Page 5 of The Gathering Storm

She was back too soon, and empty-handed. ‘You got a visitor. Mr Rosecrantz. I told him it’s too early, but he says it’s important.’

‘Bring him out here,’ Lennie said. If he had to forgo his breakfast, at least he could still have the fresh air. ‘And bring coffee, will you?’

He guessed it must be something serious if he had come in person instead of telephoning. Michael Rosecrantz was the agent of Lennie’s cousin and sometime protégée, Rose Morland, the young movie actress. As a large shareholder in ABO Studios, Lennie had been in a position to promote and oversee her early career, but as her success grew, he’d advised her to get a proper agent. At that point he had taken a step back; but Rosecrantz notwithstanding, he had been unable to stop feeling responsible for her.

Then a year ago, in March 1935, she had got married, with a great deal of celebrity ballyhoo, to her co-star in The Falcon and the Rose, Dean Cornwell. Since then, Lennie had rather taken his eye off her. Between a husband and an agent, to say nothing of a dresser, a secretary, a publicist and a tame lawyer, Rose had plenty of people to take care of her, and he’d felt it was time to let go. Then Beth had died, and he had turned in on himself, with no interest in the outside world. He had not so much as glanced at a Motion Picture or Modern Screen magazine in months, so he had no idea what Rose had been up to lately.

Rosecrantz, tall and angular, lean-faced with thick dark hair and a fashionable sun-bronze, came striding out onto the terrace, passing Wilma in the doorway, to take Lennie’s hand in a firm, professional grip. He scanned Lennie’s face with quick, keen eyes. ‘You know why I’m here?’

‘Haven’t a clue,’ Lennie said. ‘I’m guessing it’s something to do with Rose.’

‘You haven’t heard, then? I thought at least Estelle might have called you.’

‘I haven’t spoken to Estelle in a year,’ Lennie said. Estelle Cable was Rose’s publicist. ‘What’s all this about?’

‘Rose was arrested yesterday for public intoxication, coming out of the Parrot Club on Wilshire Boulevard.’

‘Arrested?’ In California, being drunk in public was at worst a misdemeanour, and the police only intervened in extreme cases, when a nuisance was being caused.

‘It wasn’t just cocktails,’ Rosecrantz said impatiently, ‘There was cocaine, and who knows what else? She and her companions had been kicking up a row and making themselves unpopular, and when they finally got thrown out, she collapsed unconscious on the sidewalk. Her “good friends” abandoned her as soon as they sniffed trouble, and since the doorman couldn’t rouse her, the manager, who’d already called the cops, rang for an ambulance. She was taken to Wilshire Park Hospital and had her stomach pumped.’

‘Oh, my God!’

‘Some journalist outside the club called Estelle, and she rushed over and got Rose transferred to the Ardmore.’

The Ardmore was an expensive private clinic. ‘Is she all right?’

‘She will be – sick and sore, and probably depressed, but that’s no more than she deserves. It’s the hell of a mess, Len. After Falcon, and then the wedding, she’s big news. This kind of bad behaviour … And the stomach pumping in particular … Someone at the hospital will talk. We’ll never keep it quiet this time.’

‘This time? Has she pulled stuff like this before?’

Rosecrantz took a breath. ‘I forget how out of touch you’ve been. Estelle’s managed to keep her out of the papers, but there’s been plenty of gossip. I guess it hasn’t got as far as you.’

Lennie was perplexed. ‘I thought she’d be happy after she married Dean.’

‘That marriage has been a disaster,’ Rosecrantz said impatiently. ‘I was against it from the beginning, but no-one listened to me. Cornwell’s bad news. That clean-cut, boy-next-door image is barely skin deep – he’s a troubled creature. And Rose has followed his lead. Wild parties, drugs – she’s out of control.’

Lennie raked his hair. ‘Why did no-one tell me?’

Rosecrantz shrugged. ‘I’m only coming to you now because I don’t know what else to do. Maybe you’ve still got some influence with her. Because I tell you now, Len, this could be the end of her. You know how particular the studios are about their stars toeing the line. ABO’s going to kick up. Al Feinstein could cut her loose.’

‘But you could talk to Al—’

‘I’m cutting her loose,’ Rosecrantz said harshly. ‘I’m sorry, I really am, because I like the kid—’

‘She’s made you a heap of money,’ Lennie said sourly.

Rosecrantz didn’t flinch. ‘I made her money, she made me money. That’s the deal. But I’ve got other clients. I’ve got their reputations to think of. And my own. I can’t afford to be associated with this. I’ll tell Rose in person when she’s fit to be spoken to. But I’m also telling you, because I know you’re the nearest thing she has to a father. If you care about her, you need to reel her in. Talk to her like a Dutch uncle before it’s too late.’

He rose up to go. Wilma stood in the doorway with a tray of coffee. He said, ‘Thanks, but I can’t stay. There’s a lot of fire-fighting to do. I’ll see myself out,’ he added, as he passed Wilma.

In the ensuing silence, Wilma fixed Lennie with a reproachful gaze, her lip now resembling a sugar-scoop. Lennie examined her face. ‘Did you know about this?’

She didn’t pretend not to have been eavesdropping. ‘About Miss Rose cutting up frisky? Sure I did. That Beanie, he hears everything. He told me what she’s been at, weeks and weeks past.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Not my place,’ she said stubbornly. Then, ‘You been grieving, Mr Lennie. And far as I knew, you’d dropped her even before that.’