Hollywoodland 1932

A novel by Kevin T. Morales

© Kevin T. Morales

Hollywoodland 1932 is a work of fiction. While many of the characters herein lived and worked during the Golden Age of Hollywood in and around the movie studios in Los Angeles, California, and some, like Jean Harlow and Clark Gable, appeared in films, the scenes, events, moments, and leaps of storytelling exist only in the imagination of the author. Accordingly, Hollywoodland 1932 should be read solely as a work of fiction, not as a history or biographical account of the lives of any of the artisans who made movies, including the actors, their agents, bosses, secretaries, or family members. The author’s intent was to create a world to enchant and entertain, much like the fictional stories dramatized by the stars on the silver screen in the early days of Hollywood.

HOLLYWOODLAND 1932. Copyright © 2020 by Kevin T. Morales. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the author.

Kevin T. Morales
c/o Kaufman Abdel-Aal
2425 Olympic Boulevard
Suite 400W
Santa Monica, CA 90404
kalawpartners.com

For Sara.

Contents

Prologue

Part 1 ... “Sin must be punished.”

Part 2 ... “People come. People go.”

Part 3 ... “Check your wings and halo at the desk.”

Part 4 ... Strange Interlude

Part 5 ... “Me Tarzan. You Jane.”

Part 6 ... “A fallen woman.”

Part 7 ... Red Dust

Part 8 ... The bridge of sighs.

Prologue

One whiff and John knew the avocado trees on the side of the house had been neglected. Crunching across the gravel drive, carrying the lidded box in his hands, the large trees came into view as he rounded the house, and sure as shit, the half dozen trees had been dropping avocados for weeks and the spoiled fruit littered the ground.

John looked back to his car; he felt an impulse to take the heavy box, drop it back in the front seat, drive away, and never look back. But then what? What would he do with the heavy scripts written for an audience of one? Scripts with no intention of ever becoming films. Scripts painstakingly typed over years and now tied up with string, hiding behind cover pages that did not truthfully label the story within. What good do they serve sitting in his closet in Pasadena?

Before he reached the porch Lu emerged. She was barefoot, stuck in a house dress purchased before the war. She didn’t fill it like she used to; it clung to her sweaty form like tissue. She wielded a cigarette in one hand and a small pistol in the other.

"Hello," John called ignoring the gun. "What the hell?" Lu muttered to herself. John stopped at the foot of the steps up to the porch. He didn’t look at the gun. And Lu distractedly slipped it back into the front pocket of the dress.

"I have something. For the girls?"

"What is it?" Lu sneered.

"Just some scripts. Found them in my office back on the lot. Thought they might like them. As a keepsake."

"Are they worth anything?"

"No, no. I can’t imagine they’re worth much." "Then why bother?" "Well, I’m sure they will hold some sentimental value. Some day."

Lu took a long drag from her cigarette and considered her unwelcome guest. John Lee didn’t wait for her approval. He climbed the half dozen steps on to the porch, the box clutched close to his body to ease the strain on his arms. He made a showing of making it seem heavier than it was. "You want me to set it by the door?"

"No. I won’t lift that goddamned thing." Lu opened the screen and lead John Lee into the darkened house. Shafts of lights steeped in shadows from the closed blinds. Lu lead John through the disorganized house. Laundry, boxes, and scattered dishes were loitering everywhere. Lu shuffled down the hall; John saw her sway, ever so slightly, as if God blew on her just to see how delicately he could move the intoxicated woman. She was a broken blade of grass.

She opened a shut door for John. He stepped into the room of the modern teenage girl. The bed was unmade and clothes were scattered about, floral patterns, light colors.

"Victoria is away for the weekend." Lu turned and disappeared from the door frame. John listened to her shuffle back down the creaking hallway. He looked around quickly and set the box on the other side of her bed. Out of sight, out of mind, he thought. He found a piece of paper and scribbled a quick note:

V,

One day, when you realize you wish you knew your father better, give these scripts a read. The first couple pages are for show. I set them down the only way I know how. These stories are just that — stories, not meant for the masses, but they have a truth revealed only in fiction.

Love, John Lee Mahin

John closed the door behind him and quickly and quietly headed back to the front door. He spotted Lu in the sitting room, her back to him, smoking and listening to the radio, her whiskey glass within reach. John left without a word, and could still hear the melody of “Don’t Rob Another Man’s Castle” dutifully playing through the wooden speaker as he got in his car.

Part 1

“Sin Must Be Punished.”

Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer presents

“Red Dust”

Screen Play by John Lee Mahin

Directed by: Victor Fleming Produced by: Hunt Stromberg

Final Shooting Script August 15, 1932

FADE IN - LION HEAD TRADE MARK - FADE OUT (Lion Roar)

FADE IN

METRO-GOLDWYN-MAYER
Presents

LAP DISSOLVE

CLARK GABLE and JEAN HARLOW in
RED DUST
with GENE RAYMOND - MARY ASTOR

A VICTOR FLEMING PRODUCTION

Copyright MCMXXXII in U.S.A. By Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Corporation All Rights in this Motion Picture Reserved Under International Conventions Passed by the National Board of Review Ars Gratia Artis A Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Picture (Trade Mark) Controlled by Loew’s Incorporated

LAP DISSOLVE

Screen Play by JOHN MAHIN

From the Play by WILSON COLLISON

Recording Director... DOUGLAS SHEARER
Art Director ....... CEDRIC GIBBONS
Gowns by ............... ADRIAN
Photographed by ... HAROLD ROSSON
Film Editor ..... BLANCHE SEWELL

Western Electric Sound System
The VOICE of ACTION

LAP DISSOLVE

Dennis Carson ........ CLARK GABLE
Vantine ............ JEAN HARLOW
Gary Willis ......... GENE RAYMOND
Barbara Willis ........ MARY ASTOR
Guidon ............. DONALD CRISP
McQuarg ......... TULLY MARSHALL
Limey ......... FORRESTER HARVEY
Hoy .................. WILLIE FUNG

FADE OUT

FADE IN:

EXT. RUBBER ORCHARD - CLOSE UP
A rubber tree drips sap into a small white bucket strapped the trunk. A man hangs a larger bucket on the tree. Painted on the side “NORTH COCHIN-CHIN RUBBER CO.”

CAMERA pulls back revealing the half-naked native collecting sap. A wagon is slowly driven through the trees and long grass. Walking into frame is Dennis Carson, sweaty, dirty, shirt half open, and wearing a safari hat. He is followed by McQuarg, who can keep up, despite his age...

TITLE CARD OVER BLACK: “HOLLYWOODLAND, 1932”

FADE IN:

EXT. MULHOLLAND DRIVE - NIGHT
The buzz of a single propeller Lockheed is head as the plane’s silhouette is seen against the nearly full moon. It cuts through the night sky over The “Hollywoodland” sign.

At a turnoff in view of the landmark, a GREEN BUICK is parked, lights off —— city lights twinkle below the ridge. In the frame of the foggy back window, two figures can be seen removing their clothes——

INT. GREEN BUICK - NIGHT
CLARK —— shirt unbuttoned, pants down —— thrusts rhythmically. He’s 31, clean-shaven, debonair, but a little overeager. He braces himself with one hand on the driver’s seat and one hand on the door above.

Beneath him is: JOAN, 28, the perfect example of a nightclub flapper: sophisticated, confident, fun. She has a determined smile and her wide, bright eyes watch Clark’s expression.

CLARK Wish we’d grabbed a room at the Ambassador.

JOAN Too many faces, each with a nose. (she pushes harder) One of us has to go to Mayer’s party or it looks suspicious.

CLARK No one cares if I’m there. Besides, I’m having drinks with Victor Fleming in a couple of hours.

JOAN A sit-down with Vic Fleming? (breathing harder) That Thalberg’s idea?

CLARK Look at the nose on you. John Lee set it up.

Clark thrusts harder. Joan finds herself unable to maintain the conversation. Her toes clench as she orgasms loudly. Joan wraps her arms around his muscular back, pulling him into her. He collapses.

CLARK Want a smoke?

Joan nods. She lets him go and fixes her dress. Clark takes a drag from a cigarette and hands it to her —— she refuses it.

CLARK You won’t share a cigarette? (JOAN shakes her head) You’re nuts. (JOAN checks his watch) We have plenty of time.

JOAN John Lee, the writer? What does he want?

Gable shrugs coyly.

JOAN No one’s nice for no reason.

CLARK That’s a hard-boiled view.

Clark rolls down the window.

JOAN He’s risking his job if he shows you pages of——

A FLASHLIGHT belonging to a POLICEMAN, 40s, beams in.

POLICEMAN Good evening, folks.

CLARK Nothing illegal going on here. We’ll be going.

The policeman shines the light past Clark.

POLICEMAN Why ... you’re Joan Crawford!

JOAN Isn’t the resemblance uncanny.

POLICEMAN Wait a minute —— aren’t you married to Douglas Fairbanks?

JOAN (sigh) Junior.

Clark leans into the light, a humble smile on his face.

POLICEMAN Am I supposed to know who you are?

Clark’s smile vanishes.

POLICEMAN Let’s get you downtown Miss Crawford. The good news, for both of us, is MGM is going to want to keep this quiet.

CLARK Don’t worry your pretty head. I’ll call Strickling and take the fall.

JOAN (scoffs) Falling ain’t nothing new to me.

She adjusts her dress and climbs past Clark out of the car.

CLARK We’re supposed to be at a party.

POLICEMAN Maybe next time get a room. You better follow us, Mr. ...

CLARK (proudly) Clark Gable.

The Policeman shrugs, he’s never heard of him.

FADE TO:

INT. MEN’S CLUB, PRIVATE ROOM - NIGHT
Forks pin rare steaks down in puddles of their own blood as serrated knives cut them piece by piece. Pinot Noir fills glasses recently drained. A WAITER in a dark maroon jacket with a napkin over the forearm carries a large ashtray overloaded with dozens of crushed cigarette butts out of a private room where——

A group of sharp-dressed DIRECTORS, laugh, smoke, and drink around a big circular table. This entire time we’ve been listening to EDDIE SUTHERLAND, 37, an English vaudevillian-turned-director cracking the other men up with a story.

SUTHERLAND Her house is in shambles. Every drawer is open; every cabinet —— there’s a pink pair of her bloomers flung over a lamp in the entryway! I asked her, “did you lose something?” She says: (wise-cracking) “Whaddyamean?”

Sutherland feeds on the men’s laughter. He looks across to HOWARD HAWKS, 36, silver-haired with a devilish grin.

SUTHERLAND “Oh no,” she says, “the only thing I’ve lost is my marbles.”

The men erupt in more laughter.

SUTHERLAND So she says, “Eddie, how’s directing life treating you?” I said, “fine, fine.” She says, “you got anything coming up?”

Eddie looks to the door and the color drains from his face.

Towering in the doorway is VICTOR FLEMING, 43, tall, broad-shouldered, and stop-traffic handsome despite the grime on his face. In his beat leather jacket and jeans, he looks like he rode a motorcycle across the desert.

SUTHERLAND Vic... you made it.

The men all turn to Victor and erupt in cheers. The men stand and some shake his hand except for Sutherland and Hawks.

JACK CONWAY, 45, an actor-turned-director offers his chair.

CONWAY How’d you get in without a jacket and tie?

VICTOR How else? ... through the back door.

The men laugh and return to their chairs. They admire Victor, but Hawks watches Victor with a sardonic smirk.

HAWKS You misread the invitation. We’re riding next weekend.

CONWAY You look like you crossed the desert.

VICTOR I flew across it.

HAWKS

In the Lockheed?

Victor gives him a knowing nod. Hawks’ jealousy surfaces. The others want to hear about the airplane.

VICTOR Can’t stay. I gotta wash up for the Metro party and pick up my date. (inspecting the gang) I could hear you ladies cackling all the in the main room.

HAWKS Eddie was telling us a story...

The men suddenly clam up. Only Hawks is smiling now.

VICTOR Keep going, I’ll catch up.

SUTHERLAND No, no, no. You only have a minute. Tell us about the Lockheed.

VICTOR Finish your story, Eddie.

Eddie doesn’t want to.

HAWKS Go on, Eddie. Let’s see if Vic can guess who the girl is.

The men share a nervous look to Sutherland who smiles weakly.

SUTHERLAND

Sure. So... erm... Yeah. She says, “you here about a part?” “Yeah, I might have a part,” I say. Then out of nowhere, she starts... dancing. Like a hula dance.

Hawks almost spits out his wine.

CONWAY Was it a “hula picture”?

SUTHERLAND What? No. I mean I hadn’t said what the picture was.

HAWKS There was no picture, you dimwit.

A slimy director named LAWSON, 30s, interrupts:

LAWSON My favorite kind of casting is when there’s “no picture”!

The men all laugh, Eddie swallows some wine and keeps going.

SUTHERLAND Anyway she hears I’m a director now and she just starts dancing hula...

He looks to Vic who is listening with amusement.

SUTHERLAND And she then starts taking off her bloody clothes. All of ‘em.

The other directors whistle. Vic laughs, his smile warm. Sutherland feels okay again. He returns to form.

SUTHERLAND And she comes crawling over to me across the Persian rug; naked as a baby. And she’s looking up at me with that look —— that infamous look, you know? Like she’s an opium addict and you’re the only hookah for miles. (The men laugh) Then she has my trousers down faster than you can say, “Lockheed.” (the men laugh harder) And of course, at this point, I’m at full staff! (the men whistle) I’ve fantasized about this for years and here she is: on her knees, taking me in her mouth and looking up at me with the biggest bedroom eyes you’ve ever seen——

Victor’s smile vanishes —— He wheels on Hawks and punches him across the face. Blood splatters on the white table cloth. Victor punches him again, with the other hand and Hawks face smashes into the half-eaten prime rib on his plate; cutlery, and dishes clatter.

The men shoot to their feet, Conway pulls Victor off Hawks.

Sutherland jumps as far from Victor as the room lets him.

Hawks laughs; blood pouring from his nose.

HAWKS Took you long enough.

SUTHERLAND Sorry, Vic ... I didn’t know you still had feelings for her ——

HAWKS He doesn’t have feelings for her!

VICTOR That poor girl’s been through the ringer.

SUTHERLAND It wasn’t my idea!

VICTOR I know whose idea it was.

Victor looks down at Hawks who’s smiling; blood and food on his face.

HAWKS Well, you better punch out the rest of the guys too. “The Moraga Spit and Polish Club” ain’t just a motorcycle appreciation club. We’ve all ridden Miss Clara Bow.

Victor looks around at them. They are all guilty and afraid.

CONWAY Whoa, hold on a minute! Not me.

VICTOR She’s not there to lend you, jokers, a cup of sugar when you’re low.

Victor wipes his hand on Hawk’s jacket, and goes to leave.

VICTOR I’ll see you at Meyer’s wing-ding tonight, Jack.

CONWAY Virginia’s coming tonight. You bringing someone?

VICTOR Yeah... Clara Bow. (the men appear mortified) I’m kidding.

The men laugh nervously.

VICTOR (long beat) I’ll see the rest of you assholes on Sunday.

The men relax a little. Sutherland sits, relieved. Howard rubs his jaw.

HAWKS We might have gotten away with it, but then you had to say, “biggest bedroom eyes you’ve ever seen.”

Hawk’s bursts into maniacal laughter. The men seeing it’s safe, laugh with him.

INT. BATHROOM - NIGHT

A small “water closet” in a Grammercy Park apartment. Staring at herself in the small mirror over the porcelain sink is:

ANITA LOOS, 43 hungover; smart, stylish, and slim from stress and a diet of coffee and cigarettes. She has dark features and a sour New York expression. She shakes herself out of her stupor and collects toiletries into a small bag. Taking multiple bottles, and vials from shelves. There’s a knock on the door that makes her jump.

EMERSON (O.C.) Your suitcase is out. Anita quickly turns on the water.

She starts washing her face. Her husband’s voice has put a fire under her.

EMERSON (O.C.) Your suitcase is out here.

Anita begins the beautification process. Mascara, eyeliner——

EMERSON (O.C.) I say, can you hear me? Anita!

A loud violent knock shakes the door.

ANITA Yes, dear.

EMERSON (O.C.) Where are you going?

ANITA The new job.

EMERSON (O.C.) Were you going to tell me?

ANITA I did. Last night. We celebrated.

This is lie. They celebrated, but she didn’t mention the job.

EMERSON (O.C.) I don’t recall. Are you sure?

ANITA Yes, dear.

EMERSON (O.C.) This is rather embar——just remind me where the job is?

ANITA California.

EMERSON (O.C.) Hell. I’ll start packing——

ANITA No. They just want me.

EMERSON (O.C.) Who?

ANITA It’s only for a few months.

EMERSON (O.C.) Who? Who wants you?

ANITA Metro.

EMERSON (O.C.) They didn’t want me?

ANITA No.

EMERSON (O.C.) Are you sure?

ANITA Yes.

EMERSON (O.C.) Well, did they say specifically——

ANITA Yes. In the telegram.

EMERSON (O.C.) I want to see it.

ANITA No.

EMERSON (O.C.) I fucking demand to see it!

ANITA It’s gone. I threw it out.

EMERSON (O.C.) When?

ANITA At the office. I have to get ready.

EMERSON (O.C.) When are you leaving?

ANITA Today.

EMERSON (O.C.) This is absurd!

ANITA I told you this. I told you all of this last night.

It’s difficult lying to him.

EMERSON (O.C.) Who’s behind this?

ANITA I have to finish getting ready—

EMERSON (O.C.) —I won’t let you go.

ANITA Don’t be silly.

EMERSON (O.C.) You’re my wife. You don’t go anywhere without me!

ANITA We need the money!

She has begun crying again. She puts a washcloth in her mouth to prevent her sobs from making noise.

EMERSON (O.C.) There’s no reason for you to be offered a job, and not me.

ANITA There are a few reasons.

EMERSON (O.C.) I’m coming with you.

ANITA You can’t.

EMERSON (O.C.) Don’t be absurd.

ANITA Thalberg expressly said you were not to come.

Silence. Anita waits, concerned.

ANITA John? I didn’t want to tell you that part. But you can’t come.

EMERSON (O.C.) (quiet) Did he say why?

ANITA I think we can guess. This is what Thalberg wants, and Thalberg gets what he wants. I have to take it. I’m going to send money back. Every week. We’ll get back on our feet. Last night, we celebrated. This is a good thing. For us.

A long silence. Anita is concerned, unable to see his reaction. She listens intently.

EMERSON (O.C.) Being away from each other isn’t good ... A brandy before you go?

ANITA (relieved) No.

EMERSON (O.C.) We’ll have a brandy. (The sound of his voice recedes) I’ll get your sun hat out of the box. You’ll need it in ...

Emerson’s footsteps and voice have trailed off. Anita looks into the mirror again. Her mascara has smeared. She cleans off her face —— starting the beautification process all over again.

EXT. LOUIS B. MAYER’S MANSION, MALIBU - NIGHT
Expensive cars park in the sand near the palatial ocean- side residence that is Mayer’s home. A CAB pulls in.

The door opens and a foot with a show steps out followed by a foot without a shoe. Excessive giggling is heard as a hand sets a shoe down struggling to put it on. A delicate foot with painted nails steps out, her dress pulling over the man’s head tying his shoe, making him laugh harder. He is:

F. SCOTT FITZGERALD, 36, inebriated and as bubbly as his wife ZELDA, 32, who holds onto his arm to keep from falling step up to the ornate double doors which open for them.

Inside is JAMES, 60, a regal butler, smiling warmly at their arrival.

JAMES Mr. and Mrs. Fitzgerald, welcome to the home of Mr. Louis B. Mayer.

Zelda snickers and curtsies for the distinguished servant as she passes him. ZELDA

I thought he was going to say, “Welcome to Mr. Gatsby’s.”

They both laugh as they stumble into the swarm of exquisitely dressed members of the HOLLYWOODLAND ELITE. Waiting to enter after them is

Victor with MYRNA LOY, 27 on his arm. She’s exquisite and witty, her eyebrows arched in amused expression. Myrna imitates Zelda’s stumbling; Victor stifles a laugh.

JAMES Mr. Fleming, and Miss Myrna Loy, welcome to the home of Mr. Louis B. Mayer.

MYRNA Which way to the bar?

A YELLOW LABRADOR rushes into the house past Myrna, causing her to squeal. James chases after the dog into:

INT. MAYER’S MANSION - NIGHT
The elite stars, executives, and staff of MGM mingle, drink and dance. A BAND plays the exuberant pulse of the party. The Labrador bolts between legs. We follow FITZGERALD and ZELDA as they stumble through the CROWD receiving handshakes and jubilant greetings.

ZELDA (to her husband) They know talent when they see it.

They step up to the bar next to TWO MEN who pay them no attention and are in the middle of a heated conversation:

Holding an empty glass of champagne is LOUIS B MAYER, 48, a short warthog in a tuxedo, listening to —

NICHOLAS SCHENCK, 51, a tall, slim, severe man in round spectacles. The two men’s hatred of each other is clear.

MAYER “Tarzan” is packing them in this weekend. It’s going to be——

SCHENCK But Fleming’s film, Wet Parade is a bust. Prohibition’s dead. It’ll be repealed within the year.

MAYER That was one of Irving’s darlings. Still, we were the only studio to post a profit in thirty- one——

SCHENCK But down from the previous year.

MAYER We are getting the best people. We have F. Scott Fitzgerald on staff.

FITZGERALD hears his name but doesn’t know from where.

SCHENCK The board doesn’t care who makes the movies. The bottom line is all that matters. If you can’t make fifty films and net twelve million dollars this year then we will find someone who can.

MAYER The studio is called Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer.

SCHENCK And I hear your mother is disappointed with how you spell it.

MAYER Who on earth could replace me?

Schenck looks past Mayer. Mayer follows his gaze over to:

IRVING THALBERG, 33, diminutive, solemn; patiently listening to some animated PARTY GUESTS. He glances their way.

SCHENCK It seems the only thing keeping Thalberg from running things better, is you.

Schenck clinks his champagne glass with Mayer’s and strolls away. Mayer looks as if he might burst with rage.

Zelda and Fitzgerald have received their drinks and blow past Mayer without even noticing him and wander through the crowd. Zelda stops in her tracks to admire:

Victor Fleming loading a plate with appetizers while Myrna waves someone over. Fleming and Zelda share a look. She winks at him and slips through them, her hand brushing his chest.

Thalberg approaches Victor and Myrna softly.

MYRNA Here he is. Delivered as promised.

Myrna smiles sheepishly. Victor sneers at her betrayal.

THALBERG Thank you, Myrna. He shouldn’t need to be tricked since he is contractually obligated to attend.

VICTOR (to Myrna) Judas.

MYRNA But Vic, if you get a good one...

She gestures answering a phone. She blows him a kiss and flits away.

THALBERG A good what?

VICTOR No more shitty scripts with messages. I want Action. Danger. Give me a writer with some guts.

THALBERG The days of taking a camera and making a movie out in the wilderness are gone.

VICTOR Great stuff was made that way.

THALBERG Inspired stuff. Some of it.

VICTOR Isn’t that why you brought me to Metro, to make those pictures?

THALBERG Yes, but costs on location are difficult to control. Sound changed all that. We must shoot on a stage for the dialogue, so now the scenario has become more important. (Thalberg spies Fitzgerald dancing like a buffoon) We just can’t let those bastards in the writers’ building know that.

VICTOR It still takes a director. Thalberg looks him in the eye, not intimidated by the difference in physical stature or age.

THALBERG In three months you directed one picture, while I’ve produced ten.

VICTOR Throwing shit on the wall. Is that why you leave your name off?

THALBERG Any credit you give yourself isn’t worth having. (Rubbing it in) Wet Parade is disappointing. After we get the receipts for your next film, then we’ll discuss a new contract ... as agreed.

Mayer plods over still red from his encounter with Schenck. Victor salutes Mayer sarcastically, finishes his drink, hands the empty glass to Thalberg, and stalks away. Mayer is bewildered by Victor’s behavior. Thalberg is unaffected. THALBERG

What did Schenck have to say?

MAYER We deliver Loews fifty films and twelve-million net profit. Or else.

THALBERG Or else what? They’ll replace us? Mayer keeps silent. Thalberg thinks the worst.

MAYER What does Fleming want?

THALBERG What every director wants: the moon.

FITZGERALD leans over a stair rail and pokes his head through a pair of palm trees that stand next to the staircase.

FITZGERALD Everyone! Name the MGM masterpiece!

He pounds his chest with his fists and lets out a colossal “Tarzan yell” before he stumbles over the railing and through the tree onto the ground. PARTYGOERS rush to his aid.

Zelda laughs hysterically from the stairs, flopping down on her ass.

Mayer turns to Thalberg who watches with great embarrassment.

MAYER I want that buffoon fired.

THALBERG He’s tonight’s guest of honor, not to mention his contract——

MAYER Call the police. Arrests violate the morality clause.

THALBERG We can’t meet production goals firing writers. Harder still to be profitable paying off people who don’t deliver any goods.

PARTY GUESTS bring Fitzgerald ice for his head. He takes it and puts it in his drink.

THALBERG Emerson and Loos are joining the staff this week, but now they’d just be filling his empty desk.

MAYER Wait. We agreed —— no new contracts if the quarter was a loss.

THALBERG Unless they increase production.

A flash of PLATINUM BLONDE HAIR in the crowd catches Mayer’s spectacled eyes and he silently begins to calculate.

Behind Mayer, his Yellow Labrador bolts through guests, turkey leg in its mouth. Zelda calls the dog over. It lavishes Fitzgerald with kisses.

ZELDA Your biggest fan!

Mayer covers his face —— disgraced.

EXT. COCOANUT GROVE AT THE AMBASSADOR HOTEL - NIGHT
The festive hotel sits on bustling Wilshire Blvd. Noise and music emanate from the COCOANUT GROVE, a nightclub within.

INT. COCOANUT GROVE - NIGHT
The hot spot is flooded with STARS and WANNABES drinking and laughing. Smoke fills the room packed with tables and clusters of coconut trees. Skirts are high, ties are loose.

Sitting at a small table in the corner, are Victor Fleming, lighting himself a cigarette across from Clark Gable, drinking scotch with a cocky grin on his face.

VICTOR The Greeks spread dramatic festivals through their conquered lands, promoting a common cultural identity ——

CLARK I thought we were talking movies.

VICTOR To understand the modern photoplay you must know the classics.

CLARK Reading is dead. It’s the age of talkies. (He knocks back his scotch) I read that someplace.

VICTOR Everyone on earth goes to see our movies. In time, America will unite the people of the world through talking pictures. We’ll all have a common culture. And do you know what that makes us?

CLARK Rich?

VICTOR Better. It sets on Olympus. But our lives hinge on one thing——

CLARK Our looks. Gable smiles. Victor is not amused. Gable straightens up.

VICTOR The scripts: Our stories and myths.

The shapely figure of a WOMAN approaches the table. Gable addresses her.

CLARK Two more, sweetheart.

JOAN Who do I look like, Carol Lombard?

Gable turns to see JOAN CRAWFORD, She wears a faintly bitter expression and wide, hurt eyes.

CLARK I knew it was you.

JOAN Like hell.

CLARK If Lombard served drinks here, I would have noticed.

JOAN I’m sure. I heard she slept with everyone to get in the door.

CLARK Just like me. I’m glad to see you’re out of the clink.

Gable touches her arm.

JOAN Not for nothing.

Victor is uncomfortable, he stands.

CLARK Where are you going?

Victor looks Joan in the eye. She looks away, guilty.

VICTOR Three’s a crowd.

CLARK Stay.

VICTOR If her father-in-law sees me facilitating this——

CLARK (to Joan) Be a dear; find us a fourth, then it’s a party.

Joan fumes and heads back into the bar, drawing looks from every man she passes. Victor’s nostrils flare.

INT. COCOANUT GROVE - MINUTES LATER
Near the dance floor, Joan spies a pack of sweaty MEN all vying for the attention of some pretty girls at a table.

Joan slips in. Men all turn to Joan, eyes wide. The table’s female patrons are surprised as well. Joan looks them over: GINNY, 18, is a little too working-class. ANNE, 18, long legs with short hair, will do.

JOAN Pardon me, I’m Joan Crawford.

GINNY I know! I read Photoplay.

JOAN Damn. I was hoping you’d seen my pictures.

ANNE

Oh, we seen them too! Ginny and I were just talking about, Possessed.

JOAN Funny you should mention it. I’m sitting down with my pals Clark Gable and Victor Fleming over in the corner there——

Everyone turns and looks, craning their necks to get a view.

JOAN ——And poor Vic is feeling like the odd man out. Care to join us?

ANNE Are you pulling my leg?

JOAN Not sure I could pull it any farther than it already goes.

GINNY (to Anne) Toldja the prices are worth it. Just don’t leave without me!

Anne crosses her heart and scurries after Joan, who slips through the crowd. Anne bumps patrons keeping up.

ANNE Is Mr. Gable trying to get into a Victor Fleming picture?

JOAN Who isn’t? Vic taught Gary Cooper how to be Gary Cooper.

A big smile bursts across Anne’s face.

INT. COCOANUT GROVE - MOMENTS LATER
Joan arrives with Anne in tow. Gable and Victor stand.

JOAN Boys, this is my friend ... Anne.

CLARK A pleasure. Won’t you join us?

Anne can’t contain her excitement, she drops her drink. Fleming catches it. He hands it back to the star-struck girl.

CLARK Now we can have a proper conversation about pictures because the expert is here —— the All-American girl. (to Vic) Better?

Victor forces a smile.

Gable takes Joan’s hand under the table. Patrons dance wildly as the music rocks the room.

INT. FLEMING’S BUNGALOW - NIGHT
Camera parts lay spread out all over the floor of Victor’s darkened Santa Monica bachelor bungalow. Stuffed hunting trophies watch

Anne carefully steps backward over the parts as Victor kisses her, backing her toward the bed. Anne kisses him back.

Her dress hits the floor. He removes his shirt.

ANNE Usually I’m not a fast girl. I wanted to give you the lowdown —— in case I, uh —— disappoint you.

Victor stops, he doesn’t understand what she’s getting at.

ANNE I’m not a movie star.

Victor puts his hands on her bare shoulders. She covers her naked breasts with her arms. He turns her around facing her toward his dressing mirror beside a fierce stuffed bear.

VICTOR Everyone in this business invents themselves. They change their names, where they’re from, and create whole new stories. No one here is proud of where they’re from. Louis B. Mayer: you know what the “B” stands for? (She shakes her head) Nothing. He made it up —— to sound less Jewish. This is your chance. Tonight, become someone new; write your legend. Emerge from your head fully formed.

He presses his broad chest against her back, kissing her shoulder up to her neck, now up close in her ear.

VICTOR What’s your new name?

A wash of excitement comes over her, his arms around her.

ANNE It’s going to be ... Iris.

INT. COCOANUT GROVE - NIGHT
Ginny searches the emptying nightclub; Anne is nowhere to be found.

EXT. HOLLYWOODLAND SIGN - DAY
Sunrise over the Hollywoodland sign, and the dry shrub-covered ridge.

INT. THALBERG’S OFFICE - DAY
Behind a modest desk stacked with scripts sits Thalberg, his eyes down in the contracts he is reading. Wall to wall bookshelves overstuffed with books makes the office feel smaller and darker, like Thalberg himself.

THALBERG Police chief said he’d keep it out of the papers for a week’s salary.

Wearing the rug down and Thalberg’s patience is the pacing Louis B. Mayer.

MAYER Fine.

THALBERG Not his salary —— Joan’s.

MAYER Dammit to hell!

THALBERG Howard offered him two hundred. He took it. (beat)

This time.

MAYER Plus the three hundred to keep Gable’s first wife quiet —— Examples need to be made of them.

THALBERG Dock Gable a week’s pay; we’ll make two grand in the deal. As for Joan——

NORMA (O.S.) ——She needs time away from the hunk.

The two men turn to NORMA SHEARER, 30, casually reading a script in an armchair by the singular window. Chic, blessed with pageant-queen features, that disguise her cold ambition.

NORMA See how she does in the wilderness. Loan her out for more than she’s paid. If she’s a hit, her stock stays high. If she bombs, she learns her lesson.

MAYER Looks like Beauty has the brains today, Irving. Mayer heads to the door——

THALBERG Wait —— Joan finishes Letty Lynton this week, then we need her in Grand Hotel.

MAYER Then after Grand Hotel she’s someone else’s problem for a picture!

Mayer rumbles out the door. Thalberg shakes his head. Norma’s face turns to a scowl.

NORMA Grand Hotel —— a movie isn’t meant to have that many stars.

THALBERG You can’t play all the parts, dear.

NORMA (innocent) I don’t want all the parts.

She tosses the script on the ground and takes the next one. Thalberg takes a deep breath and returns to the contracts.

EXT. MGM STUDIOS MAIN ENTRANCE - DAY
A taxi pulls through the main gate at Washington Boulevard and parks in front of:

EXT. LION BUILDING - MOMENTS LATER
FRANCES MARION, 44, righteous, smug, nosey and never says no to a slice of pie waves at the passenger:

ANITA LOOS, stylish, but weary from the train trip across the country. Her short dark hair frames her teary expression. Coming in shy of four feet ten inches, people assume she’s half her actual age. She steps out of the cab into Frances’ embrace.

ANITA My dear Frances, you look radiant.

FRANCES My dear Anita, you haven’t aged a day!

ANITA That’s cuz I haven’t seen the sun in five years.

FRANCES We’re putting that behind us now. Let’s get something to eat —— you look like you’ll blow away.

Frances gives her a kiss on the cheek. She takes Anita’s large handbag without asking and clops away down Thomas Ave.

Anita takes a deep breath and follows.

FRANCES Radiant. Great word!

INT. MGM COMMISSARY - DAY
A large room filled with round tables draped with white cloths. Here crew, actors, employees, and directors dine almost twenty-four hours a day. It is a hub of activity.

PATRONS greet Frances with warm smiles that turn to suspicious glares for Anita who follows Frances to a table.

ANITA A lot of changes.

FRANCES Psh, hardly any. Except the movies have talking, the acting more truthful, the cameras more powerful, the tempers more explosive, everything’s ten times more expensive, and the scandals are more ... scandalous.

ANITA And you have another Academic Award.

FRANCES Academy Award, whatever that’s worth. Some credit I owe to you. Besides, you’re a best-selling novelist and Broadway sensation. Put me on a pedestal, I’ll pull you right up with me.

A WAITER hands them menus. Anita sets hers down.

ANITA I don’t know why I’m here. Frances hands her back the menu.

FRANCES Your talent is why you’re here. (Pause) I’m sure everyone has forgotten all about that other business. Louis doesn’t piss without asking Irving. And Irving wants you here.

ANITA I thought he’d forgotten about me.

FRANCES Psh. I wouldn’t let him.

Gratitude washes over Anita. Frances downplays it, she opens her own menu eagerly.

FRANCES I could eat a horse.

INT. MGM COMMISSARY - DAY
Victor cuts into a rare steak across from JOHN LEE MAHIN, 30, bright, rebellious, buoyant, and holding a worn journal.

VICTOR Gable’s a nice enough guy. Built like a lion, but I’m not sure he has any claws.

JOHN LEE Actually Male lions just lie around. Females do all the hunting.

VICTOR Bigger lions make better trophies.

JOHN LEE Gable made thirteen pictures last year. He needs a real director to show him how to get top billing. I could write a helluva part for him —— I have one in mind... Dames are dizzy for him.

VICTOR Crawford sure is. Look, I talked with the fellow like you asked. Now you do a favor for me. Slip me the best story you’re working on. A John Lee Mahin original.

JOHN LEE Vic —— Even if I could, Thalberg decides who gets to make what.

VICTOR Who says it’s gotta be that way?

JOHN LEE That’s the system. His system. (quietly) But there is one script I wish they’d give you. It’s called, Red Dust, but it’s for Garbo.

VICTOR Mayer wouldn’t let me near Garbo with an eight-inch pole.

Vic winks. John Lee laughs. Looking past John Lee Vic sees:

ANITA, smiling a little now, eating at a table with Frances.

Victor stands, drops his napkin on his chair, and navigates the dining room to their table.

JOHN LEE Wait! I can’t sit at the director’s table without you——

Anita turns sharply with surprise at Fleming’s tall frame standing over her.

ANITA Vic!

He helps her to her feet; they’re compelled to embrace but don’t. He holds her hand. It’s small and comfortable in his.

VICTOR How long are you here?

ANITA Till I can’t take it.

VICTOR And Emerson?

Anita withdraws her hand; she has remembered herself. She shakes her head and Victor doesn’t press the issue. He turns to Frances who is clearly not thrilled by the reunion.

VICTOR Congratulations on The Champ. Best performance I’ve seen Beery give.

FRANCES You should let him know.

VICTOR But the character was on the page. Drinkers are tough to get right.

FRANCES I had plenty of help.

Frances gives Anita a knowing look. Anita’s embarrassed.

ANITA Excuse me. I’m meeting Thalberg.

VICTOR I still have the picture of the three of us from Marion Davies’ costume party.

Anita smiles. Frances does too. Anita takes Frances’s hand and gives it a squeeze. She turns back to Victor, but can’t bring herself to say anything more. He smiles, bows his head, and watches her go. Frances’ smile fades.

FRANCES Vic... That woman doesn’t need anymore heartbreak.

VICTOR Then why did she come back here?

INT. MAYER’S OFFICE - DAY
Mayer’s opulent, white office is worthy of the highest-paid executive in America —— a shrine to MGM films and his family.

Thalberg looks like a schoolboy sitting in a single chair on the other side of the grandiose desk, listening patiently.

MAYER We have to make fifty films and net twelve million.

THALBERG Audiences are broke. Theaters are closing. We’re the only studio who posted a profit last year——

MAYER ——Because we have stars! “More stars than there are in the heavens.”

THALBERG Yes. That’s the current slogan.

MAYER I just got off the phone with Hughes. I purchased the contract of Jean Harlow for thirty thousand dollars. It’s a steal.

THALBERG (flabbergasted) Why do you think she was a steal? Harlow is a gimmick. And we don’t have the material for her.

MAYER Your pal, Bern, vouches for her.

THALBERG Paul’s blinded by the bleach.

MAYER Crawford’s wild, Greta will barely do three films a year, and Norma——

Thalberg is very interested in Mayer’s opinion on Norma.

MAYER We need... a street-walker type.

THALBERG You said, ”Wholesome movies don’t feature women of loose morals.”

MAYER We make wholesome movies and we make movies people want to see. Within the confines of the code. But this year ... we MUST post a profit.

Thalberg jumps up; inspired, he heads for the door.

MAYER But honor the production code!

THALBERG I wrote the fucking code!

MAYER (shouting after him) “Sin must be punished!”

INT. THE ART DEPT. - DAY
Rows of drafting boards helmed by ARTISTS; men and women working hard on film posters. THALBERG bursts in.

THALBERG Red Dust. Theater cards. Drafts in my office Monday. I want Saigon streets —— a woman of the night.

MAX, 50s, the head of the art department, speaks up.

MAX Sure, boss. But who’s the star?

INT. THALBERG’S OFFICE - DAY ANITA peruses the title pages of the dozens of scripts on the desk. She notices her book “Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.” She picks it up and beneath it is a script: “RED HEADED WOMEN. By F. Scott Fitzgerald.”

Thalberg bursts in. He’s surprised to see her then remembers.

THALBERG Anita. Apologies.

They share a quick embrace. He begins going through scripts on his desk. Anita is not ready for his pace.

THALBERG Where’s Emerson?

ANITA I can do the job.

THALBERG The offer was for a writing team.

ANITA Frances writes alone. So can I.

Thalberg picks up her book.

THALBERG Wish you’d sold to us.

ANITA I was told by Mayer, Metro doesn’t make those kinds of pictures.

Thalberg smiles impishly.

THALBERG We are increasing the stable here. We don’t have enough material for Greta, Norma, Joan and —— we’re expanding.

ANITA Then let me get started.

THALBERG Half a writing team ... half the salary.

Anita digs down deep for courage.

ANITA My novels and plays had no contributions from my drunk, and soon-to-be ex-husband. A thousand a week, as offered.

THALBERG You’re worth as much as Jean Harlow?

She summons every ounce of conviction.

ANITA I don’t have to tell you the value of brains, do I?

Thalberg thinks it over for what feels like an eternity.

THALBERG If anyone asks, John Emerson is still part of the team.

ANITA But checks will be made payable to me and no one talks to my husband.

THALBERG (genuinely concerned) What happened?

ANITA Nothing a family company like MGM wants to write about.

Irving retrieves a pen from his desk, opens her book and hands it and the pen to Anita. She smiles. She signs the inside jacket. He smiles. She hands him the book and he goes back behind his desk.

Halfway out the door Anita turns and throws the pen back to Irving and to both their surprise, he catches it.

INT. MGM PRODUCTION OFFICES, DIRECTORS’ ROW - DAY
Anita navigates down the long hall lined with film posters, checking the names on the doors.

She finds a small reception area where GLADYS, 25, is packing up her purse; a Runyon-land doll who inexplicably adds the occasional “s” to the end of a word. Her desk protects two doors: one reads, VICTOR FLEMING, DIRECTOR, the other reads JOHN EMERSON, DIRECTOR.

ANITA I believe this is my office.

GLADYS This is the directors’ floor. It’s for John Emerson and his wife.

ANITA That’s me.

GLADYS Oh. Mrs. Emerson, hello. I’m your secretary: Gladys.

ANITA Please call me, Anita.

GLADYS Oh no, Mrs. Emerson. That would be unprofessionals.

ANITA Well, I don’t go by Mrs. Emerson, so that would be dishonest.

Gladys is a little confounded but concedes.

ANITA And just between you, me, and the typewriter, Mr. Emerson won’t be joining us. Could you please change the name on the door?

GLADYS OH. I can call maintenance, but if it’s just you, they’ll move you to the Writers’ building.

The name leaves a bad taste in both their mouths.

ANITA Oh, I see. Forget it then. (Noticing her purse) You’re leaving?

GLADYS It’s my boy’s birthday. Mr. Fleming let me take the rests of the day.

ANITA You’re Vic’s secretary too?

GLADYS You shares me. But he’s always in the commissary. If you needs anything take it from my desk or borrows it from Mr. Fleming. I’ll get you set up on Monday. And welcome back to MGM!

She saunters off, her perky body bouncing all the way.

Curious, Anita opens Victor’s door and peers in. She makes sure no one is watching, then she slips inside Vic’s office.

INT. WRITERS BUILDING - DAY
Victor patrols the shabby open floor offices; a cacophony of typewriter clacking. Chewing on a toothpick, Victor hunts for a friendly face. He targets:

JOHN MEEHAN, 42, hunched over a typewriter, ashtray loaded with dead ends; Canadian, and pale, like a vampire’s victim.

VICTOR Hey, Meehan, you want to go flying next week?

MEEHAN Vic, you old dog. I’d love to! I’m a little underwater though; Crawford’s new picture is shooting, and I’ve got aboot twenty pages of notes from on high.

VICTOR What’s next on your pile, anything exciting?

MEEHAN (tight lipped) This and that.

Victor spies a script on top of his pile, it is titled: RED DUST. Meehan sets his coffee cup over the title.

VICTOR Give me a sneaky-peek.

MEEHAN You trying to get me fired? That’s the only copy.

VICTOR (quiet) Thalberg and L.B. want me to turn lead into gold. If my next film bombs too, I’ll have no leverage.

MEEHAN You only have a three-picture deal?

VICTOR I can negotiate a bigger piece after I have a hit. Is there anything you can slip me?

Meehan, aware of eaves-dropping, shakes his head no. Victor throws his toothpick into Meehan’s overflowing waste paper basket and walks off.

MEEHAN Can we still go flying later?

VICTOR (without looking back) Maybe if the weather improves.

Meehan’s completely deflated. He looks back to the script and takes his mug off of it. A slight coffee-colored circle around the title: Red Dust.

INT. THE ART DEPT. - DAY
Bright sunlit windows flood rows of drafting boards helmed by men and women working hard on Red Dust posters.

NORMA, passing in the hall, peeks in. The “Queen” enjoys seeing the army of workers turning out colorful pages.

MAX Miss Shearer —— what a wonderful surprise.

The other artists jump at the name and turn to see her. Some standing to see over their boards, their faces lit with joy.

MAX

You should have won the Academy Award again.

She smiles, as if embarrassed. The artists applaud.

NORMA Please, everyone, don’t mind me. Continue your amazing work.

A few hesitantly go back to their tasks. Norma starts down one of the rows, looking at each project. The artists smile; some shake her hand. She greets them all warmly, royally.

Her generous face finds it harder to smile as each table holds image after image of one woman’s FACE accompanied by a single word: GARBO. Over and over on every table.

She reaches Max’s own master table where there is a large color illustration of GARBO standing beneath a street lamp on a corner in Saigon. The title reads: RED DUST.

Norma’s severe smile is finally gone. She takes the artwork. He is about to protest, but, seeing the seething rage in her face, says nothing.

She rolls it up and storms out with it.

INT. MGM COMMISSARY - DAY
Victor eats lunch while reading a LIST of writers typed out on a paper. He makes notes in the margin.

Mayer shuffles urgently up to the table. Victor stands quickly putting his napkin over the list of names.

VICTOR L.B. Join me.

MAYER I already ate.

Victor sits back down. Mayer is taken aback.

MAYER You want me to look like a waiter?

Victor rises back to his feet.

VICTOR Look, about Wet Parade——

MAYER When Irving purchased it I knew it was a turd. He likes literary properties —— but if anyone could have saved it ...

VICTOR The next script he gave me isn’t any better. The White Sister? Again?

MAYER Irving believes you’ll make it a hit.

VICTOR Let me pick my next film. Or give me a writer. Anita’s on the lot——

MAYER We’ll discuss it later. I need you to run a screen test.

VICTOR You’re kidding. There’s no one to run a camera in this coliseum?

MAYER I need someone who can really put a girl through her paces.

VICTOR I’m leaving early. I’ve a hunting trip——

MAYER I’m not asking.

Victor sits back down. Mayer, insulted, storms off.

EXT. MAIN GATES OF MGM - DAY
A long black car pulls into the lot from Washington Blvd. A halo of PLATINUM BLONDE HAIR can be seen in the rear window.

EXT. LION BUILDING - DAY
The black car pulls up. The CHAUFFEUR leaps out and hustles around the car to the passenger side. He awaits a signal.

INT. HARLOW’S BLACK CAR - CONTINUOUS
JEAN HARLOW, 21, radiant, sensual, turns to the older man beside her——

PAUL BERN, 42, is smiling like a proud father, but his eyes are lit like he’s eyeing ice cream flavors.

PAUL You look beautiful, baby.

Jean flashes her winning smile and signals the chauffeur who opens the door. Paul gooses her ass on her way out.

INT. THALBERG’S OFFICE - DAY
Paul Bern and Harlow have long since finished their coffee. Thalberg bursts in.

THALBERG Miss Harlow ...

HARLOW Mr. Thalberg, a pleasure.

THALBERG Thanks for picking her up, Paul.

PAUL I’ll do anything for a star I believe in.

THALBERG We all believe in her.

PAUL It just took some convincing.

Jean’s smile starts to fade. Thalberg notices.

THALBERG We give everything careful consideration. That applies to your directors, and scripts as well.

Harlow’s faith is restored. HARLOW

This is Metro Goldwyn Mayer —— the best of the best.

THALBERG Let’s get the screen test out of the way.

PAUL Screen test? She’s signed a contract. She’s hired.

THALBERG It’s for department heads. It isn’t to see if you can be in pictures. We all saw Hell’s Angels.

HARLOW What did you think, Mr. Thalberg?

PAUL I thought you were brilliant.

She dismisses Paul, her eyes fixed on Thalberg.

HARLOW But what did you think? You’re the smartest man in Hollywood.

Paul feels a slight sting THALBERG

I bought your contract, didn’t I?

Jean beams with pride.

INT. MAYER’S OFFICE - DAY
Joan Crawford sits on a couch. Louis B. Mayer sits opposite her with a disappointed expression. The silence is long.

JOAN I need sex for a clear complexion. (She feigns a laugh) I understand you’re upset——

MAYER —When Grand Hotel wraps, I’m loaning you out to United Artists.

JOAN You’re banishing me?

MAYER I need to do something to ice that burning hole between your legs.

Joan has the wind knocked out of her.

MAYER One film. If you don’t cooperate, no Grand Hotel; Irving can give your role to Norma. In the mean-time, if you are seen with Clark Gable outside these studio walls, I’ll rip up your contract, and his. Then I’ll go to the press, tell them you’re a dope fiend and a dyke, and you’ll never work again.

JOAN What did Clark say?

MAYER That part’s not for Gable. Only you. You see, you’re the one with the problem. I can’t blame him for seeing an opening and taking it. You need to keep your legs shut.

JOAN (honest and broken) I love him.

MAYER Then break up your marriage and his, and go straight. Or do the right thing and stay away from him.

JOAN And Thalberg——

MAYER Sending you to U.A. was his idea. You piss on everything we stand for. We are a wholesome company.

Joan shoots to her feet and runs out of the office.

INT. FLEMING’S OFFICE - DAY
Victor sits at his tidy desk. Frames with pictures of his planes and cars line the walls. He focuses on a photo of HIMSELF, ANITA and FRANCES in nursery-rhyme costumes. It’s been moved. He fixes it.

Gable pours himself a drink. Victor is put off at how he’s just making himself at home.

VICTOR Talk to your lawyer.

CLARK I don’t have a leg to stand on. It’s all in the morality clause.

Victor laughs, then laughs harder. Gable is not smiling.

VICTOR I had them take that thing out.

CLARK Sure, they’d do it for you.

VICTOR It took Mayer a week to think about it. I get no publicist as recompense, which is fine by me. My work speaks for itself. (quiet) Maybe not recently.

CLARK Those little Jews don’t want anyone swinging their cock around. Makes it hard for them to face their wives at night. (VICTOR laughs) You think I’m kidding? You offer Norma a chance to ride the Fleming Express again. Her answer will tell you what her experience in bed with the “boy wonder” has been like for the past few years.

VICTOR That was a long time ago. How did you know about me and Norma?

CLARK I wasn’t in pictures six years ago, but I can read. Contrary to what you may hear.

A knock on the door. Both men freeze.

CLARK (quiet) Where’s your secretary?

VICTOR Gone with the kid. I was supposed to be leaving early. Come in.

The door opens slowly. JOAN peeks in, her face destroyed. Gable leaps to his feet and escorts her in.

CLARK Hey, what’s wrong kid?

JOAN ...Mayer...

CLARK What’d he do?

JOAN Sending me to United Artists. Threatened to take away, Grand Hotel.

CLARK Fuck, Grand Hotel. I’ve played second fiddle to Garbo. You don’t want that.

JOAN I do. I want to be in a classy picture for once. Norma gets the best scripts. Greta makes art, but it’s Joan Fucking Crawford’s pictures that pay for both.

Gable regrets his comment. He offers her his seat and then offers her his drink. JOAN

Your hands clean? (Gable nods. She takes the drink.) Where’s he sending you?

The phone rings. Victor picks up.

VICTOR Fleming here ...

CLARK He docked me a week’s pay.

JOAN That’s it?

Victor hushes them with a gesture.

CLARK (quiet) That’s a lot of dough, sister.

VICTOR (into the phone) Give me ten minutes.

JOAN Your salary wouldn’t cover my housekeeping expenses for a week!

Crawford stands and throws the last of the drink in Gable’s face and storms out. Gable is soaked.

Victor, irritated and still on the phone reaches into his desk and throws Gable a clean shirt.

INT. MGM PRODUCTION OFFICES, DIRECTORS’ ROW - MOMENTS LATER
Joan comes out the door and bumps into ANITA going through Gladys’ desk.

ANITA Are you okay, Miss Crawford?

JOAN Fuck this men’s club!

She storms off down the hall. Anita peers into Fleming’s door and spies GABLE with his shirt off, trying to laugh it off.

INT. CAMERA DEPT. - DAY
Adjusting a large stage light is cameraman, HAL ROSSON, 37, he has joyful eyes and a wild winged mustache.

In a lit area stands HARLOW: smiling, bubbling, braless in a satin gown. Couches and chairs for shoots are spread around.

HAL That’s quite a shade of blonde.

HARLOW It’s platinum.

HAL How do you achieve it?

HARLOW (hurt) It’s natural.

HAL Oh. Incredible.

HARLOW Every picture I’ve been in the cameraman complains about it. They say it’s difficult to light. I don’t see why. Just put the lights on. I think they just want to turn the lights off, IF you catch my drift. Hal laughs.

HAL Your hair has a lot of bounce.

HARLOW I’ve always thought it quite stiff.

HAL Not that kind of bounce. It bounces light. Film lights are really bright, so your hair can bounce too much light back at the camera. But I think I know what to do.

He grabs a small light and puts it behind her, aiming it up at the back of her head.

He dims other lights and looks at Jean who strikes a sexy pose. She giggles.

HAL If I was taking photographs it wouldn’t be too bad. But in a photoplay, you move —— you’re talking and gesturing. It’s hard to make sure everywhere you go, you look perfect.

HARLOW Is that SO important?

He moves close to her and gently adjusts her chin slightly away from the camera.

HAL We sell perfection.

HARLOW But we aren’t perfect. Are we?

Her big eyes appear deep and soulful. Hal smiles, embarrassed, he is smitten.

HAL Stay on this mark.

HARLOW I’ll try. But everything moves around a LOT.

She shimmies her breasts, proving the point. Hal blushes.

VICTOR enters. Thalberg and Paul Bern follow behind and take up spots outside the lit area. Jean observes Victor closely.

HARLOW (whispering) He looks so tough.

HAL You must be a real V.I.P. to get Vic Fleming.

Jean feels better. She spies Paul and gives him a wave.

NORMA slips in and takes a place behind Thalberg. Thalberg is about to protest, but he sees the anger in her eyes and stops himself.

HAL (to Victor) I think the key is to hit the back of her hair with a little light. Give it glow, not glare.

Victor claps him firmly on the back, making Hal smile.

VICTOR Miss Harlow, I’m Victor Fleming, I’ll be directing the test.

HARLOW I know who you are! Call me Jean. Please, everyone, call me Jean.

VICTOR I’m going to roll the camera, and ask a few questions and take you through a series of emotions.

Hal adjusts the light, he is distracted from his task looking down Harlow’s dress. Victor gestures to dim it a little.

HARLOW I’m ready!

VICTOR When’s your birthday?

HARLOW HA! It’s today. I’m twenty-one!

Victor laughs at her unbridled joy. Thalberg gives Paul a disapproving look. Paul smiles back with smug satisfaction.

NORMA (Not so quiet) God. She’s a baby.

HARLOW

My goodness. Is that Norma Shearer?

NORMA My apologies, I just needed to tell Irving something.

HARLOW Oh, I don’t mind. You’re an inspiration, Norma. I’ve seen all your pictures.

NORMA Well...the baby’s got taste.

VICTOR Jean, where do you want to be in five years?

HARLOW Hell, I don’t care. As long as I’m not dead! Ooh. Everyone laughs. Jean giggles, her audience in her hands. Thalberg smiles, he looks at Norma; she is not smiling.

MATCH CUT TO:

EXT. LION BUILDING - DAY
Norma’s fierce eyes glower at Thalberg under the fig tree. She chokes the Red Dust theater card draft in her hands.

NORMA You’re giving Greta, Red Dust? I love that play. I found it!

THALBERG Mayer’s changing his tune, but it needs a re-write. I need Meehan to give it to Frances——

NORMA If Garbo can play tarts, so can I.

THALBERG It doesn’t meet your sophistication. It’s a morally bankrupt, low-class, whore——

NORMA Playing a part is not being——

THALBERG The dumb public doesn’t see the difference. Trust me: pictures with pedigrees, critically acclaimed Broadway plays, great literature——

NORMA Greta is beautiful and mysterious. I get it. And Joan is the flapper, a rags-to-riches, American girl. And now we’ve got “the Baby.” And she’s going to flaunt her tits and her empty, bleached head. But I need something. I’m boring.

He takes her hand and kisses it. He looks lovingly into her eyes.

THALBERG You’re not boring. You’re classic. You’re a goddess.

Norma doesn’t know how to get through to him.

INT. MAYER’S OFFICE - DAY
Mayer is making sure he has no errant nose hairs when his secretary, IDA KOVERMAN, 55, appears. Stoic and stern, if there was a Mount Rushmore for secretaries she’d be on it.

IDA She’s here, Mr. Mayer.

Mayer straightens his tie and fixes his hair. He nods to Ida.

GRETA GARBO enters, 26, she’s a precious metal; cold and brilliant, the most worshiped woman in the world.

MAYER Good afternoon, Greta. We missed you at the party.

She sits apathetically on the sofa. Mayer is weakened in her presence —— his voice softens; his face smiling and bright.

MAYER We accept the terms of your new contract.

Garbo says nothing, no expression.

MAYER It wasn’t easy convincing Schenck to approve your demands, but I fought for you. I said, “Let her have approval of roles and co-stars and directors. She’s the greatest actress of all time. She has no limits.” You’re worth more than a quarter-million per picture!

Greta grows impatient and uncomfortable.

MAYER Up next for you is, Red Dust —— Thalberg’s setting it up —— we’ll have a script for you next week. And, of course, the biggest picture of the year Grand Hotel. “A million-dollar cast.” That’s how we’ll sell it. Is that to your satisfaction?

Long beat.

GARBO Grand Hotel, yes. Red Dust ... I’ll need to see the script.

MAYER We’re thinking of Wallace Beery in it. He’s a perfect monster. And a huge draw at the box office. Frances is doing the rewrite.

Garbo can see they’re done. She gets up, barely stopping at the door as she exits.

GARBO This conversation could have been had over the telephone.

She’s gone. Mayer, alone and crushed, sinks to his knees in front of the couch. He presses his face into the cushion where Garbo sat.

He inhales her deeply, then screams into the cushion.

INT. WRITERS BUILDING - DAY
Meehan returns to his desk. He grabs his coffee mug to get a refill and he stops cold in his tracks. The script underneath the mug reads: The White Sister.

He frantically searches his desk for the missing script. Looking under everything. His phone rings.

MEEHAN Yes? Mr. Thalberg. Red Dust? Yes. I’ll give it to Frances ...

He hangs up, an expression of dread as he gazes upon his upturned desk.

MEEHAN ... as soon as I find it.

INT. ANITA’S OFFICE - DAY
Anita is organizing her desk. Victor pokes his head in the open door. He steps in seeing she’s not on the phone.

Anita looks up at the smiling Victor. Behind him is Gable, he pops his eyebrows at her. They have a sexiness she hasn’t encountered in some time. Victor extends his hand to her —

VICTOR Time for the screening. You coming?

Anita isn’t sure what he’s talking about, but she accepts his hand. He pulls her easily to her feet.

INT. SCREENING ROOM - DAY
On screen, in all her glory, is JEAN HARLOW laughing at some comment from off-screen.

Mayer sits in the middle row between Thalberg and Paul. Mayer’s face is stoic, calculating. Thalberg takes notes, assessing the new acquisition. Bern laughs with her, completely in love.

A few rows behind Meyer sit Victor, Conway, Meehan, Hal, John Lee, Frances and Anita. Behind them a couple rows sit Gable and Norma.

Spread out among the seats in front are other EXECUTIVES, WRITERS and DIRECTORS.

NORMA Can you really elevate her to the status of Crawford, or Garbo?

JOHN LEE Or Shearer?

John Lee winks at Norma; she smiles at last.

ANITA Sure, she looks like a sex-pot. But she’s funny. She’s a screwball.

Victor laughs at a little shimmy Jean performs on screen. Conway and him share a knowing look. Vic ignores the conversation around him.

NORMA Dammit. The baby’s adorable.

CLARK She’s great on set too. She’ll do anything.

JOHN LEE Oh yeah?

CLARK (laughing) Get your mind out of her thighs.

Hal shoots Gable a foul expression.

NORMA So what do you do with the baby?

Everyone looks at each other. No answer. The reel ends.

THALBERG Adrian, wardrobe assessment?

ADRIAN GREENBURG, 29, dark, reserved, arrogant, and openly homosexual. He smokes a cigarette in the back of the room.

ADRIAN Put her in white satins and sheer fabrics; low-cut, no brassiere ... if you’re into that kind of thing.

Knowing laughs from everyone.

ADRIAN BUT if you want her to look like an MGM star, soften the makeup, give her hair a more natural color or change it altogether. The roaring twenties went out like a lamb.

Paul Bern is gravely concerned about the suggestion.

THALBERG John Lee. I want all the ideas the writers have on my desk Monday.

John Lee looks at Anita. She gives him a small nod, telling him she’ll follow suit. Meehan scoffs.

MEEHAN (complaining to Anita) That means coming in on Saturday again. It’s becoming a bad habit.

Meehan lights a cigarette. Anita turns to Frances.

FRANCES (to Anita) Not I. That’s my time with the boys. It’s in my contract. Meehan, you have a script called Red Dust for me?

Meehan shoots a glance at Victor who isn’t listening to them.

MEEHAN Sorry. I forgot it. I’ll have it to you by end of the day.

The ceiling lights come on. Everyone gets to their feet. Mayer notices Gable.

MAYER No actors!

VICTOR He’s with me.

Gable smiles at Vic for sticking up for him. Mayer frowns and turns his back on them, returning his attention to Bern and Thalberg.

Thalberg catches Norma’s eye and frowns; she shrugs coyly.

HAL Hey, Vic, Lu was asking when you were going to come around again.

Norma’s ears perk up.

VICTOR I can’t remember the last time I saw her? How’s she doing?

HAL My brother moved out of the house. Going on three months now. I have dinner with her every Friday. She’s still my sister-in-law.

NORMA Arthur moved out? Will there be a divorce? Hal shrugs, unsure.

VICTOR I’m going out of town tomorrow. How’s tonight?

HAL Shouldn’t be a problem, she makes enough food to feed the studio.

NORMA Maybe I can come too. For old time’s sake? Victor and Hal are surprised.

HAL Gosh, she’d love that. I’ll phone her right now.

NORMA Don’t tell her I’m coming. Let’s surprise her. You’ll give me a ride, won’t you Vic?

Gable, who has been observing, smiles at Victor. He makes a loud, shrill train whistle noise.

CLARK Choo-choo! All aboard!

Everyone in the room turns to him with a confused expression. Mayer looks at him like he defecated on the rug.

EXT. LION BUILDING - DAY
Meehan catches up to Victor and pulls him aside.

MEEHAN Look, Vic, that script you pinched from my desk —— I need it back.

Victor brushes his hand off his arm.

VICTOR What are you talking about?

Meehan lowers his voice as others pass by.

MEEHAN Red Dust. I have to give it to Frances. You took the only copy, Thalberg’s own version he wants me —— I mean her —— to work from.

VICTOR You’re barking up the wrong tree, pal. It wasn’t me.

John Lee approaches.

JOHN LEE Something wrong, Meehan?

Meehan, flustered, shakes his head and retreats back to the writers’ building.

JOHN LEE Weren’t you heading to Alaska?

Victor, flustered, throws his arms up in the air and stalks off. John Lee watches Fleming storm away —— calculating.

INT. FLEMING’S OFFICE - DUSK
Victor hurries in to find JOAN sitting on his small couch, crying. He isn’t happy to see her.

VICTOR Clark’s gone home. To his spouse.

Joan stands. Victor holds the door open.

JOAN When you see him——

VICTOR I don’t know when that’ll be.

JOAN You kidding? Good luck trying to shake him. You’re all he talks about. (VICTOR can’t help a smile) When you see him, tell him Mayer wins.

VICTOR He usually does. You’ll be all right at U.A. There’s good people there.

JOAN But not like the people here.

She starts to leave, Vic takes her arm gently —— she’s vulnerable. He looks at her tenderly.

VICTOR Joan —— Make sure they give you a helluva script. Take nothing less.

Joan nods, grateful for the advice and exits.

INT. THALBERG’S OFFICE - DUSK
FITZGERALD stands at the window looking out over the studio’s backlot. The setting sun floods the room in orange.

THALBERG Your last check will be mailed to you. We wish you luck in all your future endeavors, Scott.

FITZGERALD That’s movie-speak for “Fuck off.” Zelda ordered me to beg for my job. But I won’t. Was it the party? I get carried away at parties.

THALBERG That’s just it. It’s 1932. The party’s over.

Fitzgerald turns back to the window, tears stream down his face. Thalberg’s uncomfortable with the scene. Fitzgerald gestures to the studio lot spread out before the window.

FITZGERALD In the sunset, the studio lot looks like thirty acres of fairyland.

THALBERG It’s been said we, “work in a dream factory.”

FITZGERALD No ... Not because your scenery really looks like African jungles, or French châteaux, or Brooklyn blocks, but because it looks like the torn picture books of childhood ... Like fragments of stories dancing in an open fire. It’ll all turn to ash someday.

Thalberg is rattled. Fitzgerald savors the last of his drink, then looks down at:

EXT. LION BUILDING - DUSK
Mayer is walking to a waiting car when he spies a WIRE FOX TERRIER on the lawn. It listens attentively to a TRAINER who, using small treats, has it jumping, lying down, and running in circles beneath the fig tree.

Mayer watches, smiling. He totters over to the trainer.

MAYER Rewards and treats aren’t enough to keep dogs in line.

TRAINER That’s true. They need rules.

MAYER I have dogs. They have everything they want. But they’re not happy. Not as happy as she is. They’re just ill-behaved and uncontrollable.

TRAINER Dogs are happiest when working and knowing they’ve done a good job. To do that they need discipline.

The small dog jumps into his arms, licking his face. Mayer is overcome with emotion.

MAYER She looks ready to work.

TRAINER She lives for it.

Mayer smiles and excuses himself. He moves as quickly as his stubby legs take him to the big grey car waiting for him.

The Trainer watches MAYER talk to his driver. The driver comes walking over to the trainer. The driver is OLLIE, 30s, gravely serious.

OLLIE Mr. Mayer has asked me to retrieve the dog.

TRAINER But ... he belongs to——

OLLIE The studio.

The Trainer starts shaking slightly, but with no recourse, hands the dog over to the driver.

Ollie gently takes the dog and hands it to Mayer in the back of the car. He gets in the driver’s seat and pulls away.

INT. THALBERG’S OFFICE - DUSK
Thalberg is collecting scripts for his weekend read. Norma lingers by the bar.

NORMA I’m going to have dinner with Hal Rosson and his sister-in-law, Lu. It’s a reunion of sorts. Vic will give me a lift.

THALBERG What’s Vic’s relationship to Arthur Rosson’s wife?

NORMA Vic doesn’t like bringing his flings around to meet his family. Instead he brings them to Lu and she’ll nix the ones that don’t pass. She nixed Clara Bow, Alice White——

THALBERG She nix you?

NORMA (coy) No. I nixed myself.

THALBERG A couple of years ago, Vic invited me to join his motorcycle club, a real macho group. Him, and his pal Howard Hawkes and those guys would all brag about their conquests, but I thought you and Vic were just... gossip. He told me back when I hired him that it wasn’t gossip. You had been an item. Vic said he wanted to be straight with me.

Norma takes his face in her hands.

NORMA He falls a little for every girl he directs. And they usually fall right on their back for him. Back when there was no sound. Back before you.

She kisses him and gathers her handbag. He smolders.

THALBERG He’s past his prime, and I should get him for a song, but he wants to sign for films, not years. If he doesn’t play the hand he’s dealt he’s finished. If you want to help your “old friend,” tell him to take my offer.

Norma feels a pang of guilt and heads out, leaving Irving staring at the fire dying in his fireplace.