To Kill the Duke (9 page)

After spending about 15 minutes in the bathroom, Howard Hughes emerged and informed Dick Powell that the vintage red cliffs and soil of Southern Utah would be coming into view shortly.

“Glad we are filming in color, Howard,” Powell said as he wondered if Hughes had used the sandpaper on his penis and then held back a gag at
that
thought (he’d had enough gagging.)

“Me, too, since black-and-white went out with the silents,” Hughes said matter-of-factly. “Know what the best thing is about sound and color film?”

Powell shook his head no.

“Got that cheapskate Joe Kennedy out of Hollywood,” Hughes said with a huge grin.

Powell disagreed with the statement about silent movies, but agreed with the statement about Kennedy. Dick Powell was a big fan of Hollywood and everything that made it the dream factory for all Americans. He loved the silent films, knowing that they were the pioneers for the talkies. He wished that most of the people around during the silent film era could have profited from what they developed and realized a lot of money instead of ending up broke. He loved the black-and-white talkies even more than the silent films.

A lot of that was very personal because Dick Powell had become a big star during the heady days of film noir. Now, it was color films and Dick Powell and many others would adapt. Because if they didn’t adapt to the new technology others would, and Dick Powell would be on the outside looking in. He had no desire to do that. Filmmaking was his life. To Hughes and the other money people it was an investment that might or might not pay off. If the film didn’t make a profit, the worst thing that happened to men like Hughes was that they tripped over their money and received a paper cut. To Dick Powell… failure meant ruin by the Chinese water torture method.

“Drip by drip the scripts stop. The investors go away. The phone calls stop. The phone calls are never returned. The invites stop. The reporters forget how to spell your name,” Powell had told his wife, June Allyson,
once when they had spied a desolate D.W. Griffith walking down Sunset Boulevard a long time ago.

“Sometimes I think it’s called the dream factory by the fans, because to all of us in the business it can become the nightmare factory,” she replied as they pulled up and gave Griffith a lift to a restaurant and $200 pocket money.

“Do you know what they grow in this part of Utah, kid?” Hughes asked as the plane flew so low that Dick Powell could see the sweat forming on the wild horses as they raced away from the roar of Hughes’ aircraft.

“Red riding hoods,” Powell guessed, totally clueless about what was grown in Southern Utah but in awe of the vintage red coloring of the cliffs and soil.

“You’re weird, Powell,” Hughes said with a shrug.

I’m weird? Boy, I wish I were a painter
, Powell mused as he stared at the lush colors of the land he would soon be filming, that is if he found an actor to play the lead and a woman with big enough tits to co-star with said actor.

“They call this place ‘Utah’s Dixie,’” Hughes piped in.

“I’m lost again, Howard,” Dick said.

“That’s why you’re not the navigator, kid,” Hughes said as he chuckled at his own joke. “Believe it or not, Brigham Young once settled here and started to grow cotton… hence the ‘Dixie’ reference.”

“I guess the South couldn’t grow red cotton,” Powell added with a laugh of his own.

“You know what I have to add about Brigham Young?” Hughes asked Powell.

Dick Powell shook his head no.

“Bring ‘em and bring ‘em young,” Howard said with gusto.

You forgot to add big hooters!
Dick Powell thought as he laughed at his boss’ corny joke.
I’m glad he is paying me well
Powell mused.

Powell took a deep breath because he couldn’t believe how fast the plane was going, let alone that a woman was behind the controls.
At least focusing on all that is keeping me from tossing my cookies all over Hughes
, he
thought and then pondered what it would mean if indeed he did puke on Howard Hughes.

Puking on Howard Hughes would not be a good thing. Although watching Hughes freak out would be worth almost as much as Howard was worth. The resulting turmoil from Hughes’ obsession about germs would come crashing down all around Dick Powell. And Dick Powell didn’t like things crashing down on him. Dick pictured a lot of past Hollywood power lunches coming out of his stomach and plopping right onto Howard’s lap. Once the image was implanted, it wouldn’t go away, and the more internally mortified Dick Powell became. In his own mind, Dick Powell saw Howard Hughes jumping up and down like a mad man — screaming that he had been contaminated and would die — but not before he had had Powell killed by his squad of bodyguards who wore nice suits, but lousy footwear. Then again, with Hughes’ obsession with breasts, maybe the women would just take turns smothering poor old Howard in their vast cleavages,
thought Dick Powell.

“Are you feeling okay?” Hughes asked his favorite movie executive.

Dick Powell went ashen (
Can this guy read minds?
).

What’s the matter Dick, are you going to be sick… again?” Hughes asked sarcastically.

Powell shook his head no. He also thought that he had nothing left inside of him to puke, even if he wanted to. “You know that I upchucked?” he said to his boss.

Hughes laughed. “Of course. I know everything about everyone who works for me and most importantly
against
me. The reason I know everything is that I pay very well for reports and information.”

I hope he only knows that I make great movies and threw up in his plane
Powell thought. Dick Powell wasn’t one of those Hollywood types who wanted any of his secrets out.

Howard Hughes was a man who wanted to know all he could about friends and enemies. His money allowed him to find out whatever he wanted, too — even if people thought they were immune to such tactics.

“You are one of the few people I trust, kid,” Hughes said. “That’s why I’m not complaining about your blowing cookies on my plane. I’m not as crazy as some people think I am about germs. It doesn’t do me any good to think about what others say or think about me,” Hughes said.

“I think I should thank you for that remark, boss,” Powell replied.

“No problem. But I’d rather you make me a lot of money with the film. I love money even more than I hate germs,” Hughes told Powell.

“This is a good place to film our movie, Howard,” Powell said, hoping to keep the subject on making the film, making money and not talking about puke or germs.

“I know. It was very weird that the feds offered this place up to me. I mean, they practically let me rent the area for free,” Hughes offered.

“The FEDS?” a very confused Powell said.

“They own the land in the Escalante Valley. As a matter of fact, they own
all
the land, even under my house,” Hughes announced.

“No way,” Powell countered “you’re the wealthiest man in the world!”

“Property taxes kid. Even if you have no mortgage, the government still owns the land your property sits on. Long-term mortgages for the banks, added to always-escalating property taxes, are not a good deal for Joe and Sally bag-of-donuts,” Hughes lectured. “That is why, once a month, I pay off someone’s mortgage in a different state. At least that couple won’t have to deal with the stinking bank and without a mortgage payment, they can afford to pay the taxes, upkeep their homes, buy a few other things and keep their property.”

A stunned Dick Powell broke out into a wide grin. “That’s fabulous boss. How come you don’t promote that to the world and get back at all those people who say you don’t do diddlysquat for the common man?”

“I don’t need to trumpet the good things I do. My ego gets fed in many other ways,” Hughes said with a huge grin.

“You know boss, the Indians had it right when it came to land,” Powell told Hughes. “John Ford told me that. He heard it from one of the many Indian chiefs he had talked to while filming a western.”

“How’s that again?” an interested Hughes asked.

“The Indians do not believe that anyone has a right to own the land,” Powell said.

“Interesting. Explains why they were swindled for all their lands. I’m not big on owning real estate. Most of the time I buy and sell real estate for tax purposes. The best businesses are the ones that make things extremely well and employ lots of people… although I do love the film business. Speaking of films, are you excited about this one?”

“I haven’t been more excited about making a movie,” Powell said… well, he lied a little. After all, Dick Powell had been a great actor and now he was a great producer.

“Good.”

Both Hughes and Powell settled into their swivel chairs as the plane continued to fly at breakneck speed over the area in which their movie was going to be filmed.

Dick Powell noticed that his boss was in deep thought, which helped keep Dick’s mind off the fact that the chair he was sitting in was moving… a lot.

“Dick, we’re going to land shortly and I want you to do as much business with the locals as you can,” said Hughes.

“Great idea, boss. How do I get back?” Powell asked.

“I rented you a nice car to drive back. I thought you could take some time doing what you have to on the local scene. I also arranged to have your wife flown down to meet you here tomorrow afternoon so you can drive back together… a mini-vacation if you will,” Hughes said.

“That’s thinking ahead. I could use the companionship of my wife… not to mention a ‘mini-vacation,’” Powell said.
Glad I made those plans to take off a few days before I left
, he mused.

“Just don’t bathe in the companionship for too long kid,” Hughes said.

“Where are you going to next, boss?” Powell asked Hughes.

“I suddenly have a hankering to buy some land around as many Indian Reservations as I can, so that no swindlers can come in and set up trading posts,” Hughes said. “The tax breaks are probably enormous,” he added.

“Magnificent idea, boss,” Powell said.

“I think so and don’t tell a soul,” Hughes cautioned his favorite movie-studio executive.

And Dick Powell didn’t, for many reasons. One was he had a movie to make and he still didn’t have a male lead… let alone a female star with a nice rack.

Once on the ground, he called Miss Burchett and relayed what he was up to, and told her to start the apparatus that was his crew. When he told her that he was going to be a few days, she asked him if he wanted her to cancel his appointment with John Wayne.

“Crap,” he said under his breath. “No, just move it back a few weeks.” Powell hated doing this. Not just because it was John Wayne, but because next to being put on hold, Dick hated all the meetings that were scheduled and then pushed back in the movie business.

If I had a dollar for all those cancelled and moved-back meetings, I might be half as rich as Howard
, he thought…
on second thought, a quarter as rich.

He watched Howard Hughes’ plane take off and then asked the rental car driver for a phone book. He also asked where he could find the local newspaper, so he could announce what was going to be taking place by way of having a chat with the paper’s editor and owners. Then, he could take out an ad. This way, he could find all the right places to purchase items, hire extras and keep the area humming about the movie that was being filmed in their back yard. Dick Powell was a big fan of keeping the locals happy.