Stars Collide (4 page)

“So, fat cat . . .” Scott gave me a funny look. “Does he have a real name?”

“That
is
his real name,” Grandma said, now gazing at the ornery feline. “It’s the only name he ever had.” She muttered something about all of the Hollywood fat cats she’d known over the years, and Scott chuckled.

“I love your sense of humor, Lenora. You make me smile.”

He made me smile. In fact, I felt like I was smiling from the inside out whenever Scott Murphy came around.

Carolina entered the room and swooned as she saw Scott. “As I live and breathe! It’s you, Scott Murphy!”

Embarrassment crept into his face. “Yeah, it’s me.”

Carolina gave Grandma Lenora a stern look. “You should have warned me. I would have fixed my hair. Put on a little lipstick. Here I am in my stretchy pants and faded T-shirt.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Scott said. “To be honest, I much prefer a more natural look.”

I took my napkin and wiped off as much of my lipstick as I could while his attention was focused elsewhere.

“So, are you hungry, Scott?” Carolina asked.

“Am I ever!” He rubbed his stomach and all three of us women laughed. It had been a long time since we’d had a man in the house. Felt good.

We spent the next half hour eating Carolina’s delicious foods, which she served up with much chatter and enthusiasm. Between her stories and the ones Grandma told, I hardly got a word in edgewise. A couple of times I noticed Scott glance my way. I half expected to see a look of panic in his eyes, maybe a “get me out of here” expression . . . but no. He looked perfectly peaceful. Downright happy. And the happier he looked, the more comfortable I felt.

When we’d downed the last of the coffee, Grandma settled onto the fainting couch, a peaceful look on her face. “There’s something rather glorious about Saturday morning brunch in Beverly Hills,” she said. “It has always been thus.” A lingering sigh followed, which brought a smile to my face. Oh, the drama.

“I guess L.A. has changed a lot over the years,” Scott said.

She nodded. “Oh yes, but inside Beverly Hills it feels as though nothing has changed at all. It’s a world inside a world.”

“Not quite like it appears on TV, though.”

“Television shows these days don’t do anyone—or anything—justice,” she said. “But it wasn’t always that way. You can’t beat the old shows, not just for entertainment, but for wholesomeness too.”

I wasn’t sure what “old” television shows meant to her. To me, it meant reruns of
Beverly Hills 90210
or
The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air
.

“What are we talking here, Lenora?” Scott asked. “Which shows?”

Her eyes lit up as she explained, “Why, the classics, of course.
Father Knows Best
.
My Three Sons
.
Make Room for Daddy
.”

Interesting that the shows she mentioned had something to do with fathers.

“I had the privilege of working with Robert Young,” Grandma said. “Such a gentleman. And you never met anyone nicer than Danny Thomas.” She sighed. “Now, those were the men who paved the way. True actors in every sense of the word.”

“What’s your favorite television show of all time, Lenora?” Scott asked, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Your very favorite.”

“Hmm. This is a tough call.” She thought about it for a few seconds. “If we’re talking comedy, nothing beats
I Love Lucy
. Well, except maybe
The Honeymooners
. I was always a sucker for slapstick.” She paused. “No, I’d still say Lucy beats ’em all for comedy.”

“I agree,” Scott said with a nod. “Great stuff.”

“They just don’t make ’em like that anymore,” Grandma said. “Of course, that’s just the sitcoms. But if we’re talking variety shows, then I’d have to say
The Carol Burnett Show
. Or maybe those Bob Hope specials. Was there ever anyone more entertaining than Bob?” She snapped her fingers. “Oh, but I can’t leave out Ed Sullivan. And Jack Benny. And Red Skelton.” She laughed. “And I loved Burns and Allen. Great stuff with those two. So funny. I used to laugh till I cried.”

We lost her at this point. She drifted off to television la-la land and we remained behind, simply observers as she relived some of her favorite moments. Not that I minded. Oh no. Not a bit. For through her eyes, I saw how Hollywood used to be, and I liked what I saw. These days, people were so focused on shock value, so riveted on money and ratings, that they didn’t spend as much time on the things that really mattered—the wants and wishes of the viewing public. And good, wholesome shows that provided the real deal—entertainment.

Which was exactly why I loved
Stars Collide
so much. It was a show we could be proud of. One I didn’t have to apologize for. One that deliberately—but gently—jarred the funny bone.

Grandma dismissed herself to the powder room, and Carolina headed back to the kitchen to do the dishes. Finally I had Scott to myself! I wanted to talk to him about what had happened between us. No sooner had I opened my mouth to begin the conversation than he rose and took a few steps my way.

“Can I sit with you?”

“O-of course.” I pushed the cat aside once again, and Scott settled into the spot next to me on the sofa. He took my hand and gazed into my eyes. I could feel the trembling in his hand, and it somehow made me feel better knowing he was nervous too.

“Kat, I want to tell you something. I feel so stupid for waiting this long. For nearly two years now I’ve known that I . . .” His gaze shifted down to the floor, then back up to me. “That I’ve had feelings for you. I can’t believe I waited this long to tell you. And that kiss was . . . it was unbelievable.”

“Mm-hmm.” I gave his hand a little squeeze. “I agree.”

“I’m glad. And I’ll do it again, if you’ll let me.”

“Oh, I’ll let you.”

He had leaned in to do just that when Grandma Lenora’s singsong voice rang out. “Come on, you two lovebirds! Let’s go outside and look at the cars!”

Scott released his hold on my hand at once, and we both turned to look as Grandma entered the room again, this time wearing a mink stole over her gown. Scott looked my way and grinned. I knew he didn’t really mind. And besides, now that we were both wearing our hearts on our sleeves, there would be plenty of opportunities in the future for stolen kisses.

Grandma led the way outside to the driveway and began to show off her car collection, starting with the ’67 Mustang, completely redone with silver paint and the shiniest chrome imaginable. From there, we oohed and aahed over the ’77 Camaro and then finally made our way to the real prize.

“This is the Pink Lady,” Grandma said, pointing to her ’57 Cadillac Biarritz. “First car I ever bought with movie money, and I’ll keep her till the day I die.”

Should I add that she’d requested to be buried in it? Nah. That was a story for another day.

Scott let out a whistle. “I’ve seen it from a distance on the studio lot, but never up close and personal like this.”

“Climb in, young man.” She handed him the keys and he climbed inside, settling in behind the wheel.

I fought the urge to say, “You look pretty in pink.”

Meanwhile Grandma seemed a bit preoccupied by something. Many times in our conversation she looked toward the gate, then glanced at her watch. What was it with her bizarre behavior lately? Scott continued to talk about the car’s features, and before long—at Grandma’s insistence—I was seated in the passenger seat beside him.

“You two look as pretty as a picture!” Grandma clasped her hands together and grinned like the Cheshire cat. A few seconds later, she let out a little gasp, and I looked up.

“What?”

“Oh, well, lookie there, will you. Paparazzi, downstage right.” She pointed toward the open gate, and I saw a fellow with stringy black hair clutching a camera. He took a few steps toward us and flashed a media badge.

“I’m a reporter for the—”

“What in the world?” I interrupted. “You know better than to come onto private property uninvited.” It was enough to be followed around the supermarket or to the beach, but for those knuckleheads to invade our privacy at home? No way. And who opened the gate? “You’re trespassing!” I hollered, my hands raised in frustration.

The fellow looked perplexed. “Oh, weird. I thought she said to come at—”

“Never you mind all that!” Grandma Lenora gave me a warning look. “Let it go, Kat. Doesn’t do any good to get angry. Besides, you want to be ready for a photo op at every occasion. You don’t want them to catch you in an ugly pose. Remember that terrible shot they got of Zsa Zsa Gabor last spring, shouting at the police officer? She’ll never live that down.”

“Didn’t that happen in the ’80s?” Scott whispered.

I nodded before turning back to Grandma. “You’re saying I should go out of my way to pose for them?”

“Well, why not?” My grandmother pulled her mink stole a bit closer and leaned against the pink Cadillac. She struck a Hollywood-esque pose, counting under her breath, “One, two, three, four . . .” Fascinating how she could do that without moving her lips.

“She’s got this down to a science,” Scott said. “You would think she’d summoned those reporters herself.”

“I have always depended on the kindness of strangers,” Grandma whispered, then gave me a wink.

I responded with the obvious. “Vivien Leigh.
A Streetcar Named Desire
. 1951.”

Scott looked back and forth between us, clearly confused. I’d have to explain our little game later. For now, hopefully he would just join in.

“You two stay in that car, you hear me?” Grandma said. “It’ll make a great shot for the magazines.”

I groaned, realizing she’d obviously gone to great pains to set all of this up. But why? And how would Scott respond?

Ironically, he cooperated, gripping the wheel like we were headed off on an adventure down Route 66.

“What’s with the ball gown, Lenora?” the reporter hollered, then started snapping photos.

“Rita Hayworth!
Tales of Manhattan.
1942.” She removed the mink stole and flung it over her shoulder, offering them a variety of poses to capture.

“Are you doing a remake or something?” he asked.

“Of course not. No one could top the original.”

His camera continued to flash, then he paused to scribble something into his notepad as Grandma rattled off one wacky comment after another.

“Kat and Scott, are you two an item?” the fellow called out as Grandma’s chatter slowed. “Your viewers are dying to know if the on-screen chemistry is real or if it’s just great acting on your part.”

Okay, so he almost had me with the great acting line.

Still, my face warmed up as I contemplated my answer. Scott looped an arm over my shoulders, relaxed against the leather seat, and said, “Stay tuned to this station for further information.”

For the life of me, I don’t know why I did it. But for some reason—call me crazy—I leaned over and gave Scott a playful kiss on the cheek, which, naturally, made for a great photo op.

Never mind the clicking of the camera in the background. My heart had now fully sprung to life. I really
could
drive off into the sunset with this guy . . . if only the paparazzi weren’t standing in the way.

5

Good Times

Bright and early Monday morning, Grandma and I headed back to the studio. As she climbed into the Pink Lady, I whistled at her powder blue dress with the tight cinched waist and full skirt. The chiffon sleeves blew me away. I couldn’t remember seeing anything so pretty. Or delicate.

“Who are we today, Grandma Lenora?” I asked.

She eased herself down onto the seat and turned to me with a smile. “I’m surprised you didn’t guess. We just watched the movie together last week, KK. Put on your thinking cap.”

I racked my brain, trying to figure this one out. Finally it hit me. “Oh yes. Grace Kelly.
High Society.
”

“1956,” Grandma threw in. “Have you ever seen anyone as pretty as Grace?”

“Never.” I sighed.

“I know it’s hard to believe, but she’s even prettier in real life. Beautiful inside and out. And what an exquisite figure. Born for royalty, that one.”

Now we both sighed. I did have to wonder, however, about my grandma speaking of Grace in the present tense. Odd. She dove into a story about a party she’d once attended with Grace. Then she fastened her seat belt and we set off for the studio. Of course, the morning wouldn’t be complete without driving through our local Starbucks. I got the chai latte and Grandma ordered a caramel brulee frappuccino. Yummy.

As I steered the car toward the studio, Grandma coached me on my lines for this week’s show. The longer ones stumped me. For whatever reason, I could usually remember shorter, snappier ones, but anything over, say, seven or eight words presented a problem.

After I pulled up to a red light, I shifted the hot cup from my right hand to my left. Time to get down to business. If I didn’t memorize these lines, this episode would never see the light of day.

“What’s that one line where I say something about the agency?” I took another sip of my latte, awaiting Grandma’s response.

“You’re supposed to say, ‘We’ve already merged our agencies, Jack. Makes perfect sense to merge our hearts as well.’ ”

“Ah.” I had to smile at that one. I ran the line a couple of times before asking for my next cue.

“Now you’re supposed to say, ‘The kids love you, the directors and producers love you . . . and I love you.’ ” Grandma gave me a knowing look and I grinned. No way could I say that line. Not yet, anyway. I’d have to work on that one back at the studio.

“Ooh, stop the car, KK!” Grandma pointed to a newsstand. “I want to pick up a copy of
The Scoop
. I just love their stories. Did you see the one they did last week about Audrey Hepburn? She’s just signed a contract with Warner Brothers to do a film version of
My Fair Lady
. I had no idea the girl could sing.”

“Hmm.” Better not comment.

“I always thought Julie Andrews was perfect as Eliza Doolittle,” Grandma said. “I saw the stage play last week and Julie simply took my breath away.”

Hmm. “Yes, I’ve always loved Julie Andrews too,” I said. “But you must admit, Audrey looks the part.”

“I suppose.”

Grandma purchased a copy of
The Scoop
and got back in the car, clutching it like a prized possession. I groaned inwardly, knowing how cruel the stories buried within those pages could be. What had the reporter done with the photos he’d taken outside of Worth Manor? I had a feeling I was about to find out.

Grandma flipped through the pages of Hollywood’s most notorious gossip rag with reckless abandon. Finally she found what she’d been looking for. “Here it is! He wrote an article about . . .” She paused, staring at the page. “Oh. It’s just about you and Scott. Great picture of you kissing him, by the way.”

Nothing could stop the groan from escaping. Why I’d kissed him in front of a reporter, I could not say. And the fact that he hadn’t mentioned the great Lenora Worth in the article was sure to be a blow to her ego. I knew she’d hoped to lure in the paparazzi by telling him Scott and I would be at the impromptu photo shoot, but I also knew she’d secretly hoped for a bit of exposure herself. Who could blame her? She rarely got any recognition these days, at least not in the positive.

“Oh, look,” she said at last. “They did mention me.”

Thank goodness.
“Read it out loud.”

“Sure.” She paused, trying to find her place. “ ‘Lenora Worth, onetime Hollywood legend . . .’ ” She paused and looked my way. “What do they mean, ‘onetime Hollywood legend’?”

I realized how the article must sound to her. Maybe I could put a positive spin on this. Ease her mind. “You know how they are. If you’re not filming blockbuster movies in the moment, they treat you like a has-been. It’s wrong, but that’s just the way things are.”

Another huff and her brow wrinkled further. “Back in my day, Hollywood stars were treated with respect, even those whose movie days were behind them. They were revered.”

I stifled a chuckle. Grandma Lenora was revered, at least by those who knew her well. Still, I understood her plight. Aging Hollywood stars didn’t get the same treatment these days. They were often overlooked. Well, maybe I could change that. I’d do my part. Starting today, I’d make sure everyone I came in contact with knew exactly who she was and who she used to be. In other words, I’d build her up. Maybe I could even talk that so-called reporter into doing a separate piece on Grandma. Something affirming.

She went back to reading. “ ‘Lenora Worth seemed a bit off-kilter, wearing a mink stole and sequined dress on a warm Saturday morning in July. One has to wonder if she’s been hitting the bottle again.’ ” Grandma made a grunting sound. She wadded up the magazine and tossed it over her shoulder into the backseat. I didn’t blame her.

“Grandma, you . . . you okay?”

“How could I be?” she said. “They think I’ve been drinking? And why would they say ‘again’ as if it had happened before? You know I’m not a drinker, KK. Why would they think that?”

Looked like I had more to talk with the reporter about than I’d thought. How dare he say such a thing? And yet, as I thought about it, I realized she did appear pretty off-kilter to those who didn’t know her. I could almost see how they would assume her erratic behavior came from hitting the bottle. Almost.

The most I could offer was a shrug. I knew this article had to hurt, but I didn’t know what to do about it. Secretly, I was dying to know what the reporter had said about Scott and me but didn’t dare ask Grandma to keep reading. I’d have to search through the magazine later on, when she wasn’t looking.

She leaned her head back against the seat, tears now covering her lashes. It broke my heart.

“You know, KK, I’ve always hated my name,” she said with a little sniffle.

“What?” This was news to me. “Lenora is a beautiful name.”

“No, my last name,” she said. “I hate the
Worth
part.”

This intrigued me. She’d never let on that she didn’t like the Worth name.

“I came to Hollywood as Doris Mayfield,” she said. “The studio gave me the new name. At first I enjoyed it. When I heard the word ‘Worth,’ it made me think of dollars and cents. You know? Like I would finally be ‘worth’ something once I broke into the movie business. But now . . .” She shook her head.

“What, Grandma?”

“Let’s just say it’s been a haunting reminder of how worthless I’ve felt lately. How washed up. A has-been.”

“Grandma!” I gave her a stern look. “I hope I never hear you say anything like that again. Besides, you know that your worth isn’t in the things you’ve done . . . your accomplishments or your fame. It’s always been who you are in him. In the Lord.”

“I know that in theory,” she said. “But feeling it—especially at my age—is tough. KK, you don’t know how many older people feel like I do, like their days of being valuable to others are behind them.”

“I’m sorry you’ve been feeling that way, but you’re wrong about that,” I said. “You have so much to teach up-and-coming actors and actresses. You’re creative and imaginative, and you know what it takes to balance the spiritual life against any fame you might achieve in the limelight. Most of all, you’re genuine. You’re the real deal.”

“No.” She shook her head and tears filled her eyes. “That’s just it. There’s nothing real or authentic about me.”

Now I knew her memory was slipping. Obviously she’d forgotten just how real she’d been to me over the years. And to Carolina. And her fans. How dare she think she had no worth? Why, the very idea offended me at the deepest level.

Thankfully Grandma shifted gears. She pulled a compact out of her purse and touched up her makeup. Interesting, since she already had on more than enough. The pancake base—in a creamy ivory—was lathered on pretty thick. And she certainly didn’t need to add any more of the coral-colored blush to her cheeks. However, that’s just what she did. Only when she reached for the liquid black eyeliner did I begin to get nervous.

“Um, Grandma, are you sure you want to do that in the car?”

“Drive slowly, KK. I just see a little spot here that needs touching up.”

Unfortunately, driving slowly wasn’t an option on the 405, which was where I now found myself. And I couldn’t very well pull off, could I? How would I explain this to a police officer if he noticed my car on the side of the road? “Sorry, officer, but my grandmother’s eyeliner took precedence.”

“A lady always has to look her best in public,” Grandma said, opening the container.

Hmm. Well, at least she wasn’t driving. It could be worse.

Seconds later she gave a little yelp, and I glanced away from the road long enough to notice the thick black smudge under her left eye. She reached for a tissue and did her best to clean it up, but when we arrived at the studio, I noticed she still looked like she’d just climbed out of the boxing ring. Hopefully no one would pay much attention. They were all used to her eclectic look by now, anyway.

I pulled up to the door to let her out before parking the car. Grandma eased her way out. She turned back, showing off her gown and makeup. “Well? What do you think?”

“Very Grace Kelly–like,” I said with a nod.

“You think so?” She grinned. “If only Fred Astaire would sweep me off my feet.”

The Lord, with his wonderful sense of humor, provided just the right opportunity to play out this fantasy. Rex Henderson happened by, took one look at her, and let out a whistle. “As I live and breathe, it’s . . . wait, let me guess.” A few seconds later, he snapped his fingers. “Grace Kelly in the flesh. A vision of loveliness, as always.”

Grandma’s cheeks—already heavily blushed—turned crimson at his words.

“Aw, go on with you,” she said. He offered up a shrug, and she punched him in the arm. “No, go
on
with you. You were saying?”

Rex chuckled. “I was saying that Fred would like to escort Grace inside the studio.”

He offered his arm and she took it, then turned back to me with a grin. “You know what I always say, KK. It’s not the men in your life that counts, it’s the life in your men.”

I paused until it registered, then responded, “Mae West.
I’m No Angel
. 1934.”

“1933,” Grandma corrected me. “And you’re right, KK. I’m no angel. But I did play one once in a movie.” She disappeared into the studio on Rex’s arm.

After parking the car, I joined them inside. Something about walking into Studio B put me at ease every time. I thought it weird that I often felt more at home on a television set than in my own house. Maybe it was because the house really belonged to my grandmother and carried her signature. Her mark. This place—albeit completely fabricated—was my home. The
Stars Collide
set was my favorite. With its childlike qualities, it really looked like a children’s talent agency. I loved the kid-friendly colors and decor. I also loved the furniture they’d chosen for my living room set. That’s where I’d been when Scott—er, Jack—had kissed me for the first time. Seeing it brought back lovely memories.

Hmm. Thinking of Scott made me wonder where he was. My heart fluttered in anticipation. I thought again of the words in the script. Angie had fallen in love with Jack and was ready to tell him so. How long would it be before I could honestly convey my feelings to Scott as well? Oh, if only I could find him.

I rapped on his dressing room door, then popped my head inside after a few seconds of silence. Nothing. I made my way to the round-table reading room to see if perhaps he’d already ventured inside. Nope. Not wanting to appear anxious, I headed back to the set, my thoughts shifting to other things.

Ironically, Scott wasn’t the only one missing. I searched through the various crew members in search of our director, but Mark was noticeably absent. I needed to run a couple of things by him before we did the round-table reading. If only I could find him.

“Where’s Mark?” I looked around, perplexed.

“Oh, he’s gone today,” Athena said as she passed by. “I think I heard someone say something about a meeting. Or a doctor’s appointment or something. I’m not really sure.”

“Gone?” I couldn’t quite believe it. “In three years, Mark hasn’t missed one day on the set. Remember? He even came when he had the flu. Wore a mask.”

“That’s right. We all ended up getting sick in spite of it.” Athena laughed. “He’s always been so good at sharing.” She headed down the hallway, continuing to talk to herself.

My mind reeled as I thought about all of this. Had Mark given us any signs he was sick? If so, I hadn’t picked up on them. I ushered up a silent prayer on his behalf, asking the Lord to heal him—quickly!

Fortunately—or unfortunately—I didn’t have much time to think about Mark’s disappearing act. Jana, a petite blonde from the wardrobe department, stopped by.

“Hey, Kat.”

“Hey.” I leaned in to ask, “How are we doing on our little project?”

“I’ve found quite a few more dresses in Lenora’s size.” Jana chuckled. “I think we can keep her stocked for a few more weeks. After that, I’ve got a friend I can call over at Paramount. She’s got a huge stash of evening gowns from the ’40s and ’50s. Really nice things. They’d just be on loan, you understand, like the ones I’ve already passed your way.”

“Of course.” I laughed. “I still can’t believe she hasn’t noticed that the gowns are coming and going from her closet. Carolina has done a fine job of helping me shuffle things around. Thanks for sending a driver with the dresses each week.”