Free Dreams from Bunker Hill by John Fante

us. “Read this and tell me what you think. I’ll be back in an hour.” He left the office and closed the door.
    “You are young, aren’t you?” Velda said.
    “I may be young but I’m a hell of a writer.”
    She laughed. Her teeth were false. “You know something?” she said. “You look like Spencer Tracy. I saw Spence this morning at Musso-Frank’s. We had breakfast together. He was telling me about working with Loretta Young—how he loved it. She’s really gorgeous, don’t you think? I know Loretta and Sally and their mother. Such a lovely family. She was under contract at Metro when I was out there. We used to have lunch together, Loretta and I and Carole Lombard and Joan Crawford. You’d love Joan. Such a fine figure of a woman. And Robert Taylor! I swear he’s the handsomest man in Hollywood, excluding Clark Gable, of course. Clark and I are old friends. I knew him when he first started in the business. I’ve seen him scale the heights, and look at him now! They say he’s in love with Claudette Colbert, but I don’t believe it. I saw him at the tennis club the other day and asked him if it was true. He laughed that merry masculine laugh of his, and kissed me on the cheek and said, ‘You want the truth, Velda? I’m in love with you’. Wasn’t that priceless? John Barrymore always said the same thing to me. Such a tease! Not at all like Lionel or Ethel, but a free spirit, a romantic poem of a man. Some people say that Errol Flynn is more handsome, but I can’t believe it. Ronald Coleman, though, he’s something else—so dashing, with sparkling eyes, and princely manners. He gave a partya couple of weeks ago in Santa Barbara. It had to be the most wonderful soirée in Hollywood history. Norma Shearer was there, and Tallulah Bankhead and Alice Faye and Jean Harlow and Wallace Beery and Richard Barthelmess and Harold Lloyd and Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. Oh, it was fabulous—a night I’ll never forget!”
    She paused for breath. “But here I am talking about myself as usual. Tell me, do you like Hollywood?”
    “Sometimes yes,” I said, “and sometimes no.”
    “Isn’t that funny!” she exclaimed. “Pat O’Brien said the same thing to me last week at Warner Brothers. We were having lunch in the Green Room at Warner Brothers—Pat and I and Bette Davis and Glenda Farrell. I don’t know why we got on the subject of Hollywood, but Pat looked very reflective and said exactly what you’ve just said.”
    The door opened and Cyril Korn returned. “How are you two getting along?” he asked.
    “Just fine,” Velda van der Zee said. “We’re going to make a great team.”
    He turned to me. “You like the story?” he asked.
    “Of course he does,” Velda said. “He’s in love with it, aren’t you, Arturo?”
    “I guess so.”
    Korn clapped his hands. “Then it’s settled. I’ll call Jack Arthur and tell him it’s a deal.”
    “Who’s Jack Arthur?” I asked. Before he could answer Velda said:
    “Jack Arthur happens to be one of the most delightful producers in Hollywood. He’s been my close friend for ten years. I was a bridesmaid at his wedding, and the godmother of his two children. Need I say more?”
    “No,” I said. “That’s fine, fine.”
    One thing about Cyril Korn: When he wanted you to leave he almost threw you out. He returned to his desk and sat down. “That’s it, kids. I’ll be in touch.”
    I walked out with Velda. We descended the elevator to the street floor and walked out on the parking lot.
    “Do you know anything about Indian wrestling?” sheasked.
    “Not much,” I said.
    “Last night at Jeannette McDonald’s house, Lewis Stone and Frank Morgan tried their hands at Indian wrestling. It was a scream. They tugged and pushed until the sweat broke out on their faces. And do you know who won?”
    “Who?”
    “Lewis Stone!” she exclaimed. “That fine elderly gentleman defeated Frank Morgan at Indian wrestling. Everybody screamed with laughter and