Chapter 19
Here is the next chapter. So, a quick overview, not much is happening in this chapter. Just filling in some things that I feel I need to go over before moving on. For those of you who have not yet realized it. I want to be clear that this story is like a 60, maybe 70, percent slice-of-life, or at least that is what I am going for. The rest is Hollywood and business. So I am big on ideas being thrown around for me to think on. So always feel free to suggest things.
Taoist_yuri, that is a very true statement.
Poposwitch, I do plan for her to make a lot of war films, among them is Inglourious Basterds, but I will have her toe the line, so to speak. Make Nazi's look evil, like they are, but it can not be denied that the US was full of Nazi sympathizers. If Hitel hadn't declared war on us first, we most likely would have left him alone. It's a dark part of history no one likes to admit to. After the war, however, she goes hard on the attack. Pushing to have both the Nazi party and those affiliated designated as a terrorist organization. How successful she will be, I am not sure yet.
Roronoa2, as always, you're welcome. Saving your idea fyi.
D_eta015 I totally forgot to go over the principal photography. Maybe I can add it in the next chapter.
Darth_Vesha, you are very welcome.
That is it for reviews. Question at the bottom of the page.
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"I love art. I have loved it since I was a little girl, when my mother took me to an art gallery featuring an artist whose name I can't remember. That day ignited my desire to create my own artwork—something that would endure long after I was gone. I couldn't stop talking about it on our way home. I talked so much that my mother eventually called my father to get me a box of Munsell crayons, which were quite expensive at the time. But to see her little girl smile, she was willing to reach out to him just for me.
I can still remember holding those crayons in my hands. The excitement I felt that day is beyond words. I wanted to be the next Artemisia Gentileschi and often imagined my art displayed in the same prestigious places as the Mona Lisa or The Starry Night. The latter of which is actually part of my collection, thanks to my father, who acquired it for me. Unfortunately, I soon realized that while I was a decent artist, my drawings couldn't compare to those masterpieces. So, I decided to focus on movies instead.
That said, as a lover of art, I have consistently supported the arts around the world and will continue to do so until the day I die." — A Dream Come True by Ruth "Morris Lucky" Luciano.
-1940-
-Ruth POV-
As I sat across from a man engrossed in reading the script for "Raging Bull," I smiled and began filing my nails. I started with my index, middle, and thumb fingers, making sure they were short, round, and—most importantly—smooth while keeping the ring and pinky finger long and sharp. In the coming decades, this nail style would become commonplace and stereotypical within the lesbian community. Mostly because it made practical sense; after all, you wouldn't want long nails when you were using your fingers for intimate moments. That would only lead to trouble.
At this point in time, though, it was not yet a stereotype—it was simply a fashion statement I had adopted since I was a preteen. Nobody knew whether it signified anything or even had meaning, and frankly, no one seemed to care. However, recently, girls and young women of all ages started to mimic my style. While I wasn't as famous as Katharine Hepburn or Bette Davis, it was undeniable that I had something they lacked: infamy, though not necessarily in a negative way. Well, that would depend on who you asked, anyway.
You see, I had accomplished something that many women of my time had not and were not expected to do. I had stepped out of line and taken on a role typically reserved for men: I became a director. While there were other female directors, like Alice Guy-Blaché, who was a talented filmmaker largely unknown to the public, I had managed to achieve recognition. In addition to directing, I owned a movie studio, a significant accomplishment for anyone, especially a woman. Though there were other women who were wealthier and held more power than I did, they often preferred to remain in the background. I, on the other hand, chose to make my presence known—something women typically did not do in this era without being labeled obnoxious.
To quote a paper I had read not long ago, "Ruth Luciano is the perfect combination of what it means to be a lady and a queen. She is powerful without being overbearing, showing that a lady can indeed be powerful without being outrageous. For her, power is inherent to femininity; you don't need to boast about it—you simply are."
Not everyone agrees with this quote, but it emphasizes my impact on young women across the nation. They sought to emulate me as a form of silent protest for empowerment, asserting that I am a woman of strength, not just an ornament on a shelf. It was a quiet yet impactful movement. As I mentioned, some people were not pleased, particularly conservative women who quickly expressed their outrage. Ironically, many of them didn't seem to understand what they were truly upset about, however. After all, it's not like I was making grand speeches about female empowerment and whatnot. Nor was I the only woman in the public eye who was wearing this style.
Liz, Judy, and even Hedy started copying my nail style. With Liz being the only one who knew what it meant, and let me tell you, she was not amused when I told her I came up with it because of our sex life. The other two simply liked the look and followed my lead. Gradually, my style began to spread, and while conservative women were calling it outrageous, they couldn't provide a solid justification for why it was outrageous. When asked why they disapproved, all they could manage was to imply that women should know their place and stay in the kitchen. They didn't say it outright, but that was the essence of their message, and they certainly looked foolish doing so. Even some male conservatives were left puzzled about what was wrong with my nail style. It didn't help that I remained silent, and the most anyone could extract from Liz, Judy, and Hedy was that I had come up with the style and they simply liked it. It was rather amusing watching those women stumble over their words and embarrass themselves.
As I was filing my nails, I closely observed the man sitting across from me. I truly despised him, but not because he had done anything to me. In fact, we didn't even know each other until today. However, he embodied everything I loathed, and I would have had no qualms about eliminating him if I thought it would make a difference. Fortunately for him, silencing him wouldn't change anything; he was one of those lucky few who were just important enough that people would listen to him, but not so significant that getting rid of him would matter in the grand scheme of things.
That man was William Harrison Hays Sr., the founder of the infamous Hays Code. I would have invited Joseph Breen instead, but I felt he would be more difficult to work with than Hays himself. As I watched Hays read the script for 'Raging Bull,' I could read him like an open book. He didn't try to hide his distaste for the script, yet he couldn't stop reading it. Such was the compelling nature of 'Raging Bull.' It was a classic for a reason, and while I had made some changes, the overall story remained the same.
After a few moments, he finished reading the last page, closed the script, and set it down. He then took off his glasses and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe them clean. He didn't say anything right away, which I appreciated; it showed he was the type of man who thought things through before speaking.
When he did speak, it was only to say, "I see why you called me Miss Luciano."
"Please call me Ruth, Mr. Hays," I replied in a pleasant and kind voice.
With an easy smile, Hays responded, "Very well, Ruth."
Hays wasn't surprised by Ruth's openness. He believed that women are often friendlier than men, and although he, like nearly everyone else, knew who Ruth's father was, it was clear to him that she was nothing like him. The proof was that she had called him. Instead of going through with making the script into a movie, she paused and reached out, worried that certain parts of it went too far. A man, especially one like her father, wouldn't have done that. This was why he felt hesitant about sharing his thoughts on the script from the start.
"So what do you think? Is it too much? It's too much, isn't it?" I asked him in while faking a worried voice. After all, I was neither worried nor consoled by his opinion. The only reason he was here was that it would be easier to work with him than against him, and his little code. That was destined to die within a couple of decades.
Hays didn't respond immediately; he interpreted her worried tone as sincere. Like many men, he had been taught to handle women with care and to choose his words carefully, especially when someone seemed troubled, as Ruth clearly did. So, he took a moment to think things through before answering.
"Well, it is a wonderful script," Hays began, and he genuinely meant it. While he had his own objectives regarding it, he could really feel the characters. He especially resonated with the main character, Jake, whom he honestly didn't like, but then again, that was the point, wasn't it?
"May I ask what you wish to accomplish with this script, Ruth? I mean, the profanity alone makes me want to throw it out, not to mention the themes of adultery, drinking, gambling, and child abuse." Hays said.
Feeling a bit uncomfortable, as if I had just been caught with my hand in the cookie jar, I replied, "Well, honestly, Mr. Hays, I've been thinking about the direction in which films are heading. I worry that we may not be adequately preparing our children for the realities of the world."
Hays looked puzzled, clearly not expecting such a response. "What do you mean, Ruth?" he asked.
I continued, "Right now, we are simply telling our kids that everything will work out in the end, that temptation is bad for them, and that the good guy always wins. But we both know that isn't the truth. After all, we lived through Prohibition." My tone was reasonable, but I mixed in a hint of concern.
Hays took a deep breath, recalling the failure of Prohibition all too well. "This isn't the same thing, Ruth."
"Isn't it? Let's be honest with each other, Mr. Hays. You know who my father is and how he made his money. Do you truly believe he would have become the man he was without Prohibition?" I pressed him.
The answer was actually yes. My father was one of those lesser men of destiny. He had a vision for the mob, and reorganization into what it is today was going to happen. All prohibition did was speed that up. Or at least that is how I saw it.
Hays paused for a moment before responding, "Perhaps not."
"I feel the same way. The only reason my father and those around him became as rich and powerful as they are is that they understood a simple truth. People hate being told what they can and cannot do. The more you try to tell them what to do, the more they want to break free. I fear that the Production Code, as wonderful as it is, will do little to curb the vices of men," I said softly, observing the narrowing of his eyes.
Hays clearly disliked what I was saying; in fact, he was visibly angry at having this truth laid before him—especially since it was being pointed out to him by a woman. That said, he wasn't a foolish man; he understood human nature and knew that what I said was true. After all, he, too, had profited from Prohibition, maybe not as a bootlegger but in other ways.
He wasn't, however, willing to admit to his own oversight and instead looked to counter or point by saying, "That maybe so, Ruth, but I don't see how this script has anything to do with the Production Code."
"Nodding my head, I say, 'That's because, on the surface, it doesn't seem to connect. But if you look closer at the script, you'll see it has everything to do with it. You created the Production Code for valid reasons—good reasons I fully agree with. However, instead of discouraging sin, the Code ends up advocating for it by denying our right to label it as bad without justification. That's where my script comes into play. We illustrate where vice and sin can lead, emphasizing the tragic consequences that await.'
Cupping his chin in his hand, Hays reflects on what Ruth said. She made an important point. He didn't want to agree with her, but he couldn't outright deny it either. He wanted to, but she wasn't wrong. If you only examine a problem from one side and ignore the other, how can you truly understand if it's bad or not? Were they merely tempting the youth by outright denying vice without explanation? Would it be more beneficial to show the potential outcomes of such actions?
After a few moments of contemplation, Hays says, 'Let's say I agree to approve this film. It still needs to be toned down a bit; the Catholic Church would be up in arms about the movie if we don't adjust it.'
Smiling, knowing I had him at this point, I say, "I understand, but if you will hear me out a bit more, I have an idea I'm calling a rating system ."
"Rating system?" Hays says a bit interested in this idea.
-Liz POV-
As I shook my head and stepped out of the bedroom of my new home, clad only in a silk robe, I couldn't help but question my own sanity. How was it that I kept allowing myself to be manipulated by the redheaded tart I call my girlfriend? It made no sense in any logical sense, and yet here I was in a white sheer silk robe that hid nothing, about to do something I would otherwise tell her to go to hell for asking. Perhaps I will never understand it. She just seemed to have a magical hold on me that was stronger than my own resolve.
On the far side of the room, I noticed the tart standing with a young man, both of them gazing at a painting she had given me as a housewarming gift. I overheard the young man say, "It's 'Circe Offering the Cup to Odysseus' by John William Waterhouse."
"You have a good eye, Norman," Ruth says, her voice filled with admiration.
"I'm a fan of his work. However, I never thought I would see one of his pieces outside a museum. How did you come to have it?" Norman asks as he admires the painting behind several layers of bulletproof glass. It might seem a bit obsessive, but that was just Ruth. She held art in high regard and took extreme measures to protect it.
"My father brought several of his works back in the late 1920s at a private auction," Ruth replies, a smile on her lips. She loved discussing all the art she owned, and she owned quite a lot of it.
"You have more than one?" Norman inquires.
"I own five," Ruth answers, to which I roll my eyes.
"Actually, it's six, love. You own six. I haven't agreed to keep this one yet," I say from behind her, prompting both of them to turn and look at me.
Norman, to his credit, doesn't ogle me when he turns around. He blushes slightly and averts his gaze like a true gentleman. Although he may have been an artist and likely seen plenty of half-naked or fully naked women, he is clearly not a creep. This is in stark contrast to my oh-so-loving girlfriend, who is blatantly eyeing me up and down. It's easy to guess what's on her mind at this moment, and I can't help but smirk. While Ruth may be the dominant one in our relationship, I take great pride in the impact I have on her.
However, the moment doesn't last long, as Ruth has excellent self-control in most situations. She says, "Yet 'being' is the clear word, love. You know you will accept it in the end."
I raise an eyebrow at that and reply, "Will I? Perhaps if you add Cleopatra to it, I will accept it."
Looking over at Ruth, Norman asks, "You own Cleopatra, Miss Luciano?"
Ruth pouts a bit as she loved that painting. It was among her favorites, but she said, "I did, but it seems my love is in a difficult mood today."
Glancing at her, I remark, "Consider it payment for agreeing to do this portrait for you."
"You didn't have to agree if you didn't want to," Ruth retorts.
With a small huff, I say, "As if you would let me say no. Can I trust that all the forms have been signed, love?"
It is a weak argument. Yes, I had promised her I would do it in the heat of the moment. It was kind of hard to say no when she had her fingers in my pussy. But at the end of the day, I could have chosen not to go through with it, and she would not have pushed. She never pushed when I really didn't want to do something.
Rolling her eyes, Ruth replies, "Yes, yes, babe, don't worry. The NDA has been signed, and Norman has already accepted payment. Now, come on; let's see the goods."
I give my girlfriend a flat look and stand there for a moment until Mr. Rockwell says, "Miss Luciano, perhaps it would be best if you waited in the other room."
Ruth narrows her eyes at him and replies, "Are you asking me to leave, Mr. Rockwell?"
Nodding his head kindly, Mr. Rockwell responds, "That I am, ma'am. Some models don't do well under pressure. As I am sure you are aware, some actors experience the same problem."
Ruth stares at him for a moment, then laughs and says, "Well played, Mr. Rockwell. I will be in the other room if you need me."
Once Ruth leaves the room, I look at Norman and say, "Thank you, Mr. Rockwell."
"Please, call me Norman, Miss Scott," he replies.
"Very well. You can call me Lizabeth or Liz for short," I say with a smile.
As Norman moves over to his easel to prepare his paints, he begins, "So, your girlfriend. She can be a bit…"
"Much?" I finish for him.
"I was going to say scary, but sure," Norman replies with a smile.
I chuckle and say, "You know, you are perhaps the first person I have met who noticed that—at least among those who are not close to her."
Shrugging his shoulders, Norman responds, "I am an artist. I notice things that others miss."
I walk over to the chair, feeling more comfortable, and undo the front of my robe, letting it fall open before I take a seat. Having already discussed what the painting would look like, I sit upright with my back straight and legs crossed, my robe open just enough to reveal my breasts but still on.
"Oh, and tell me what you see, Norman," I ask, smiling when I notice him look up and blush a little deeper. Even though I wasn't attracted to men as a whole, much like Ruth, I still enjoyed leaving them speechless.
Quickly shaking off the effect this stunningly beautiful woman was having on him, Norman replies, "It was her eyes. The light in them. They come off a bit cold."
Smirking as I hear this, I reply, "Yes, they do, don't they? People say she has her mother's eyes, but I have met the woman. Hers are always friendly and kind, while Ruth's... well, they are like her father's."
"Have you met him? And please hold still," Norman inquires as he starts to work.
"No, but Ruth has told me a lot about him," I answer. Honestly, I didn't wish to meet the man. Ruth may have portrayed the real Lucky Luciano as kind and understanding, but those were the virtues of a daughter who loved her father unconditionally. In Ruth's eyes, he could do no wrong, or if he did, it simply didn't matter to her.
"Do you ever worry about him… well, finding out about your relationship with her?" Norman asks.
For a moment, I don't respond as I slowly begin to grasp the conversation we are having. Honestly, I rarely talked to anyone about Ruth and me. In this business, you never know who your real friends are. Even though Ruth and I often visited certain clubs where people like us gathered, I seldom discussed our relationship with anyone. It felt nice to talk openly about it.
"Constantly. It goes without saying that people wouldn't be happy to find out about us. As for her father, well, I prefer not to get on that man's bad side. I have to say I am surprised she found someone willing to do this on our behalf," I say in a calm voice.
"Well, the $1,500 she is paying me helps ease my conscience," Norman replies jokingly, which makes me smile just a bit. "Plus, I know what it's like to hide certain things."
"Oh?" I respond, slightly surprised.
Looking up from the canvas, he adds, "Don't get me wrong; I'm not homosexual, but I have thoughts."
"Ah, so you're curious, then. I understand. I felt the same way before I met Ruth, and didn't plan on acting on those curiosities myself," I say, now fully understanding him and why he seems so relaxed.
"Can I ask what changed?" Norman inquires.
I pause for a moment to consider how to respond, then say, "Nothing much, really. I'd like to blame Ruth for prompting me to explore these feelings, but the truth is I would have done so eventually."
It's a realization I'm slowly coming to terms with. I'm not completely sure if I identify as fully homosexual, but I do know I am much more attracted to women than to men.
"Is she at least the reason you're doing this?" Norman asks.
"I can admit that's 100 percent her fault," I reply flatly, still feeling annoyed about the whole situation.
"You sound annoyed," Norman observes.
"That's because I am," I respond in the same flat tone as before.
"So why go through with it?" Norman asks.
I hesitate for a moment before letting out a sigh. "Can you keep a personal secret?"
"From Ruth?" Norman asks.
"Yes," I reply.
"Sure," he answers back.
I take a deep breath and prepare to express something I haven't said out loud, even to myself. "I don't know where my relationship with Ruth is headed."
He looks at me with a questioning expression, then asks, "Are… are you planning to break up with her?"
It's a good question, one I've thought about several times. I answer, "No, but what I plan and what actually happens are two different things."
Nodding his head, Norman responds, "The painting—it's just in case."
I nod my head and say, "I love her, and while I would like to blame her for getting me to do something so… erotic, the truth is that if the worst comes to pass, I want her to have something of me to keep."
We don't say anything more; what else is there to say? The future is uncertain, and I don't know whether Ruth and I will be together forever. I would love to believe that we will, but the world doesn't seem inclined to allow that. I'm not some romantic fool willing to say something I know, deep down, is unlikely to happen. All I can do is make sure she has a piece of me to remember fondly if we ever break up. It's the least I can do for the woman I love.
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Okay, not really a question, as I had always planned for Ruth to get into Art. What I need is a list of works and their net worth. Right now, she owns up to 100 different works of art. Will go over how in the upcoming chapters. Hint: it is a known trick used by drug dealers worldwide; only her art is worth something.