The Memoir of Johnny Devine (16 page)

Eliza stole a glance at John as he
approached and prepared herself for another blow.

He stopped at the edge of the dining room.
“I’m so sorry if I upset you,” he said, his voice especially deep.
“I didn’t mean to—”

“
No, you only spoke what
you believe. You needn’t apologize for that. I’m the one who owes
you an apology. I’m sorry for what I said to you. I … didn’t mean
that.”

John glanced at Millie, then back at Eliza.
“Say, would you …?” He hesitated, the look on his face strangely
conflicted. “I attend a small church in Kensington. It’s a bit
different, as it meets in the minister’s home. More private that
way. I’m sure you understand my need for that. Anyway, I’d like to
invite you. Maybe it would help … answer some of your
questions.”

After all she’d heard about God and heaven
in the past few days, she couldn’t possibly hear any more.

This job was turning out to be quite the
emotional roller coaster. The woman at the agency really should
have warned her.

Eliza put her glasses back on and lifted her
chin. “To be honest, I’m not sure I’m ready for that. Perhaps I
could think it over.”

John eased out a sigh. “Yes, of course. Take
your time.”

Millie shook her head at
Eliza. “But not
too
much time. I ain’t gettin’ no younger.”

Hollywood promises
fulfillment and happily-ever-afters, but it never
delivers. Yet no one seems to notice or care—we always come back
for more. At times, even I bought the fantasy, and I was partly
responsible for creating it.

~
The Devine Truth: A Memoir

Eliza blew ripples
across
the surface of her coffee as people
passed by on the sidewalk outside the diner. When was the last time
she could order anything she wanted on the Lucky’s Diner menu
without first checking to see if she could pay for it? She ordered
a grilled tuna and cheese on rye with extra tuna—Mr. Darcy would
appreciate the leftovers—and a slice of peach pie à la mode, which
couldn’t possibly be anywhere near as good as Millie’s.

Maybe when she was finished with John’s
book, she could get Millie to teach her how to—

What was she thinking? When the book was
finished, the job would be over and she wouldn’t see Millie
again.

Or John.

Heart sinking, she sipped her coffee. It
burned going down, adding to the ache that was already forming in
her chest. She needed to be more careful with these temporary jobs.
Not let herself get too used to things—like Millie’s cooking. And
steady money. Things would get tight between jobs. She needed to be
better about watching her pennies, even while money was coming in.
Take nothing for granted.

Someone put Nat King Cole’s “Unforgettable”
on the jukebox just as Greta delivered Eliza’s meal. She pulled her
plate closer and sipped her coffee, savoring the velvety sounds of
Cole’s smooth voice.

A man in a long black overcoat and fedora
approached her table. The man she’d seen here before. “Mind if I
join you?”

That voice—it was also the man who had
telephoned her. And followed her from the theater.

Eliza shook her head, but the man slid into
the seat opposite her and took off his hat, revealing
short-cropped, red hair.

“
No, I meant you may not
join me.”

“
Expecting someone? One of
your Red commie contacts, perhaps?”

She swept a glance around the diner and
lowered her voice. “I’m not a communist, so I’d appreciate it
if—”

An older woman in the next booth turned and
stared at Eliza.

Unbelievable. She could end up under
suspicion simply by association with this man. “Who are you,
anyway? Do you have some identification?”

The man took out a wallet
and showed her a card with a government emblem and the
initials
HUAC
.
“Bert Robinson, Field Agent.” He pursed his lips and put the card
away.

Eliza was not at all comforted by his
credentials. “Why have you been following me?” she said, lowering
her voice to a whisper. “I told you I’m not a communist. There’s no
reason you should think I am.”

His bright-blue eyes locked onto hers.
“You’re mistaken. Your family is communist, and blood ties run
deep.” He eyed the ice cream melting on her pie.

“
My
family
? Now I know you’re mistaken.
I’m alone.” She winced at her blunder. That was the last thing she
wanted a strange man to know.

“
And Russian family ties
run
especially
deep. Did your parents give you their contacts in the Soviet
Union? You can spare yourself a lot of difficulty and embarrassment
by giving us names.”

“
I don’t know what you’re
talking about. My parents are dead. And they were European, not
Russian.” At least, not that she knew of. “And they certainly
weren’t communists.” Her appetite had completely disappeared.
Signaling to Greta for a doggy bag, Eliza grabbed her purse and
stood.

The man didn’t even have the decency to rise
for a woman.

“
I’m leaving. I’d
appreciate it if you would stop bothering me.”

The lady in the next booth and her husband
were both fully tuned in now.

“
How did they die?” the
man said, ignoring her last remark.

Eliza pulled her handbag against her abdomen
and wrapped her arms around her middle. “Don’t you know? I thought
you knew everything about me and my family.”

The agent shook his head. “Just giving you a
chance to shoot straight. They died on a south-bound train headed
for Fresno.”

“
What do you know of my
parents’ death?” The coffee turned her stomach sour.

Greta came by with a bag and slapped it on
the table. “Oh. I suppose you want your check now too.” She left
muttering.

The agent kept steady, narrowed eyes on
Eliza. “The biggest underground commie faction on the West Coast at
that time met in Fresno every year in May. When did your folks take
that trip?”

She couldn’t believe what this man was
suggesting. Her parents were no more communist than she was. “It
was May.”

He took out a small notepad and pen. “And
where’d they say they were going—family reunion?” He puffed a
little nose laugh.

Eliza glared at him. “They had job
interviews at Fresno State College. I’m sure it can be
verified.”

“
Wouldn’t mean much. The
well-trained ones are slick.”

“
Well-trained in
what?”

“
Espionage.”

“
What? This is ridiculous!
My parents weren’t spies. They were literature teachers.” Eliza
glanced around the diner. Everyone was staring at her now, even
Jimmy in the kitchen. She lowered her voice. “You’re wrong, and
you’d better get your facts straight. You have nothing but
conjecture, no proof.” Fumbling with her purse, Eliza took out
money for her check and slammed it on the table. “Leave me alone!”
She left her meal behind and walked out, willing her knees not to
buckle.

“Betty, we
need to talk.” Eliza wrapped the telephone cord
around her wrist and checked over her shoulder for eavesdroppers in
the lobby.

“
Oh, Eliza, I’m so glad
you called. Stanley was just asking Ed about you. I think he’s
still in-tres-ted …” She sang it with a lilt in her
voice.

Eliza closed her eyes. “Listen, Betty, I
need to ask you something.” She looked over her shoulder again. “Do
you know anything about where Mama and Papa lived in Europe? Did
they ever tell you where they were from?”

A hushed silence. “I know as much as you do.
Why do you ask? What’s this all about?”

Eliza hesitated at the odd
tone in Betty’s voice. How
had
that agent found Eliza? “Betty, has anyone called
you or approached you about … me or our parents, or about anything
else? Men in suits?”

“
Men in suits? Darling,
are you feeling all right?”

She eased out a sigh. “So you haven’t talked
to anyone, given them my name or telephone number?”

“
Of course not. Now you’re
scaring me. What’s going on?”

Eliza told Betty about the harassment by the
HUAC agent, starting with the day she was followed at the theater
and ending with his visit at the diner today.

“
Oh, Eliza! How do you
know he’s not some lunatic or—” Betty gasped. “A peeping tom? Did
you see his badge? Does he know where you live? Maybe you should
stay with us for a while.”

Stay with Betty? She wasn’t in the habit of
inviting Eliza to stay. Something wasn’t right. “Betty, is there
anything you’re not telling me about our parents?”

“
Me? What a thing to say.
I only know what you know. And ditto—is there anything you’re not
telling
me
? Did
he say why he thought you were a communist? He must have had some
reason.”

“
No. I mean, yes, he knows
about the articles I’ve written, even though they were under a pen
name, and he has this crazy idea that they’re propaganda. He thinks
a couple of harmless women’s magazines have communist
ties.”

“
What? Darling, I
told
you no good would
come from writing those things, didn’t I? Oh, Eliza. I know you
want to be a writer, but why did you have to actually publish that
stuff? What were you thinking?”

Eliza closed her eyes. Counted to ten.
Twenty. Thirty.

“
Eliza, darling. Now
listen, when Ed gets home, I’ll bring it up to him. Maybe he’ll
have some ideas.”

She nodded. “Yes, all right.”

“
This is all very
distressing. I’m really worried about you.”

“
I’ll be fine, Betty, no
need to worry. I can take care of myself.”

“
Well, all right then.
You’re coming for Thanksgiving? Should I find out if Stanley has
plans?”

Ugh
. “Can we just keep it family?”

“
Well … sure, hon, if
that’s what you want. You take care now, and I mean
that.”

I don’t think any
actor sets out intending to trick people into
believing lies. Ironically, we are most convincing when we bare our
truest, most naked soul.

~
The Devine Truth: A Memoir

Sunday morning, Eliza
stared at the number she’d written on her notepad, then at the
telephone. John
had
said to call if she wanted to go to church.

Well … did she?

Since John’s talk of heaven, Eliza’s anger
had given way to doubt, and her doubt, to questions. Was God truly
kind and forgiving, as Millie said, or a tyrant who demanded
surrender? In her experience, nothing could be more demoralizing
than forced submission. If that was what Christian faith was about,
she was not interested. But she couldn’t forget Millie’s words.
What if it was true? What would unconditional love and total
acceptance be like?

She picked up the telephone. What would it
hurt to attend a service and get a few answers? Was it wise to be
seen in public with John? And what was his church like? The only
time she’d attended a service was in college to see a friend in a
Christmas pageant. She could just imagine John strolling into that
little neighborhood church. How long before the entire place would
be in an uproar, with people flocking in to see the Hollywood
star?

Did Johnny Devine have to worship in
disguise?

She shook off her worries and dialed.

“
Hello?” John’s deep voice
sent a tremor through her that ended with a twist in her
belly.

“
Hello, it’s Eliza
Saunderson. I’m wondering if your invitation is still open. For
church, I mean.” She winced. What other kind of invitation would he
offer her?

“
Yes, of course. Would you
like to meet there, or would you prefer to have my cab pick you
up?”

Eliza pushed her glasses higher and checked
her watch. Buses didn’t run on Sunday, and taking a cab as far as
Kensington would be very costly.

“
Sharing your cab might be
best, if you don’t mind.”

“
Fine. Ten
o’clock?”

Once he had her address, she hung up and
climbed the stairs in double time, starting a mental list of
possible outfits and matching hats suitable for church …