Celluloid Memories (9 page)

She yawned again. She knew the smart thing would be to turn out her light and get to sleep. But with only a few more pages to go, Savannah promised herself that she'd just finish the last of the letters from the first bundle.

Based on what she'd read so far she concluded that Rae Marie Hilton and her father had not been lovers, but professional friends. She did wonder how they'd been able to pull that off without any gossip or publicity. Had it been possible for a black man and white woman to just be friends in Hollywood back then? They'd met while costarring on a short-lived TV show in the 1980s. Savannah was surprised to read that Rae Marie had obviously trusted her father, and had made him her confidant. Her letters said, in so many words, that there was no one else she could talk to in all of Tinseltown.

Savannah also read, with sympathy, the desperation with which Rae Marie seemed to have lived her life. She wanted to be a star and was willing to do anything to achieve that. She wanted the adoration, the fame and the recognition that come with being someone the public loves. She was insecure but determined. She was beautiful and saw her beauty as a tool to achieve what she wanted so badly. She wrote that she'd done things she was ashamed of, compromising, as she stated, her upbringing and family values. There was even one poignant plea that God would forgive her.

But it was a simple quickly stated truth, scrawled in one of the journals, which finally clarified for Savannah Rae Marie's fundamentally unhappy life, and how the power and seductiveness of a dream had led her to use Will Shelton as a sounding board and the keeper of her deepest most horrific secret.

S
avannah stared at her screen, trying to keep track of the various links that had generated from her Google search for the name
Rae Marie Hilton.

She'd been surprised by the number of possible hits, but the past hour spent checking out some of them had produced only the mention of Rae Marie's name from cast lists, dated reviews and several old profiles. None of the information had been revealing, or even very personal. The one thing Savannah had not been able to find out was whether the actress was dead or alive.

“Hey, Baby Girl. What's up?” Taj asked, stepping into her office space and planting himself in the extra chair.

Taj's sudden appearance made Savannah jump with guilt. She didn't want anyone to know why she was researching an obscure actress who probably hadn't been heard of in two decades. He was wearing one earplug from an iPod while the other swung free in front of his chest. From the tiny amplifier came the screechy distorted sounds of a rap song.

“What are you listening to?” She asked.

“Great new group out of Compton called MoJo. They're starting to get a lot of play and some press. I'm thinkin' of contacting them and offering my services as a producer. What you working on?”

“Oh…er…I just finished writing a critique of a treatment. It was good enough that I wanted to see what I could find on the Internet about the author.”

Taj snickered. “Don't waste your time. He could be an ax murderer, but if the studio bosses think they can make a buck off this guy's story that's all that matters.”

“You're too young to be so cynical,” Savannah said, as she logged back into her e-mail, and stared at the screen. There was a message from McCoy.

“And you're too…
mature
to be so innocent,” Taj said carefully.

Savannah chuckled. “I need a favor from you since, by your own proclamation, you know everything and everyone in Hollywood.”

“Anything for you, you know that.”

“I'm trying to find out about a former actress by the name of Rae Marie Hilton. She would have been in the business about twenty-five years ago. And she's white,” Savannah concluded smoothly.

“Never heard of her but I'll see what I can dig up for you. You should also check out the American Film Institute. They've got records on everybody who was anybody in this town, from way back.”

“That's a good idea,” Savannah said, making a note. But it occurred to her that she might also use that source to see what more she could learn about Will Shelton.

“I got something for you,” Taj suddenly said in a sweet, coy voice.

“Really?”

“Sure do. It's on my desk. I'll be right back…”

He was out the door in a shot, and Savannah turned at once to her e-mail, opening with great curiosity the one from McCoy.

 

Enjoyed our impromptu get-together last weekend. I'm glad the lawyer in me saved some of the programs from your father's performances, believing they could one day be important. I hope they add to your memories of him. Perhaps one day you'd like to see the evidence of his influence as an actor and teacher. I'll be in touch. Mac.

 

Savannah read the message several times. It was friendly and gracious and such a nice surprise.

Was he asking her out?

“What are you grinning at?”

Savannah shrugged but said nothing to enlighten Taj as he returned to her office and again took up residence in her one chair. He held out a DVD jewel box.

“What is this?” she asked, taking it.

“You probably never heard of the movie, but Will Shelton is in it. See. His name is right there on the label.”

Savannah scrutinized the information and sure enough, there was the name of Will Shelton along with all the other cast. “You're right, I'm not familiar with this film.”

“It was never released,” Taj informed Savannah. “When they finished shooting it, it was canned. It just got converted to DVD because some of the other people in it are now famous.”

“How did you get it?”

“I have my sources,” Taj said mysteriously.

“Well, thank you. I'll return it as soon as I…”

“Don't worry about it. That copy is yours to keep. Good movie.”

“Thank you, Taj. This is really nice of you.”

“You didn't find a copy of the original video in your father's stuff?”

“I haven't finished going through his things, yet. It's funny. Every time I meet someone it turns out they're familiar with my father. I didn't think he was all that famous.”

“Well, maybe he wasn't
famous,
like getting nominated for the Golden Globes and Oscars or pictured in your
TV Guide,
but, yeah, his name rings a lot of bells in this town. I'm so glad he never did any of those corny sitcoms. That would have been embarrassing.”

“Why? A lot of them were popular shows,”

Taj slumped down in his seat. “Yeah, but it's, like, a lot of former actors are so desperate to still be seen that they became part of a game show, or have these cameo appearances. Man!”

She gently pursed her lips. “Sounds like you know a lot about it.”

“Don't get me wrong. I used to watch some of those shows, but if I'd been respected as a serious actor I wouldn't do it.”

“Maybe some actors feel differently about it. Maybe being seen as often as possible is really important.”

“I know, I know. I'm just glad Will Shelton never did it. The man had class and pride. His reputation stands solidly on the body of his work. All
you
gotta do is keep both of 'em alive.”

Savannah considered Taj's comment as she held the DVD he'd just given her.
His reputation stands solidly on the body of his work.

 

Savannah frowned over one of the source books she'd borrowed from the library. The essential information was the same in all of them, that a script consists pretty much of 120 pages, the story told in three acts, with beats in the script indicating transactions in the story. A shorter script length was possible, and suggested more action taking place and less dialogue. Her head was spinning with all the new information.

She'd also gone onto the Internet from home, researching script format. In the end it was easier to borrow several old shooting scripts from her own office and study them. Ever since she'd come across the revealing truth about Rae Marie Hilton's life, Savannah knew it was a story begging to be told. And now, she couldn't stop thinking about it and how it could be done. Savannah was astonished by the realization of what a terrible strain it must have been for the beautiful actress, living the life of a woman she'd completely made up.

It rained the next day, adding to her pensive mood on so many levels. Savannah tried to imagine the loneliness of Rae Marie's life, always watching over her shoulder for the something or someone who could out her, bringing an end to her dreams. Did she ever marry and have children? Where was she from? What happened to her?

A development meeting was called as soon as she arrived at work, and all the while that Savannah was presenting some of the story ideas she'd recently read and analyzed from other writers, for the first time she began to get a sense of the excitement each writer felt for their project. Back in her office there was evidence that Taj had stopped by. He'd left a folder behind on her desk with
R M Hilton
written on it in black marker.

Savannah breathlessly snatched up the folder. It seemed far too thin to contain anything, but inside there was a single sheet of paper, a photocopied document that was the original application for membership into the Screen Actors Guild in the name of Rae Marie Hilton. She'd been twenty-two at the time. A black-and-white headshot was printed on the reverse side. Savannah was struck by how beautiful she was. And how very easy it would have been, based on the exquisite features in the photograph, to assume she was white.

It was a disappointing amount of information, but at least, Savannah realized, she had actual proof that, in the realm of filmmaking, Rae Marie had existed. The document, along with all she'd learned about the young actress from her letters and journals, confirmed for Savannah her growing desire to know more about Rae Marie—not only as an actress, but as a young woman, a black woman with a big dream that might have cost her her soul.

 

“What do you think of that property?”

“It's not bad,” McCoy responded as he and two associates approached a corner. They were on their way back to the office after lunch. “The location is convenient, and that old factory building has possibilities. I can see a condo with commercial businesses on the street level.”

“The area is slated for gentrification,” said the third man as they were finally able to cross the street, “So this is a good time to get in.”

“It's worth considering, but I need to see some figures and architectural plans, and I'd want to know about the other investors. So, what next? Who do we talk to?” McCoy asked.

When he didn't get a response, McCoy looked to check out what had caused the other two men to fall silent. He wasn't surprised to find it was a lovely young female, standing near the security desk of their office building. In fact, it was Cherise Daly.

“Isn't she your new client?” the first man asked, but with telling amusement in his tone.

“She's not a client. She's the sister of one of my best friends,” McCoy clarified calmly although he was annoyed that his associates insisted on putting their own spin on the situation.

“I don't have a best friend or even someone I hate that has relatives who look like her,” the first man said with a sly drawl.

McCoy put up with the teasing without comment as they entered the lobby, conscious of the admiring glances that Cherise drew so effortlessly. He knew that she loved the attention, playing up the part of the beautiful ingénue to the max, coming across in an appealing mixture of innocence and ambition. Cherise stepped forward.

“I wasn't expecting you,” McCoy opened.

“I need to talk to you,” she said quietly to him.

He could hear the anxiety in her voice.

“John, Ben. You remember Cherise Daly,” McCoy said.

Cherise smiled pleasantly and absently murmured a greeting to the two men.

“Come on up,” McCoy said to Cherise as the group entered an elevator. He looked at his watch. “I have a client to see in twenty minutes.”

Attempts at light conversation fell flat, and the rest of the elevator ride was conducted in awkward silence. Ben and John got off first, McCoy promising to call them later. After reaching his own floor McCoy escorted Cherise into his office. He didn't wait for her to speak first.

“Cherise, I'm at work. You can't continue to interrupt—”

“Mac, you have to do something. They want to give my part to another girl. It was already promised to me. I even had fittings in wardrobe. I'm so upset. It's not fair. Can you call the director for me? Please?”

McCoy took a deep breath as he listened. Cherise was clearly upset, as evidenced by her shimmering green eyes hovering on tears, the quivering voice managing to keep control over a wellspring of emotions, the slender graceful hands clasped nervously. He frowned at her thoughtfully.

She was good. She was
very,
very good.

“Okay, calm down. Why don't you tell me what happened?” he suggested solicitously, but did no more to comfort her.

She pulled a tissue from her purse and dabbed gently at an eye, careful not to ruin her makeup.

“I'm sorry. I should have called first, but this is an emergency.”

McCoy sat observing Cherise as she continued to complain about the conniving little bitch who was going to get the part that she'd auditioned for and been told she had. Her rant was not obnoxious, and she still managed to come across as totally sympathetic. But he couldn't help but suddenly compare Cherise's manipulations to the straightforward I-will-not-back-down approach of Savannah Shelton. The highway encounter was indelibly imprinted in his mind, as was the graceful and thoughtful way in which she'd accepted the envelopes of programs he'd given her about her father. Cherise's ability to command attention was undeniable and entertaining. But what he'd liked about Savannah was that she didn't care if she got his attention or not. That was not only intriguing, it presented a challenge.

When Cherise finished outlining her complaint she sat waiting with a silent plea for his help.

“Welcome to Hollywood,” he began simply. “You don't just waltz into town with great looks and talent, and it's a given that everything will go your way. I told you that from the beginning.”

“I know, but I already had the part.”