Golden Girl (10 page)

Jack jumped right in with both feet. “Callie’s a terrific
cook! There’s nothing in the world she can’t make taste good. And her cakes! They’re better’n anything you get in New York, or Paris even.”

As if he’d know. But it was nice of him to say, anyhow.

“That’s wonderful!” exclaimed Ivy, but then she frowned down at her grapefruit. “I’d love to be able to cook. Or do anything real.”

“I’d love to be able to make millions of people like me,” I said back.

“Oh, you’re so sweet, Callie.” That got me another big hug. This one almost tipped over both our chairs. “I just knew we’d be friends! And I know what we can do! You can come stay here and be my personal cook! Mama’s been saying I shouldn’t have to eat in the commissary with everybody else, hasn’t she, Tully? She says it’s important for my health and complexion that all my meals are made specially.”

“Yes, Miss Ivy,” agreed Mrs. Tully from her post by the sideboard. “That’s exactly what she said to Mr. Mayer only yesterday.”

“There! You see? You’ll do it, won’t you?” Ivy grabbed both my hands. “I mean, we’ll say you’re my cook, but really, you’ll be my friend. We can talk about … well, about
everything
. I’ve never had a real friend before. Just the other girls in the pictures, and they always move away or get fired or something. Even Miss Davies.” Ivy’s lip trembled.

I knew about being the one left behind. I’d seen a whole
town pack up and leave me and my mama stuck where we were. And Ivy had every right to be scared after what had happened to her last night. She didn’t have magic of her own, or anybody like Jack to stand up with her. She at least deserved to know what was going on, but we sure couldn’t talk about it with Mrs. Tully and her evil eye hanging around.

Mrs. Tully wasn’t the only one tossing me hard looks. Jack rolled his eyes, bobbed his head, and did everything short of sending up a signal flag to say I should agree to Ivy’s plan. The problem was, I didn’t want to, or at least the goose bumps that were all standing up on the back of my neck didn’t.

“I, um … I’m sorry, I need to talk to Jack for a second.” I didn’t wait for an answer. I just grabbed Jack’s hand and dragged him out into the front garden with its masses of red and orange flowers.

“We’re in!” I’d never heard anybody crow and whisper at the same time, but Jack managed it somehow. “I knew she’d help!”

“Jack, I don’t know about this.…”

“What’s the matter? You need a job, and you need to be in here. This is perfect.”

I had an answer. It was scratching at the edges of my thoughts, but I couldn’t get it to come any closer. “I don’t think Mrs. Tully likes me,” I said lamely.

“So what? She doesn’t have to like you. Besides, she’s just the housekeeper.”

That scratching in the back of my head got a little harder. It wasn’t like Jack to dismiss somebody so fast. Especially on account of their job.

“I’ll have to tell Shake. And Mr. Robeson,” I said.

“Oh, I guess.”

“What do you mean, you
guess
?” Jack actually sounded sulky, and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why. What the heck was wrong with having somebody around who could actually help for a change? Somebody we could trust?

“I just don’t like the idea of them knowing too much about Miss Bright, that’s all.” Jack kicked at a loose stone. It rattled across the courtyard and bounced into the flower bed. “I mean, she’s already had a bad time. She shouldn’t be getting mixed up in any more fairy business. She might get hurt.”

“Mr. Robeson’s not going to hurt her! He’s helping us!”

“Are you sure?” he shot back. “Mr. Robeson brought those Seelies there in the first place, and he didn’t save Ivy,
we
did. We would’ve gotten out of the rest of it just fine without him.”

“What is the matter with you, Jack?”

“What’s the matter with you?” he shot back. “The last time you went and trusted somebody who just walked up to help us, you nearly got killed!”

So that was it. This was about Shake. I wanted to shout at Jack that this wasn’t like that other time and he didn’t understand anything. Except he did. He’d been there with me. And that wasn’t all. I did have Shake stashed back at
the boardinghouse, and I’d come here without being a hundred percent sure he’d stay put. Could I really complain it was Jack who didn’t take the situation seriously enough?

Besides, what if he was right? What if Mr. Robeson was just another pretty distraction from the Seelies, a way to get in good with us so they could stab us in the back later?

Jack stepped close. He put his hand on my shoulder. The grown-up mask was gone. This was just Jack. He’d run with me, fought for me, and stuck by me through dust and nightmare and California sun. “You do what you’ve got to, Callie, but be careful. We don’t know anything about anybody here.”

I nodded, but something inside me was breaking into pieces. Before I could find any more words, the bungalow door eased open and Ivy peeked out, blinking.

“Well? Will you do it?” she whispered. “Please say you will, Callie.”

I didn’t want to. Something was not right about this place. I didn’t like the way I felt cold standing under the California sun, or the way the heavy, sweet smell of the roses and bougainvillea was getting in and smothering the doubts scratching at the back of my head. I didn’t like the way Jack was talking, or Mrs. Brownlow’s soft hands and vague eyes. I really didn’t like how much was coming at us and how fast it was moving.

I looked from Ivy to Jack. Now he looked worried, and I didn’t like that any better. I tried to remind myself that we needed to be here. We’d found a gate into fairy country,
which was what we’d come all this way for. And it was in the golden mountains of the west, right where we’d been told to look. My parents were somewhere on the other side of that gate, in the house of St. Simon where no saint ever came. If I turned down Ivy Bright, we’d have to start all over again looking for another gate, if there even was one anywhere nearby. Either that or I’d have to do something really risky, like try to get Shake to help me find one, and I couldn’t trust him to help me find a lost safety pin.

I squared my shoulders and managed a smile. “Sure. I’d be glad to come cook for you, if it’s okay with your mother and everything.”

“Mama will love the idea, don’t worry about that! And I’ll take care of everything with the studio. Oh, this is going to be perfect! I’m so excited!” Ivy ran out into the garden to hug me again, and I felt my ribs start to give way. This time it was Mrs. Tully who saved me.

“It’s time for school, Miss Ivy,” the housekeeper said from the doorway.

“Oops.” Ivy giggled. “I’m sorry, Callie, Jack. You’ll be all right on your own, won’t you?”

“We’ll be fine,” Jack told her. “I’ve got to get to work anyhow.”

“Oh, that’s right! I’ll probably see you on the set later. Let me get my hat. Tully will show you your room, Callie, won’t you, Tully? You can move in, and we’ll see each other after my shoot this afternoon. Then we’ll really talk!”

Room?
I was blinking after her and starting to wonder if this was how Mrs. Brownlow had gotten that permanently vague look on her face. Jack stepped up close to me so his arm brushed against my shoulder.

“Something’s not right here, Callie,” he whispered. “It’s more than the gate and … and what happened last night. We’ve got to find out what.”

Now that sounded like the Jack I’d come so far with. Some of the worries crowding inside me eased up. Before I could answer him, though, Ivy Bright came running back out. She pushed straight past Mrs. Tully as she planted a floppy-brimmed white hat over her curls. With one last giggle, Ivy looped her arm through Jack’s. He looked startled, then he looked worried, but while I watched, he smoothed the worry away and turned his biggest, best smile on Ivy Bright. I knew what he was thinking. He was thinking he’d have her eating out of his hand inside five minutes. He just might too.

The gate clanged shut behind Jack and Ivy, leaving me standing alone with Mrs. Tully and her sharp eyes. She had a long nose as well, and she looked all the way down it to where I stood trying not to fidget.

“Well, come on.” Mrs. Tully turned on her heel and headed back into the house.

“I … um …” I hurried to follow her. “I wasn’t planning on staying here, Mrs. Tully.…”

“It doesn’t matter what you were planning.” Mrs. Tully’s
square heels clacked on the tile floor. “You’re here now and you might as well make yourself useful. But I warn you.” She pointed one finger straight at me. It was as long and sharp as her nose, and I had the really strong urge to back away. “Miss Ivy’s health and appearance are very important to the studio. Your job here will be the same as the rest of ours—to make sure Ivy Bright remains in good spirits and ready to work. Is that understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, trying to keep my voice from going sulky. This woman had the power to make my life unpleasant. She might even be able to get Mrs. Brownlow to fire me before I’d really been hired. I could not start out this business by getting her any more set up against me.

“You can have the attic room. Come along.”

I went along. Ivy Bright’s bungalow was a lot bigger than it looked from the front. Mrs. Tully led me up a broad, curving staircase and down a central hall with stucco walls, brick-red tile, and small wooden tables covered with little silver and gold knickknacks. There were all kinds of fancy paintings on the walls too, including three portraits of Ivy in different costumes I recognized from her movies. Mrs. Tully unlocked the last door at the end of the hall, revealing another staircase. This one was steeper, narrower, darker, and a lot stuffier. I followed Mrs. Tully up, thinking about bare boards and spiderwebs and piles of old junk—all the stuff you find in attics in the movies.

That was when I got my next surprise, and for a change,
it wasn’t anything bad. The attic of Ivy Bright’s bungalow really was a guest room. There was a pretty little bed with a carved headboard and a white spread. The walls were decorated with Mexican scarves, and Indian rugs covered the floor. The dresser, wardrobe, and rolltop desk all matched the bed. A telephone waited on the nightstand, and round windows like portholes had been opened to let the breeze in. It even had its own bathroom, with a bathtub.

Mrs. Tully saw my jaw flap open and lifted that long nose. “We do not have anything second-best here,” she announced.

“No, ma’am. Um … can I … can I use that telephone?”

She looked down at me like I’d just forgotten to wipe my feet. “All calls go through the studio switchboard. So be careful what you say on the line. Whether they are supposed to or not, the operators listen. We most emphatically do not want gossip spread concerning Miss Ivy. Is that understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You’ll want to see the kitchen now.” It was not a question, and Mrs. Tully was already marching down the stairs.

Not having anything second-best applied to the kitchen as much as it did to the guest room. The counters were solid silver. I’d read about silver counters in a “Homes of the Celebrities” article in
Movie Fan
magazine, but I’d never in a million years thought I’d see one for myself. Copper pots
and pans hung from a rack overhead. There was an electric refrigerator instead of an icebox, and yet another telephone hung on the wall. The stove looked so brand-new, I wondered if it had ever been used at all. In fact, everything in there was so new, it felt like it had been magicked into existence just that morning, and just for me.

I tossed that idea on the heap with all the other unpleasant thoughts I’d been collecting since I got out of bed.

“Your duties will include the marketing and cleaning. All bills will be submitted to me for approval.” Mrs. Tully stationed herself in the doorway like she thought I might make a run for it. “Miss Bright always dines at six. Lateness will not be tolerated. Is that understood?”

And that was the last straw. I had not made it this far just to have some dime-store queen of the housekeepers try to put me in my place.

I turned around and planted my hands on my hips. “Listen, I don’t know what you think I’m after, but I got enough problems without trying to break into pictures or be anybody’s new best friend. I’m taking this job because I need a job. Is
that
understood?”

“Well.”
I wouldn’t have figured Mrs. Tully could have thrown her squared-off shoulders back any further, but she managed. Just as I was wondering how to tell Jack I’d set the world’s record for shortest time on the job, her thin mouth bent into an actual smile. “You’ve got some starch in your craw. You’d better be careful how you use it, Miss Callie.
You and I don’t mean
that
around here.” She snapped her fingers hard. “As long as that girl makes money for Mr. Mayer, if she takes it into her head she doesn’t like either one of us, we’ll be gone before you can say ‘knife.’ You see how it is?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am. I got that one all figured out.”

“Good.” Mrs. Tully cocked her head, and I got the impression she was really seeing me for the first time since I’d walked into the house. “You might just do after all, if you can keep one more thing in mind.”

“And what’s that?”

Mrs. Tully moved closer, and I swallowed as the cloud of soap and talcum powder scent wrapped around me. “Mrs. Brownlow,” Mrs. Tully said softly and urgently, like she was afraid someone might hear. “Mrs. Brownlow has a delicate and nervous disposition. Miss Ivy’s being constantly in the public eye has been very difficult for her. You must not under any circumstances upset her or pay attention if she says something a little odd. If she seems to become agitated in any way while she’s with you, you come tell me, so I can call the studio doctor. Do you understand?”

I didn’t, but it didn’t matter. There was only one way I was going to answer. “Yes, ma’am.”

Mrs. Tully let out a long breath that might just have been a sigh of relief. “Very well. As soon as Sumner comes back, he’ll take you to your hotel so you can pack your things.”

She clacked out of that shiny new kitchen and I
slumped against the counter. Questions flooded around me until I was neck deep in them. Mrs. Tully was so clear about the importance of Ivy Bright, about Miss Bright’s health and spirits and how important she was to the studio. So where had Mrs. Tully been when Ivy was hauled off by Ruth Markham? Come to that, where had Mrs. Brownlow been? She was managing Ivy’s career in addition to being her mama. How’d someone with a nervous disposition like that let her girl out of her sight after dark? My mama’d had a nervous disposition too, and my mama’d never have done anything so careless.