The demands of filmmaking crush the weak-hearted and soft-minded. Some actors and actresses never live to see his or her name on the movie theater posters, and that could happen for several reasons: they give up too soon, they spiral downward with booze in hand, maybe even a terrible automobile accident or a jealous lover takes their life. Sometimes, they are just lousy at acting, and if the director does not notice, the audience at the box office surely does. That kind of character did not match that of  Bebe Brooks. She did not possess a weak heart nor a soft mind, and that kind of strength propelled her to the top of Hollywood. 

Her former primary school classmates barely recognized her onscreen. For one, everyone called her by her real name, Beatrice. Her initials, “B.B.,” morphed into “Bebe,” and that is what she named herself on set. Secondly, time treated her kindly, and the timid little girl now strutted down the boulevard on a mission, chin high and locks of red hair waving like flames. Those same fiery looks, along with foxy eyes and high cheekbones, held the power to inspire any soldier over in Europe to bring home the victory. If the Fuhrer truly hated red, he would quiver in fear upon seeing Bebe Brooks. Nobody ever knew a woman could be so red. 

Her minty blue  ‘44 Chevy, on the other hand, contradicted the red aesthetic, and she paced around the metal machine as it laid there broken down in the morning rush hour.

“Of all the days that back tire could go flat,” she pouted. She carried only a screwdriver in the leather upholstered console, and it offered little to help her situation. Thankfully, several people traveled this bypass daily – surely somebody would drive by and help a lady out. Lo and behold, a savior arrived at Bebe's side, and a utility truck at that. A hefty, dark-haired man stepped out.

“Ma’am, nobody just pulls off the bypass for fun,” he chuckled, “do you need help?”

“Yes, you see, my back passenger tire has gone totally flat!” she explained. He simply stood still and silent. “Sir?” Bebe inquired.

“You’re Bebe Brooks, aren’t you?” he asked. She flashed her award winning smile and nodded. “Wow, I never thought I’d get to change the tire of a Hollywood star!” he gushed, “You are even nicer to see in person than on the screen.” Bebe simply giggled and fluttered her lashes. 

“Why, thank you,” she replied, “I really need to get to the studio, you know, La Grande Studio?” His jaw dropped. 

“La Grande? That’s where I’m headed!,” he beamed, “the movie folks are payin’ me to work on the set cars.”

“Really? That’s a big job,” Bebe awed, examining his name tag, “I suppose we can change this tire real quick and then hurry up there, umm, Charlie.”

“Yes, of course, Miss Bebe,” he  grinned.

“I met the cutest guy today, Mandy,” Bebe swooned, sitting cross legged on the high stool. Mandy tossed and twirled the red hair into waves, coating the style with hairspray and scrunching her button nose at the aerosol fumes. 

“Ooo, who is it? It’s the lead actor of the vampire film, isn’t it?” Mandy squealed. Bebe laughed and shook her head.

“Goodness, no. I don’t think he even knows he’s playing a vampire, he’s so airheaded,” she laughed. The dressing room girls all cackled with her; after all, that actor never possessed anything smart about him. “No, he’s a mechanic. Changed my tire before I got here. Such a gentleman, Charlie Walker,” she sighed. The girls side-eyed her wearily. 

“A mechanic?” interjected Jolene, the costume manager, “Bebe, you could have any man in the world. Why settle for a mechanic?” Bebe scoffed with a smile.

“Oh, Jo, I don’t look at the money. I  can make that myself,” Bebe replied, “I look at the heart, and Charlie has a big one.”

“Don’t let us stop you, sugar,” Mandy needled, “But don’t be shocked when he quits his job and freeloads off of you.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Bebe bantered, “He works here. On the set cars.” Jolene nearly dropped Bebe’s outfit. 

“Here? So you’ll get to see him often?” Jolene prodded. Bebe looked up at her with rounded eyes.

“I sincerely hope so,” she admitted, and she put on her costume and waltzed onto the set.

Bebe’s instinct proved correct. As she acted her part and spoke her lines, Charlie stood behind a set light, watching and presumably admiring. After the take, Bebe scurried over to meet him. 

“Well, what brings you here?” she joshed. 

“Just wanted to make sure you got to where you needed to be,” he greeted, “Guess you did.”

“You should’ve known, we pulled into the studio at the same time,” Bebe smirked. Charlie gave a shy smile.

“Well, maybe I just wanted to see you. Is that a crime?” he asked. Bebe shook her head. 

“Not at all, Charlie,” she assured, and the two made their way to the studio cafe together. 

Charlie and Bebe spent every evening together for three weeks, going for ice cream or cocktails, window shopping the glamorous fashion at the designer outlets, or just spending time at Bebe’s house in her sitting room. One thing gnawed at Charlie, though, and it would not let go either: his father and what he sees as a worthy woman. Charlie sulked home after his date with Bebe that Saturday night and opened the creaky door attached to his humble abode. His father, gray and wrinkled with wisdom, sat at the kitchen table with his oakwood cane. Before sitting with him, he analyzed his reflection in a crystal mirror that looked too lavish to be in such a plain house. Mr. Walker claimed it to be a family heirloom, a tradition of passing down the same old-same old. In the mirror, he did not see traditional Charles. He only saw Charlie. Charlie, with strong arms built for helping others, and brown, almond shaped eyes, eyes only for Bebe. 

“You’re home late again,” his father snapped. Charlie sighed and set down his worn briefcase. 

“I’m a grown man, pop. I can handle creatures of the night,” Charlie joked, pulling up a chair and sitting down.

“Yeah, creatures of the night, as in screenplay harlots,” Mr. Walker grumbled. Charlie rested his head onto his propped up arm and made tense eye contact with his father.

“She is not a harlot,” he defended, “she reminds me of mom.” He hung his head low. 

“Yeah, Ma. And look where she ended up, in the ground,” Mr. Walker huffed, “you should be doing something other than chase women, boy. You should be in the army, fightin’ those European barbarians. Might as well enlist yourself, you’ll be drafted anyway.” Charlie shook his head and rose from his seat, trudging to the ivory colored fridge and grabbing orange juice. 

“If Captain America needs me, he knows where to find me,” he mumbled, taking a large swig, “until then, I’m doing what makes me happy.”

“Working on cars for mere dimes and running about with a wh*re?” burst Mr. Walker. Charlie set the glass down with an angry “clink,” and met his father’s gaze with a more powerful stance.

“Yes,” he declared, “working on cars and running around with Bebe.”

“You’re wasting your time. When I served in the first war-” 

Charlie cut off his father. “I do not care what you did in the first war, and I do not care what you think about mama or Bebe. It’s my life!” he cried. He began to stomp towards the door.

“Don’t you leave, Charles. I won’t let you back in!” Mr. Walker shouted, and then a shrill shattering sound rang through the house. Mr. Walker Looked up to see his son with clenched teeth, his right fist dripping blood, and the crystal mirror shattered. If he did not see shame in crying, Mr. Walker would have started to bawl. Instead, he shook his head and remained in the rickety old chair. 

“Breaking a mirror is bad luck, Charles,” he sighed, “especially one that’s so deeply rooted in family tradition.”. Charlie picked up his briefcase containing his workplace necessities and started to head out.

“I’d rather have bad luck than no luck at all,” Charlie grunted.

Bebe arose from her rose pink bed and yanked off her sleeping mask to the sound of her doorbell ringing frantically. She trotted down to the door, and opened it to find Charlie wet and cold after sprinting to her house in the light, misty rain.

“Charlie!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here?” She did not have time to ask more questions before Charlie rushed in and embraced her, tightening his grip and trying his best to make the hug count. 

“Oh, Charlie, calm down. It’s alright,” she whispered, patting his back and fixing his wet hair. “Let’s go get you some hot tea.” She began to lead him to her back kitchen, but Charlie pulled her back. He held her there in front of her before leaning in and giving her a kiss. It seemed to last forever, and when the two pulled away, they knew that they would never depart again. Ever since that night, Bebe’s second dining room chair always had an occupant.

Later that year, Bebe’s film released into theaters, and it became the hit of the year. Her poster hung everywhere, and the paychecks started rolling in. Of course, she always made a cut for her beloved Charlie. One day, in the mix of checks and fan mail addressed to Bebe Brooks, a single letter addressed to Charlie Walker appeared. The yellow envelope covered in jumbles of numbers with official government seals on it. Bebe set it in front of  Charlie, his eyes widening and scratching his scruffy cheek. 

“I wonder what that could be,” she wondered, hanging her coat up on the hook, “you haven’t changed your address in everything yet.” she turned to him with a smile, but that smile soon faded as he read along the lines. “What is it, dear?” she asked, sitting down with him. He wrung the letter in his hands before speaking. 

“I’ve been drafted, love. Just like father said,” he sputtered, gripping the sheet of paper. Bebe took a moment to find the right words. 

“It doesn’t matter what he said,” she assured, “what matters is you now have a duty to fulfill.” Charlie began to tear up, struggling to look his partner in the eyes.

“I can’t leave you, or us, behind,” he croaked. “We’ve been so happy together.” She kissed his cheek and laid her head on his broad shoulder.

“Fight for me,” she whispered. Charlie finally made eye contact, and that brought on the tears for Bebe. “I don’t want you to go either, but do it for me. Think of me when you need a reason to keep going.” He nodded and remained cuddled with her on the fancy couch. “When does it say you need to turn up?” she asked.

“Tomorrow at 11,” he monotoned. 

Charlie arrived at the Army bus pickup at ten-thirty. He spent all night just holding Bebe, talking about their favorite memories together and their plans for their future. Would he be able to return home and carry out his plans with Bebe? A wailing call interrupted his thoughts.

“Charlie! Charlie!” the voice called. He knew that voice, his favorite voice in the world.

“Bebe!” he gasped, hugging her tightly and cupping her face in his hands. “What are you doing here?”

“I needed to see you again, just once more,” she cooed, running her hands through his combed hair. He chuckled and kissed her forehead.

“You’re gonna mess up my hair,” he teased, “but who cares? I like it better that way.”

“I have something to give you before you go,” she cheered. She handed him a long, rolled up tube.

“What is it?” Charlie inquired. Bebe took his hands and held them at their chests. 

“Just unroll it and pin it up when you’re settled in,”she promised. “Think of it as some motivation.” Suddenly, the courthouse bell rang 11 times. A man in decorated uniform ordered all the men to file up and have their draft number cards ready. Charlie turned to face Bebe once more. One more kiss, one more hug, one more hold of hands, and Charlie disappeared into the sea of soldiers.

It did not take long for the whole process to unfold, and Charlie found himself in the Hawaiian tropics at that base. After Japan bombed Pearl Harbor, it seemed that Mr. President funneled all the strong boys to the island to guard the land between Japan and the States. Despite the danger that occurred three years back, Charlie felt a sense of safety. That night, as he laid in the top bunk, he remembered the roll of paper that Bebe gifted him. He unrolled it, stared at it for a while, and then proceeded to find some tacks to pin it to the ceiling above him.

“Woah, who is that?” his bottom bunkmate asked. Charlie inserted a final pin, then laid flat on his back to admire the work.

“That’s my woman,” he sighed, “and I’m gonna come home to her.”