The White Parasol..or..Boys will be Boys and Girls will be Girls
@damfinofanfiction
(Buster Keaton/OC) (F/M) This is a story of an admiration that turns into lust. Here, a chorus girl and aspiring actress, Gail Anders finds herself meeting her screen crush Buster Keaton. She previously dreams of her and Keaton, then finds out that her fantasy is not far from reality. AO3- MyKindofStory925
Note: first chapter of the year and it's hot again!!!
A honey-colored glow pulled Buster from his slumber. He found Gail standing by the window, realizing she had sneaked out of his bed.
“Doll?” he croaked, his voice still thick from sleep.
She turned toward him, having slipped on the silk dress from the night before. “Good morning,” she said, before facing the window again.
“Good morning.” He reached down to pick up his drawers from the floor and put them on as he climbed out of bed. “When did you get up?”
“Just recently. I just wanted a better look at the sunrise over the ocean.”
Buster joined Gail by the window and held her close, wrapping his arms around her. “I haven’t seen one in a while,” he admitted. “Didn't bother to.” He watched the sunlight climbing, its orange glow bleeding into the blue sky and bringing color to the soft waves. That view would put filmmakers like him to shame; no black-and-white film could capture beauty as real life could.
“What do you think? Is it lovely?” Gail asked, her voice hushed by the vastness of the view.
“It is,” Buster murmured. His eyes went to her clothed chest, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face that he hadn't woken up while she was still nude. He had already made love to her a few times before falling asleep; it seemed enough as it was, but the lost moment still nagged at him.
Once the sun had climbed high enough to turn the ocean into a blinding sheet of silver, they retreated from the window to head downstairs. Buster slipped into his own robe and handed another to Gail, a silk piece embroidered with delicate patterns. It was Natalie’s. He didn’t say her name, and Gail didn't ask. She knew and didn't mind. They both knew she was not Natalie, but in the quiet of the morning, he wished she were.
For their breakfast, Buster heated a skillet to cook a couple of eggs while Gail helped by making coffee and toasting two slices of bread. Once the plates were ready, they sat at a small table.
“You were great last night,” Gail said while reaching for the butter.
“I know, you already told me.”
“I was talking about your acting,” she softly laughed. “Though I shouldn't be surprised, given your years in vaudeville.”
“Not just vaudeville,” Buster said. “While I was a child, I played Fauntleroy in Little Lord Fauntleroy, and I was Little William in East Lynne.”
Gail looked sullen, “East Lynne is a very sad play. Your character died, didn't he?”
“Yes, but one time, my death scene wasn't sad,” he explained. “Since it was a small role, I had to put on my little Irishman costume before that scene to be ready for the next act. The actress playing my mother chose to overact that night. While I was on the deathbed, her elbows slammed into me, sending my feet up and revealing my slap-shoes and baggy pants under the nightshirt. The audience erupted with laughter right there.”
“Oh goodness!” Gail giggled, “I would be shocked if you had never played Huckleberry Finn. It’s as if Julien Eltinge never played Charley’s Aunt.”
“I only got to be Huckleberry Finn in real life,” Buster said, his eyes softening. “Only in my summers in Muskegon.”
As soon as they were finished, Buster washed the dishes even though the housekeepers would come over to clean up, but wouldn't let them into his secret. Gail stood beside him, helping by drying mugs, plates, and utensils with a kitchen towel.
“Can I tell you something?” She asked
Buster nodded while scrubbing the skillet.
“First time I saw you in person, you were out on the street filming Sherlock Jr. I didn't know how to react, a living folk tale. I was so overcome that I fainted.”
Buster paused his task, momentarily stunned. He could barely fathom that she actually passed out in his presence twice. “I thought that Rudy Valentino would make girls do that,” he said, his voice thick with genuine surprise.
“I would faint for you rather than anyone else,” she said, her smile warm and steady, before she leaned in and pressed her lips to his.
The chore was finished as soon as Buster put everything back into its place. He wiped his hands on a rag, his eyes already scanning the kitchen for any stray crumbs or tell-tale signs of their presence. He’d been meticulous, having already returned Natalie’s jewelry box to its hidden spot before they had finally drifted off to sleep.
“What time is it?” Gail asked.
Buster glanced at the clock hanging on the wall. The rhythmic tick-tock felt louder now in the morning silence. “It’s past 6:30. The servants will be here in an hour, so we have a little time left.”
He watched Gail turn and walk slowly towards the stairs. While moving, she shuffled the robe and her nightgown, pulling the fabric to expose her right breast to his pleasure. With a lingering look, she gestured for him to follow. Buster didn't need a second invitation. He headed for her just as she broke into a run, her bare feet pattering against the wooden steps. He gave chase, catching her just as she reached the landing.
“Got you,” he said, pulling her into his arms. Their playful laughter echoed through the empty house.
They returned to the bedroom, Buster carrying Gail in his arms as he nuzzled her. He placed her gently onto the bed and moved quickly to the window. With a sharp tug, he closed the heavy curtains, plunging the room into a dimmed, hazy light that blocked out the intrusion of the morning sun.
By the time he turned back, Gail had already cast aside the silk robe and her nightgown, lying bare and expectant against the sheets. Buster leaned over her, his hands tracing the curves of her waist and thighs, his thumbs grazing the undersides of her breasts. He leaned down to press his face into the crook of her neck, feeling the warmth of her skin, his fingers playing one nipple to another. Gail arched into him, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as she let out a low, shaky breath.
“Just fuck me already,” Gail said softly.
Buster pulled back to slide down his drawers. He reached for his kit, quickly applying a thin layer as she positioned herself for him.
He entered her, and for a moment, the only sound was their breathing and the rhythmic pull of the Pacific. Finding his cue in the environment, Buster synchronized his movements to the tide outside; he found a steady rhythm by thrusting twice between each crashing wave.
Shortly after, she paused him, her eyes locking onto his in the dimmed light. “Tell me,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. “Am I so soft?”
“Yes, doll,” Buster murmured, his voice heavy with sincerity. “You are so soft.”
Gail looked thrilled, as if those were the words she had been waiting to hear her entire life. They kissed messily, their movements losing their choreographed grace to a raw, honest hunger. Buster shrugged off his robe as he worked, the silk damp with sweat, and resumed making love to her until they finally reached their climax together.
They spent a few minutes recovering in the quiet, the only sound the distant, fading roar of the surf. Buster was the first to move, the ticking of the kitchen clock echoing in the back of his mind.
“I think I need a quick shower,” he said, sitting up and rubbing a hand over his face. He looked back at her. “Do you want to join me?”
Gail offered a small, tired smile as she reached for her discarded things. “If it makes things faster, maybe.”
They shared a shower, but the playfulness of the morning had been replaced by the steady spray of water and the pressure of the ticking clock. They were busy scrubbing away the sweat and the scent of the night, too focused on the looming arrival of the staff to get intimate again. Buster would have loved to stay in forever, but the reality was clear: she had to leave, and she had to leave now.
Buster dressed himself quickly in the washroom. When he stepped back into the bedroom, he saw Gail already fully dressed, her silhouette framed by the morning light as she leaned over to pull on her stockings, turning from a vamp back into a prim and proper lady.
In five minutes, they were out the door. Buster moved with his usual mechanical precision, sneaking her out of the house and into the car while the neighbors were still tucked away inside their own homes.
He drove her home through the quiet streets, and the morning light had shone more brightly when they got up. When they reached her destination, she grabbed her overnight bag.
“Thank you for inviting me,” Gail said softly, her hand on the door handle.
“Thank you for spending a night with me,” Buster replied. “See you next time.”They shared a kiss before he watched her slip out of the car and disappear into her bungalow. Buster turned the car around, facing a heavy, quiet time alone in the beach house. He removed enough evidence to avoid arousing suspicion in the cleaners. His family and in-laws will return in a few hours, so he relaxed on a beach chair, watching the waves and jotting down his gag ideas on a small leather-bound ledger in case he’ll be making Battling Butler in the near future.
“What?” Gail said, blinking in surprise upon hearing Buster’s response. “Isn’t anybody home?”
“No, everyone’s staying over in San Diego until tomorrow, and the help took a holiday,” he replied. “So I thought I’d like to bring you over for a night.”
“For a night?!” Gail repeated, lowering her voice instinctively, even though she was alone in her rental. “Isn’t that risky? We could get caught.”
“Not if we’re careful,” Buster assured her. “It’ll just be you, me, and the ocean.”
Her heart skipped; butterflies fluttered in her stomach. She was glad to hear his voice. Calls from him were rare during the week. She might have visited him at the studio if she hadn’t feared causing a scandal or if rehearsals for future roles hadn’t consumed her days.
“And besides,” Buster went on, his tone playful, “for tonight, you could be the queen from Three Weeks.”
Gail felt her pulse quicken. Her more daring, lustful side thrilled at the thought of finally spending a night with Buster Keaton. If he had taken her to a truly private residence or the middle of nowhere, she wouldn’t have hesitated at all. She chose what’s right for her.
“For you,” she murmured, “I could never say no.”
As soon as the call ended, Gail packed a few essentials and some clothes into her bag. Just as Buster had instructed, she waited out front beneath the dim glow of the streetlamp until his car rolled quietly to the curb. “Good evening,” he called from the car.
“Good evening.” She leaned toward the open window and noticed he’d just tipped his hat low over his face.
“What’s the matter?” she whispered.
“Your neighbor’s out,” he murmured back.
She glanced toward Cole, seated on the front porch. “That’s all right—he’s blind,” she said with a smirk. “You’re lucky his nurse didn’t join him.”
“Hello, Cole,” she called.
“Hello there,” he replied. “I heard a car park. Are you going with a friend?”
“Oh yes. Don’t worry about me. Have a good night!” Gail waved. She was too busy climbing into the car to see whether Cole waved back.
She set her bag at her feet as the car pulled away from the bungalow. “Thanks for inviting me,” Gail said.
“Thanks for saying yes,” Buster replied. He reached for her, brushing a kiss against her lips. “You smell lovely today.” Gail was glad she had picked a certain perfume to wear.
While the car traveled, she divided her attention between watching the color-changing sky for any celestial shines and keeping herself hidden from potential observers.
They arrived at the beach house in Santa Monica, and Gail felt immediate relief at how secluded it was. The moon wasn't visible yet, but she could hear the faint rush of waves meeting the sands nearby. Buster stepped out first to unlock the front door, ushering her inside as soon as it opened.
The rental was no larger than the last place Buster had shared with his wife. Still, it was tasteful—comfortable furniture and thoughtful decorations that complemented the coastal setting rather than overwhelming it.
“Have you had dinner yet?” Buster asked after taking off his jacket and hat.
“Yes,”
“I haven’t. I’m starving.” He crossed to the refrigerator, then the pantry, assembling himself a sandwich.
“Where is the washroom?” Gail asked, still carrying her bag.
“Two doors to your left.”
“I’m going there to slip into something more comfortable,” she added lightly. “And I don’t mean in the nude.”
Buster let out a disappointed sigh.
Gail had bought herself a revealing nightgown after their relationship had grown more intimate. She never showed it to anyone by the time she changed in his washroom. The silk fabric was barely sheer, its hem falling just below her knees, with a deep V-neckline that left little to the imagination. She didn’t bother with underthings—they weren’t necessary.
Buster was still finishing his meal when Gail emerged in her nightgown. He looked up, nearly forgetting the sandwich in his hands.
“Good God,” he said quietly, a hint of amusement in his voice. “You’re a tease.”
Gail smiled, unbothered.
“Do you want a drink?”
Gail answered, “Yes, please.”
Once he finished eating, Buster brought out two highball glasses and a small bottle of liquor. He poured the liquor into the glasses. It wasn't bourbon since it was a lighter color. They clinked glasses in silence before Buster downed his.
Gail took a cautious sip. It wasn’t strong, slightly watered down, but it still sent a faint tingle through her.
Buster led her upstairs to his room. His bedroom faced the window, where the darkened ocean stretched endlessly beyond the glass, the steady rhythm of the waves filling the quiet space.
“How do I play the queen?” Gail asked lightly. “Is there a tiger rug?”
“We don’t need some tiger rug or a thousand roses,” Buster said, already turning away.
Gail watched him disappear into the next room, curiosity stirring. Moments later, he returned with a finely carved wooden box in his hands. “However, I have these.” He set it down and opened the lid. Inside lay an assortment of jewelry, carefully arranged.
“Did you buy them for me?” Gail asked, startled.
“No,” he said. “They’re Natalie’s.”
“No—I can’t accept them.” Gail pushed the box away from her.
“I didn’t say I was giving them to you,” Buster replied calmly. “I only want you to borrow them for a bit.”
“I’m sorry. It would feel like I’m replacing your wife.”
“That’s nothing,” he replied quickly. “You can put it back when this is over.”
Gail sat on the edge of the bed, and Buster joined her a moment later. She kept her eyes away from the box, her arms drawing in across her chest as if to steady herself. After a pause, she glanced back at the jewels, their shine catching her uneasily.
“Alright, but still,” she said softly, “they must be expensive.”
“Don’t worry,” Buster said. “I trust you.”
She hesitated, then gave in. Gail slipped a pair of bracelets onto each wrist. Buster helped her fasten a necklace, his fingers careful at the clasp, and last of all, she placed a tiara atop her head.
“There, think of yourself as a queen and nobody else.”
Gail looked at a mirror, having just realized how wonderful she looked with shimmering gems across her body.
“Now we’ll pretend,” Buster said. His face evolved from his regular self to a deadpan expression, just like his films.
"Your Majesty looks weary," he murmured, his voice low and theatrical. "The crown must be heavy tonight."
Gail caught his eye in the glass, lifting her chin. The weight of Natalie’s tiara felt different now—it was no longer a stolen object, but a prop for her freedom. "The crown is light, kind sir," she said. "It’s the memory of the King that was heavy. But the people have spoken. The tyrant is gone, and my kingdom is finally my own again."
She turned in his arms, her silk gown brushing against his wool trousers. "I can go back now. I can rule without fear."
Buster didn't let go. He looked at her with an intensity that made the "pretending" feel dangerously thin. "And what of the man who stood by you in the shadows? Now that you have your kingdom, will you leave him behind in this little house by the sea?"
Gail felt a catch in her throat. She traced the line of his jaw with her thumb. "The Queen cannot stay in hiding forever."
"Then don't," Buster countered, stepping closer until there was no space left between them. "Stay here and forget the throne. Or," he paused, his eyes searching hers, "take me with you. Put me in a uniform, call me a guard, call me a fool—just don't make me watch you sail away alone."
“Let me decide after you make love to me.”
Buster cupped her face, his thumb brushing her cheek. Their lips pressed to each other. Gail’s hands slid into his hair, the jewels at her wrists chiming softly as she pulled him closer. His hand was placed between her legs, which were still under the silk. He began to rub her slowly until she became wet.
Buster carefully took Gail to bed after the liplock had concluded. “What do you want, my queen?” Buster said softly.
Gail reclined on the pillows, “Fondle me, play me with your fingers.” She spread her legs and guided his hand to the place where she most wanted to feel his touch.
Her breath quickened as two of his fingers entered her womanhood. She helped pop out her right breast for him to touch with his other hand. His fingers began to jerk, which helped grow her arousal.
He took out the fingers while she wasn’t satisfied. “You’re not gonna leave me out of this.” He unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his trousers. He quickly opened a nightstand drawer beside Gail to bring out the thin. The trousers and the boxers were slid off, and he applied the thin onto himself. He hiked the hemline to give her full exposure of her bottom half. No words were exchanged, but Gail nodded to allow him to have it his way with her. He inserted himself into her and began to thrust slowly.
Soon after, he lifted her gently, helping her free herself from the nightgown without haste. As Gail reached to slip off one of her bracelets, Buster caught her hand.
“Don’t,” he said softly. “Keep all the jewels.”
She paused, then let her hand fall back to her side, the bracelets settling against her wrist with a quiet chime. Gail never thought about whether a piece would break off from the movement. They paused for her to take off his shirt and undershirt for him to show his muscles. Their lovemaking activities included buster fondling her breasts more and then tongue kissing. After more passionate movements, Buster climaxed. He made a short recovery before changing positions to pull them close to the edge of the bed. He buried himself between her thighs. Gail felt him pleasuring her with his tongue. She felt a wave consume her to the point that she finally climaxed.
He gave her a moment to recover before carefully lifting the tiara from her hair.
“The act is over, Gail,” he said quietly.
“Did you choose how it ends?” she asked. “What did the queen choose?”
Buster considered that for a moment. “Maybe something they could both accept.”
Gail slipped the bracelets from her wrists and unclasped the necklace, placing them back into the wooden box. As she did, a sudden glint caught her eye—the moonlight flashing sharply against the jewels.
“Shit,” she exclaimed, turning toward the window. “The curtains are still open!”
She reached for the nightgown on the floor, pulling it around herself as instinct took over.
Buster looked up, wrapping one of his shirts around his waist. “Calm down,” he said. “There’s not a soul out at this hour, and besides, no one could see us from there.”
Still unsettled, Gail moved closer to the window. The moon hung full and luminous over the ocean, surrounded by a scattering of stars. Despite herself, her breath softened.
“The moon looks beautiful tonight,” she said quietly.
For a moment, it felt as though the night itself had been made just for them—if such a thing were possible.
She felt Buster step in behind her, his arms wrapping around her in a quiet, familiar way. The warmth of him steadied her; his presence softened the last edge of her panic as they stood together, facing the ocean. After some time, Gail asked, “Are you done for the night?”
“Nah, I'd love to have more of you.” Buster began necking her, dropping the shirt back on the floor, and the silk fabric followed.
Maybe it was the liquor, but Gail wouldn't mind if he had sex with her while the man on the moon watched.
Gail rested under the shade of a palm tree, the ocean breeze gently rustling the fronds above. She turned to lie on her side, giving a comfortable sigh. “Thank you for taking the time to be out here with me.”
Also settled under the shade was Eliza. "With pleasure," she replied, turning to Gail. "I just want to enjoy what's left of summer.” After a sigh and a lengthy pause, she added, “So, are you going to tell me about your sweetheart?”
"Well, I said I'd tell you when we're alone, but look at where we are," Gail said, gesturing to the crowded beach. "No eavesdropper could miss a word from us."
“Oh! Is he famous?” Eliza asked with her interest piqued.
Gail hesitated. “Yes, but it’s a secret.”
Eliza scooted closer, her voice a hushed murmur. "What I had with Charlie is a Hollywood secret, a whisper among the big shots. Head eggs keep the public from hearing such news because they hire pressmen to fabricate stories that make stars appear to be good, moral people. Which is something I have heard.” She sat up, her expression now more direct. "Besides, I've told you my secret in a room full of bit players, so you should tell me yours.”
“Still, I cannot betray him,” Gail replied, her resolve firm. “However, I will tell you what I told Sally.”
Eliza’s expression shifted from one of gentle pressure to partial satisfaction. "Alright," she said, leaning forward with a curious glint in her eyes. "I'll take it. What did you tell her?"
Gail explained that she had made up a boyfriend named Michael Williams, an MGM employee who was constantly busy at work but always made time to date.
“So you’ve crafted a lie,” Eliza said with a knowing smirk. “I would do the same if the person I’m dating were a married celebrity.”
Gail gulped, tension returning to her shoulders. “He’s a very good friend of mine. We’ve only kissed multiple times.”
“And?” Eliza expected more than that.
Gail sighed in defeat, “And much more than just kissing.”
A wide smile then grew across Eliza’s face, so wide that Gail would think she had become the Cheshire Cat. “Oh goodness, and you said you’d wait till he’s divorced for you two to make whoopee.”
“At least he was careful and considerate,” Gail replied, her voice soft with a mix of defense and affection.
Eliza's expression changed drastically. “Wait, are you seeing Charlie?”
Gail quickly reacted, “No. Honest.”
Eliza sighed in relief, “Well, if it ain't Charlie, then it has to be any married celebrity. Couples in Hollywood aren't always faithful.” She got up, “Come on, Gail! We didn't wear bathing suits for nothing!” Gail was hit by sand as Eliza ran towards the ocean.
Gail followed Eliza, taking along the parasol that she had placed beside her. They playfully splashed the cool, salty water as they kicked and laughed. Some fun at the beach helped Gail ease the tension of their conversation. It was also a great relief that she never mentioned Buster’s name. However, she thought it would be possible that Eliza could figure out the secret shortly.
***********
Having got the footage he needed for the feature, Buster moved on to editing. He was fine with being busy as long as he could make time for his personal life, and at least complete the film before the World Series. It was later that week that he suddenly received notice that Bob Sherwood was coming over from New York to the Keaton studio to bring his story, Skyscraper. Upon meeting at his office the following day, Buster had to tilt his head up to greet the 6'8 "tall Sherwood.
“How’s the story coming on?” Buster asked.
“I had made some revisions since you went home,” Bob said, settling his fancy portfolio. “It's not finished, though. So I figure you could help me with that.”
Buster grinned, “Well, we always eat, sleep, and dream pictures.”
He looked over the story, Skyscraper, an idea about an elevator operator trapped high above the city with the architect’s daughter, when a strike shuts down the building site. As Bob outlined the scenes, Buster’s mind was already painting images: the cold winter air, the dizzying beams, the silent distance between two souls surrounded by clouds and steel. That would make a good picture, Buster thought.
That’s when he and Bob began meeting the usual gag men, discussing the plot and tossing around ideas to help liven the plot. All week, cigarette smoke clouded the ceiling, and chatter with laughter filled the room.
Whenever he had a spare hour, Buster retreated to the editing room to cut, paste, and review reels. Progress was steady except for one problem. No one could figure out the ending. The lead and his girl are still trapped on that Skyscraper.
“Buster, you always get the girl at the end, right?” One gag writer said.
“Yes,” Buster replied, “but I had to get down from the building first.”
“Maybe a blimp could come rescue them.” Bob quipped.
“Nah, too easy.” Buster exhaled a thin stream of smoke.
By the end of the week, the trash cans were filled with piles of crumpled-up paper. Buster had taken the men outside to play a quick game of baseball, hoping the fresh air might shake loose a few ideas, but nothing came of it.
Another one of the gag writers said as they were back inside, “Come to think of it, this reminds me of Navigator. Is Navigator a building now?”
The joke earned a few tired laughs, but everyone knew the project was sinking. Skyscraper was dead on arrival. Bob Sherwood packed up his papers and returned to New York, not before declaring to Buster with a wry smile, “Don’t worry, I’ll get you down from that building yet.”
When the office finally cleared out, the room felt unusually still. Buster sat back, staring at the board where their notes had once hung. He wasn’t as disappointed as Bob, not exactly, but he did feel a pang of regret. He had wanted Skyscraper to be something special, something that could stand beside Merton of the Movies before that one slipped away and Sherlock Jr. took its place instead.
He lit another cigarette and leaned against the window, watching the sunlight fade across the studio lot. Then, on impulse, he reached for the telephone and had the reach to San Diego.
“Hello, Nate?”
“Why, Buster!” Her voice was bright through the line, softened by the hum of distance. “You sound tired. Long day?”
“You could say that,” he said with a faint chuckle. “We had to discard this movie idea since neither of us could figure out how it ends.”
“Well, that’s too bad,” she said. “You’ll think of something better.”
“I suppose,” Buster replied. “Anyway, how’s San Diego?”
“It’s been very nice,” Natalie said. “Our new governess watched the boys while Norma and Dutch took me to the park they’re planning. You should come with us on opening day.”
Buster gave a faint smile. “That would be nice. Too bad it’s not in Hollywood.”
“But there’s so much land here,” she said brightly. “Oh, to have a Talmadge park is a great honor!” There was a pause, her voice softening. “Dutch wanted to take Father, but I don’t think he’s well enough.”
Buster’s smile faded slightly. He remembered the shock Natalie had felt when her father was found alive after being missing for years, long presumed dead. Deep down, Buster knew she would never forgive him for abandoning the family all those years ago, only to resurface as a man ruined by drink and disgrace.
He cleared his throat softly. “Forget about it,” he said. “Just enjoy San Diego.”
Natalie said softly. “I’ll try. You just work on the picture.”
“I’m calling the picture Go west,” Buster said with a spark of pride.
“That sounds promising.”
“Anyway, tell everyone I said hello.”
“I will, goodbye.”
As he put down the receiver, he also wanted to forget, mostly about the trouble he had to go through. If it were up to him, he would drive to San Diego to see Natalie, expecting her to make love to him. But he knew it would never happen.
Realizing the help had taken time off and he could go to an empty house, he reached for the phone to make another call.
It wasn’t long before he heard his paramour’s voice, “Hello?”
“Hey Doll, would you like to come over tonight?”
A brief pause, soft static filling the space between them.
“Where?”
“My beach house,” he said quietly.
Note: here's hoping part 2 will be out before New Year's
The summer heat did little to dampen Gail’s enjoyment of her long-awaited visit with Mabel Normand, especially with a glass of iced tea in hand. They were seated in Normand’s lush backyard, where the air was rich with the scent of flowers, citrus, and freshly cut grass. The meeting had originally been planned for early July, but it hadn’t come together until the end of the month due to conflicting schedules. By then, word had already spread that Mabel would soon leave for New York to be onstage. Gail exhaled in relief, knowing that one of her screen idols was finding her way back into the spotlight after everything she’d endured.
Gail had brought Sally along to honor Lenore’s request to keep an eye on her. Since hearing that Sally quit her dancing gig, Gail had confronted her more than once, asking her multiple times why she'd walked away, only for the blonde to shrug it off without a word. It surprised her that Sally had stayed and hadn’t made excuses to leave; tea parties weren’t exactly her scene. Still, Mabel didn’t mind the extra guest. “The more the merrier,” She said.
Conversations flowed smoothly with mentions of Normand entering the film business without any theater experience, working with Charlie Chaplin on his film debut, and being the first film star to get a pie thrown in her face. Sally quietly helped herself to fresh strawberries, tea cakes, and cucumber sandwiches from a silver platter.
After recollecting, Mabel began to frown. “How's Mack?” She asked with her fingers tapping lightly on her glass.
“He’s doing alright.” Gail hadn’t told her boss about the visit—she’d heard things were complicated between them and didn’t want to cause trouble.
“What do you think of him?” Mabel’s lips reached the straw of her drink, her gaze unwavering.
“Well, I couldn't be more grateful for working for the man who created the Keystone Cops.”
“Do you have any romantic feelings for him?”
Gail didn’t hesitate. “Oh goodness, no. I admire him, but it’s not like that. He’s my boss, and I already have a sweetheart.” Mabel seemed to be relieved. “Have you enjoyed the strawberries, Miss Evers?” she asked Sally with a noticeable shift in her tone. Gail noticed multiple stems on her friend’s plate.
“Oh, you can call me Sally,” she replied, dabbing her lips with a napkin. “And yes, they're good. My auntie wants me to include fruit in my diet. I should tell her she’s not wrong.”
“Are you an actress?” Mabel questioned as she leaned towards the table, her eyes keenly studying Sally.
Sally gave a small chuckle. “No, I’m more of a dancer.”
Gail’s glass was almost empty. “Sally’s aunt has been a real estate developer here before retiring.”
Mabel lifted a brow, “Ah, you don't say. Have you considered following in her footsteps?”
“No, I just want to enjoy life. I’m with this rich man, I hope to marry him someday.” Sally pulled out a small, maple leaf–shaped bottle from her purse and set it on the table with a little flourish. The amber liquid inside glinted in the sunlight. “He gave me one of these,” she said with pride, pushing it slightly towards Mabel.
Gail's breath caught in her throat. Her eyes fixated on the familiar shape, a cold dread washing over her. She knew that bottle. “Oh no,” she muttered under her breath.
Mabel’s gaze narrowed at the bottle, and a flicker of something dark crossed her features. “Is that from Sterling Thomas?”
Sally’s smile widened.“So you do know him. I’m not surprised.”
Mabel gave a slow nod and a humorless chuckle. “Yes I have, he can be lively at parties and stock liquor well but beyond that, he’s a piece of shit.”
Sally recoiled, her smile vanishing, replaced by shock and disbelief. “What makes you say that?”
“He didn’t care about the boundaries,” Mabel continued, her voice hardening. “It gets worse when he’s drunk. I saw him touch a woman's tit and tried to suck on her toes.”
Sally retorted, “He had kissed my foot, and that didn’t bother me!”
With anger and shame, Gail spoke, her voice tight. “One night, when I was her roommate, Sterling came to my bedroom without wearing anything. Maybe he… he wanted to have his way with me.”
Mabel leaned forward, her voice cutting through the tension., “See, honey, if you want to marry rich, Sterling is not the man for you.”
“Says you,” Sally spat, jumping to her feet, “You're basically an old maid because you never married!”
Mabel stood, her hand shooting out to point toward the door. “Get out!”
Sally left after taking her bottle, “Fuck your strawberries!”
Gail, with a heavy heart, approached Mabel, “I am terribly sorry. This is not what I had expected.” Tears welled in her eyes.
Mabel took a breath and then assured Gail, “You're not the problem. Your friend is.”
Gail left Mabel’s home in silence. She found Sally unable to open the door of her car until she remembered to use the key. “Sal what the fuck!?” Sally was visibly shocked, as she had never heard that word from Gail before, and she had never used it. “You embarrassed me in front of Mabel Normand. You're such a fool! Why would you need Sterling’s money when Lenore could give you an inheritance?
“It’s not the money. Bae!” Both women entered the car.
“Then what?” Gail asked.
`Sally sighed, a strange mix of defiance and longing in her eyes. “High society. I want to meet more rich people, drink some giggle juice, dance, entertain with my stories, and show off my garters, and whatever pearls or diamonds I have. That is why I quit my job at the nightclub, Gail. For this.”
"What difference would it make? I may never be invited by Mabel again, and you may never be invited to some parties as long as you see that brute."
Unbeknownst to Gail, Sally drove to Sterling’s address in Venice Beach. She parked in front of his condo. She stormed off toward the condo, leaving Gail in the car. A minute later, she returned, alone. Before Gail could ask what happened, Sally said, “His housekeeper told me he left for Mexico without telling me.”
“Did you know when he’ll be back?” Gail didn't care; she only asked.
“The housekeeper said no.” Gail didn't want to look at her friend's face, though she could hear the disappointment in her voice.
“I’ll drive,” Gail said calmly. Sally let her out to switch seats.
It was the first time since the accident that Gail took the wheel. She thought of driving again sometime after recovering from the trauma, and now, finally, she had recovered enough. Her fingers, still remembering the sharp pain that had once shot through her arm, tightened instinctively around the steering wheel. She felt the familiar vibrations of the engine beneath her foot, a mix of apprehension and a deep-seated need to reclaim some fragment of the day. Each turn, each shift, was a small, internal victory, a quiet reclaiming of control she desperately craved.
The ride went without complications, but they spent the journey in silence, the weight of Sterling’s shadow falling over both of them—two women angry, not just at him, but at what they had let him do to their day.
**********************
Meanwhile, Buster was at a high-end clothing salon, the kind where hushed tones accompanied the rustle of silk and the glint of diamonds. An employee meticulously showcased a line of expensive watches, but Buster only browsed. He already had a perfectly good watch, a sturdy piece that kept time without fuss, and he wasn't one for accumulating unnecessary luxuries.
Natalie, however, possessed an insatiable appetite for finery. She twirled before a three-way mirror, draped in an emerald green gown that shimmered under the store's soft lights. "What do you think, Buster?" she asked her voice light with delight, already reaching for a velvet stole. Each outfit she tried on seemed more extravagant than the last, and the price tags, which Buster occasionally glimpsed, made his own quiet pockets feel suddenly very bare.
He drifted away from the racks of glittering silks and furs, his own tastes far simpler. His gaze eventually settled on a sleek, silver tie clip. It was practical, understated—a reflection of his steady nature. He picked it up, a quiet decision made, a stark contrast to the dazzling jewels Natalie was currently considering.
An hour later, with several large boxes being loaded into their car, Buster took the wheel. Instead of heading straight home, he drove them into the winding roads of Beverly Hills, pulling up to a sprawling construction site. Their new home, a grand villa still in its skeletal framework, dominated the landscape.
"Just a little reminder," Buster said, gesturing with a sweep of his hand towards the opulent residence taking shape. "This is what we're spending all that money on."
Natalie gazed at the rising walls, "My, it's certainly coming along beautifully, isn't it?”
He pictured their sons running through its finished halls, their laughter echoing from the high ceilings. "They'll grow up here, you know," he mused, a soft smile touching his lips. "Playing in that yard, running through these rooms." A more domestic thought then occurred to him, a simple desire amidst the grand scale of the construction. "Maybe... maybe we could even get a dog? A proper one, for them to play with?"
Natalie glanced at him, a faint smile playing on her lips. "Of course, dear. Anything for the boys. We could have a maid to clean up after them.” Her tone was light, confirming her deep affection for their sons, but still subtly prioritizing convenience.
“So are you going to cut back on shopping?” Buster asked, his eyes sweeping from the grand construction to her expensive new purchases.
“Certainly not,” Natalie replied with a dismissive wave. “I would never trade this life for anything, but I wouldn't trade the fine clothes either.”
With a quiet sigh of disappointment, Buster drove Natalie back home to Santa Monica. When they arrived, Peg, who watched the boys, greeted Natalie with a warm embrace but only gave Buster a brief, customary wave—an occurrence he had long grown accustomed to.
It was a bit later in the day when Buster excused himself. He needed to check in at the studio; he was still in the process of making his picture, and the set required his constant attention. While there, he made a quick call to Gail's bungalow. Even though it was within walking distance of the studio, he had promised to call and wanted to get her okay for a visit before dropping by. When the call picked up, her greeting was flat and a bit hoarse. Buster sensed something was wrong. “Gail, are you alright?”
“I’m okay,” Gail responded with her tone unchanged. “It's just that today had been going well at first until it became unpleasant.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Buster asked, his concern evident.
“Where are you?” Gail countered.
“I’m at the studio to check on things; there's nobody else here. I’ll be with you shortly.”
After a pause, Gail said, “No, I can come over.”
Buster didn’t protest, as long as their meeting remained discreet.
A short while later, Buster heard a soft knock. When he opened the door, he realized Gail had been crying. Her eyes were red, and the marks on her cheeks indicated they had been rubbed on.
“I thought you were through with crying,” he said, his voice gentle. He opened his arms and pulled her into a comforting hug, another occurrence that he was accustomed to.
“I wish,” she murmured, her face pressed onto his shoulder.
They settled onto the couch in his office. They sat in silence until Gail was comfortable enough to talk about the tea party. After hearing her story, Buster simply listened, his gaze fixed on the wall. “I'm sure it's not as bad as what Mabel had gone through,” He finally said, his voice quiet. “I didn't like that Sterling person one bit.” He turned to her, “You were with that guy in New York, and now Miss Ever's with that cad. You both deserve better men.”
Her head rested on him, “You're the best man I have so far. Well, besides the flaw.” Her tone became less somber, a faint hint of a smile in her voice. “But still, how did I end up with a friend like Sally?”
Buster replied, “I don't know. Fate, maybe?” he then had some recollection. “I do happen to have a friend like Lex.”
Gail looked perplexed. “Hmm?”
“The co-director of the picture,” Buster clarified.
“Oh yes,” Gail nodded upon understanding.
“I knew him growing up on the vaudeville circuit, and spent many summers with him in Muskegon,” Buster explained. “I had my first hard drink with him. See, a girl rejected him, and he wanted to drown his sorrows. I joined him so he wouldn't drink alone. That resulted in the worst hangover I ever had, and then I had to stay away from liquor for some number of years. I was seventeen.”
“Oh, goodness,” Gail reacted, a small gasp escaping her lips.
“Another thing happened early this year,” Buster continued, his voice dropping slightly. “Lex had moved to California. One night, he came to me because he couldn't find his own house. I took him into the guest room for the night. Neither of us slept much; I heard him restlessly wandering up and down.” He paused, a faint, almost imperceptible shake of his head. “I went out with him the next morning. Turns out he couldn’t identify his home because the landscapers he hired had completely redesigned his front yard.”
“So you know what it’s like,” Gail said softly.
“Buster nodded. “At least we shared good memories.”
Gail gave a warm smile. It appeared she was in a better mood. Soon, Buster noticed the effects of the summer heat that resided in his office. Beads of sweat gathered at Buster’s hairline and back.
“I’m feeling hot,” Gail murmured, fanning the neckline of her dress. “Do you mind if I get this dress off?”
Buster gave an obliging nod, tugging at his collar. “Only if you let me take my shirt off.”
Gail reached for the fastenings of her dress, fingers moving with practiced ease. Buster followed suit, undoing the buttons of his shirt one by one, the fabric already clinging to his chest. Buster barely managed to get his sweat-dampened shirt and undershirt off. His arousal grew after taking sight of Gail in her slip. The room seemed to breathe with them—slow, heavy, and warm.
“I didn't want to tease you anymore,” she said softly. She quickly moved down the straps to expose her breasts to him. Without hesitation, Buster took his arms around her, pressing his sticky bare chest onto hers. Their lips touched a deep, immediate connection.
"Here’s something you should try," Buster murmured.
Buster then gently guided her off the couch and onto the floor. He brought out a familiar tin of freshly bought latex protectives. Buster unbuckled his belt to lower his slacks and undershorts before lying down. Gail put her knickers aside and separated her knees apart, having her climb on top of him. His hand went under her slip to search for what he had called a little man in the boat. He found it and rubbed it while Gail began playing with her nipples with intense pleasure. After he put on a thin layer, his hard member rubbed between the lips before entering deep inside her. The hips moved up to her as Gail held onto the couch to keep her upright.
Buster stopped. "Now I'll help you take the lead." His hands found Gail's hips, guiding her movements. He helped her find a rhythm, moving them together, up and down, their bodies creating a synchronized dance in the warm room. Buster reached his climax, but his prick remained erect.
Buster got up to switch positions. He had Gail press her hands and knees to the floor. “Are you sure?” She asked.
"I am," Buster whispered, his voice thick with desire. He put on a new thin, the cool latex a brief contrast to their heated skin, and entered her from behind. Once again, his thrusts moved into her, a deep, rhythmic motion that pulled a soft moan from Gail.
Their ecstasy filled the room, their grunts a simultaneous symphony. The rhythmic sounds of skin slapping against skin, the quiet gasps, and the soft creaks of the floor mingled in the heavy air. He pulled out before climaxing, despite the thin protective layer.
A heavy, contented silence settled over the room as their breathing gradually slowed. Gail remained on her hands and knees for a moment, her chest heaving, before gently lowering herself to lie flat on the cool floor. Buster collapsed beside her, his arm instinctively reaching out to pull her close. Her head found its familiar resting place on his shoulder, the dampness of their skin a testament to the passion that had just consumed them. The scent of their bodies mingled in the warm air, a raw, intimate perfume. "So…was it your idea for us to do it here?" Buster asked, his voice low.
"Well, the floor's your idea," Gail replied, a soft chuckle in her voice. "I feel like the queen from Elinor Glyn’s book. I don't mind the lack of the tiger rug here, but she must have had expensive jewelry."
“I bet she made love wearing them.” Buster mused, a low chuckle in his voice.
“I wonder.” Gail faced Buster and kissed him, “Thanks for helping me feel better.”
Finally finished this recreation of the Buster Keaton mural I painted in my neighborhood a few years ago. It's going up for auction to support the arts council here. Porkpie hats off to the master of humor and stunting.
Back during COVID I presented this speech at a Toastmasters meeting. It talks about the 3 great silent comedians but it’s really a tribute to Harold Lloyd. Since I just got the new book Lonesome Luke’s Lively Life I thought it might be a good time to share some more Harold!
The keyboard isn't right lately. A few of the keys stopped working, two of them being the ones I needed the most: the Enter key and the Backspace key. I did get an external keyboard last week. So that's why I haven't worked on Chapter 26 much.
Gail entered the Keaton studio on foot in the morning. She switched from her walking shoes to her kitten heels and headed to the wardrobe department. When Gail picked up her costume, she didn't notice a written note in addition to her name until she was in a changing room. She picked off the pinned notecard to read You’ll be playing a shopkeeper in the department store scene. I'm sorry it's only a short role, however, it's still better than not being in the film anyway. You got this, Buster. Gail sincerely smiled.
After changing into a light rose-colored dress and finishing her hair and makeup, she was led by a crew member to the studio warehouse for filming. The set was large, resembling a realistic department store, and the workers were the supplies on the shelves. Gail noticed the curved staircase, wondering if the set used to be for Seven Chances. There were several bit players but the set was not as crowded as the last time she was in Buster Keaton's film. She looked around for the director and star lead but to no avail. Instead, she was approached by a dark-haired male.
“Hello Miss, I’m the co-director, Lex Neal.” he gave her a professional handshake.
“Is Mr. Keaton here?” Gail asked.
“He is, though, occupied at the moment. I direct the scenes Mr. Keaton is in. He directed the scenes he wasn't in. He will direct this shot.” Gail understood. “He also gave me instructions on where to place the actors.” Lex looked at the noteboard. “You will be at the desk over there,” he pointed.
“Thank you,” she went there as instructed.
As Gail was on her way to the desk, she noticed a few minor actresses standing nearby, chatting and smoking cigarettes. Their expressions appear to be judgmental, making Gail’s stomach tighten. She was worried, no, terrified if word had gotten out of her relationship with Buster. So she confronted those gossipers, lest she feel anxious or pass out in the set again.
Gail hesitated before she got their attention, “Hello?” The ladies looked at her with basic expressions. “I don't mean to interrupt, but I don't like what you are saying, those nasty rumors. I wouldn't go around mentioning these lies to anyone!”
One of the girls quipped, “If that is a lie, it wouldn't be posted on the notice board last weekend.”
“The notice board?” Gail gulped. She knew that Buster wouldn't do anything that stupid.
“Did you not know?” she tapped the ashes off of her cigarette.
“Know what?” Gail pretended she wasn't anxious.
“Buster Keaton brought Fatty Arbuckle into the set. He gave Fatty a small role.”
Gail placed her hand on her and breathed out. It wasn't about her and Buster!
“The notice also informed us we could choose to quit if we’re uncomfortable with this.”
“I only do this for the money,” another woman said.
“Mr. Arbuckle had a scandal, but he had been through enough,” Gail replied.
“If I were you I'd get the hell out of here.” The third actress said, then blew out smoke towards Gail’s face, having her cough and fan the nicotine smell off.
For a second, she considered just walking away. But then, something inside her snapped. Without thinking, she raised a middle finger in their direction before striding off. They scorned the gesture and continued as if nothing had happened. She went to the desk and shook off the encounter to focus on her role.
Buster arrived on set and brought a couple of heavy sets wearing similar dresses. Gail recognized one of them as Roscoe Arbuckle, but another appeared to be a woman. She watched Buster walking towards Lex, but they were too far away for her to hear what they were saying. Lex also brought an ashtray for the bit players to throw away their cigarettes and summoned the studio cleaners to sweep the ashes. Roscoe walked over while some stayed away from the disgraced star, others tipped their hats or clapped. Gail only gave a gentle nod.
She finally noticed Buster’s cowboy costume. It had some of a homage to the original costume sans the tie, the coat, and the slap shoes. The chaps reminded her of the baggy pants in his short films. Gail wouldn't be surprised if he didn’t say hello as they want to keep things between them discreet. Buster had left not long after the intercourse even though he was tempted to do it again. He didn't even tell her when he would visit again. She thought it was better not to have relations with Buster as long as she worked under him.
Once all the bit actors were settled, Buster called through a megaphone, “In this scene, the bulls and the cows will enter this store, and you all get out of harm’s way. You hear?” The people in the back, including Gail, gave him a thumbs-up to assure him he was heard.
When the cameras began rolling, the herd arrived. Everyone did as just Buster had commanded. They ran away from the live hoofed creatures with the crewmen pushing them to move on cue. Some of the cows pushed one of the shelves, shaking it. Gail couldn't watch the action as she was hiding as part of the act. She heard Buster shouting orders like, “Chief, you now notice the cows, take the peculiar girl and run for your life!” If the shot had to make another take, it would be difficult to get the cows and bulls back to where they were before. When Buster was satisfied with the shot, Roscoe was done and left the set. Work however continued and more shots had to be filmed. One of them would feature the shopkeeper at the desk. For the entire time Buster was directing, Gail pretended to be nothing more than a professional relationship between a bit player and a director. To her observation, Buster was too. She worked hard not to mess up the takes where a male customer attempted to climb on the desk and another when a female customer jumped in to hide and accidentally activated the service zipline that the same man was holding, sending him to the other side of the room.
When the cameras stopped, Roscoe left the scene and a woman, a bit shorter than him, took his place. Gail didn't realize until later that Roscoe was used for the long shot while the woman was for the close-up scenes.
Buster enters the scene and character to shoo the cattle. An angry man confronts him and gets bumped by another male customer on roller skates and then a returning man on a zipline lands Buster through the desk. Gail was no longer in the view of the camera but chose to stay from the side. She witnessed Buster redo his stunt over and over for the retakes. Pratfalls always amused her but seeing them in person multiple times with barely a pause to catch his breath, made her stomach twist. After he was done, Gail asked him, “Are you not hurt Mr. Keaton?”
“No, Miss,” He brushed his slacks and sleeves. His face was in a white greasepaint with black eyeliner with darkened lips. She stared at his exposed Adam’s Apple without any neckties. Buster took a short look at her before climbing through the desk to fetch an icepack.
With the retakes done, the scene finishes with “Friendless” climbing onto the display table, managing to get the bovines out of the store, having garments of clothing thrown at him by the angry customers, and shooting a gun at the ceiling to shut them up and gets hit by a falling glass light cover. Gail covered her ears and she wasn’t sure if the prop gun made a sound or not.
Buster announced that it was a wrap for the department scene and it was time for a lunch break. Gail had brought half a sandwich and an apple and had to pour her coffee from a thermos. Since it was her only scene, she returned to her dressing room to change back while eating her lunch. When she picked up a parasol she had brought, she noticed a loose fabric from one of the ribs. She sighed. The last time she had it fixed was six months ago. Gail then went back to the wardrobe department to return her dress and asked the supervisor to borrow a white thread and a needle for a bit.
Gail was in a chair, sewing the fabric and the metal rib back together when she noticed Buster had approached her again. “Hello Gail”, he said when she had to look up at him. “I thought you’d already left.”
“Not yet.” She looked down again, not wanting a prick of her finger.
“Could we talk?”
“Can I speak first?” Gail had smiled until frowning at her reply. “Why didn't you tell me Roscoe is in the movie?”
“I trust you.” Buster sighed “I knew you weren't scared of my pal and would never quit.”
She looked at him again, “You still should've told me anyway but that didn’t bother me too much”
Buster grabbed another chair and sat down, “I’m sorry. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Thank you.” she finished the stitching.
“There is something else” Buster explained to her. “I visited my father recently to give him a small role. I found out he’s living with some woman.”
“Oh” her voice grew concerned.
Buster ran a hand through his hair. “I had no idea how long she even knew my pop… if she’s a real blonde, if she’s stealing from him, how old she is. She’s not as pretty as my ma.” He let out a frustrated breath. “I know my folks are separated, but I don’t really understand his lifestyle. Or if… my life would be like that if I ever get separated from Nat—”
He stopped mid-sentence. Gail lowered her gaze, her fingers gripping the fabric tighter.
“I’m sorry, again.” Buster’s voice softened. Without thinking, he pulled her into a hug.
She exhaled against his shoulder before wrapping her arms around him in return.
She slowly pulled away from the hug, meeting his gaze. “I can't say, except I never liked people who think they are better than anyone else if they're the ones who have no talent.”
He nodded, “That I agree on.”
Gail grabbed a small pair of scissors and snipped off the extended thread. She opened the white parasol, tilting it slightly as she examined her work. Satisfied, she gave a small nod.
“That’s a fine parasol, Doll,” Buster said with a smile.
“Thank you.” She mirrored his expression. “It keeps me out of the sun for a while. I burn easily.”
“I’ll be busy with this picture, so I don’t know if we’ll see each other much,” he admitted, adjusting his cuffs. “But let me ask you this—we’re filming over at the Metro across the street this afternoon. Will you come over to watch? You might even catch a quick ball game.”
Gail hesitated, then gave him a regretful smile. “I’d love to, but I have errands to run—and I could use the rest at home.” She stood, closing the parasol. “I hope I see you sooner.”
Before she could talk herself out of it, she leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. Then she turned on her heel and walked away, resisting the urge to glance back.
She could only hope no one had seen the interaction. The last thing she needed was more gossip.
i wish i had posted three stories this year but it was more busy than last year. i feel like I always share my problems on this blog and it made me think I was lazy. it's mostly the writer's block and there's the classwork I had to get through. then my aunt passed away on Christmas eve. then there are some distractions and procrasinations.
Chapter 25 is in its beginning stages. there's no chance I will get this done before the new year, probably early 2025.
just to make up i have made a short story in this link here
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
note: You think I wouldn't post another chapter this year do you?
With plenty of scenes to go, Buster was always serious about filmmaking. He and his gagmen were at a meeting in the studio, making up many ways to create chaos downtown. It resulted in clever ideas; cows entering the stores, Buster’s character dressing up as the devil to attract the cattle, and policemen being sprayed with water by the firemen. Buster was satisfied with how much had come up, making him more anticipated for filming.
After closing time, Buster left the studio to meet with his father Joe at the Hollywood Hotel. He hadn’t called beforehand, thinking the visit would brighten his lonesome Pop’s day. Another reason was to ask his father if he would participate in the picture for a bit. Buster had given film work to his family members and friends while making short comedies and hadn't stopped when he made features.
Soon after he reached the hotel, Buster headed up to the fourth floor and then knocked on the door to his room. To his surprise, it was not his old man who answered but a short slightly wrinkled blonde woman, plump to the hips with her makeup half-done.
"Oh my stars and garters," She gave him a toothy smile. "You must be Buster Keaton!" She shook his hand. The movement was quick but moderate. “I haven’t seen all of your flickers, but I heard many great things about you from your father.”
Buster was speechless due to his confusion and shyness.
“Bussy?” Joe peeked out of the bathroom behind the woman with the towel on his shoulders. “Dora, take it easy on him. He's a bashful fellow,” he called.
“Shit, sorry.” She let go of his hand.
“That’s alright ma’am, I've had worse.” Buster brushed his hand onto his pants.
Joe came out of the bathroom in his trousers and an undershirt with bits of shaving cream on his face. The hotel room was smaller than Buster’s in the beach house and was mostly untidy with women’s clothes scattered on the floor and the scent of perfume lingering. The woman, Dora, was in a robe. Buster didn't want to know if she was wearing underthings or not.
"So what brings you here without calling your pop?" Joe asked.
"Sorry, I didn't know you were busy." Buster took a side eye at Dora. "And with company." He paused to breathe. "I just want to talk. Just us." referring to himself and his father.
Dora raised an eyebrow, clearly catching the hint. "Aw, what the hell," she said with a playful grin. "I'll change somewhere and leave you two to your business." The woman picked up her clothes and took them to the bathroom as she hummed Yes! We have no bananas.
As the door to the bathroom closed, Buster finally let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Seeing his father with another woman stirred a mix of emotions in him—relief that Joe wasn’t alone, but also a twinge of sadness and jealousy. He wondered if his father had moved on from the family in more ways than one. He remained calm when he spoke to his father. "I'm doing a movie, so I want to know if you're available for a small role.”
Joe shrugged, "Yeah, all right. I have time."
The Keaton men then had a quick discussion about the schedule. Joe mentioned that he wouldn't bring Dora since she worked as a waitress all day, which was a relief for Buster.
Dora came out in a short evening dress. "Hey, your pop is taking me to a club tonight. You should come along and bring your wife Norma."
Joe clarified to his lady friend, "Natalie is the wife, not Norma."
Buster replied to Dora, "No thank you, ma'am." He turned to Joe and said, "Make sure you're sober when you're on set." He left the hotel room after saying a quick goodbye.
As soon as Buster returned to his car, his thoughts swirled in a chaotic mix of frustration and melancholy. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, feeling the weight of his complicated relationship with his father bearing down on him. The encounter had left him unsettled, a storm of emotions brewing just beneath the surface. "Fuck." He drove home after clearing his mind.
On the day of the costume fitting, Buster was discussing his father’s encounter with Roscoe who had returned from his post-wedding trip. "Am I my father?" he asked.
Roscoe responded, “Of course not." He was also cast as a woman in the department store scene however Buster kept it from the public and hired a woman with a similar build for the close-up scenes. "Back then, your old man declared that he would rather be kicked by a jackass than show up on the flickers. You had to drag him to California to convince him.”
"Pop would certainly kick the seat of my pants if I dragged him for miles."
"The point is that everyone is their own person and nobody else's. Even a pair of twins is not the same person."
“Are they?”
Roscoe shrugged, “Damn if I know, I don't have a twin. But they can be different anyway.”
Buster was struggling with a need for a smoke but being surrounded by clothing racks full of hung fabric, he would be liable to start a fire. "When I saw him with another woman. I already saw myself at his age. I knew my folks had marriage problems and I’m having the same with Nate. I’m worried that any of the boys will turn out like me and Pop.”
Roscoe's face softened with understanding as he spoke, his eyes filled with genuine concern. “If they learn from your mistakes, They will be better. They'll know what to avoid. They'll have a more successful marriage."
"Thanks, chief. I hope so too." Buster stepped outside to take a smoke.
Roscoe called to him while on the door frame, "If you're involved with that Sennett actress, it's best to end things before it goes too far."
“I’m just going to let you know right now I am not going to take a mistress and support her, or do anything like that. I will not be spending any money on women and throwing my money around. But if I can’t get it at home, I’m going to get it somewhere. And there’s a lot of free stuff out there. If you forbid your daughter to sleep with me, I’ll go outside and get it.”
-Buster to his mother in law Peg Talmadge after she ruled that Buster and Natalie have separate bedrooms
