FADE OUT – PART TWO BY GEORGE KAPLAN

FADE OUT

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His memories shifted to his second wife Gerda, a striking woman twenty years his senior, a woman, suffice to say, with “connections” in the industry. Another woman with a great belief in him, another woman who he had loved, but used. Yet, it was different with Gerda, she knew that they were unlikely to remain together but she was satisfied to be with him for however long it would be, and she had used him, too, in her way.

Gerda had been drawn to his virility, arrogance, and faint ironic glimmer, the aspect of him that suggested there was more to him than physique and a handsome face. Their love-making or, rather, just plain animalistic sex had been vibrant and fulfilling at first; she startling him with her mature passion, shocking and satisfying him with her sensual hunger. They had devoured each other but as time passed the vigor departed, and he saw with some dismay that her using had stopped and a deeper love for him had taken over. His career had ignited and he’d begun to ascend from playing faintly dangerous, untrustworthy villains to larger supporting roles to second leads and, finally, to full-blown “hero” status.

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While Gerda stayed at home, he had acted, and while acting had meant a young, attractive actress who the studio had renamed Gale Hanson (originally Gale *Hancock* until she’d told them in no uncertain terms what they could do with *that* notion) from the rather more prosaic Dawn Dummler. Gale had been hired as a dancer but, in truth, she was unappealing when hoofing and had soon been cast in comedies and dramas;  not long after their first meeting Jake had discovered that there was a certain kind of “dancing” that Gale was very good at, and soon they were “dancing” together all the time. If the sex with Gerda had been animalistic and vigorous, that with Gale was even more so and there was none of the seriousness of his relationship with his wife to drag him down. His ego had delighted in this, and Gale, her ego as swollen and unpuncturable in youth as his, had been his mirror image.

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Neither marriage nor ecstatic affair had lasted, as he looked back he could savor the memories of pleasure but felt regret at his selfishness, his annoyance with Gerda’s inconvenient love for him, and even his failure to attempt to form a deeper connection with Gale. Although that regret was balanced by the knowledge that she became monstrous with stardom, possessed of a selfishness unleavened by humor or charm.

By the mid-’30s he was a fully-fledged Star, rugged manliness with a flash of wit was his calling card. He had that special charisma that translates on film into a kind of enchantment, while his large head with its powerful features was adored by the camera and by girls big and small. Deanna Durbin had even recorded a song about him, “Oh, Jake!”. Those years were the best for him despite his frequent grousing at studio “maltreatment”. Come to a picture palace and he was bound to be there, in a drama opposite William Powell as estranged brothers or in a comedy with Jean Harlow or in an Klondike-set adventure menaced by a villainous Humphrey Bogart. He seemed to coruscate with charisma on the screen, though his characters could be deliberate as if holding something back before revealing it in an explosion of emotion or action.

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He had various relationships or “relationships”, though few in comparison with Coop, and he’d enjoyed himself. And then he had met *her*. Helen Charlton was a beautiful actress and a star. True, Hollywood was hardly lacking in beautiful stars but she was unique. Helen projected both an air of sophistication and a hint of healthy vulgarity, she was tough yet elegant, she could play knockabout comedy and searing drama. And from the moment he met her… He didn’t like her.

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They’d met on the set of a comedy, in which each had played half of two opposing couples, he had found her much too flippant and fond of profanities and much preferred the actress he was playing opposite; they’d even had an argument that had only been resolved  by the exchanging of joke gifts: a broomstick for her (because he thought she was a witch) and a pipe and pair of slippers for him (because she felt he was a fuddy duddy old man). It was therefore a surprise for both of them when a year later on another set they had discovered that they were temperamentally and physically well-matched, her insouciance and wicked sense of humor freed him while his solidity and carefulness grounded her.

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It had been astonishing to find how alike they were, and the differences, well, the differences simply seemed to enhance their relationship. Helen wouldn’t stand any nonsense so Jake’s egoism went into a sharp decline, those things that would cause him to rage from others he could gladly take from her; he began to consider his behavior much more and to realize the *anger* that had driven him unconsciously for much of his life, she was a salve for his soul, and he felt a love for her – a deep, strong, *true* love – like nothing he’d ever experienced or believed possible. He cherished her and she cherished him. Their love-making was tender, passionate, sensitive, all-consuming, erotic, and everything in-between. Their conversations both trivial and deep made Jake and Helen feel as if all the other conversations they had had with others were pale imitations. It was no surprise that three months after their relationship began they were married. Jake and Helen seemed even more charismatic before the camera than they had before. Their screen and personal lives were as close to perfect as you could get.

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And then she died.

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Jake couldn’t bear to think of the circumstances of her death but as he looked into the mirror he still felt as if his heart was bleeding. The light went out of his life, and his brightness on-screen dimmed. He had gone on living, acting, marrying etc. but he felt empty, he allowed little things to consume him, and age descended upon him. By 1962 he was tired but then came epiphany. He simply awoke one morning with Helen in his mind, he opened his eyes, saw his wife’s face and felt an intense love for her. It was as if Helen’s memory had finally revealed to him his descent into his worse nature. Suddenly he’d felt alive, possessed by the urge to face his mortality, his flaws, his vulnerability. He’d looked into a metaphorical mirror and had come to terms, as he now gazed into a real one and came to terms. If this was the final fade out he was determined to make it a good one.