| Subject: Chapter 250 - Part 2 (end of chapter 250) |
Author:
KatherineG.
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Date Posted: Wednesday, July 26, 07:07:49am
In reply to:
KatherineG.
's message, "Dreams in the Dark" on Monday, May 01, 06:55:47am
She had been trying to repress the memory, trying to just enjoy this quiet day off--whatever her actual celebration of the holiday, it was that, at least--but thoughts of the recent premiere made such contentment impossible. Just a few nights ago, she had seen the body of a murdered woman used as theater; the shudder set in. And that recollection alone was unlikely to help her feel any too settled about the future.
She was doing her best not to shiver, not to give poor Peter yet more reason to worry over her--but it seemed impossible. While she had been shocked and horrified by the poor woman's murder, knew that it hadn't been intended as a particular message to her, there was no way to continue on blithely, oblivious to all possible harm. The studio had made it clear more than once that they were willing to sacrifice those who were considered unprofitable; she made a fist against the armrest of the chair, willing back the shiver which threatened to crawl up her spine. And the sacrifices it made were not always metaphorical.
No. She couldn't bear to think about this now, would make her thoughts all too obvious, if she did. She wasn't even certain how she had made it through that night, the evening a blur of horror and comforting hands, either her brother's or Mr. Shears'--whenever Peter had had to be away for a moment. If she examined it all too much, she would not only show those around her her fears, she would make Peter worry again; her spine stiffened, pleasant look forced--determined otherwise. She just wasn't willing to ruin his day with worries over her now.
It was partly due to this determination that she was focusing in so many different places, her logical questions used as a distraction. But her life got little better, as she moved back to them--her earlier analyses only making the guilt sink in. She had been at Terry's--and all her friends'--home earlier, had had another chance to talk with the woman, whom she had liked for sometime. And, during these moments together, to her surprise, the ex-actress had taken her under her wing--equal parts support and warning. Sasha appreciated it, felt so comfortable, when around her. It wasn't like the relationship she had with Angie--the Wardrobe assistant a nearly maternal influence on her. With Terry, she could ask almost anything and know that it would be answered without blushing or embarrassment. And her deep affection for her brother's lover made her want to go out of her way to keep from discomforting her now.
She watched the pair, as her thoughts went on, remembering back to earlier in the day. It had been then that she had discussed with Terry her next project--the one she was *very* uncertain about. But she supposed that she had known it would come. Premier was anything except original.
Her next project was derivative, then, but so was her studio--her time in Hollywood teaching her a whole new meaning for the word "formula." Every other studio in town seemed to have made their Southern belle movie already; what with the success of first Warner's *Jezebel* and, lately, the unprecedented--and, from what she could tell, absolutely unexpected--blockbuster which had been *Gone With the Wind*, it wasn't really surprising. Premier had apparently made at least one of these movies already, but not in the way they soon would. But she wasn't really certain where any of this new filming in color would get them--the project slated to be finished and released as soon as possible; she had to sigh. It would only make it a bit easier, if they actually had a working script.
All this Technicolor furor seemed to be a huge and laborious process, from what she could tell, but the success of both Selznick's melodrama and Metro's *The Wizard of Oz* seemed to have made it necessary for other studios to try it. Apparently, it cost a huge amount of money, the town still just playing with the process; the sigh returned. And she would now be part of its first attempt.
It wasn't simply the cost and effort which made this next project daunting, however--even the Southern accent probably an impossibility, not that anyone seemed to care whether you got it right; Vivien Leigh had clearly never met a Southerner in her life and had gotten away with it alright. No. What was worrying her, even making her stomach churn slightly, was the whole issue no one was really talking about. But that was one she had only been able to discuss with Terry today.
She was glad that she had gotten this opportunity, not really knowing who else to turn to; she did hope the woman didn't mind. Their discussion had certainly taught her a lot about the South which she hadn't known before--and even more which she had suspected. But the fact that Hollywood was going to get everything wrong again was apparently a reality that no one minded at all.
She was a little sickened by this, by all the racial questions which no one seemed to bother to ask--but she supposed it wasn't the first time. Just as with her religion, there were certain "truths" you were simply supposed to accept. The fact that none of them had anything to do with reality seemed to be utterly beside the point.
It was this next project where she put her thoughts, and her fears, then, not really knowing how to approach it. She would even, apparently, be paired up with Gray again--who always made her skin crawl. She looked at the man beside her, the one who--because he had had nowhere else to go--had ended up with them; it was probably the explanation for the group's lingering silences, broken only by attempts at conversation by Angie--the man's newness throwing all of them off. At least the actress wasn't going to be paired with Mr. Shears; she managed a smile for him. He was causing entirely too many, unusual reactions within her to make her comfortable with that idea now.
It was this last thought, more than any other, that her brother picked up on--his gaze narrowing at the surprised, somewhat embarrassed, look the pair suddenly shared; it was only the squeeze of his lover's hand which brought him, somewhat, back. Ever since the two had met, there had been some sort of strange spark between them--one he didn't trust; he was glowering, despite himself. But Shears was far too worldly a man--in whatever sense that might be taken; Peter's head shook, the determination long since forged--even more intense now. Oh, no. Not while he was here. He had kept her safe for 17 years; his eyes glinted. No man was going to get away with seducing his sister now.
Extra note: I'm not at all certain if anyone much knew about the fact that Hitler's father was Jewish, during this time--or about all the self-evident psychopathologies which arose from his hatred of the man. I'm just making the assumption that this detail might have existed somewhere in the rumor mill of the Jewish community in the U.S. Sorry if I'm mistaken.
[End of Part 250]
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