A Touch of Stardust (22 page)

“If you had told me first,” she purred, reaching out to fasten one formidable claw on Carole’s arm.

“Told you first about what?”

“When you learned the truth about Loretta Young’s baby, dear. Young men will sow their oats, won’t they?”

Carole stared at her, then scanned the busy, avid group of people there to chronicle her every expression and every word. She put her hands on her hips and gave a very unladylike snort. “For God’s sake, that story has been whispered about for four years,” she said. “It was all over when I came on the scene, so why should I care?”

“She’s adorable,” Louella said. “Cutest little thing—looks just like Clark. Loretta surely knows how to keep a secret, doesn’t she?”

One crack in Carole’s demeanor and Louella could send the story out of Hollywood and into the world. Julie felt blown apart by the eager hunger in the woman’s voice, but Carole—the actress—emerged with perfect timing.

“Louella darling, are we still a little upset about not being included in the wedding plans?” Carole said lightly. “I was dying to have you there, but we had so little time. Now it’s my job to make it up to you. I can tell you some wonderful stories about the trip—right, Julie?” She turned to Julie, who could only nod.

“I felt quite abandoned,” Louella cooed. Nothing in her demeanor suggested a fragile waif. She turned with a whip-sharp
motion and faced Julie. “By the way, your young man got himself into a bit of hot water yesterday. Any comment, dear?”

Julie opened her mouth but Carole spoke first. “Wasn’t he brave?” she said brightly. “Standing up to some drunken lout who shouldn’t be in our ballpark in the first place?”

“Some say that about our handsome Mr. Weinstein,” Louella murmured.

Carole stepped in front of Julie and circled the pudgy columnist with her arm. “I’m going to whisper our moving date, if you promise not to tell,” she confided. “I would just love to have you with us to celebrate. So many little tidbits about
Gone with the Wind
to share. You mustn’t quote me, but I don’t think poor Vivien could fill an A-cup brassiere.”

Louella dug quickly into her snakeskin bag and pulled out a notebook. Julie could only watch in fascination, wondering how someone like Carole knew so instinctively the right twists and pirouettes that would keep her steady.

Late that afternoon, with Louella and her entourage gone, Julie and Carole—both now in boots and overalls and armed with brushes—knelt on burlap sacks and slapped heavy coats of paint onto the seemingly interminable stretch of fencing that surrounded the stable.

“Louella is a viper, but she can’t get me,” Carole said calmly, brushing her hand against a stray lock of hair that had escaped her ponytail, leaving it streaked with paint. Her face was uncharacteristically still, and the tiniest of lines traveled down in soft curves on each side of her mouth. “I don’t give a damn about Loretta Young and her baby. That all happened before I fell in love with Clark. I care about what could happen now.”

Julie dipped her brush into the paint can, then slowly deposited a long swipe of thick gelatinous color onto a fence post. Now? “I don’t think—” she began.

“Honey, there isn’t a woman on that lot who wouldn’t jump at the chance to fuck the King,” Carole said. “I know better than to get complacent.” A shadow crossed her brow, then vanished.

She glanced at Julie’s surprised face and leaned over to pat her leg with a paint-stained hand. “It’s a matter of protecting one’s investment. In fact, I think I’d like you to spend a little more time on the set for a while.”

“Doing what?”

“Oh, running errands for the dashing Rhett Butler. Once Pa peels off those duds at the end of the day and goes back to being Clark, I’m not worried.”

Her tone was now so lighthearted, Julie wasn’t sure how to respond.

“It’s okay, Julie,” Carole said quietly. “It’s the price I pay for getting what I want. It’s never free.”

Julie nodded. She was learning more from Carole than she had ever learned at Smith.

Daylight was fading when Rose met her at the door of the boarding house, an envelope in her hands, her eyes hopeful. “He left this for you about an hour ago,” she said. “He said to meet him at the studio if you could. He looked sad, Julie.”

Julie opened the envelope to find a single line in Andy’s bold handwriting:

I saw you at Chasen’s. Please
.

It was late, and the main offices of Selznick International Pictures were almost deserted, but the guard at the front entrance seemed to be expecting her.

“You looking for Mr. Weinstein?” he asked genially. “He’s been viewing rushes and checking out schedules.”

She nodded, wondering how it looked for her to be here so
late—and then wondering why she cared. “Where will I find him?” she asked.

“He’s over in the Twelve Oaks library now. They had some problems with the props. Lady, that is one beautiful set. Hard to believe people ever actually lived like that. You seen it?”

She nodded with a smile. The library of Twelve Oaks, Ashley Wilkes’s majestic home—a perfect replica of a Civil War–era library, at least as David Selznick imagined it. One of Julie’s favorite sets, actually. Twice, after a day’s shoot, she had visited, imagining herself floating in silks and hooped skirts through this rich, elaborate space, so elegant with its arched windows and curved walls. Once she tried to pluck one of the hundreds of books on shelves reaching up to the elaborately molded ceiling, forgetting they were cardboard façades.

Strange, on a spring evening, to be entering such a world of fantasy, wondering what reality was about to be played out.

Andy was sitting on the gold settee, staring into the nonworking fireplace, lost in thought. His dark hair lay still and heavy across his brow, obscuring his eyes. That alarmed her. She needed to see his eyes.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t straight with you after the game,” he said, not yet looking up.

“So Doris told you—”

“She didn’t have to. I saw you leaving. She shouldn’t have been the one to tell you about my grandparents. That’s something I should have done. There are plenty of things I should have done.”

Why was he not looking at her? She moved into the room, approaching him tentatively. “Andy …”

Finally, he looked up, and the weariness in his eyes made her take an involuntary step back.

“Come, sit down,” he said. “I’ve got a couple of things to say.”

She had an urge to push away his words. “Andy, I’m dreadfully
sorry about your grandparents. That’s what you’ve been fearing, and it has happened. I understand better now what prompted you to confront those people. I don’t have to know anything about you and Doris, I just want—”

“Stop—”

She couldn’t: it just poured out. “And I know about the accident, about the woman you loved. And I know you went to jail for her.”

“No—”

“You don’t have to deny it,” she implored.

A sharp exhalation; he looked away. “So even
that
you’ve had to learn from someone else.”

“I understand you better, knowing these things,” she rushed on. “I can’t begin to imagine how it must have felt, and I wish you had told me, but, please, don’t let it change anything between us.” She waited. Did he hesitate? Just for a second; then he placed his hands on both sides of her face and kissed her lightly.

“Okay, here’s the rest of it,” he said.

She sat numbly as he talked.

… They left the bar that night, arguing. Mayer was dangling a good part as a carrot to get what he wanted out of her, Andy said. There were tears, accusations, shouting when they reached the car. Why was she so intent on being an actress anyway? Forget it. Are you saying I don’t have the talent? Maybe you don’t, damn it. More tears; anger. You don’t believe in me. Well, you’ll do anything for a part; you care too much about your so-called career. She grabbed the car keys—Okay, I don’t want you, and I don’t want Hollywood if Hollywood doesn’t want me—and jumped into the driver’s seat. The engine roared, and he ran, scrambling, to get in the car on the passenger side. Tires screeching, the car headed out the driveway and tore up the road.

“I was angry and I said what I thought; I was afraid she wasn’t above fooling around with Mayer to get that part. But I was too rough. I could have soothed her down. She was more fragile than I thought. Maybe I could have just said, ‘Okay, fuck Hollywood,
I want you
.’ ”

She could think of nothing to say.

He didn’t seem to notice. “I’ll tell you why I didn’t. Because at that point I wasn’t sure I
did
want her. She was chewed up, obsessing over stardom.”

Julie found her voice. “Like the girl who jumped off the
Hollywoodland
sign?”

His glance was startled, and he looked now straight at her. “Here’s the truth, Julie,” he said. “I figured when she crashed that car I owed her. Her face was cut pretty bad.”

“That woman who threw the glass of bourbon in your face at the party—”

“She was a friend of Nicky’s who still believes I was driving. I’ve never said differently.”

“Why not?”

“You’re asking that, as a woman? Look, if a man can’t be a hero, he can still try to be noble. Or maybe just kind.” He smiled slightly. “I wanted to forget it, stuff it away somewhere. I didn’t want to be thinking about it or talking about it. I’m not sure what image of me I wanted you to believe. And maybe that’s because I’ve known all along we were opposites. After what happened at the ballpark … Maybe I’m not a good match for you. I scared myself, Julie. Grabbing that guy—”

“That’s ridiculous.” She batted his words away. “We’ll put this behind us.”

He shook his head. “No, you won’t forget it. And I’m too old for you anyway. We’re not going to make it, kid.”

Julie found emotional ground. “Don’t call me ‘kid,’ ” she said. “Don’t call me ‘kid’ ever again, it’s your way of making me less than you.”

“Okay, you don’t want to be called ‘sweet,’ and you don’t want to be called a kid. God, can’t you understand? You’re not
less
than me, you’re
different
, same as she was.”

“Oh, I get it. She wasn’t Jewish, either. Good excuse, Andy.”

“It’s about more than—her.” He stopped.

“Now you’re having trouble saying her name?”

“All right. It’s about more than Nicky. There’s a big divide between us, you know that. Just how welcoming would your family be if you brought me home to dinner?”

She had to fight. “You’re not being discriminated against, you are discriminating against
me
,” she cried. “I love you—there, I’ve said it. And I don’t care if you still love that woman who let you go to jail for what she did, that’s the past.” She could hear it: her words were similar to Carole’s. It wasn’t by chance. She knew what she wanted.

There was no change in Andy’s eyes. And then she understood. “You’re afraid I’ll prove fragile, too,” she said with sudden astonishment.

His gaze faltered. Yes, that hit home.

“You’re lovely and sweet and smart—and you believe in this place,” he said. “If you crash, I don’t want to be the cause of it.”

“Not everybody does, for heaven’s sake. Look at Carole; she’s a strong woman who can stand up to anything.”