One evening, Charley Fine, my Stewart Warner mentor, and his wife, Vera, came to the apartment for dinner. For economical reasons, we served a cheap takeout dinner I had picked up at a neighborhood Chinese restaurant, but the Fines pretended not to notice.
During the evening, Vera said, “I’m driving to Sacramento, California, next week.”
California. Hollywood. It was as though a door had suddenly opened for me. I thought of all the magical hours I had spent at the RKO Jefferson Theatre, solving crimes with William Powell and Myrna Loy in After the Thin Man, riding with John Wayne in the covered wagon to California in The Oregon Trail, watching helplessly as Robert Montgomery terrorized Rosalind Russell in Night Must Fall, swinging through the trees with Tarzan in Tarzan Escapes, and having dinner with Cary Grant, Clark Gable, and Judy Garland. I took a deep breath and said, “I’d like to drive you there.”
They all looked at me in surprise.
“That’s very kind of you, Sidney,” Vera Fine said, “but I don’t want to imp—”
“It would be my pleasure,” I said enthusiastically.
I turned to Natalie and Otto. “I’d like to take Vera to California.”
There was an uncomfortable silence.
We picked up the conversation after the Fines had left. “You can’t go away again,” Otto said. “You just got back.”
“But if I could get a job in Hollywood—”
“No. We’ll find something for you to do here.”
I knew what there was for me to do in Chicago. Checkrooms and drugstores and parking cars. I had had enough of that.
After a brief silence, Natalie said, “Otto, if that’s what Sidney wants, we should give him a chance. I’ll tell you what. Let’s compromise.” She turned to me. “If you don’t find a job in three weeks, you’ll come back home.”
“It’s a deal,” I said happily.
I was sure I could easily get a job in Hollywood. The more I thought about it, the more wildly optimistic I became.
This was finally going to be my big break.
Five days later, I was packing, getting ready to drive Vera and her young daughter, Carmel, to Sacramento.
Richard was upset. “Why are you leaving again? You just got back.”
How could I explain to him all the wonderful things that were about to happen?
“I know,” I said, “but this is important. Don’t worry. I’m going to send for you.”
He was near tears. “Is that a promise?”
I put my arms around him. “That’s a promise. I’m going to miss you, buddy.”
It took five days to get to Sacramento, and when we arrived, I said goodbye to Vera and Carmel, and spent the night in a cheap hotel. Early the following morning I took a bus to San Francisco, where I changed to another bus, to Los Angeles.
I arrived in Los Angeles with one suitcase and fifty dollars in my pocket. I bought a copy of the Los Angeles Times at the bus station and turned to the want ads to look for rooms to rent.
The one that instantly appealed to me was an ad for a boardinghouse that had rooms for four-fifty a week, breakfast included. It was in the Hollywood area, a few blocks from the famed Sunset Boulevard.
It turned out to be a charming, old-fashioned house in a lovely residential area on a quiet street, at 1928 Carmen Street.
When I rang the bell, the door was opened by a small, pleasant-faced woman who appeared to be in her forties.
“Hello. Can I help you?”
“Yes. My name is Sidney Sheldon. I’m looking for a place to stay for a few days.”
“I’m Grace Seidel. Come in.”
I picked up my suitcase and walked into the hall. The house had obviously been converted from a sprawling family residence to a boardinghouse. There was a large living room, a dining room, a breakfast room, and a kitchen. There were twelve bedrooms, most of them occupied, and four communal bathrooms.
I said, “I understand that the rent is four-fifty a week, and that includes breakfast.”
Grace Seidel contemplated my rumpled suit and my worn shirt, and said, “If you press me, I could make it four dollars a week.”