girl to become a magnet for ghouls. But Thelma Todd, as the Gypsy Queen, is the love interest in the picture. Cutting her scenes is not an option.
We’ll have to reshoot, he says.
We could hire another actress, says Henry Ginsberg.
Hal Roach nixes this. Replacing Thelma Todd will seem callous.
Let’s just give Mae more lines, he says. We’ll make her the love interest, cut most of the Gypsy Queen’s lines, and just recast that as a minor role.
How long will it take? asks Hal Roach.
—Two weeks. Perhaps even ten days, if we’re fast.
Hal Roach looks to Henry Ginsberg. Henry Ginsberg scribbles some figures on a pad. Babe sighs.
We can afford one week, says Henry Ginsberg.
What about flowers for the funeral? says Charlie Rogers. Can we afford those, or should we just pick some from the side of the road?
We’ll send a wreath, says Henry Ginsberg.
That’s the thing about Henry Ginsberg: Henry Ginsberg is impervious to sarcasm.
It’s settled then, says Hal Roach. We break, and we’ll reshoot in the first week of January. Keep me posted on the script, and with suggestions for a new Gypsy Queen.
Gentlemen, happy holidays, and I’ll see you at the cemetery.