From the Top

“Again, please.”

“She sells she- she sells sea sells- she shellsUGGGH.”

The speaker threw the book containing the tongue twister at the wall, fuming as he muttered swears under his breath.

His instructor lit a cigarette as he sat back in the small chair he had brought into the rehearsal room.

“Ah, venting your frustrations like a real man, eh Claude?”

Claude glared at the smirking, smartly dressed man.

“More than a fairy like you would ever know, Oscar.”

Oscar shrugged.

“Perhaps. But this fairy is the only thing keeping you employed as a heart throb for an adoring, movie going public. Or should I tell Mr. Mayer you'd prefer to go back to a life in the Merchant Marines?”

Claude sighed and slunk into his own chair. His booming baritone muttered a meek apology.

“Sorry, I just- I hate this talking stuff, you know? Why do I have to this? It's just a fad.”

“Claude, you dear, dear sweet boy- I know it is a struggle, but this is no fad. I hate it too, but they're still flocking to see Jazz Singer & the edict is all over the town: people want to hear their stars talk.”

“But why? Where's the mystery in that? Where's the drama? Where's the- you know, sex appeal? I mean, for God's sake, have you heard Clara Bow talk? She sounds like a steam whistle with a head cold.”

“I happen to think she has a very sweet voice.”

“Again, you're nice, but you ain't exactly her target audience, you know?”

Oscar gave a forced laugh.

“Right, because I'm a 'fruit,' right?”

“Exactly- no offense.”

“I'm sure.”

Claude walked over to the coffee pot on a small table near the door into the room, pouring himself another cup- taking time to pour a nip of whiskey from his pocket flask into the hot, inky black in the MGM mug.

“Can't I just get someone to do my lines for me? Someone who has this voice training?”

“They tried that with John Gilbert.”

“Yeah? How did that go?”

“The record of the voice got warped from the heat, so it made Gilbert sound like a chipmunk.”

“Oh God.”

“Uh huh. Sam Warner went apparently ballistic & fired everyone involved with that mess.”

Claude sat back down, taking a long drink from his mug before setting it down on the floor next to his seat.

Oscar stubbed out his cigarette on the cement floor. He walked over to where the linguistic exercise book had been tossed to, and brought it back over to Claude.

“Ready to try again?”

Claude sighed & shook his head.

“We have all night, Claude, so we can take our time. Honestly, my calender is wide open, so we can camp out here all weekend, if you like- I know a nice little chop suey place up the road that will deliver. However, we have to get this work done before shooting starts on Monday.”

“Why do I have to do this garbage, though? I'm not a stage actor- I don't this. I've got microphones, I can talk just fine.”

“Really? Is that why you were stammering your lines out & kept looking up at the microphone over your head?”

Claude turned beet red.

“You saw that?”

“Oh, yes indeed. Mr. Meyer explained what was needed, and I asked if there was any footage of you, so I knew what I was working with- that is when I got to see your first sound test.”

Claude said: “They said no one would ever see that.”

“And no one in the general public shall- however, a specialist such as myself needs to see things like that to know how to best serve your needs & the needs of our mutual employer.”

Claude rose from his seat & paced around the room.

“I don't know what I'm doing here- I'm wasting my time. I- I don't need this. I don't need this. I'll be just fine- it was just nerves the other day. That's all, nerves. I don't even know why you're here- I don't need some Brylcreamed pink powder puff telling me how to do my business! I'm the biggest romance star in the country! They know my name over in China & England! Hell, MGM thinks they're better than me- I am MGM!”

Oscar took a breath & closed his eyes before speaking.

“You are a big star, yes, but you are a star of a solar system that is dying, Claude. You think you're the first person to take this attitude with me? You know who I was working with before you?”

“No, who?”

“Norma Talmadge. She thought she was bigger than everyone, too, and that she didn't need to worry about the microphone. And I have no doubt you know all too well what happened to her.”

“I-”

Oscar held up a hand.

Claude clammed up.

“You see, I am not here for my own health. I am here because I think I can help you. I would be lying if I said the pay wasn't a motivator as well, but I am also here because I genuinely believe I can help you save your career. That is the grave danger I don't think you are aware of, Claude- the microphone is hanging over your movie career like the Sword of Damocles.”

“The what?”

“Don't worry about that- the point is, there is a host of actors chomping at the bit to take your spot.”

“You're lying.”

“Am I? Or have you forgotten about Clark Gable? Or John Barrymore? Or Jimmy Cagney?”

“So? They're not the stars I am.”

“Yet. But they are nipping at your heels, Claude, and they're gaining ground on you every day.”

“I'm not worried about that.”

Oscar smirked as he lit another cigarette.

“Are you sure you don't need help with your acting?”

Claude fumed.

“Why aren't you off helping Gable & Barrymore, if their so great?”

“Because they already have this training! Why are you fighting this tooth and nail?”

“Because I'm scared, okay? I'm… I'm terrified of that damn microphone. I know I need to know how to work with it, but I saw my friends who were so much better at this than me get treated like a bum, all because of that stupid, lousy microphone. Harold Lloyd is one of my best friends in the world, and he used to be up there with Chaplain, for God's sake. Now, he can't pay people to let him make a picture- all because of that damned microphone.”

Claude bolted out of his chair & before he could leave the room, Oscar dropped him with an uppercut right under Claude's perfectly chiseled chin.

Oscar sighed, tried to shake off the pain in his hand, & resumed smoking his cigarette.

He'd let Claude rest a bit and try again.

Louis B. Mayer expected results.

They had all weekend to get them.