“Love and temptation, or heroics and villains and …” Upon his friend’s silence, Doug considered. “What’s it called?”

“Suicide,” Chaplin moaned.

Because he was Doug, he could not hear such a thing; he had actually heard something quite different. “Sunnyside?” he asked. He was touched. “Really? Sunnyside?”

Chaplin looked up slowly. He had no idea why his friend was grinning. Doug patted him on the back.

“Sunnyside. That’s awfully sweet, I think. Turning that Little Fellow loose in Sunnyside. Ha!”

It was a misunderstanding neither man ever got to the bottom of, but Chaplin grasped toward providence and decided the title would serve as ironic counterpoint, and from that day forward, the hopeless production formerly known as Jack of All Trades began each new and hopeless slate with the name of Sunnyside.

31

December 9 Shot 400 feet, bull riding. Home early.
December 10 Shot 600 feet, Edna, “the Romance.” Home early.
December 11 Did Not Shoot. Mr. Chaplin talked story.
December 12 Shot 600 feet, Edna, Henry, “the Romance.”
December 13 Did Not Shoot. Players sent home early.

The Golod family had taken several houses around Fairfax and Beverly, among Jews. Mordecai’s branch lived in a stucco bungalow newly constructed in an ersatz Spanish style that none of them, save Rebecca, paid much attention to. Since she spent days at the Chaplin Studios, where sets were constantly being built and struck, and since she walked home past construction of duplexes with arched windows and decorative tiles that suggested Morocco or Barcelona, she saw the link immediately: unlike in Texas or San Francisco, homes here didn’t have to make sense. They were diversions, happy little movies that people lived in.

She was beginning to understand the concept of pride. It was, for instance, a blessed responsibility to be Jewish, and Texas was of course as proud of itself as San Francisco. Jews, San Franciscans, and Texans were all the Chosen People, apparently, but in Hollywood? It was taking her some time to find what they were proud of here.

“Papa,” Rebecca said, “who negotiates for Chaplin?” She had been sent home from the studio early, and had found her father in the backyard, next to their orange tree. In five years, he said, he could sit under it. For now, it was like a pet at his side. “That is an excellent question. Do you mean his business deals?”

“They say he makes a million a year. Did he …” She frowned, looking to be as clear as possible. “Did he walk up to the bank himself and say, ‘I would like a million a year’?”

“I believe his brother negotiates that sort of thing.”

Rebecca considered this. “Oh. And Pickford?”

“She negotiates herself. Though her mother also does.”

“Oh. Does Fairbanks negotiate himself?”

“No, his brother does it, I think.”

She nodded. “Oh.”