Merian C. Cooper's King Kong (5 page)

Driscoll's solemn face creased into a sudden grin. “I like the way your eyes flash. No, I suppose you can come out now and then. Say, are you sure that sock in the jaw didn't hurt you?”

“I can stand it. Lately I've had a lot of socks in the jaw.” Ann heard the bitterness in her voice and bit her lip. She hadn't meant to complain.

Driscoll's gaze softened. “Lot of people have been through a run of hard luck lately,” he said. “Okay, we'll have to do something about that. As far as I'm concerned, you can come on deck any time you please.”

Something brushed at Ann's left arm. It was Ignatz, still crouched on the rail. Ann extended her hand, and to her surprise, the monkey scrambled up onto her shoulder. The animal sat with one arm around Ann's neck, grumbling at Driscoll, who shook his head. “Well, you've got somebody to guard you, anyhow,” he said.

“What are you doing on deck?” The voice of Carl Denham came from behind them, and Ann turned. Denham had just stepped out of the same companionway she had come through. “Ann, I thought I ordered you to sleep the clock around.”

Ann laughed. “I couldn't. I'm too excited to sleep.”

Denham smiled. “Well, I see you've met a couple of the crew. One of these mugs is first mate, and I don't think it's the one on your shoulder.”

“We met last night,” Driscoll reminded Denham.

Ignatz was busy stroking and grooming Ann's hair.

“Hope they've been treating you right,” Denham said.

Ann squirmed under Ignatz's attention. “Well, the first mate was a little rough, but so far Ignatz has been friendly.”

Denham laughed, cocking his head as he watched the monkey comb through Ann's golden hair with its clever fingers. “Beauty and the Beast,” he murmured.

“Hey,” Driscoll said. “I never claimed to be handsome.”

“Not you!” Denham replied with a bark of laughter. “I meant Ignatz. Look how calm he is. He doesn't take well to strangers, and I've never seen him let anybody but Lumpy pick him up.”

“He sure seems to like her hair,” Driscoll agreed.

“Beauty and the Beast,” Denham said again. “Not a bad title, maybe. Good sign, anyway.”

“Of what?” Driscoll asked.

Denham smiled. “You'll find out in time, Jack. Ann, since you're up, I'd like to make some screen tests of you as soon as the day warms up a little. Captain Englehorn's in the main cabin, all the way aft. Go see him and tell him I want him to show you where the costumes are stowed. They should fit you well enough, and we've got time for alterations if they don't, but pick one that pleases you and get into it. Think you know what kind of makeup is best for this kind of light, outdoor shots?”

“I think I can do it,” Ann said, trying to hide her nervousness.

“Makeup kits are stowed with the costumes. Be sure to line your eyes a little more than you would for street makeup, but don't lay it on so heavy it's like a clown's getup. Go ahead, and I'll get the camera set up.”

Ann set Ignatz down, and the monkey immediately made a beeline for a forward companionway. He scrambled up, opened the latch, and vanished, going the same way old Lumpy had gone.

Ann headed back, but as she got out of sight of Denham and Driscoll, she paused. She had heard Driscoll's sharp question: “Do you think she belongs here?”

“What's the matter with her?” Denham asked.

“Nothing. She seems like a fine girl, not the kind you'd find on a trip like this.”

“She is a fine girl, Jack. I'd swear to it.”

“But I wonder if any girl should be on board, heading for wherever you're taking us.”

Ann heard Denham chuckle. “Let me worry about the danger, Jack. Right now you can help me set up my camera.”

Before they could step around the corner, Ann ducked through the companionway. At the end of the corridor, she knocked softly at the main cabin door, and Captain Englehorn opened it. His lined face broke into a welcoming smile, and he readily agreed to show Ann where the costumes and makeup were kept.

Denham had been right about the size. Ann wondered if he'd picked her out because she looked as if she would fit the costumes. One of them struck her, and she tried it on. It was primitive in a way, made of iridescent silken strips interwoven with some kind of rustling dried grass, surprisingly soft to the touch. It wouldn't be the most comfortable thing to wear, because it left her arms and legs bare, ivory white in contrast to the brown of the grass and the blue and green of the silk, but Ann thought she could bear the cool of the morning. The sun, after all, was warm on the deck.

Remembering her stints as an extra, she applied a foundation, and then accented her lips, brows, and eyes. She examined the result in a mirror, decided that if it wasn't right, Denham would tell her how to fix it, and then returned to the deck.

Denham, Driscoll, and Englehorn had just finished setting up the camera. “Here she is,” Denham said. “Not too cold for that outfit, is it?”

“I can stand it for a few minutes,” Ann said. The sun was bright, but the air still held the chill of winter.

“Costume looks good on her, doesn't it?” Denham said to Driscoll.

“Makes her look like some kind of island bride,” Driscoll returned.

Denham looked peculiarly pleased. “Sure enough? You really think so?”

Driscoll nodded. “I've seen island weddings, though. She doesn't look like the bride of any ordinary man. Of any man who ever lived. More like a bride of—I don't know.”

“It's the Beauty and the Beast costume,” Denham said.

Ann was shivering. “It's the prettiest one of the lot,” she said. “But not the warmest.”

“Right!” Denham said. “Let's get the test reel shot so you can get back into something more suited for the weather. Okay, Ann, I just want you to stand over there, near the rail.”

Ann took her place, but confessed, “I'm nervous, Mr. Denham. Suppose I don't photograph well enough to suit you?”

Denham was peering through the camera eyepiece. “No chance of that, sister. If I hadn't been sure, you wouldn't be aboard. All we have to worry about is finding the best angles to shoot you from. By the way, don't call me ‘Mr. Denham.' Makes me feel like my own grandfather. Call me ‘Carl.' That's good, but back half a step … right there.”

With a hopeful smile, Ann moved in obedience to the director's gesturing hand. From behind Denham, Driscoll grinned at her and silently mimed applause, telling her that she had nothing to worry about—at least in his opinion. Half a dozen sailors, including Lumpy, with Ignatz perched on his shoulder, wandered over and stood at a little distance, watching the procedures. Ignatz hooted softly once or twice. Captain Englehorn himself stood behind them, his drooping mustache lifting briefly as he smiled at Ann. As Denham fussed with his camera, more and more seamen wandered up on deck, until Ann had an audience of more than a dozen.

“Profile shots,” Denham ordered. “Let's get the right profile first. Stay where you are, Ann, but face aft. Little more. Hold it! All right, this is just silent stock, so don't worry about saying anything. When I say ‘Action,' I want you to look ahead thoughtfully, sort of daydreaming, for a count of fifteen. Then you're going to notice someone coming toward you. Turn, face the camera, and look at me as if I'm someone you recognize. Look surprised—you didn't expect me, but you're happy to see me. Smile. Then you're listening to me talk, all right? Then a nice, friendly laugh. Got that?”

“I think so.”

“Good. Ready, then. Camera … and action!”

Ann obeyed. It was easier than she had thought, not any different from what she had done at the Fort Lee studio. As far as she could tell, Denham was pleased. He kept muttering, “Good, good.”

From behind him, from the loose gaggle of the crewmen, Ann heard other comments: “Don't make much sense to me.”

Another sailor agreed: “Yeah, but ain't she a swell looker?”

Denham stopped the camera and beamed at Ann. “That was fine! Okay, relax for a minute. I'm going to try a filter.”

Ann hugged herself and rubbed her arms to chase away the goose bumps. “Do you always do the photography yourself?”

Denham didn't look up as he expertly changed lenses. “Have been doing my own shooting ever since my second African picture. We were getting a grand shot of a charging rhino when my cameraman got scared and bolted. Ruined the shot. The fathead! I was right behind him with a rifle, but he didn't trust me to get the rhino before it got him. Anyway, I've never fooled with cameramen since then. Just do it myself. Ready. All right, Ann, stand over there. Little farther. Good, right there. Hold it a second while I focus.”

Ann faced the camera, holding still. Behind Denham, she saw Driscoll and Englehorn talking to each other, in voices too low for her to hear, but she saw Driscoll's worried expression and saw how he stabbed a finger toward her twice. Englehorn, looking like a calm old grandfather, patiently replied to whatever the first mate was saying.

Denham said, “Ready. All right, when I start the camera, I'm going to give you a series of directions. Just follow them as best you can, and don't move from that spot. To begin with, I want you to be looking around. You're in a strange place, but it's interesting. You're just taking everything in, you're very calm, you don't expect to see anything. Then just follow my directions. Got that?”

“Yes, Mr.—Carl,” Ann replied.

“Camera. Action. Good.” Denham's voice tightened, his posture grew tense. “Look around. Strange landscape, but beautiful. Look up. You're calm, you're entranced by the beauty of it all. But there's something in the trees, high above your head—you can't make it out, you can't see it clearly yet, it's dark, it's strange. Look up, higher. Higher. There! Now you see it! You're amazed! You can't believe your senses! Your eyes open wider in shock! It's horrible, but you can't look away! You're fascinated! You can't move—you feel helpless! What is it? It's coming for you, Ann, and you can't get away! You're helpless, no escape! But you can try to scream, it's your one hope, but you can't, you're too terrified! Your throat is paralyzed! Try to scream, Ann! If you don't see it, maybe you can scream! Hide your eyes! Throw your arm across your eyes and scream, Ann! Scream for your life!”

Ann threw her arm over her face and physically shrank away from the imagined danger. And she screamed, her wild, high cry swept up on the soft wind. It was a wrenching scream of pure terror. Ann's heart pounded furiously, and she realized that Denham's direction had done its job. She wasn't simulating fear, but feeling it, so terror-stricken that the crew took a step toward her, and Ignatz shrieked in sympathy.

“And cut!” bellowed Denham. He jumped forward and grabbed Ann's bare arms. “Great, kid, great! Sister, you've got what it takes!” Then he shook his head ruefully. “But your arms are ice cold, Ann. That's a wrap for now. Get belowdecks and change into something more comfortable and warm.”

Ann nodded, shivering as much from her own acting as from the cold. Behind Denham, Driscoll suddenly loomed, his face troubled. He tapped Denham's shoulder and said, “Denham, I want to talk to you about what you're planning for Ann. I want to know just what you're getting her into.”

“Why, Jack,” Denham said, letting go of Ann's arms and turning toward the first mate, “you know you can trust me. Isn't that right, Captain?”

Ann saw Englehorn's eyes flick toward her for a moment. Then the captain said flatly, “I guess so, Mr. Denham. I guess we have to trust you.”

Ann left the three of them as she went toward the companionway. Just before returning to her cabin, she turned and looked back. The captain, the first mate, and the director were huddled together in what looked like a tense but subdued argument. She shivered again, wondering what waited at the end of the voyage, and then gratefully closed the door behind her.

4

THE PACIFIC AND INDIAN OCEANS
DECEMBER 15, 1932–MARCH 9, 1933

The
Wanderer
's blunt, barnacled nose split the warm, oil-smooth water with a matter-of-fact precision. The old ship had made good time on her passage south, and then through the Panama Canal. The weather had changed from the chill of winter to tropical heat, and the
Wanderer
had taken it all in stride, cleaving the foamy crests of waves and leaving a straight, true wake behind her, pounding along to the steady throb of her engines at fourteen knots, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Through it all, Denham was forever on deck, shooting footage of Ann, or else sitting with a sketch pad and pencil—he was an accomplished artist, and the pictures he drew envisioned Ann in a variety of forest and mountain settings, making her look exotic, strangely alluring.

Jack Driscoll had started the trip worried, and his concern increased with every sea mile the ship put behind her. On a sultry Wednesday morning, he met in the cabin with Captain Englehorn and Carl Denham. The agenda for the day was plotting the
Wanderer
's course—up to a point. “Hawaii, and we resupply and take on more freshwater at Pearl Harbor,” Denham was saying. “Then on to Japan, where we'll pick up more coal. Then south by southwest, past the Philippines and Borneo and Sumatra. Then I'll give you the final coordinates.”

Englehorn nodded, puffing contentedly on his pipe. “Shore leave?”

“We'll be in port in Pearl Harbor for forty-eight hours, so the men can have a day or so ashore,” Denham agreed. “Then in Japan it'll take a little longer. Seventy-two hours is what I'm planning. I want all men back aboard six hours before we're due to weigh anchor in both ports, though.”

“I'll take care of it,” Driscoll said. Then he gave Denham an irritated glance. “I've come close to asking this a dozen times, Denham, and I'm not going to hold it in any longer. You've got me going with all this mystery. What are you getting us into? What are you getting Ann into?”