golden

one: the age of gods and mortals

They lived to be the greatest. Although she never quite reached the limelight of Katharine Hepburn and Vivien Leigh; despite the fact that his voice never met the masses as that of Frank Sinatra or Duke Ellington, they were the greats. Perhaps not to those around them, surrounded by sublime talent and exquisite beauty, the pair only rose to true greatness in the eyes of one another.

It was the age of the gods. Magnetic stars that effortlessly brought to life the stories and dramas of false characters. The silver screen was alight with hope and the promise of love thereafter, prosperity, and genuineness in a time where it all had been believed lost. They were faces carved from the hands of Michelangelo and Bernini, easy to love and difficult to hate. Voices gifted down from the high heavens, caressed in silk and honey.

It was the age of mortals. Mere men and women flooded by the harsh reality of their lives. A topsy-turvy world that was not keen on being understood. From the hurtling and revenant Depression that only found an end in the War Against Hitler, which spawned its own period of darkness. Through it all, the masses themselves meandered to the grand escape from the dreariness of true life: the theater. Fictional pictures became the easy way to forget about one's troubles. To watch, listen, and laugh towards those characters on the big screen. Pine after a faux happy ending and wait with bated breath, the edge of the seat, as the hero raced to save his damsel in distress.

One such damsel went by the moniker Elizabeth Dandridge. Unlike her golden-auraed fellow stars who had the misfortune of unpleasant birth names, this one had been blessed with a Christian name and surname both fine on their own and tempting when paired. Betty to her family, Beth to only the closest of friends; she was simply, forever and always, Elizabeth Dandridge. Of equal parts talent and beauty, she exuded all that was required for a Hollywood starlet. She was to become the next Joan Crawford of Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios.

While every distressed damsel is sure to be saved, the case was not so solid for her. For all of her characters to end the pictures dancing off in the sunset with their respective heroes, she was sure the same could be said for her. And yet, there was no man to save her. Only one to destroy her. One to send her careening off the cliff without so much a string to hold on to.

~~~~~~

The Second War had only been over for a handful of months, though she imagined it as only yesterday. The bells, horns, and shouts of victory still rang through in her head, for how could it not when all had been on the cusp of bitter defeat? The country had celebrated for weeks, elation drawn out well into October of '45. Champagne never stayed on the shelf long, a bottle possibly popped open every night in the toast of celebration. Adolf Hitler was dead, and Japan had been forced to surrender.

At what cost, though, she never failed to ask herself. Over four hundred thousand Americans lost to the great cause. But how many others? The French, the English? Maybe the Japs had bombed the Harbor, but did that really mean all those innocent ones had to die when Truman authorized the atomics? Or put in those camps, the way Hitler did the Jews? Camps that fueled a war. Not that she would ever bring life to those thoughts. She held no doubts that a quiet few harbored the same sentiments as she, for surely some had to. But those words could find no home in the open world. It was common knowledge that each day, more and more people were carted away in the blind and raging hope of revealing crimson communism staining the United States.

To be accused of such was to be blackballed in all matters. From work, from society, family. Everything. There was too much to lose and she resigned herself to hold on to it all with a grip of iron.

Though the war brought its trials and griefs, she remained ever thankful that one beloved brother's name never printed itself to a casualty or Missing in Action list. Elizabeth thanked God above every morning and night that He returned her brother intact. Not to say he was not changed, for he was. Physically, Howard remained the same strapping and dashing fellow he had always been. Emotionally, mentally, the light had died. His lust for life evaporated and had yet to reform. He held his job at the factory by a bare thread and spent money faster than he made it. Her money more than his.