Dazzle The Complete Unabridged Trilogy (64 page)

'I really appreciate the ride, Mrs. Dern,' Tamara said grate
fully.

'Don't mention it.' Pearl Dern flicked a sideways glance and
flashed a little smile. 'And what's all this "Mrs. Dern" shit
anyway? You're eighteen and not a kid. You're a woman. If
we're going to be friends I think it's high time you called me
Pearl, don't you?'

'Pearl, then,' Tamara said.

'That's better. Now, about your screen test.' Pearl leaned
forward over the wheel, driving with care. She was a tall, countrified-looking woman. Her features were sharp, her
complexion tanned, and her short-cropped hair was bleached
light brown. Her eyes were the colour of faded denim, with
crow's feet at the corners, and her body was severely mannish,
all jutting angles and gangly hard edges which she made no
effort to soften and feminize. Her chest was flat as a man's, and
her man-tailored jacket and long skirt were of heavy Scottish
tweed. 'I'm going to do your makeup, like we planned.
Wouldn't trust anybody else to do it, not in this case.' She smiled conspiratorially. 'Especially seeing as how we have
to
please the high-and-mighty Louis Ziolko. Have you ever
worked with the prick before?'

'I've never set foot inside IA. I've only played extra at
MGM, Paramount, and Warner's.'

'So much the better,' Pearl said. 'That bastard likes to dis
cover his own stars. He doesn't like to think he's overlooked
anybody, especially if the person in question was right under his nose. He prides himself on sniffing out new talent without anybody else's help. Know what I mean?' She paused. 'You
memorized the lines?' Her searching glance lingered on
Tamara's perfect profile.

Tamara nodded. 'Inge went over them with me all week
long. I've got them down pat.'

Pearl nodded. 'I read the script. It's good. Very good. There
isn't an actress in this town who wouldn't give her eyeteeth— and a lot more—for that role. Rumour has it that Constance
Bennett and even Garbo are begging to be loaned out to IA
for it. Not a one of them gives a damn that
The Flappers
is the
most glamorous film to come along in ages. It's
the
part
they're
after. They say there hasn't been a role with that much juice
in it for years.'

Tamara looked at her challengingly. 'Then what do you
think my chances are?' she asked. 'With stars like Bennett and
Garbo after the part.'

Pearl laughed her throaty laugh and patted Tamara on the
knee. 'Don't worry. You'll be
the
flapper. By the time I get done with you, hell, even Inge wouldn't be able to recognize
you. Besides, they say that Oscar Skolnik—the shit who owns
the studio—wants to cast an unknown, so that's a point in your
favour. I think Ziolko will insist on casting you—
if
you
come across on the screen like you did the other night when you
read the part for me.' She paused. 'This is your big chance,
kid, so give it all you've got, and then some.'

'I won't disappoint you,' Tamara said confidently. 'I know
you've gone out on a limb for me on this. I mean, I wouldn't
want you to get into any trouble—'

'Trouble? Horseshit!' Pearl rested a hand on Tamara's thigh. 'Listen, kid, somebody owed me a favour,' she said,
patting the young woman's leg, 'and I called it in. That's the
way this business works. You scratch my back, I scratch
yours.'

Tamara flushed and then put on her best smile. 'But . . .
how can I ever return the favour? I mean, what could I possibly
do for you?'

Almost reluctantly Pearl removed her lingering hand.
'Don't worry that beautiful head about it now, kid,' she said
cryptically, meeting Tamara's eyes. 'We'll think of something
when the time comes. Okay?'

Tamara nodded slowly. Then Pearl was facing forward
again, her denim eyes on the road. For some peculiar reason,
Pearl reminded her of a shark circling its prey.

But she was too excited to give Pearl much thought. Her mind was filled with one thing, and one thing only—
The
Flappers.

Everybody in the business knew about
The Flappers.
It was
a lively story about three fun-loving chorus girls who work in
a Chicago dance hall. Leila, the main character, is wooed by
a tough Irish cop but falls in love with his nemesis, a notorious
gangster, and soon becomes his moll. The lighthearted party
ing turns to deadly seriousness when Leila witnesses her gangster lover and his cronies committing murder. The policeman,
who still loves her, finds it his duty to turn her into an informer.
In the final shoot-out between the gangsters and the police,
Leila must choose which of the two men should live. Snatching
a revolver, she shoots the gangster, only to be shot by one of the policemen. She dies in her policeman-lover's arms.

It had all the ingredients of a mediocre action picture and
could easily have become a run-of-the-mill, good-guys/bad-
guys, woman-caught-in-the-middle kind of picture, except for
one thing. Its intelligent script had been authored by a first-
rate novelist. It featured crackling dialogue, deft characteriz
ation, marvellous dance sequences, and moments of hilarity
which offset the heavy plot. The role of Leila, a character who
metamorphoses from good girl to bad and back to good, called
for a beautiful, spirited young woman who could give a virtu
oso performance.

Now Tamara had her chance to be Leila.

As she and Pearl drove along, they passed the dream factor
ies of Paramount, MGM, and Universal, sprawling on the
gigantic lots, masses of huge industrial-looking complexes
which did not at all resemble the sort of places in which most people imagined the movie wizards conjured up their magic.
Behind their walls lay acres of mundane factory buildings and
immense soundstages, but their glamourless appearance did
nothing to subdue their attraction.

Tamara pulled back her sleeve and glanced at her watch. In
the sparse early-morning traffic they were making good time.
It seemed no time at all before they reached the famous IA
lot. Pearl turned right and coasted to a halt at the security
booth centred on its little island of concrete.

Tamara leaned down and glanced up at the rainbow arch curving from one massive pillar to the other, forty feet above
her. Even in the rain, the rainbow-coloured legend was daz
zling. Full of promise. While Pearl rolled down her window, Tamara read and reread the mesmerizing sign.

INTERNATIONAL ARTISTS

Home of the Stars

And just to the right was a huge billboard. Slowly she
mouthed the five-foot-high rain-swept letters:

OSCAR SKOLNIK PRESENTS

MARIE DRESSLER

in

Suspicions

An International Artists Picture

Her heart began to hammer fiercely. This was the dream factory. Here visions became reality, printed on celluloid for
posterity. With luck, here her own dreams could be nurtured,
could come to life.

'Morning, Sam,' Pearl called out.

'Mornin', Mrs. Dern,' the old green-uniformed security
guard replied in greeting. 'It's supposed to rain for two more
days.'

Pearl growled in exasperation. 'How about sharing some
good news for a change, Sam?'

'Nothin' I can do about the weather.' Sam leaned into the
open window and looked questioningly at Tamara.

'This is Tamara Boralevi,' Pearl explained. 'She's got a test
scheduled on Stage Six.'

Sam consulted his plastic-sheathed clipboard. 'She's as good as marked off, Mrs. Dern. And good luck, Miss Boralevi.' Sam
smiled and saluted; Pearl stepped on the gas and the Plymouth
surged foward under the imposing rainbow.

Chapter 2

'Oh, my God!' Tamara's voice was a strangled gasp as she turned to face her visage in the lightbulb-lined mirror. She
drew back in disbelief, her eyes echoing shock, finding it diffi
cult to believe that the face which stared back at her could be
her own.

Slowly, under Pearl's inscrutably hooded, ever-watchful
eyes, Tamara leaned closer into the reflection. Then, ever so gently, she lightly touched her face with her fingertips.

'Careful,' Pearl warned.

Tamara nodded, careful not to mar the expert job Pearl had
done, but she
had
to touch herself just to prove it was she.
The skin felt strange and mud-caked to her elegantly tapered
fingers, but yes, her very own flesh did indeed meet her very
own flesh. Was such diabolical alchemy possible?

'What do you think?' Pearl, standing off to the side, arms
folded across her flat breasts, asked in a matter-of-fact voice.

Tamara shook her head in continuing disbelief. She knew
now why Pearl was said to be the most respected makeup artist
in the business.

Slowly she turned from the mirror and faced Pearl. 'It's . . . its truly
me!'
she whispered, gesturing dramatically with her
beautifully manicured hands.

Pearl looked at her steadily. 'It is,' she said, shrugging her
shoulders with that mannish manner of hers.

'You've . . . you've worked magic!'

'It's what I do, part and parcel of the job,' Pearl grunted
simply. 'Besides, kid, you're easy. And lucky. You've got the
bone structure and everything that goes with it. All I've done
is play with it.'

'But it's more than that!' Tamara insisted softly. 'It has to
be!'