Previous First
[Concluding the epilogue... and the novel]
“You’re not recording our conversation, are you?” he asked.
Hughes stared at him a second, then laughed. “No, of course not. You’ve got nothing to worry about. She’s here to take notes for making cuts to the picture. I’m still not happy with the way it looks.” He paused again, still looking at Casey, as though trying to get up the nerve to do something.
“I think I probably owe you an apology, Casey,” he finally said. “In addition to the thanks for what you two did for Jean. I”—he paused, swallowed—“I have been told I’m kinda too proud for my own good. I let my own hurt feelings get in the way of my good judgment, back—well, you know.” Casey nodded.
“Well, I should never have fired you. I saw the work you did in that piece of—that movie Straebo made. No offense, Miss Farrell,” he added to Desiree. “You surely know how to fly a Tommy. That crash on fire was just the damnedest thing.”
“Wasn’t it, though?” Desiree said. Casey said nothing. It had been nearly Christmas before his ribs stopped hurting whenever he coughed.
28 August, 2019
26 August, 2019
High Risk 16.1
Previous First
“I have been to a lot of galas in my time,” Desiree said, “but I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“I thought we were going to be crushed to death out there,” Casey said. “I was chatting with a reporter in the lobby, and he told me it took him an hour to drive the last four blocks along Hollywood Boulevard on his way here.”
Casey looked at his watch. It was after nine-thirty; the picture was supposed to have started at eight-fifteen. Ahead of where he and Desiree sat, people were still scrambling for seats.
“What did you think of the airplanes?” Desiree asked. At one point, while they’d been trapped in the crowd in front of Grauman’s Chinese Theater, a squadron of red-painted biplanes had flown overhead—as if this premiere had needed any more promotion.
“I was mostly glad I wasn’t one of the pilots,” Casey admitted. “I would have hated to miss this.”
EPILOGUE
“I have been to a lot of galas in my time,” Desiree said, “but I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“I thought we were going to be crushed to death out there,” Casey said. “I was chatting with a reporter in the lobby, and he told me it took him an hour to drive the last four blocks along Hollywood Boulevard on his way here.”
Casey looked at his watch. It was after nine-thirty; the picture was supposed to have started at eight-fifteen. Ahead of where he and Desiree sat, people were still scrambling for seats.
“What did you think of the airplanes?” Desiree asked. At one point, while they’d been trapped in the crowd in front of Grauman’s Chinese Theater, a squadron of red-painted biplanes had flown overhead—as if this premiere had needed any more promotion.
“I was mostly glad I wasn’t one of the pilots,” Casey admitted. “I would have hated to miss this.”
25 August, 2019
Sunset at the Home Office
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| Photo by Karen Fernandez |
A bunch of us went up there again this year, and I believe the weather this trip was the best it's ever been for us. Days were almost all sunny and warm (warm for the region, at any rate) and what rain did fall mostly fell in a Camelot sort of fashion (early morning or late night).
And when we did get clouds, it was only so we could be treated to Maxfield Parrish-like sunsets or sunrises. (One morning we had fog so thick you could scarcely see the other side of the lake, shown in the photo above.)
The (delightful) irony is that I did almost no writing at all this trip. I say delightful because on previous visits I was on vacation from day-jobs (broadcaster, tech writer, biz analyst), and writing was a vacation activity. Now I write full-time, and the visit to the lake was a vacation from writing. So I spent my days paddling around in the lake, or reading, or even (for the first time in more than four decades) painting and building plastic models.
Since I got home I've written every day. Which is one reason the only posts this blog has seen recently are novel-serialization posts.
Writing Alternate History: Some Advice
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| New York Public Library |
I gather there are people out there who like to create alternate histories for their own sake; I also gather that it's accepted in the online alternate history community to write alt-history as a kind of "non-fiction" essay. But I'm a writer of fiction, and the needs of the story come first, well before any pretensions to accuracy in the background world.
Having said this, I will offer one piece of advice I normally try to follow when writing any sort of alternate history:
23 August, 2019
High Risk 15.5
Previous First
[Concluding chapter fifteen]
Desiree’s house was not at all as he’d imagined it.
Granted that his experience with Hollywood housing had been confined to the domiciles of an art director, two stars, and one studio head; still, Casey had thought that he’d detected some common themes in terms of interior décor. Large amounts of empty space, for one. A tendency to gigantism and stylistic pastiche, for another.
Desiree’s house, though, was a modest two-story affair on Seventh Street, near the intersection with a stretch of Alvarado that hadn’t been fashionable in nearly a decade. The closest thing to exoticism was the lake in Westlake Park, on the other side of the street from the house.
“That’s a nice view,” he told her as they walked up the steps to her front door.
“On those days when I’m able to see it in daylight, I quite enjoy it,” she said. Casey couldn’t tell if she was serious or not; given the work-habits required of actors here, she was probably nowhere near a joke. “Why don’t you come in?” she asked him. “It’s either ridiculously late or ridiculously early, and either way I think you’ve earned a cup of coffee.”
[Concluding chapter fifteen]
Desiree’s house was not at all as he’d imagined it.
Granted that his experience with Hollywood housing had been confined to the domiciles of an art director, two stars, and one studio head; still, Casey had thought that he’d detected some common themes in terms of interior décor. Large amounts of empty space, for one. A tendency to gigantism and stylistic pastiche, for another.
Desiree’s house, though, was a modest two-story affair on Seventh Street, near the intersection with a stretch of Alvarado that hadn’t been fashionable in nearly a decade. The closest thing to exoticism was the lake in Westlake Park, on the other side of the street from the house.
“That’s a nice view,” he told her as they walked up the steps to her front door.
“On those days when I’m able to see it in daylight, I quite enjoy it,” she said. Casey couldn’t tell if she was serious or not; given the work-habits required of actors here, she was probably nowhere near a joke. “Why don’t you come in?” she asked him. “It’s either ridiculously late or ridiculously early, and either way I think you’ve earned a cup of coffee.”
22 August, 2019
High Risk 15.4
Previous First
[Continuing chapter fifteen]
“I don’t think that you have to do anything with me,” Casey said. “In fact, I insist that you don’t.”
“Oh, you needn’t worry about late-night accidents,” McMahon said. “Or a renewal of interest in your behavior by, say, Detective Sergeant Clark.” He smiled—or, rather, showed his teeth with his mouth forced into an upward curve, which was not at all the same thing. “At the same time, you’ll allow that I have a right to be concerned about the details of this unfortunate situation appearing in the newspapers or on Walter Winchell.”
“I’m more than happy to assure you on that score,” Casey said. “I don’t tell tales. So long as I think that justice is done, I’m satisfied.
“Speaking of which, what about Michael Buckley? Do we know where he’s gone? What’s to be done about him?”
[Continuing chapter fifteen]
“I don’t think that you have to do anything with me,” Casey said. “In fact, I insist that you don’t.”
“Oh, you needn’t worry about late-night accidents,” McMahon said. “Or a renewal of interest in your behavior by, say, Detective Sergeant Clark.” He smiled—or, rather, showed his teeth with his mouth forced into an upward curve, which was not at all the same thing. “At the same time, you’ll allow that I have a right to be concerned about the details of this unfortunate situation appearing in the newspapers or on Walter Winchell.”
“I’m more than happy to assure you on that score,” Casey said. “I don’t tell tales. So long as I think that justice is done, I’m satisfied.
“Speaking of which, what about Michael Buckley? Do we know where he’s gone? What’s to be done about him?”
21 August, 2019
High Risk 15.3
Previous First
[Continuing chapter fifteen]
McMahon perked up at this, but Straebo continued to stare gloomily at the floor. He knows what happened, Casey thought. And he also knows that I’ve figured it out. He turned to Desiree and encouraged her to continue.
“Remember what Carole London told us?” Desiree said. “She saw Lily sneaking into the boarding house just before six last Sunday morning.”
“I remember,” Casey said. “I also remember wondering, at the time, why she’d do that. Carole said that the girls did it all the time, but what I was wondering was, why sneak into the house through somebody else’s room?”
[Continuing chapter fifteen]
McMahon perked up at this, but Straebo continued to stare gloomily at the floor. He knows what happened, Casey thought. And he also knows that I’ve figured it out. He turned to Desiree and encouraged her to continue.
“Remember what Carole London told us?” Desiree said. “She saw Lily sneaking into the boarding house just before six last Sunday morning.”
“I remember,” Casey said. “I also remember wondering, at the time, why she’d do that. Carole said that the girls did it all the time, but what I was wondering was, why sneak into the house through somebody else’s room?”
20 August, 2019
High Risk 15.2
Previous First
[Continuing chapter fifteen]
“What I propose to give the D.A. is this: Buckley was overheard discussing the screen test with Eve.” He smiled at Straebo. “Overheard, incidentally, by Belinda Moore—the actress you fired in order to bring Lily into your bed. Miss Moore’s testimony alone might be impeachable, but since the meeting took place in a restaurant”—Straebo blanched at this, then slowly shook his head—“there will undoubtedly be other witnesses.”
[Continuing chapter fifteen]
“What I propose to give the D.A. is this: Buckley was overheard discussing the screen test with Eve.” He smiled at Straebo. “Overheard, incidentally, by Belinda Moore—the actress you fired in order to bring Lily into your bed. Miss Moore’s testimony alone might be impeachable, but since the meeting took place in a restaurant”—Straebo blanched at this, then slowly shook his head—“there will undoubtedly be other witnesses.”
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