Chapter 26
Hi everyone, sorry for the long wait, but as I said, my editor was busy with life, and that is how it goes. That said, I think he did a wonderful job, so a big thank you to him. With that said, let's move along quickly. I won't be answering any questions this time around in exchange for getting this chapter out quickly.
Quick FYI: the first part of this chapter reads as more than a bit fanciful, but it is a fictional story. Besides, it's one person's perspective and doesn't represent the whole. Plenty of people will hate Ruth down the line for obvious reasons.
Now on with the story.
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"So you were there at the first USO show." The interviewer asks an old man, about 76 years old, and watches his eyes spark and come to life. Suddenly, right before the interviewer's eyes, it seemed as if the old man had turned back into a young man from a different time and place.
"Oh yeah… I was there, alright. God, that was a magical night." The old man answers with a wide smile.
"Can you tell us about it? I mean, we have the tapes, but what was it like to really be there?" the interviewer asks.
The old man pauses to answer, as though listening for a melody only he can still hear. "It was like an angel had slipped through the gates of heaven and come down to sing for us boys. For me especially. I don't know how else to put it. When Miss Luciano stepped onto the stage and began to sing, it was as if she'd gathered us all up on the wings of her voice and carried us somewhere the world's troubles couldn't follow. Just for a little while, mind you—but what a little while it was. I'll tell you something, young man: the memory of that night stayed with me like a lantern that never quite went out. Through many hard years, it gave me hope when there seemed to be none."
"Did those feelings change at all when she came out?" the interviewer asks.
Shaking his head, the old war vet says, "No, not at all, and I don't know a single man in the armed service back then who did."
"That is kind of strange, isn't it, considering how things were back then?" the interviewer asks.
The old man nods, then pauses before answering. "Well, young man, people forget what Ruth did after the war. She could have taken her applause and gone home after all the USO tours and war fundraising, but she didn't do that. Instead, she kept fighting for us. Marched for us, stood before Congress, started dozens of programs—maybe hundreds, for all I know. Built hospitals and retirement homes for us. To someone reading the papers, those might have been just things on the page, but to us they meant the world. Because of all her hard work, we had a place to go when the nightmares got bad or when we grew old. You don't forget things like that. Whatever the papers said, I remembered what she'd done. This one woman had done more for us than our own government did. How could I feel anything but grateful?"
-Historical documentary on the founding and start of the USO shows, 1997-
-1941-
-Katharine Hepburn-
My breath came in deep, measured pulls, and sweat crept down my temples. Muscles I had scarcely thought about suddenly made themselves known, trembling with the effort of holding the pose I was currently in. The room felt like it was burning hot, filled with the scent of musk and sweat, the rustle of shifting feet and the occasional groan as someone discovered the limits of her flexibility. I had expected a good workout, certainly, but nothing like this. Every movement demanded my attention; every steady breath and properly held pose felt like a small victory. It was hard work, and I was tired—but beneath the fatigue was fierce satisfaction. I was absolutely loving it, I thought, as I heard Ruth Luciano call out.
"All right, ladies, follow me into Viparita Virabhadrasana," she said, slowly bending backward into the pose, her arms extended overhead, and her face turned toward the ceiling.
As I eased into position, I heard groans of pain behind me and beside me. I smiled faintly, suppressing my own with some effort. I had always prided myself on being fitter than my fellow starlets, at least as far as I could tell. I swam, played tennis, and golfed whenever possible, while the others relied on smoking, dieting, and coffee to keep their weight down. I considered myself a breed apart—and took pride in it.
That was at least until Liz hit the scene like a hurricane out of the sea. Her body type was, honestly, perfection, if such a thing existed. She was like a goddess who came down from the heavens, as silly as that sounded. A perfect companion of soft, feminine curves and muscle. Her hips were to die for, and her hourglass figure was tantalizing. She was a woman who turned heads and captured hearts wherever she went. I don't think there was a single man, or even woman, in the world who wouldn't have considered themselves the luckiest person on earth to have that to call their own. And I would know because I wanted her myself.
While I kept it hidden from the public, I couldn't deny that I'd always preferred the fairer sex over the harder one. I'm not sure why, but I'd always been drawn to more masculine activities than feminine ones—from playing sports and wearing boys' clothes to roughhousing with my brothers. As I grew older and realized I was attracted to women, it just kind of made sense in a way. As strange as that may have sounded to others. I was attracted to women, especially those with a particular body type. Like the one Liz had that was equal parts lovely to look at and deliciously sinful.
That's why I approached Liz at a party that was being hosted by Gary Cooper in the first place, even though I knew I shouldn't, but when you were sexually attracted to someone, you often did stupid things. I was careful, though, because her cold, standoffish attitude was already well known in Hollywood, and while I found that even more attractive, I had no clue how she would react to me flirting with her. It was a risk I was willing to take, though, because how often did you really meet someone as attractive as Liz?
That said, I did test the waters first. If I came on too strong and she didn't swing that way, it could end up a disaster. That is why I kept to safe subjects while using suggestive language and small touches to see how she would react. Sadly, she didn't react to my advances at all. I wasn't sure whether she hadn't noticed them or had noticed them and simply chosen not to respond. Either way, her face stayed relaxed and cool throughout the conversation, so I backed off, accepting that she was most likely straight.
At least that was what I had thought till she showed up. I hadn't actually met Ruth Luciano until today, but unlike Liz, she was fairly open and friendly. The way she smiled and talked with you made it feel like you were the center of her world at that moment, and her humor was wonderful. In less than 10 minutes, she left a strong impression on me. But like with Liz, what really got my attention was her body. Now I had thought, up to the point that Ruth walked into the room, that Liz had the perfect feminine body and in many ways still did, but Ruth. God, Ruth blew all preconceptions of what perfection really was.
Like everyone else, I had seen the pictures of Ruth at the premiere of "Raging Bull," so I already knew she was, in a word, stacked. But it wasn't until she walked into the studio she rented for this private workout that she showed me she was just stacked. No, she was fit. Very, very fit.
I mean, I already knew she was, but it wasn't till I saw her in what could only be called a tight, cut-off sleeveless shirt at best, a bra at worst, and a pair of form-fitting shorts that I realized how fit she really was. Her legs, which I had only seen in those tight pants she wore at the Oscars and caught a brief glimpse of at the premiere of "Raging Bull," looked like they were sculpted from solid marble. They weren't overly muscular or thin, but long, with perfect muscle tone. Her arms projected a kind of feminine power. They were not overtly bulky like some women I had met before, but instead cut in such a way that whenever they flexed, it gave off a sharp and lean look. Then, there were her back muscles, which were just amazing. I had never seen anything like it before; my goodness, the way it was cut reminded me of a Christmas tree.
Last, of course, and just to top it all off, was her stomach. Now I have seen a lot of buckly women. Those who like me loved to work out, but not once had I ever imagined a woman could have a set of 6-pack abs and still look feminine. I was very wrong about that. So very, very wrong, I thought as I looked at Ruth's body as we changed positions to something called Bhujangasana.
Good grief… I thought she was like a Siberian tiger. Just looking at her almost made me drool, and I wasn't the only one. Needless to say, I finally understood why Liz hadn't shown me any interest. Why would she, when someone like that was clearly waiting for her? Oh, yes, I had noticed that easily. I'm sure the little ice queen thought she'd hidden it well, but the moment Ruth entered the room, I saw Liz visibly relax. The coldness vanished from her eyes, which dilated slightly as they roamed over Ruth's form—not in the furtive glances people use when they're trying not to be caught looking, but openly. Like she already knew what was hidden beneath Ruth's clothes, what it felt like to touch her, and couldn't wait to do so again.
Honestly, I don't think I was the only one who noticed, since it was hard to miss how Liz looked at Ruth with those eyes. The type of eyes that knew something belonged to you and you alone. Of course, I could have been wrong. That was always a possibility, especially since Ruth didn't spare Liz a glance when she came in, but I was pretty sure I was right as I kept a close eye on Liz. The way she acted around Ruth, and the slight touches that were more intimate than most would have thought at first glance, made it clear there was something going on. Especially as Ruth did nothing to discourage it.
Oh yes, I was sure there was something going on between them, which was too bad for poor Judy. The poor girl probably didn't even notice it herself, but I could see she was stuck on Ruth. Heck, I knew that even before today. We were both signed with MGM, so while we didn't exactly run with the same crowd, I had gotten to know her through a number of parties and thought fondly of her. That's how I found out she had a crush on Ruth, because the poor girl couldn't help but talk endlessly about the time they spent recording their single.
The poor naïve girl wasn't even hiding it as she should have. Lucky enough, most thought it was simple infatuation. The kind of infatuation one might have for someone they admired for this reason or the next. No one had yet put it together that Judy infatuation was more sexual in nature. If they did, she would be in big trouble.
"Not that I blame Judy. After all, she wasn't the only one whose eyes were looking at Ruth with desire in them…" I thought with a smile of pure mirth on my lips as I looked at the other woman in the room.
Around 14 women were invited to today's private workout, including myself, Judy, Liz, rising newcomer Jenny Blake, Hedy Lamarr, and Marlene Dietrich. MGM had requested the presence of a young unknown named Ava Gardner. Lauren Bacall, a young model and friend of Liz's, also attended, as did Veronica Lake, a young actress invited at Arthur Hornblow's request. Lana Turner was there too, along with Joan Crawford, who was reportedly in talks to join Lucky Studio's, though I wasn't sure the rumor was true. Ingrid Bergman also came, amid rumors that she had been passed over for a starring role in Michael Curtiz's upcoming film Casablanca. I had auditioned for the same role but never received a callback. I suspected she would be furious if she ever learned why she had been passed over.
Last among those to show up were Lucille Ball, a young actress who was having trouble finding traction in Hollywood, and Greta Garbo. The last, Greta Garbo, surprised many of us by showing up at all for this private workout, and she was in wonderful shape for her age. Of all of them, it was clear that at least a quarter were more than a little attracted to Ruth, and at least half were outright aroused. Chief among them was, of course, Liz, who was doing an inadequately poor job of hiding it. Judy, who wouldn't look at Ruth for longer than a few seconds, an action that made it even more obvious she was into her. Greta, who was more controlled in the looks she gave Ruth, and, surprisingly, Hedy Lamarr, who I would have missed if I didn't catch her at the start looking at Ruth's ass for longer than a few seconds and the slight lick she gave her lips. I'm pretty sure Marlene was interested too, though she was the hardest to read.
It was quite amusing to watch, honestly, and those were the only ones I was somewhat sure were interested in Ruth. The others were a more mixed bag, so to speak. It was clear to see that all of them were taken aback by the overall look of Ruth's body, but whether that was just the product of not being used to seeing a fellow woman looking like that, or more sexual in nature, was hard to tell. Though I had no doubt they were all questioning their own sexuality right now. Especially Lucille Ball, who wore a sour expression before the workout began and gave Ruth's body a very thorough once-over. It was like she was trying to decide if she was attracted to Ruth or repulsed by her.
As we finished our final pose, Chakravakasana, Ruth said, "All right, ladies, let's take a 20-minute break, then move on to resistance training."
We all sighed with relief, grateful the yoga session was over—at least for now.
A glance at the wall clock showed that just over 30 minutes had passed, yet several women already looked ready to faint. They were hardly out of shape, but even I was breathing harder and was lightly coated in sweat. Some of those poses were very demanding. While we rested, Ruth and Liz continued, while a few women went to get some water, and the rest stayed to watch.
They were performing what Ruth called Hanumanasana, an impressive sight, before moving into Astavakrasana. The entire class stopped to watch in amazement, myself included. They balanced on their hands with their torsos twisted and both legs hooked over one arm, suspended to the side. The pose was astonishing, but Ruth's apparent ease was even more remarkable. While Liz struggled and panted heavily, Ruth breathed evenly, a light sheen of sweat glistening on her skin.
Ruth rose from the pose while Liz remained on the floor a moment to catch her breath.
"Well done, Liz. Next time, we'll aim for the full 30 seconds rather than 15," she said. Fifteen seconds? Had that really been only 15 seconds? It had felt much longer, and that was just by watching. How long must it have felt to hold that position? I was excited to find out.
"Ruth, that was incredible!" Judy exclaimed, rushing over with a towel in hand.
"Oh, dear," I thought as Judy struck up a conversation with Ruth.
Her shirt was one size too small, and her shorts were snug but stayed in place.
I am not fully sure the girl knew what she was doing or was even aware of her actions, but it was clear to anyone who noticed that she was trying to flirt with Ruth. What with how she leaned in with her shirt that was one size too small or turned just enough to give Ruth a clear look at her ripe ass in a pair of shorts that were more than a bit snug. Add in the batting of her eyes and the way she played with her hair they were all classic signs of flirting.
What I did know was that it didn't go unnoticed by Liz, who stood not far away, watching with a noticeable glare.
Ruth should have noticed too, but apparently missed it and stupidly took the towel Judy was offering her and smiled while saying, "Why, thank you, Jules. You did pretty well yourself."
"Really?" Judy asked, her voice a little too high.
"Really. With a little practice, you could easily match Liz," Ruth said. I shook my head. Liz stood only a few feet away and could hear every word.
Judy beamed. "Do you really think so? I hope you're right. I'd give anything for a body like hers—or yours, for that matter."
She added the last part shyly. I cringed as Ruth replied, "Please, you're in fantastic shape. Anyone would be happy to have a body like yours."
There is no double meaning in Ruth's words, nor any sexual innuendo, but really, how stupid did you have to be to say something like that to a girl while your girlfriend or whatever Liz was to her, less than 10 feet away? I thought as Liz's eyes grew angrier. My goodness, I suspected she would have a few words for Ruth afterward, and none of them would be pleasant.
It was at this point that I knew I had two choices standing before me. I could either A: mind my own business and walk away, or B: join the conversation and defuse the tension before it erupted. Now walking away was definitely the safer option; plus I didn't really want to get caught in the middle of something. That said, I really had only one choice. My career was just recovering from a slump, and although I was signed with MGM, the studio had close ties to Lucky Pictures. With the back-to-back success of "Raging Bull" and "Citizen Kane," befriending Ruth sooner rather than later was just the smart move. After all, that was half the reason these young up-and-comers were here.
Yes, they wanted to learn how Liz—and now Ruth—stayed in such shape. But they also were seeking a chance to get to know one of Hollywood's most sought-after directors, which was reason enough to be here. Everyone in the room knew "Raging Bull" and "Citizen Kane" would sweep the Academy Awards. But I knew Ruth wouldn't win Best Director. Not Ruth. Not a woman. Best Picture was another matter, however, and I had little doubt one of those films would take it. That was more of a studio award than an individual one, so they could give her that while still protecting their male egos.
As for the other awards, like Best Actor, the field narrowed in my mind to two names: Jake Howard and Orson Welles. Either of whom could easily take it. Welles, too, stood a strong chance at Best Director. Jenny's was sure to win as well; the only question was whether it would be for Best Actress or Best Supporting Actress. As for the lesser awards, both films carried enough power to gather a wealth of other nominations. There were even whispers of another Juvenile Award for Shirley, whose performance in "Raging Bull" was perhaps the best of all.
I had more to gain by stepping in than keeping out, so I approached Ruth and Judy. "How did I do, Ruth?"
"Ah, Katharine. To be honest, other than Liz, you were the best out of everyone here," Ruth said, smiling.
I returned her smile, ignored Judy's glare, and watched Liz instead. She narrowed her eyes at me, then turned away once she realized I wasn't flirting with Ruth. Good, that is one problem solved for now. I thought as I chatted with Ruth. While the other actresses broke up into small groups to talk to each other. Most were looking to make connections, but I wouldn't be surprised if a few friendships formed. In this competitive industry, it was rare to actually make real friends, but one couldn't stand alone. Something I had learned long ago.
"Why, thank you, Ruth. I play plenty of tennis and swim whenever I can, even on cold days," I said.
"Is that so? That explains your steady breathing. Have you ever considered water squats?" Ruth asked.
"I can't say I have," I replied.
"You should. They work the glutes, quadriceps, hamstrings, calves, and core," she said.
"Really? I'll have to try them sometime," I said.
"Wonderful, but just make sure you do them right; otherwise, it only leads to a waste of energy. " Here, let me show you," Ruth says, then starts to demonstrate the proper way to do it while telling me to watch how her hips and legs bend at a perfect angle to avoid injury or wasted movement.
"Oh God, don't ogle her ass; don't ogle her ass." I keep saying to myself over and over, trying to keep a straight face and my body from overheating.
This was going to be a long day…
-Walt Disney POV-
Early Afternoon…
It was a lovely day for a walk along the pavement near Coney Island. The crisp air nipped at my cheeks, and a thin veil of snow softened the amusement park's outlines. Children wandered through the final showing of Winter Wonderland or traded snowballs, their calls ringing through the quiet as snow burst into powder against coats.
I could have honestly watched them for hours. It was so pure, untainted by what we old folk called adulthood, and I longed for those days when I, too, was once so carefree. I longed for it so much that I swear I could feel the weight of a snowball in my palm and a sudden energy fill me up inside to join in their games. Forget how silly it would look for an old man like me to join them. Sadly, I couldn't do so, but not because of my age but because of my obligations. Obligations that even kept me from enjoying time with my own children, who were in the park right now with their mother, taking in the sights.
"How horrible it is to be this thing we call an adult," I say out loud to no one as I move on.
Yet I was an adult, and business waited for no one. Spotting the woman I was meeting on a park bench, I suppressed a frown. With our busy schedules, this was our only chance to meet for some time, and that was hardly her fault. So it would be unbecoming of me to show her a sour face. If anything, I owed her thanks: the Winter Wonderland theme the park was hosting had been her idea and, from what I had found out, had cost her a good chunk of money to pull off. An event my daughters were no doubt enjoying right now and would remember fondly even though I couldn't be there with them.
As I approached the bench, I took in her appearance. She wore a long black fur coat, a matching cloche hat, and black gloves. She looked quite dashing, and I meant dashing, not beautiful. Her beauty was undeniable, but her dress made it clear she was here for business, and business alone. That said, as I got closer, I saw a slight smile on her face and a twinkle in her eyes as she watched children play on a snowbank not far from where she sat.
Like me, she marveled at the scene and longed for a simpler time. I sat beside her, and we watched in silence, savoring the peace. Talking business amid such beauty would have wasted the moment.
I don't know how long we watched the children before she spoke. "My father first brought me here when I was eight, just after my last great escape from my mother's house in LA to visit him here in New York. He was so angry with me that day; he yelled at me until I cried. It was the first time I had ever seen him so mad at me or heard him yell."
I laughed. "I can understand why. I don't know how I'd react if one of my daughters did something like that."
Ruth turned to me and gave me a knowing smile. "Sure you do. You'd do what any good father would: yell at them with the wrath of a loving father."
I chuckled. "Yes, I suppose you're right."
"But I also learned another lesson that day. A little girl's tears can earn her a day at an amusement park," she joked.
This time, I laughed aloud. She was right. Whenever my girls cried over a nightmare or an injury, I felt the need to move heaven and earth to make them happy again.
"Of course, my father soon saw through my crocodile tears, and I discovered what a terrible actress I was," Ruth said with a smile.
"So you became a director instead," I said jokingly, and she smirked.
"That I did, but that isn't why I called and asked for this meeting today, Mr. Disney..." She starts, but I interrupt her.
"Please, call me Walt," I said. She smiled.
"Very well, Walt—but I will only call you that if you agree to call me Ruth," she said.
"Gladly, Ruth," I replied.
She nodded and resumed. "As I was saying, I asked you here for two reasons. First, to share a dream I think only you could understand."
"Oh? What dream is this?" I asked in a curious voice.
"I dream of building a place that recreates the joy of coming here with my father as a child—where dreams come true, and the impossible becomes real," she said. Something stirred within me as I heard her. I understood all too well what it was she longed for.
"A place of dreams," I said, looking at the amusement park and suddenly envisioning something far grander.
"Yes, a Neverland, if you will. A little gift to the world, where even adults can feel like children again, free of adult worries, if only for a moment."
I thought it over. "I like your dream, Ruth. It sounds impossible, but wonderful."
"Maybe it is impossible, but wouldn't it be fun to do the impossible, Walt?" Ruth asked, kindling a sudden fire in my chest.
"Yes," I replied. "Yes, I think it would be."
She sighed and stood. "Sadly, that dream must wait. Despite our recent successes, we're still small fish in an ocean of sharks."
Frowning, I stood up with her and said, "You're talking about the major studios."
"I am," Ruth said.
"Now we come to the heart of the matter. What do you want, Ruth?" I asked.
She turned to me. "A partnership. Changes are unfolding behind the scenes that could reshape the film industry. With your help, I hope to seize that opportunity and bring both Lucky Pictures and Walt Disney to the top."
"Quite ambitious, Ruth. Does that mean you're done hiding behind Mr. Carlin?" I asked.
Ruth looked slightly surprised. "You figured that out did you?"
I gave her a knowing smile as we walked through the snow. "It wasn't hard, Ruth. Anyone capable of making films like 'Shane' and 'Raging Bull' could hardly be someone's puppet. The latter wasn't to my taste, but its visuals and choreography revealed a visionary behind the camera."
Ruth smiled teasingly. "Perhaps someone else made them, and I simply took the credit."
I laughed. "Please. As if someone with that level would be someone else's scapegoat. No, with that level of talent, they wouldn't need, or allow, anyone else to take their credit. That is how I knew you were the real boss at Lucky Pictures from the start."
Ruth pouted slightly. "Well, damn. I thought I'd hidden it better. I even paid a few papers to claim I hadn't directed or written those films."
"Oh, don't get me wrong, Ruth, you did do a wonderful job of misdirecting a number of people. In fact, aside from Roy and me, I doubt anyone else has noticed. After all, Mr. Carlin projects quite the image of a young, ambitious CEO. Everyone is talking about him lately," I said.
"Is that so? May I ask what they are saying?" she asked.
"Most consider him a rising star—aggressive, yet respectful and cunning. Several studio heads are plotting how to lure him away. They see him as Lucky Pictures' real prize." I say, and Ruth breaks out laughing in such a sweet and cheerful way that it would cause any man to fall in love with her. Well nearly any man as I was a happily married man and not at all tempted.
"Oh, Raimondo will love that. He thrives on being fawned over," Ruth said, still laughing.
Returning to business, I asked, "So how does Lucky Pictures' real leader plan to bring both our studios to the top?"
Her laughter ceased. "The answer is simple: the war."
"The war?" I echoed.
"Yes. The war in Europe will soon reach the United States," she said flatly. Her grim certainty chilled me more than the freezing air.
"Why do you believe it will reach us?" I asked.
"My father's Washington connections—and plain stupidity, of course. They say Roosevelt will soon impose an oil embargo on Japan, cutting off nearly all American oil exports it needs to pursue its plans for a Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere," Ruth said mockingly.
"And you expect them to go to war rather than abandon their plans?" I asked.
"A gambler never knows when to leave the table, Walt, especially when he's winning. My father taught me that, and sadly, I've found it to be true," Ruth replied.
I nodded. "True enough. What do you need from me?"
"When war comes, the government will approach every studio, not just the majors, to fund propaganda and recruitment films. Hollywood will enter a golden age of large profits and nearly guaranteed box-office returns. But those rewards will come with strings attached—and foolish decisions," Ruth said.
"What sort of strings?" I asked.
"Strict government oversight, for one. We already live with the Hays Code, but that will seem mild by comparison," she replied.
"Why do I get the feeling you have a way to deal with that?" I asked.
"Not me, Walt, but my backers in the shadows. They'll see the potential profits and will gladly use their connections to secure more freedom and favorable terms for me and anyone who joins me," she replied.
I weighed her offer before answering. "If I join you, Ruth, we'll make ourselves targets for the major studios. They tolerate us, little guys, until we start joining forces. We'll need a bigger partner to make them think twice about coming after us."
"I know. That's why I want you to join me. Your connections with the Little Three are far stronger than ours at Lucky Pictures," she said, finally revealing what she needed from me.
I thought it over as we walked. Ruth knew Lucky Pictures couldn't do this alone, but she also knew she had far more to offer than I did. If I refused, she could simply approach someone else. That left one question: "Why me?"
She answered without hesitation. "Because you're like me, Walt. A dreamer."
I laughed warmly. "That's hardly a reason, Ruth."
"Isn't it? When I first saw Oswald the Rabbit, I thought it was the most wonderful thing in the world." I frowned, unhappy to be reminded of how that had ended. "Then Steamboat Willie surpassed it—and then came Snow White. Get my point?" she added with a chuckle.
I chuckled with her. "Yes, I see your point."
"The world is changing, Walt. It's time for dreamers and visionaries like us to lead. Joining forces is the sensible way forward—and benefits us both," Ruth said.
I nodded. "I see your point, Ruth, but this is business. How can I be sure you won't turn against me when you no longer have a need for me?"
Ruth smiled. "Because you're smart enough to ask. Others see only what they want to see in me, but you know better and will stay on guard. You will watch me and make sure I keep to my word. That said, I am willing to offer you a deal. Join me, and I promise so long as we are friends, Lucky Pictures will not enter into animation." She sounded sincere, and I believed her.
I considered her offer. "Very well, Ruth. You have a deal. When do we begin?"
"Right away. I'm finishing a documentary about Babe Ruth. Only a few interviews remain, but I still need a narrator. Interested?" Ruth asked.
"It would be my pleasure, Ruth," I replied as we walked on through the snow, taking in the sights and sounds of the surrounding attractions.