For Viola Morse, the pain is unendurable.
Babe asks Lucille Jones to marry him, and she agrees.
They have not yet gone out on a date together.
They have never even had coffee.
He and Babe share a celebratory bottle of champagne. He should be concerned for Babe, he thinks. After all, Babe is marrying a younger woman, one whom Babe hardly knows. He, though, has some experience in the business of making a fool of oneself with an unsuitable mate, and Babe and Lucille Jones appear – well, he cannot find the appropriate word, and so settles for ‘right’. They are right for each other. He can discern no trace of duplicity in Lucille Jones, and knows there is little in Babe.
As the years go by, Babe and Lucille will celebrate their wedding anniversary not annually but weekly, and watch pictures together in their theater at home, and keep a menagerie in place of children. And Lucille will care for Babe as he lies dying, even as illness robs Babe of his tongue, so that Babe can signal his love for her only by hand and eye.
And it will be Lucille who tells him at last that Babe is gone.
But the interweaving of his life and Babe’s has begun again. Just as Vera, after an argument, once took to the streets in a car that she could not control, so Viola Morse does the same. Viola Morse’s only child, her beloved son, dies suddenly, just as Babe is to be married. Viola Morse has given the best part of her life to two men, and now both are gone. Viola Morse swallows sleeping tablets, climbs in her car, and on Wilshire Boulevard collides with three vehicles, one of which is a police cruiser. Viola Morse is taken to St Vincent’s Hospital, and recovers, but he finds the coincidences odd nonetheless:
This crashing of cars, this discarding of lovers.
Babe’s guilt over Viola Morse is disfiguring. It bends Babe into unfamiliar shapes.
Should Babe postpone the wedding?
No, not unless the postponement is to be indefinite, and followed by marriage to Viola Morse.
Does Viola Morse feel betrayed by Babe?
Yes, just as Alyce Ardell feels betrayed by him. There will be no marriage to Alyce Ardell, and questions once asked will remain unanswered. Alyce Ardell will slip away from pictures, slip away from him, and will be remembered only as a footnote to his life. The making of Saps at Sea marks the end of their dance.
Because he does not take Alyce Ardell to the preview of Saps at Sea.
Instead, he takes his ex-wife, Ruth.
171
At the Oceana Apartments, he recalls a sense of optimism.
He and Babe toured in a revue – twelve towns, ecstatic crowds. They opened in Omaha and were briefly presented with the key of the city before being asked to return it, because the Omaha city fathers discovered they possessed only one key, and Wendell Willkie, running for the presidency, was expecting to receive it. But the revue brought in money, and bought them time to rest. He raised the walls still higher around his property, and Babe built a new home on Magnolia Boulevard.
And he, once again, had Ruth in his life.
I could never bear to be alone, he thinks. It was a blessing when it came to Babe, but a curse with women.
An exchange returns to him, from The Flying Deuces: he and Babe by the banks of the Seine, Babe excoriating him for his failings as a friend. He believes that he may have written the words, or adapted them from what was presented by the writers, but he cannot always tell. The mind plays tricks. He could go to his notes, but he is tired, and he does not trust his legs to support him. What is important is that Babe speaks the words, and now, in the quiet of the Oceana Apartments, silently he mouths them in turn: Do you realize that after I’m gone you’ll just go on living by yourself?
He does not live by himself. He has Ida.
But still he is alone.
172
He goes to see Chaplin’s latest picture, The Great Dictator. It has been four years since Chaplin released Modern Times. He admires the bravery of The Great Dictator, even if its politics are too overt for his liking. He could not make a picture like it, but he would not wish to, either.
He glimpses Alyce Ardell on the street as he leaves the theater, but she does not see him. He has not spoken to Alyce Ardell since his reconciliation with Ruth. He may never speak to Alyce Ardell again.
He enjoys being with Ruth. They have discussed the possibility of remarriage, and she is not averse. But if he is to remarry, his finances must be in order. A new contract will be required. He knows that Babe will concur because Babe is in trouble with the IRS over unpaid taxes. Ben Shipman is holding off the IRS for now, but a settlement will have to be agreed.
He arranges to meet Ben Shipman at Ben Shipman’s office.
I’d like to know what progress is being made on a new deal, he says.
Ben Shipman is not an agent; Ben Shipman is a lawyer. But for these two men, Ben Shipman would be willing to go from door to door on bended knees to extoll their virtues. Instead, his clients have hired the Orsatti Agency to negotiate on their behalf. The Orsattis have a tangled history with the Mob. Victor Orsatti is formerly married to June Lang, who divorces him to marry Handsome Johnny Roselli. Handsome Johnny Roselli kills a guy in Sicily, which is why Handsome Johnny Roselli is now in Hollywood, setting up a protection racket on the major studios. Meanwhile Frank Orsatti, Victor’s brother, is a former bootlegger, a pimp, and an enforcer for Louis B. Mayer. The Orsattis make Ben Shipman nervous. Ben Shipman is convinced they make his client nervous too, which is why he is here asking Ben Shipman about progress rather than putting the question to the Orsattis directly.
I thought you were in no particular hurry to get back to work, says Ben Shipman.
– Circumstances have changed.
– Changed how?
– I’m considering getting married again.
– Married to whom?
– Ruth.
Ben Shipman knows that he has been seeing Ruth. Ben Shipman was hoping it might be a passing phase. Ben Shipman has nothing against Ruth, beyond the hours spent arguing with her attorney over alimony, but marrying her again seems like a drastic step.
– It’s only a year since you divorced Vera.
– It’s been more than a year.
– You know, there are men who remain married for most of their lives, but they usually try to stay married to the same woman. You seem determined to acquire as many wives as possible. Not that I’m counting, but you’ve been married four times to three women, and that’s not including the Russian ceremony and the Mexican jaunt. Have you ever considered just not being married? Try it. Who knows, you might like it. The women might like it, too.
– Ruth and I are getting along just fine.
– Then why spoil a beautiful thing?
– We’d like to give it another try.
– Jesus. Seven times. Seven times you’ll have said ‘I do.’ You think that’s normal? What are you, a sheik?
– Ben …
– All right, all right. Last word: if you’d never married, you’d be a wealthy man by now. I’m just saying. It’s not too late.