Stars Over Sunset Boulevard (10 page)

March 1939

V
iolet stirred the pot of gumbo as it bubbled on Audrey's stove and breathed in its savory aroma. She lifted the spoon to her mouth and carefully tasted the concoction. Perhaps it wasn't the best gumbo ever made, but she was fairly happy with her first attempt at using her mother's tried-and-true recipe. She'd gotten a hankering for it the previous week—she'd been particularly homesick—and written her mother. The return letter had come yesterday. The search for fresh okra had sent her to three grocery stores, but the finished product would be worth it. Hopefully Audrey wouldn't be too much longer and would have an appetite when she got home. Violet hadn't seen much of her at the studio that day and she'd had to ride the streetcar and bus by herself.

She lowered the flame on the pot and sat down at the kitchen table to wait for her roommate's return. Valentino wound in and out of her legs, and Violet scooped up the cat
and set him in her lap. It had been a busy day, a frustrating day. The film was finally back in production and everyone was again going to be working ten-hour days or longer. A new script, this one pounded out by screenwriter Ben Hecht, had been given to the cast that morning, and Miss Myrick had been told it was the last revision there would be. She had whispered to Violet that she'd believe that when she saw pigs fly. Violet had also been introduced to Victor Fleming that day, but he was obviously only concerned with remembering who Susan Myrick was, since she still had to approve every word said and every prop used. Mr. Fleming seemed more direct than Mr. Cukor had been and unlikely to coddle anybody, including the leading ladies.

Scarlett's wedding to Charles Hamilton had been shot that afternoon. Bert had been in charge of making sure the bridal gown was ready for Miss Leigh, and he came to the set at the start of the shoot to ensure everything about the dress was in order.

“This wedding was a rushed affair in the book,” Bert had said as they both watched Vivien Leigh position herself under the lights. “Scarlett wore her mother's wedding dress, remember?”

Violet recalled reading that part. Agreeing to Charles Hamilton's proposal had seemed the most reckless thing Scarlett could have done.

“Plunkett used a dress form with the measurements of the actress playing Scarlett's mother so that the gown would seem big on Miss Leigh. Rather clever.”

Bert seemed proud of the dress even though he was merely in charge of its whereabouts. Violet hadn't thought the dress was very pretty; the sleeves were as big as sides of beef and the dozens of silk leaves made the skirt looked tattered.

But she had told him it was a very convincing dress and he was soon called away to attend to another costume need.

During a break to change some light fixtures, Miss Myrick decided to dictate a few notes to Violet regarding the plans for the Twelve Oaks barbecue scene, which was going to be a huge affair shot on location at a park called Busch Gardens. Violet had been hoping to find a way to broach the subject of putting in a good word for Audrey with the new, no-nonsense director and it seemed as though it had just been handed to her. Most of the technical crew had been busy with lighting adjustments, Mr. Fleming had been talking to the camera crew about changing a lens, and a couple of script girls and hairdressers were milling about, waiting for filming to resume.

It had seemed like a good time to mention it.

Violet looked down at the cat as what had happened next replayed itself in her mind. “How was I supposed to know that's not how it works?” she said, and Valentino looked up at her and meowed.

She hadn't known a director can't just put in a new girl as an extra, even if she's a studio employee and as beautiful as any other extra on the set, and had had a leading role offered to her once. There were contracts and casting protocols and regulations and the blood of a two-headed giraffe to be reckoned with.

“I didn't know,” Violet said, leaning down and speaking into Valentino's fur.

Thankfully, Mr. Fleming hadn't been within earshot. It was only Miss Myrick who told her that what she was asking on behalf of her roommate was completely out of the question. Violet's cheeks had burned crimson nonetheless.

“It's ridiculous, if you ask me.” Violet rose to her feet and
put the cat down on the floor. She reached into a cupboard and pulled out a tin of cat food. Valentino began to dance around her feet as she opened it. “They are stupid rules.”

The cat meowed in response. She set down his dish, stirred the gumbo, and sat down again to wait.

By seven thirty there was still no sign of Audrey.

Violet got out two bowls from the cupboard but filled only one. She took her dinner to the table, wishing now that she'd thought to make corn bread, too. She certainly had had the time to make both.

She lifted a spoonful to her mouth and tested the temperature with the tip of her tongue. The gumbo was blistering hot and she winced. As she lowered the spoon to the bowl, she heard the front door open and close.

Audrey was home at last.

“I've made gumbo!” Violet called from the kitchen.

Audrey rounded the corner and stood in the arched doorway between the living room and kitchen. “What did you do?” Her eyes glittered with what seemed to be bridled anger.

Violet stared at her, openmouthed. “I . . . I made gumbo.”

Audrey stepped fully into the room. “What did you do at the
studio
today, Violet?”

Blood rushed to Violet's head and bosom. Audrey must have found out she'd tried to get her into the cast as an extra today. But how? And why was she mad about it? “I tried to help you,” Violet said, the sting of Audrey's obvious resentment making her voice sound frail. “I only tried to get you in the movie. Isn't that what you want?”

“No, it's not what I want!” Audrey tossed her purse onto the table. The gumbo in Violet's bowl shuddered.

“How can you
say
that?” Violet nearly choked on the words. “I know that's not true. I know you want it.”

Audrey closed her eyes. “You don't know anything.”

Violet's own anger, fueled by offense, began to course through her. “I know what you told me! You told me you want your movie career back. You told me you were going to have new photographs taken. You told me it was all about meeting the right people! People who could make things happen!”

Audrey's eyes snapped opened. “I never told you I wanted to be a nameless extra in
Gone With the Wind.
”

“And what is so terrible about being an extra? Surely lots of famous actresses started out that way. Do you know how many people write to Miss Myrick all the time, wanting a bit part in this movie?”

Audrey shook her head slowly. “I never
asked
you to get me a bit part in
Gone With the Wind
.”

Violet could scarcely believe how her good intentions were being thrown back in her face. And here she'd thought Audrey would've been grateful that Violet had even tried.

“I don't know how you even found out that I asked.” Violet fingered away tears that had gathered in her eyes. “I couldn't make it happen.”

“Thank God you couldn't.”

Violet stared at her, incredulous.

“I found out because a couple of script girls heard you,” Audrey said. “And they told a couple of wardrobe girls, and those wardrobe girls told some sound technicians, and the sound technicians told everyone else. You embarrassed me, Violet.”

Two more tears pooled at Violet's eyes and they slipped down unchecked. “That's not what I meant to do.”

“Now everyone thinks I put you up to it.”

“But you didn't! It was my idea!”

Audrey sighed heavily, as though the air in her lungs
was weighed down with concrete. “But that's not how it looks. And that's all that matters in this town.” She turned for her bedroom.

“I was just trying to help,” Violet called after Audrey, her voice breaking.

“I don't need your help,” Audrey muttered, loud enough for Violet to hear.

Audrey's bedroom door opened and closed.

Violet looked down at the bowl of gumbo, her stomach a weave of knots.

She rose from the table, poured the soup back into the pot, and turned off the burner.

•   •   •

In the morning Violet expected Audrey to tell her that she needed to find another place to live. But Audrey said nothing as the two of them ate breakfast and got ready for work. Violet apologized and offered to make it right somehow and tell everyone that asking had been all her idea, but that was the last thing Audrey wanted Violet to do.

“There must be some way I can make it better,” Violet said.

And Audrey said no, there wasn't.

They rode the streetcar without speaking and went their separate ways when they arrived at the studio. Violet worked late, arriving home after eight to an empty bungalow. She went to bed without seeing Audrey, but was unable to fall asleep until she heard Audrey's key in the lock sometime after midnight.

On the set the following day, she asked Bert what she should do—he, too, had heard about what she'd asked Miss Myrick. They were standing on the Forty by a flowing creek. The stunt double for Gerald O'Hara was preparing to jump
a white horse over a fence, and Bert was there to make sure his costume matched perfectly—and stayed clean.

“Just let the matter dry up on its own and soon it will float away,” Bert said. “That's what my mother says happens to gossip if you stop spreading it and stop listening to it.”

“But everyone thinks Audrey put me up to asking!”

“I'm sure anybody whose opinion Audrey cares about knows she would never ask you to do that. You're new to this; she's not. They all know she's not. It will blow over, Vi. I think it already has. No one is talking about it today.”

“She hates me.”

“No, she doesn't.”

“She's not talking to me!”

“Give her some time, Violet.”

Violet felt fresh tears beginning to rim her eyes. She hadn't realized how much Audrey's friendship meant to her until the last few days. There was no one back in Montgomery like Audrey. Violet's childhood friends were all getting married and having babies. They had nothing in common with Violet anymore and had already begun to drift away from her. She squeezed her eyes shut to force the tears to recede.

“Violet,” Bert said, and he waited until she opened her eyes to look at him. “I'm going to tell you the same thing I told her.”

“You talked to her about this?”

“She talked to me. She called me the night it happened.”

“Oh!” Violet had heard Audrey talking on the phone after she'd put the uneaten gumbo away and gone to bed. She had assumed she'd been talking to the mysterious Vince.

“You were motivated by a desire to do something good for Audrey because you care about her. I think in the end that's what's important. And that's what she will remember.”

Gratitude for Bert and his kind heart blossomed inside her, scaring her a little with its intensity. She suddenly remembered the sensation of Bert's strong arm around her waist and his hand in hers when they'd danced weeks before on a floor dusted with shimmering beach sand. A tightening deep within made her shudder slightly.

“All right?” he said.

She smiled and nodded.

“She'll get over it, Violet. Audrey isn't one to carry a grudge.”

Bert was summoned then, as he often was when another scene was due to be shot.

As he walked away the stunt double on the horse attempted a practice jump and fell too early off the animal, onto the painted dirt.

•   •   •

The sun had already dipped below the western horizon when Violet made it back to the Mansion to type up the day's memos for Miss Myrick. It would be many more hours before she was finished, but that was the case for just about everyone associated with the film. Half a dozen secretaries were still at their typewriters or on the phone when Violet stepped inside. She had just started on her first memo when Audrey appeared at her desk.

“You going to be here awhile?”

She seemed to be a little less angry with her.

“Probably,” Violet answered. “You?”

“An hour or so. Want to get something to eat after? There's something I need to tell you.”

A lump instantly formed in Violet's throat. “Are you . . . going to ask me to find a new place to live?”

A tender smile broke across Audrey's face. “No, Violet. I'm not.”

“All right, then.”

An hour and a half later they were sitting at a booth at the Pig'n Whistle on Hollywood Boulevard, after ordering plates of fish and chips.

“Look,” Audrey said, after the waiter had left. “I know you meant well the other day. I do. And I know I didn't handle it gracefully when I first found out. But I know why you did it. And even though I wish you hadn't, I know you wanted to make me happy.”

Audrey's words were salve on a wound. “I'm so sorry I embarrassed you, Audrey. I'd give anything to take it all back.”

“I'm the one who's sorry. I am sure I hurt you with what I said. And I wish I could take those words back, too. You're a good friend, Vi. I haven't had many of those in my life. Sometimes I forget you are different from most people I know here.”

“I am?”

Their drinks arrived—two Coca-Colas with splashes of rum—and they each took a sip.

“Hollywood is full of people with dreams, and most of the time that makes it an exciting place, but it can also make it a lonely place,” Audrey said. “In this town, you can be in a room full of beautiful people and still be alone.”

“I really had no idea you didn't want to be in this movie,” Violet said.

“It's not that I don't want to be in
Gone With the Wind
, Violet. It's . . .” Audrey's voice broke away as she searched for the right words. “It's that I don't want to spoil it.”