Chapter Thirty-SixPARAMOUNT STUDIOS, SET OF NO LIMIT,
October 30, 1930
“Sorry, Frank, she isn’t budging,” I said. I slipped out of Clara’s bungalow and closed the door behind me. Frank Tuttle, her director, stood outside. He was a tall slim fellow with black hair slicked back, dark spectacles, and a weak cleft chin. I’d been trying to get Clara onto the set for over an hour, but it was useless.
“Daisy, what’s wrong?” he said, shaking his head. “She and I have made seven pictures together. She’s never been this fussy before. Usually she’s game for anything.”
“She can’t talk. I don’t know what’s wrong.” I almost added “this time” but thought better of it.
“Let me try,” he said. He poked his head inside. Clara was sprawled on the daybed with the script in front of her and a stack of hand
