Alyce Ardell joins him on the set of The Flying Deuces. Hal Roach has loaned out Babe and him to Boris Morros for the picture, so Hal Roach can have no say in the company he keeps. The script is not good, but it is work, and he is with Babe. Boris Morros, meanwhile, is a Russian émigré who spies for the Soviets for ten years before recanting and working as a double agent for the FBI for another ten. Nobody is very surprised to learn of this. Nothing in Hollywood is genuine, not even treachery.
Perhaps, he thinks, Babe should marry Viola Morse. The word ‘fiancée’ is often used of Viola Morse, sometimes even by Babe, although no formal arrangement exists between them. But he believes that it is Viola Morse’s misfortune to have been Babe’s mistress and companion for too long, and so Babe can no longer think of her in any other way. He understands this because he shares the same reservations about Alyce Ardell. He and Alyce Ardell have used each other – for sex, for consolation, for the staving off of loneliness – and though a kind of love may exist between them, the years have stripped it of depth and meaning. But he says nothing of this to Babe, as they stand in the July heat after the master shot has been completed, waiting for their close-ups.
How goes the Great Wall? Babe asks.
He is building an even higher barrier around his property. Babe jokes that it is to keep out all of his ex-wives, but there is weight to the jest.
– I think it might be cheaper just to lower the house.
A woman approaches them. She is not unpretty. When she smiles, her cheeks bunch like those of a squirrel in fall. Her name is Virginia, but everyone calls her by her second name, Lucille, so she is Lucille Jones. She is the continuity girl, responsible for ensuring that there are no discrepancies between shots. She tries to make some small correction to Babe’s costume, but Babe is always prepared, and always remembers, and so she leaves Babe to his own devices. When Babe takes to the set, all will be as it should.
He notices Babe watching Lucille Jones depart.
He says nothing.
167
At the Oceana Apartments, a bad memory.
A club in wartime, champagne flowing. He is there. Babe is there. Babe is with Lucille. And he – he reckons, he is not sure – is with Alyce Ardell, but if so, then their time together is coming to an end.
He is moving through the crowd, almost unrecognizable: a middle-aged man in a tuxedo that no longer fits as it should, a face less familiar without a derby to hide the thinning gray hair.
An arm appears before him, blocking his way.
– Hey.
He sees him now: an actor, one of those who believe that portraying gangsters on screen by day, and consorting with them in clubs by night, imbues the imitator with the aura of the original. The faces of the actor’s companions are flushed with alcohol and hostility, flashing like warning beacons in the gloom. They have glasses in their hands, but these glasses are not filled with champagne. Whatever is happening here, it is no celebration.
Hey, the voice says again.
– Yes?
– Are you still queer for Babe Hardy?
They laugh. He pushes past the outstretched arm.
– Hey, don’t take it so hard.
Another voice replies, the words obscured, and they laugh again.
He reaches the table. Babe has watched the confrontation but has not heard its substance over the shouting and the music.
What did they say to you? Babe asks.
– Nothing.
Nothing worth repeating.
168
He employs a bodyguard, and a private detective. He continues to live in fear of Vera. She has damaged him in ways that he cannot yet entirely comprehend. A high wall is insufficient protection from her, or from those who follow in her stead.
At night, when alone, he sometimes glimpses the silhouette of the Dancing Master, and then it is gone.
The bodyguard’s name is Martin Wolfkeil, but the actor Will Rogers gives him the nickname ‘Tonnage’. Tonnage Martin is a ship’s engineer, and a former brakeman for the Lehigh Valley Railroad Company.
‘Tonnage’ is not a misnomer. Tonnage Martin weighs four hundred pounds.
Tonnage Martin comes to live with him for nine months. They are, Tonnage Martin will later admit, the worst nine months of Tonnage Martin’s life. Even Tonnage Martin, who thrice survives being torpedoed in the Great War, would rather face the Germans again than Vera, because at least those Germans weren’t crazy, although Tonnage Martin can’t speak for the new Germans, who may well be crazy, if still not as crazy as Vera.
Tonnage Martin leaves his service when Vera eventually departs California. Tonnage Martin later sues him for $2,700, and dies of a heart attack in Ohio. He is not invited to be a pallbearer, for which he is much relieved.
169
He and Babe make Saps at Sea.
At fifty-seven minutes, it is no streamliner, and closer to a feature. So, too, was A Chump at Oxford. Their contract stipulates four shorter pictures, but two longer pictures equals four shorter ones.
Their contract with Hal Roach has been fulfilled.
It is December 1939.
They are about to leave Hal Roach’s lot forever.
170
He feels sympathy for Viola Morse, because Babe is now in love with Lucille Jones. Theirs is a delicate courtship of glances and circling – so delicate, in fact, that Lucille Jones is largely unaware of its inception.
But Viola Morse is not.
Viola Morse is no ingénue. Viola Morse has one marriage behind her, and has raised a son alone. Viola Morse has been patient with Babe, and loving of him. Viola Morse observes the change in Babe, and soon discovers its cause, and understands that she is to be cast aside for a woman almost twenty years Babe’s junior.
What pains Viola Morse most is that she cannot even accuse Babe of having an affair. Babe has not slept with Lucille Jones. Babe is so smitten with Lucille Jones that Babe is unable to bring himself to profess his affection for her. Babe sends flowers and chocolates to Lucille Jones when she is ill. On the set of Saps at Sea, Babe makes sure to greet Lucille Jones every morning, and inquire after her health, and the health of her family, and perhaps even the health of the rabbits that scamper in her garden, and the bluebirds that sing from the branches beneath her window. Were Babe simply to have fucked Lucille Jones, Viola Morse could understand. Babe would then be just another middle-aged buffoon scenting his own mortality and scrambling in panic after the promise of youth. Babe would be sad, and idiotic, yet not beyond comprehension.
But Babe has not fucked Lucille Jones. Neither has Babe kissed Lucille Jones. Babe is a body in orbital decay, cycling more frequently from apastron to periastron, inexorably approaching a merging with the light.
And yes, there are those who might say that the actual nature of Babe’s pursuit of Lucille Jones is sadder and more idiotic still, predicated – as it appears to be – on pedestals and virginal innocence. But these people do not know Babe as Viola Morse does. Babe’s mind is virtually without corruption, and his heart is open. Babe’s touch is gentle. Babe is tender to a fault. Despite his great weight, Babe has never once hurt Viola Morse during lovemaking, not even inadvertently.
Viola Morse realizes that Babe genuinely loves Lucille Jones. And, slowly, Viola Morse learns that Lucille Jones loves Babe in return. It means that Viola Morse cannot help but lose this man who means so much to her.