“Lulu, you can’t go alone!” I gaped at my friend and tenant, Lulu LaBelle, with horror.
“Nertz, Mercy. This is just for an interview and to talk about my career goals. I’ve talked to him several times in his office. He took me to dine and dance at the Club Parisienne. You know he did!”
“I know, but this seems different somehow.” What’s more, I didn’t like it. Lulu was probably my best friend, and I didn’t want her to get hurt by a devious Lothario.
“It is different. He wants to take a few still photos of me to see if he thinks I’ll look good on the screen.” Lulu plucked at a violent red sleeve of her violent red dress with fingers the nails of which were painted a violent red matching the dress. She was truly blink-worthy that evening.
“But Lulu, it’s night! You’re the one who told me these talent scouts, directors and producers are often up to no good and try to take advantage of the young women who are longing to be stars.”
“Yes, I know, but this fellow is the goods, all right. Look here, he even has a card!” She handed me a thickish piece of oblong cardboard, upon which was printed in florid print Elbert R. Smedley, Agent-Producer-Director. Printed on the card, too, were Smedley’s address and telephone number.
“Anybody can get cards printed, Lulu,” I told her, doubt clear to hear in my voice.
“Nertz, Mercy! Like I said, I’ve been to his office, and I’ve been out to dinner with him. His office is in a good part of town. I’ve been to his office three times!”
“Yes, so you said.”
“Well, then! He’s legit! He’s helped lots of girls get their start.”
“What are their names?” I asked.
Lulu tossed her head. “I can’t remember. Anyhow, he’s had bad luck with them backing out at the last minute after he did all the groundwork for them, but he said he’s sure I won’t be like that. He’s going to take photos of me this evening and show them around as soon as he gets them developed. He knows some casting directors will want me!”
“But I thought you said this appointment tonight isn’t in his office,” I said, still attempting to make Lulu see reason. I’d known for months she wanted to be a big star on the silver screen, but she mostly just sat around all day fiddling with her fingernails behind the reception desk at the Figueroa Building where we both worked.
“Of course, it isn’t,” said Lulu as if it made sense for him to be seeing her in a different address than where his office lay. “Other talent scouts and producers are always trying to snitch the people he’s promoting. He doesn’t want them to get a look at me, for fear someone will steal me before he can get me established. They’re all jealous of him!”
Oh, dear. This really didn’t sound right to me.
“May I please just drive you to his location, Lulu? I’ll sit in the car and wait for you. I won’t get in your way, I promise.”
“It’s the middle of January, Mercy! You’ll freeze to death if you wait in your car.”
“I don’t mind,” I said, which was the truest test of friendship I could think of. Lulu was right. We might live in Los Angeles and not the frozen North, but the night air was cold.
“Nonsense. He’s sending a car for me. See?”
“It’s nice he’s sending a car for you,” I said. “As long as he aims to bring you home early and in one piece.”
“What do you mean? Mercy Allcutt! Do you think I’m an idiot? I’ve heard all the bad stories! I know what goes on. Mr. Smedley won’t do anything awful to me. He just won’t.”
“I guess there’s no use arguing with you anymore, right?”
“Right.” Lulu clapped her black cloche hat with the violent red silk flowers on it on her bottle-blond hair and stuck a pretty Chinese pin with a red whatchamacallit at its end to hold the hat in place. Then she twirled in front of the Cheval glass mirror in my room, my room being the only room in Mercy’s Manor to have a full-length mirror.
“Well, good luck,” I said doubtfully.
“Thanks, Mercy. Stop worrying!”
“I’ll try.” I also tried to sound cheerful.
And Lulu left for her appointment with the talent scout who was going to make her a huge star in the Hollywood firmament.
It took me a long time to get to sleep that night. Buttercup, my adorable apricot miniature poodle, finally got disgusted with my tossing and turning and leapt off my bed and curled up on the rug.
I don’t know how long I’d been asleep when I awoke again to a sleepy “Woof” from Buttercup and a gentle shaking of my shoulder.
“M-Mercy?”
Blinking in surprise, I leaned over and pulled the chain on my bedside table’s lamp. My eyes grew wide and my mouth fell open when I saw a disheveled Lulu, her lipstick smeared, her mascara running down her cheeks, her dress torn and the red roses on her hat dragging around her shoulders. “Lulu! You look like you’ve been in the Battle of the Somme! What did that beast do to you? What in the world happened!”
“I-I’ll tell you. But later, okay? I h-h-had to take a t-t-taxicab home, but I don’t have any m-m-money! Will you please lend me enough m-money for the cab fare?”
“Lulu! Of course, I’ll pay for your cab fare. Stay here. Don’t move. I want to know what that horrible, cheating, louse of a bounder did to you! I’ll kill him with my bare hands! I knew you shouldn’t have gone to see him!”
It was, probably, the stupidest and wrongest (I’m sure that’s not a word) sentence I could say to the poor girl, who knew better than I that she shouldn’t have met Mr. Smedley at night. She collapsed onto my bed, sobbing as if her heart and several bones were broken.
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