Read Online Ball of Fire by Stefan Kanfer - Free Book Online
Authors: Stefan Kanfer
Tags: Fiction
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Lucille ascended the stairs and presented herself to Mulvey. He looked her over. Tall. Thin legs, and not much frontage; uncapped teeth but maybe she could keep her mouth shut when she smiled. A lively face with sharp blue eyes. She photographed pretty in still pictures, like all models. But what about movies? And could she act? He would have to take a long shot. If it didn’t work out, the chief would have a fit. Mulvey rummaged through his desk for a contract.
That was on a Wednesday. On Saturday Lucille Ball departed for Hollywood on the Super Chief, MGM’s legal document in hand, already wrinkled and creased from close readings by everyone in the family. It guaranteed the newest Goldwyn Girl $125 a week for six weeks, plus free transportation. She left with the blessings of Grandpa, DeDe, and Freddy, and Carnegie, Jackson, and Roth. After all, the whole thing would take only a month and a half. She used the same phrase to reassure each of them. The granddaughter, the daughter, the sister, the model would be “back in New York before the maple leaves flamed in Central Park.” They had her word on it.
CHAPTER THREE
“Jesus, what energy!”
AT THE TRAIN station Lucille was picked up by studio limousine and chauffeured from Pasadena to Hollywood, in 1933 a relatively small town with groves of orange and olive trees, flocks of birds, and unsaturated air. The United Artists studio, distributor of Samuel Goldwyn productions, found her a one-room apartment on Formosa Street. It had a Murphy bed, a kitchen, and an ideal location—about three blocks from the film studio. She could save money by cooking at home, and she could save even more by walking to work. This was going to be a profitable sojourn.
Lucille had barely checked into the apartment when she received a notice to report for work. At the studio the next morning, she and her fellow chorines were issued skimpy jersey bathing suits and told to line up. As the others primped and prepared, Lucille extracted a piece of red crepe paper from her purse. She had been carrying the fragment around, waiting for an opportunity to use it for maximum comic effect. This was her chance. As Eddie Cantor began his inspection she tore the paper into small dots and applied them to her face, Dorothy Gish–style. The other girls filled out their bathing suits more voluptuously (at five-foot-nine Lucille weighed 111 pounds), and some of them had theatrical experience, but not one of them elicited the reaction she did. Cantor walked down the line, casually giving each new Goldwyn Girl the once-over until he came to Lucille. When he confronted the bogus case of measles he tried to keep a straight face. It was no good. The comedian’s famous exophthalmic eyes bulged and he dissolved in laughter. Cantor asked Lucille to identify herself, then proceeded down the line chuckling about “that Ball dame—she’s a riot.” For the first time since Lucille boarded the Super Chief, she lightened up. Working for Eddie was going to be a lot easier than modeling for Hattie.
As Mick LaSalle points out in Complicated Women, a history of Hollywood before the censors moved in, “Pre-Code musicals were often daring. One reason is that, just by their nature, musicals featured lots of young chorus girls. But perhaps more important is that audiences were more ready to relax their standards when music was playing. . . . Pre-Code musicals tell audiences how great it is to be young.”
Roman
Scandals
was just such a production, with all the vital ingredients on hand: a comic star, comely chorines, a few melodies, and a happy ending to take the public mind away from the Depression for an hour and a half. Producer Sam Goldwyn intended his picture to be the biggest musical of 1933, and United Artists did not stint on production values or talent. At forty-one, Eddie Cantor had gone from headliner in the
Ziegfeld Follies
to Hollywood star, as big a draw as Will Rogers, Clark Gable, or Jean Harlow. Eddie’s
That was on a Wednesday. On Saturday Lucille Ball departed for Hollywood on the Super Chief, MGM’s legal document in hand, already wrinkled and creased from close readings by everyone in the family. It guaranteed the newest Goldwyn Girl $125 a week for six weeks, plus free transportation. She left with the blessings of Grandpa, DeDe, and Freddy, and Carnegie, Jackson, and Roth. After all, the whole thing would take only a month and a half. She used the same phrase to reassure each of them. The granddaughter, the daughter, the sister, the model would be “back in New York before the maple leaves flamed in Central Park.” They had her word on it.
CHAPTER THREE
“Jesus, what energy!”
AT THE TRAIN station Lucille was picked up by studio limousine and chauffeured from Pasadena to Hollywood, in 1933 a relatively small town with groves of orange and olive trees, flocks of birds, and unsaturated air. The United Artists studio, distributor of Samuel Goldwyn productions, found her a one-room apartment on Formosa Street. It had a Murphy bed, a kitchen, and an ideal location—about three blocks from the film studio. She could save money by cooking at home, and she could save even more by walking to work. This was going to be a profitable sojourn.
Lucille had barely checked into the apartment when she received a notice to report for work. At the studio the next morning, she and her fellow chorines were issued skimpy jersey bathing suits and told to line up. As the others primped and prepared, Lucille extracted a piece of red crepe paper from her purse. She had been carrying the fragment around, waiting for an opportunity to use it for maximum comic effect. This was her chance. As Eddie Cantor began his inspection she tore the paper into small dots and applied them to her face, Dorothy Gish–style. The other girls filled out their bathing suits more voluptuously (at five-foot-nine Lucille weighed 111 pounds), and some of them had theatrical experience, but not one of them elicited the reaction she did. Cantor walked down the line, casually giving each new Goldwyn Girl the once-over until he came to Lucille. When he confronted the bogus case of measles he tried to keep a straight face. It was no good. The comedian’s famous exophthalmic eyes bulged and he dissolved in laughter. Cantor asked Lucille to identify herself, then proceeded down the line chuckling about “that Ball dame—she’s a riot.” For the first time since Lucille boarded the Super Chief, she lightened up. Working for Eddie was going to be a lot easier than modeling for Hattie.
As Mick LaSalle points out in Complicated Women, a history of Hollywood before the censors moved in, “Pre-Code musicals were often daring. One reason is that, just by their nature, musicals featured lots of young chorus girls. But perhaps more important is that audiences were more ready to relax their standards when music was playing. . . . Pre-Code musicals tell audiences how great it is to be young.”
Roman
Scandals
was just such a production, with all the vital ingredients on hand: a comic star, comely chorines, a few melodies, and a happy ending to take the public mind away from the Depression for an hour and a half. Producer Sam Goldwyn intended his picture to be the biggest musical of 1933, and United Artists did not stint on production values or talent. At forty-one, Eddie Cantor had gone from headliner in the
Ziegfeld Follies
to Hollywood star, as big a draw as Will Rogers, Clark Gable, or Jean Harlow. Eddie’s
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