Masterson by Richard S. Wheeler

Author:Richard S. Wheeler
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: western fiction, dodge city
Publisher: Richard S. Wheeler

CHAPTER 24

William S. Hart showed up at our hotel in a sporty Pierce Arrow roadster, lemon yellow, with nickel plate trim and plush leather seats. He wore a dark worsted suit and paisley cravat, transforming himself from the screen cowboy to an urbane man of the world.

He whisked us back to Hollywood and drew up to the Blue Lagoon, on Sunset Boulevard, which I judged to be the center of gravity for the motion picture business. I thought perhaps he would have a lady with him but he came alone, which I took to be a sign that he wanted to do some serious talking. Too bad. I would have preferred to see an actress on his arm.

Our entrance was an improvement on Moses parting the Red Sea, and we were swiftly settled in a corner banquette and surrounded by half of the servant class in that town. They produced icy martinis all around and I had no complaints. For a few more weeks Los Angeles would be wet. Next January that would end forever. I suspected that these movie people had stashed a few thousand barrels of booze in private vaults and were prepared for the worst.

Well-wishers gave us three sips of privacy before descending on him, mostly to spread a little flattery or make themselves known to his imperial eye.

He handled all of that graciously. The more I experienced this formidable man, the more impressed I was. He seemed to be royalty but it affected him not at all. The Blue Lagoon was the site of coronations, and, I suspected, of regicides as well. I recognized a dozen faces in surrounding booths. Even Emma, showgirl that she was, stared raptly at Theda Bara, Douglas Fairbanks and his wife, Charlie Chaplin, and one of the Gish girls, I couldn’t tell which.

“There’s a young man I want you to meet later, Bat,” Hart said. “Brilliant. Name’s John Ford, and he’s made a western film that’s going to set the style in the future. If you haven’t seen Straight Shooting, have a look at it. That man will be king of the westerns some day.”

I stared at a young, lumpy, and unprepossessing gent in the far corner, surrounded by female acolytes. I thought I could get used to this town swiftly if I could roll back twenty years. Emma had been reading my thoughts and smiled wryly.

Two chilled dry martinis put us in the frame of mind we were waiting for.

“I’m pleased you came West, Bat,” Hart said.

“I’m looking for something that lies just beyond my reach,” I said. “Maybe you can help me.”

Hart nodded.

“Why do you make films about the West?”

“Money, and personal inclination.”

“Why do movie viewers like westerns?”

“They don’t have to think. It’s pure motion.”

“Okay, maybe you can’t answer these, but I’m trying to figure them out. Why am I sometimes celebrated, sometimes hated? Why do some people rejoice in the mankiller Masterson? Why have they made a killer out of me? Why do I walk into a place

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