A Touch of Stardust (14 page)

“Each one of those big white metal letters is fifty feet high and thirty feet wide. Put up in ’23 as a sales tool for a subdivision. Don’t know how many lots they sold, but it was a great promo for the movies,” he said, pointing. “Just around another curve or two and you’ll see what I’m talking about.”

She looked around. What a beautiful, deserted place this was—holly bushes clustered close to the road, oak trees, even scatterings of bright-red poppies. Everything seemed to thrive here, without the bleak, snowy winters of the Midwest. She was not going back. She would find a way to become a screenwriter. Her thoughts returned to the pages she had banged out that morning on the old typewriter. How amazing and exciting it was to see a wisp of an idea take shape.

Andy pulled abruptly to the side of the narrow road. “Look up there,” he said. “Close enough?” His voice was trying to lighten. “Can we go now? I’m getting hungry, and there are no restaurants up here.”

She peered through the windshield glass.
HOLLYWOODLAND
. It was bigger than she had expected. Its size was like a shout, a bellow
of grandeur. It dwarfed the few homes on the slope of the hill, diminishing them into dollhouses. It was stunning.

“Can we get closer?” she asked.

Without answering, Andy put the car in gear and kept climbing. Then he suddenly twisted the wheel, turned off onto a dirt path, and pushed down hard on the gas pedal. “Sorry, it’ll be a bit bumpy from here.”

The sign loomed over them now, so close Julie could see the tangle of worn wiring that held the metal squares to each other. Some of the squares, shabby and dented, dangled precariously in place, shivering with every breath of wind. At the far end, a tall ladder in back of the “H” reached a full fifty feet to the top.

Andy pulled up in back of the sign and turned off the engine; he stared at the ladder, his face still.

“It doesn’t look cared for,” she said, disappointed.

“The real-estate company isn’t bothering anymore. Doesn’t matter—not many people get this close up. Seen enough?”

She was determined to hold on to her initial mood. “I’ll bet it still has the best view in town.” She pointed to the ladder. “Somebody must climb up there; otherwise, why the ladder?”

“There’s a caretaker. He’s around here somewhere, old guy who lives in a shed up the hill. He’ll probably be out of a job soon.”

She cast him an arch look. “You seem to know quite a lot about this place. Been here often?”

He shook his head slowly. “Once was enough.”

“You can be as terse as a real cowboy,” she said. She opened the door and jumped out of the car, beckoning to him. There were too many constraints in her mind and her heart; she felt like defying them. “Come on, let’s do something adventurous—just a little daring?”

He got out of the car as she ran over to the ladder. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m going to climb the ladder,” she said gaily. “Come on, Andy, do it with me!” She put a foot on the bottom rung and started climbing. “Have you climbed it before?”

He leaned backward, staring up to the top. “No.”

“Well, why not? Anyway, it’s my turn. Let’s go, okay?” She went up a few more steps, then paused a bit as she stared upward, determined not to dissolve into a nervous Nellie.

Moving swiftly to her side, Andy put his hand on the rung over hers. “No,” he said, more forcefully than was necessary.

“Why not? Fear of heights?”

He managed a taut smile. “What proper young lady from Indiana wants a man climbing a ladder, looking up her dress?”

It didn’t quite come off as a joke.

“Look, let’s sit in front of the sign instead and wave to all the scurrying masses below who will be—coincidentally—looking up at us. Must be a metaphor in all that,” he said. His hand still gripped the rung, blocking her path up.

She wanted the lighthearted Andy back. “Okay,” she said, stepping back to the grass.

His face relaxed. Gently, he took her hand and led her around the shaky bottom plates of the first “O” to the steep rim of the cliff; here they settled in, backs against the scaffolding.

“I don’t want to spoil this for you, but I have to tell you something,” he said.

Her voice caught. “What is it?”

“A woman climbed up that ladder and jumped off this sign a few years ago. Killed herself.”

“Oh God, Andy, that’s terrible. Who was she?”

“Just a young kid dreaming of making it big in Hollywood. She got turned down for a part in a big movie and some say she couldn’t take the pressure.”

“Did you know her?”

“Saw her around the studio, said hello a few times.” He looked up at the flapping letters above them. “This place is such hokum. The whole town is hokum.”

A slight wind curled through the brush and up to the sign, setting the loose panels behind them flapping against each other in a tinny cacophony of sound. They sat quietly, listening to the wind, staring down to the valley.

“Are you still enamored with Carole and Clark?” he asked.

“I think they’ll get married as soon as they can,” she said. “They truly are in love.”

He was silent for a moment. And she realized how she yearned for that word to mean something to him. “Please, don’t mock,” she said.

He squeezed her shoulder and pulled her close. “I’m not saying they aren’t, but that doesn’t mean much here. Actors pay attention to each other for a while, and then they get back to feeding their public selves.”

“God, Andy—”

“Look, hunger is real. But hunger here is different.”

She sat in silence. It made little sense now to tell him about her idea this morning that had turned into twenty pages of typing. She had felt inspired; he would roll his eyes and laugh. Maybe later. After she wrote another draft. Maybe his attitude was exacerbated by Cukor’s firing.

“Are you worried about your job?” she asked.

“Sometimes. But I stay sane by not believing anything here is worth getting frantic about,” he said. “Do you understand how this works? Selznick wants to scare the hell out of everybody; he wants the town to hold its collective breath. Then he’ll hire Victor Fleming. Louella and all the other sycophants will hail it as a brilliant decision, and
Gone with the Wind
will sail through, with hosannas to Selznick. His whole goal is to take over the movie himself. Listen”—he chuckled—“if he could, David would play Scarlett. Anything to give him total control.”

“He’s your boss. I don’t care about the movie, I care about you.”

He gave her a light kiss on the forehead. “So are we done with this little venture?”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“What’s your wish, my lady?”

“I’m thinking about that poor girl who jumped off the sign. How alone she must have felt.”

“Right. The fact is, despair comes too easy here.” His hands cupped her head, his face leaning close to hers. She could have sworn
he moved to cover her ears against the almost seductive, rhythmic sound of the wind on the metal plates of
HOLLYWOODLAND
.

“We did share something special last night,” he said quietly. “I’m not good at saying that kind of thing. But for you, yes. Julie …”

She closed her eyes. It wasn’t going to vanish; she would not have to pretend their lovemaking had been casual or even unimportant. “It meant a lot to me,” she whispered.

“I know,” he said, his voice gentle. “Tonight?”

“Yes.”

“And—”

“What?”

“You don’t have to be so determined to lose your virginity this time. Relax.”

She giggled. And relaxed. And as he kissed her, with a moan of what could be pleasure or sadness, as the wind coiled past them, with the city at their feet, she wondered about all the girls who came here with plans and dreams, and whether hers were as unreal as theirs.

Carole’s Bel-Air home was in its usual chaos Wednesday morning. Julie couldn’t imagine anything else, not with the two dachshunds, a Pekingese, a cocker spaniel, a rooster, two ducks, and a cat named Josephine who insisted on sleeping with the dogs, whether they liked it or not. All had the run of the house except in the living room, with its white carpet.

“I do have my standards,” Carole said to Julie without a trace of self-mockery. One of the ducks quacked and fluttered across her feet. Laughing, Carole scooped it up and surprised the poor creature with a kiss. The duck fluttered away, and Carole turned to Julie. “You’re gonna get tired of hearing it, but I’m in heaven,” she said.

Julie couldn’t resist. She reached out and hugged this ebullient woman who never spoke in riddles, dissembled, or dodged a question—a hug immediately and exuberantly returned.

“Let’s talk about your job,” Carole said, stepping back as the cocker spaniel streaked past, chasing the cat. “Are you happy with it?”

Julie smiled. “I like working for you,” she said. “The truth is—I don’t have much to do.”

“You’re promoted now to companion, secretary, adviser—”

“Adviser?”

“Okay: should the living room remain off-limits to the animals?”

“Yes.”

“See? You just advised me. Have you started writing something?”

Julie nodded, suddenly shy.

“For
Gone with the Wind
?”

“No. It’s something different.”

“Can I press?”

“I don’t know,” Julie said, groping a bit. “It’s about surviving in a fantasy world. I’m not sure myself yet.”

“Don’t show anyone yet, but keep at it. You’re not going to hang around here forever.”

“I’d rather be here than in Fort Wayne,” Julie said.

Carole smiled. Their mutual distaste for their hometown had already formed a bond. “Honey, me, too,” she said, then added, more slowly, “I still see the faces of those poor devils begging on the streets in ’29, when I went back to see my grandparents. Half the country was out of work. What are your parents like? They did send you to a fancy college, right?”

Julie’s thoughts briefly took her back home. Her parents were good people; they had done their best. She would not have gone to college except for her father’s determination to shape her as a son, not as a daughter, and she would not be here if her mother hadn’t dreamed of making it in the movies herself. That revelation—the day she left—had come as a surprise. And so did one more. As her mother kissed her goodbye at the train station, hugging her tight, the scent of Chanel N° 5 wrapping around Julie, she had whispered, “They are all Democrats in Hollywood, dear. Don’t tell your father, but I voted for Mr. Roosevelt.”

“It was kind of abrupt,” Julie said after relating this to Carole, starting to laugh. “It was as if she had just told me her innermost secret.”

Carole hooted at the story. “So your mother has a mind of her own,” she said, “even if she has to hide it.”

“Were you sorry to hear about Cukor?” Julie asked tentatively.

“Nope.” Carole was brisk. “George will be fine, but David will get a better performance from Clark with a new director, and that’s good for the movie.” She shook her head. “God, my man is so wonderfully clumsy. You know he can’t dance?”

Julie shook her head.

“I sent him a full ballet outfit with oversized toe shoes when he was making
Idiot’s Delight
to help him laugh and loosen up for the dancing in that one,” Carole said. “But he’s terrified about the ballroom scene in
Gone with the Wind
. I’ve been trying to teach him, but he is so adorably shy.” She began a mock waltz around the room with an imaginary partner: “One-two-three, one-two-three,” she intoned, dipping and swirling. Then a sudden squawk. “Clark, you’re stepping on my foot!”

Julie started to giggle, but suddenly there was the sound of throat clearing. They both looked up, and there was Clark, standing in the doorway. His cheeks were red. “Am I that bad?” he asked in an embarrassed voice.

In answer, Carole threw out her arms and walked toward him. “Julie, turn on the phonograph, will you?” she said gently.

Julie moved quickly to the new Decca console next to the sofa. There was a Bing Crosby record on the turntable. She switched the phonograph on and carefully put the needle on the disk. The singer’s lazy, velvet voice immediately swirled into the room, crooning a familiar song. What was it? It was “The Shadow Waltz.” Clark had his arms out awkwardly now, clutching Carole as she coaxed him into a dance. He swore under his breath, looking down at his feet. “Can’t get the damn things to move properly,” he said.

“Look at me, not the floor,” Carole commanded. “Just listen to the music; I’ll dodge your feet.”

Julie sat quietly and watched Carole gently guide Clark around the room, murmuring encouragement. It took a few minutes, but his rigid shoulders finally began to relent. Yes, he was listening to the music. He pulled Carole closer, kissed her ear. “Only for you, Ma,” he mumbled. “Only for you.”

When the record was over, the needle kept scratching back and forth. Julie lifted the arm up and put it back in place.

Clark had a devilish look in his eye as he glanced at Julie. “So—you think I’m ready to twirl Scarlett around in the ballroom scene?” he asked.

“Um …” Julie tried not to smile.

But Carole was already laughing. “Julie, you ignore him; he’s teasing. Anyway, it’s all been resolved.” She beckoned to a servant who appeared at the door carrying a tray of tea and cookies, and sank into a chair, rubbing her feet.