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“You’re very excited by this. Your eyes are shining.”
“You bet I’m excited. It’s like you told me I could suddenly fly to the moon— Don’t you see? Ten-minute, eight-hundred-foot one-reel movies have been playing forever in nickelodeons. But there’s a potential for a huge new audience. Theater- and operagoers would flock to longer two- and three-reelers. Sound would let us tell bigger stories. I would quit Picture World in a flash to make talking pictures.”
“So young Clyde has his hands on something very valuable.”
“If it works,” said Marion.
“Why wouldn’t it?”
“There are three technical problems that no one has been able to solve.” She enumerated them on the long, graceful fingers of her left hand, starting at her index finger and ending on her ring finger, where beside her emerald nestled the gold band from San Francisco.
“One: synchronizing the sound with the picture; the actor’s words must match the movements of his lips, just as a theater audience hears what it sees on the stage. Two: amplifying sound; it must be loud so thousands can hear movies in big theaters. Three: fidelity; so they feel the power of human voices and the beauty of music.”
“What you’d expect in a great opera house.”
“Hundreds of opera houses! Simultaneously! Talking Pictures could play in every city at once. Seen and heard by millions. But so far, no one in Europe or America has come close to solving those three problems. Those who tried have given up, ruined. Beiderbecke and Lynds’s Talking Pictures machine has to solve all three.”
“If it does,” said Bell, “they own a commercial gold mine.”
“And an artistic treasure. Isaac, this is so exciting.”
“What do you think of Ly
nds’s scheme to sell it to Thomas Edison?”
Marion thought on Bell’s question.
“It is very risky to bring a new idea to Thomas Edison. He doesn’t want new inventions unless they’re his own. He fights tooth and nail to keep his monopoly over moving pictures by licensing his cameras and projectors and banning the competition. His Motion Picture Patents Company has U.S. marshals and his own private detectives investigating patent infringements, and he hauls independent filmmakers into court for the smallest thing. The courts are on his side because he’s made friends in the legislatures by supporting the reformers’ silly ‘recruiting stations of vice’ nonsense against nickelodeons — But worst of all, if you’re not working under his Edison Company license, you can’t buy perforated Eastman Kodak film stock, which means that you can’t take quality pictures. And frankly, that is the reason I don’t mind working with Preston Whiteway on Picture World. Edison can’t touch me. Topical films occupy a separate universe, and Preston is too rich to be intimidated.”
“And too unpleasant,” said Bell. “Who should Clyde go to instead?”
“There’s the rub.” Again, she answered carefully. “He has little choice. Edison will be the only market Lynds can sell to — unless he’s willing to risk joining up with an independent who could be crushed any moment by the Trust. You know, maybe you should invest in it. Put some of your grandfather’s fortune to good use.”
“Grandfather Ebenezer told me on his deathbed that a man who acts as his own banker has a fool for a client.”
“I’ve heard that said by lawyers.”
“I mentioned as much, and Grandfather gasped, ‘Lawyers stole that expression from bankers.’ His dying words: ‘Spend all you like on wine, women, and song, but swear to me you won’t invest it.’ So I’ll leave investing in Talking Pictures to the professionals. But I have an idea about getting Joe Van Dorn to waive the agency’s protection fee in exchange for Clyde sharing a piece of his profits.”
“Where is Clyde now?”
“He’s safe. Archie’s with him.”
Marion frowned. “Lillian told me that Archie is still not entirely well.”
“Archie promised to shoot first and avoid fisticuffs.”
“But is he well? Lillian says he still drifts off to sleep sometimes.”
Bell nodded. “It happened last week in Nice. But he snapped out of it. The fact is it’s important to Archie that he pull his own weight. I have to honor that,” he added evenly. “Whether I like it or not.” A warm smile softened his no-nonsense expression. “Which leaves me with time on my hands until we join Captain Turner for dinner tonight. Is there anything you would like to do on our last day at sea?”
Marion stretched across the bed and lifted the receiver from the switch hook of a white telephone affixed to the paneling. “If you would like to shed your scratchy outdoorsy tweeds, you’ll find in that closet a silk dressing gown that I bought for you at Selfridges— Oh, yes, good morning, steward. We would like our breakfast in bed, please— They’re asking what we want.”
“Honeymoon specials.”
* * *
That night, their last night at sea, Isaac and Marion and Lillian Hennessy Abbott ate at the Captain’s table in the First Class dining saloon. Archibald Angell Abbott IV sent his regrets. He was busy babysitting Clyde Lynds.
