West of Sunset by O'Nan Stewart

Author:O'Nan, Stewart [O'Nan, Stewart]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Literary, Biographical, Historical, Fiction
ISBN: 9781101608395
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 2015-01-13T08:00:00+00:00

INFIDELITY

He hated coming home to an empty place, the still silence a reproof. The only mail was an overdue bill from the cleaners. He’d left the stove light on, and the milk in the fridge smelled. At least Bogie was back.

“I’m guessing your mother-in-law’s a southpaw,” he said, turning Scott’s chin to examine the damage.

Mayo said she could put some concealer on his eye, and though there was no hiding his fat lip, he sat for her like an actor in makeup.

Sheilah was disappointed in him, as he knew she’d be, wincing in sympathy as she touched his face. Was it going to be like this every time he went East? She spoke as if there must be an end to it, a hope he’d long ago dismissed, and which, coming from her, seemed unearned and unfair, leading to a brittle stalemate. He didn’t understand. In Alabama he’d daydreamed of seeing her; now his head ached. She had good news—her agent had arranged an audition for a syndicated radio show, a five minute spot each week—but the mood was ruined. He didn’t tell her his plans for Easter, and she didn’t invite him to stay the night. In a way he was glad.

To regain himself, he wrote. A storm front had blown ashore, blanketing the city, and the weather was perfect for it. Mornings he woke early and put in his hours at the kitchen table, the rain tapping the roof. For years they’d lived on his stories, but sometime during Zelda’s troubles he’d lost the knack for those tales of young love the Post favored. His last few had appeared in Collier’s, who paid half what the Post did, and Esquire, who paid even less. Ober might have set his sights lower, but Scott hadn’t. He still believed he was as good as anyone out there, and when he turned a paragraph he’d been struggling with, he nodded with the satisfaction of a craftsman, lit another Raleigh and forged on.

At the studio he hid from Eddie till his lip healed, having lunch sent in and working late, trading last-ditch revisions with Paramore, who’d taken the opportunity while Scott was gone to rewrite the entire script. Every couple of hours new memos came down from upstairs. Couldn’t Margaret Sullavan be in a wheelchair rather than a bed so the scene would have more action? Did the car have to be a Daimler? Why not a Ford? Next week they started shooting on Stage 11. The sets were already waiting.

“I don’t know why you’re wasting your time,” Dottie said. “Mank’s just going to change it anyway.”

“I’d rather have him change my lines than that bastard’s.”

Alan tossed her a goggle-eyed double take. “You can’t argue with that kind of logic.”

“The Nazis are still the bad guys,” she checked, and Scott remembered Ernest’s warning.

“That’s the one thing we agree on.”

“Then you’ve done everything you can. Time to push it out of the nest.”

“And lay another egg,” Scott said.

“You’ve done this before,” Alan said.

Turning in the script was anticlimactic.

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