A Touch of Stardust (44 page)

“Julie, Julie, remember how outraged you were when I thought you were fragile? That you would sooner or later be defeated here? Yeah, I loved a woman who fell apart, who blamed me for her troubles. I didn’t want that again.”

She nodded, tears beginning to sting the corners of her eyes.

“Honey, you’ve proven me wrong.” He reached out and gently pushed her hair back from her face. “I’m proud of you. You stand up for yourself, and you’re going to knock them out in Hollywood.”

“You’re just being noble. You’re leaving
me
, that’s what you’re doing. You think I’m too young. It’s that old thing about not being Jewish.…” She knew she was throwing out wild claims; she couldn’t help herself.

“It’s none of that, and I think you know it.”

“Then let’s get married, if you insist on doing this crazy thing.”

“Wow, you’re proposing to me? How many men have had
that
particular flattery?” He smiled, trying to make it a tease.

“I mean it.”

Andy sobered, gazing at her thoughtfully. “Julie …” He paused. “Okay, maybe you won’t understand. I’ve thought the same thing. But I can’t do that to you. I can’t tie you down. I don’t know what happens when I get to England; I’m not writing the script from here. Once I go over there, I’m throwing myself into fighting the Germans any way I can.”

“What if I
want
to be tied down?”

He slowly shook his head. “You’re different. You don’t want that, whether you know it right now or not.”

“Quit telling me what I think.”

“Well, here’s what I think. I don’t want to settle for being just your first husband.”

Julie dropped her head into her hands. He was making too much sense, and, yes, she knew that, too. She dug deep into her heart. Was she actually surprised? Hadn’t she been waiting for this hammer to fall?

She lifted her head and, controlling her voice, said, “Andy, I can’t stop you. I need to know one thing. Do you love me?”

“You know I do.”

“Will you come back?”

“If you want me. If you haven’t run off with some sexy version of Abe Goldman.”

“When? What happens to the job Selznick is offering you?”

“I told him what I was thinking about this morning. He understood. Surprised, though. Said he would try to get me something good when I come back.”

Well, she would have to settle for that. She leaned close, curling as tightly as she could into his arms, telling herself to see clearly, accept what she couldn’t change. They fell back onto the pillows, holding each other, burrowed together, and she thought of what Scarlett had finally realized about Ashley, how she had “put that suit on him and made him wear it whether it fitted him or not.” She wouldn’t do that to Andy. He was gone from her—and from Hollywood—the moment he decided what would truly ease his soul, and if she tried to force anything else, she would destroy all of what was real. The morning sun began to wash through their glamorous suite, touching on the fruit basket wrapped in red cellophane and the gorgeous long-stemmed roses delivered to their door just before the premiere last night, and even kissing lightly the pieces of chocolate wrapped in silver foil left on their pillows, promising—falsely—a gentle day.

This would be a colder Christmas than usual in Los Angeles, whatever was usual. But that’s what people were saying, even as they piled fake snow on their Christmas trees, fretting when they had to don anything more than a light sweater. Julie scorned that, but shivered as she headed out with Carole’s driver early in the morning to the Encino ranch.

Her bag was packed; she was prepared. The glitter of Atlanta was already fading into memory. It would recede even more when she walked up the steps of the large Dutch Colonial home where she once skipped rope and played with dolls, into the welcoming, tentative, relieved arms of her parents. She could visit now without feeling trapped.

Maybe she was ready for a break. She felt too cranky hearing the familiar tinkle of the Salvation Army’s bells, rung constantly by cheery people wearing holiday smiles. They were out of place in Los Angeles; this wasn’t Christmas as it should be.

Nothing right now was the way it should be.

“When are you leaving?” she’d demanded of Andy last night. Selznick had spread the news the minute they were off the plane, astonished and a little affronted that Andy was rejecting his promotion. Word traveled fast through the gossip circuit of the industry, even gleaning Andy a congratulatory salute in Louella’s column, with just a hint of puzzlement that any Jew would consider making
such a move, given the terrible things that rumor had it were happening—no proof, of course. And there were many cheers from backslappers who praised his bravery while thinking him an idiot, then immediately called their agents, wondering whether that director’s job Weinstein was offered had been assigned to anybody else yet.

He looked up from a stack of paperwork on the coffee table, distracted. “As soon as I can get things in order; I told you that.”

“What about this place?” She swept out her arm, jeopardizing a mug of coffee. This house, which held so many sweet moments.

He hesitated. “I’m renting it out, Julie. No big paychecks anymore.”

“That was fast.” She couldn’t help it: she was angry. “So, I’m asking again, when are you leaving?”

Andy stood and walked over to her, his tread heavy. “I’ll go when you head out to Fort Wayne for Christmas.”

“I’m not going.”

“Yes, you are. You promised your parents; you need the break. Go spend some time with other people who love you.” He took her into his arms. “Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, I will be back. Quit being so mad.”

The ranch house with the comfortably faded awnings, shrouded in the early morning haze, was now in view. She couldn’t bear all this. Carole would keep her sane.

“He’ll come back,” Carole said as they tromped through slushy mud to the chicken house, in hopes of finding a few eggs for breakfast. “The one I wonder about is you.”

“Me? Why me?”

They had reached the chicken house. Carole tiptoed in, lifted
the feathers of a bird that immediately squawked and flapped its feathers. “Okay, okay,” Carole muttered. “Keep your damn eggs to yourself. I’m never going to make any money off of you anyway.”

“Carole?”

“I’m wondering how long you’ll stay out here, juggling screenplays, playing the game.”

Julie was taken aback.

“I don’t know; you’ll stay awhile. You’ll do great, and then you’ll decide to write a book and go back east, all that shit.”

Julie tried to laugh. “That is so far from my plan,” she said.

“You know—since Atlanta?—I’ve been thinking about it. We’re all going to die, but not that movie. You can feel it—it’s huge. When we’re dead,
Gone with the Wind
will be going strong.” She shook her head. “Isn’t that the limit?”

“What a strange definition of eternity,” Julie said. “Showing
Gone with the Wind
nonstop forever? With the rest of us underground? That’s gloomy.”

“Well, something has to stick around. Might as well be a movie.”

“Do you believe in God?”

“Jesus, who’s being gloomy now? You’re worried about Andy getting killed, aren’t you?”

Julie didn’t even try to blink back her tears. “I love him, I’m afraid,” she said. “It chews at me, it makes me want to hold tight and”—she shook her head, she had to get these thoughts out of her brain—“and at the same time push him away. He’s brave, maybe too brave? He’s Jewish, Carole. He’ll be a target. Where will God be when Andy needs saving?”

“Honey, I don’t know where God is. Whether with you or me or Andy or Clark. But it’s all here—in the mountains and the desert. It’s where we are, in our everyday living. You can find it anywhere. Including Europe.”

“How do you manage to stay so sensible?”

Carole had no chance to answer. The chicken who hadn’t wanted to be disturbed began squawking loudly. Carole dived for its nest, hoisting the startled bird up in the air. “Well, I’ll be damned,” she
squealed delightedly. “An egg!” She peered closely. “Come on, try again, push hard now.”

And then a second egg plopped out of the bird on the next nest, and they both cheered.

Carole picked the eggs up carefully, cradling one in each hand. Holding them in front of her, she looked directly at Julie and said quietly, “Let him go, honey. That’s all you can do. You can’t hold on too tight.”

Julie smiled; she had found what she came for. “Neither can you, if we’re going to have any breakfast.”

Carole looked at the eggs in her hands and gave a devilish grin before flipping one egg in the air and then the other, catching them both. “Taking chances makes you braver,” she said.

Julie lay in Andy’s arms, breathing in the warmth of his skin, feeling the beating of his heart. It was their last night together in the little house perched on a cliff overlooking the town of her dreams. She felt newly calm.

“Please don’t think I’m abandoning you, honey.” He stroked her hair, mussing it lightly, teasingly. “My loving little redhead,” he murmured.

“It’s not red, it’s auburn.”

“Nope, you’re my feisty, tempestuous redhead.”

She giggled, pulling his hand away and kissing it. If only time could stop; if only it could stay like this. “I will miss you and wait for you,” she whispered.

“Sweetheart, I hope you understand,” he said. His voice was hoarse, almost cracking. “I’ve been ashamed of myself. Why wasn’t I doing anything? That’s made me cranky, acerbic—a royal pain in the ass. You know that’s true.”

Of course she did. And she’d felt flashes of annoyance; and now he had found a way to unstick himself. That was true, too.

“I’ve blamed this wonderfully crass business. Blamed Selznick. Blamed the United States government. Began wondering if I’d
become too good at fooling myself. From there it was easy—just toss down the bourbon and wonder why I was here in the first place. Don’t you see? When I got tired of blaming everything and everybody else, I would end up blaming you.”

She kissed him, touching a finger to his lips. “It’s okay,” she said slowly. “It’s taken me a long time, but I understand. You know why? Because you finally let me inside.”