Stars Over Sunset Boulevard (7 page)

“Are you sure you want to leave those undone?” Violet asked as they both rose from their chairs.

“Absolutely.” Audrey reached for her purse off the back of her chair and smoothed the peplum of her jacket over her skirt. She looked especially pretty in the shade of rose that she was wearing, and Violet wished she had
on something more colorful than a featureless gray skirt and white blouse.

They exited the back door of the Mansion and passed a few soundstages and people heading for home after the long workday. They stepped inside the expansive building where the costumes were kept, and Violet marveled at the rows upon rows of waiting racks and shelves. From the many memos she had typed she knew five thousand separate pieces of clothing would be housed there when all the costumes were complete. She also knew that at the moment few were done. Two workers on their way out smiled at Audrey and greeted her by name.

“Bert's in the back,” one of the men said.

They found Bert in a staging area, cataloging a load of Confederate uniforms that had just come in but that still needed to be altered to look weathered and worn. His eyes lit up when he saw Audrey.

“Well, hello there,” he said, smiling wide. “What brings you two down here?”

“May we see the dress for the opening scene on the porch?” Audrey looked about the room for the gown. “I heard two of the wardrobe girls in the commissary today, talking about how beautiful it is.”

Bert was alone in the room, but he looked around, anyway. When he turned back to face the women, he told them to follow him. He took them to a long rack and accompanying shelves tagged with a placard that read
Scarlett
. The dress slated for the opening shot hung on a padded hanger and was covered in cotton sheeting. It was the sole wardrobe piece hanging on the rack. Bert lifted the billowing white dress out of its protective drape. Even without its hoop, it looked like a cloud. Green sprigs danced across the voluminous skirt, and a velvet, emerald-hued ribbon hung from
both sides of the tiny waistband, to be tied in the back. Ruffles of white and green fluffed about the bodice.

“It's gorgeous!” Audrey breathed, her face radiant. She took a step toward Bert and touched his arm.

“There's going to be a hat and a parasol, too,” Bert said.

Audrey leaned in close to him. “You're so lucky to be surrounded by such loveliness all day long, Bert,” she said. “You really are.”

Bert looked down at Audrey's manicured hand on his arm and smiled. “Lucky? I spend my days in a never-ending clothes closet. I'd rather be behind one of the cameras. You know that.”

“Well, this is better than being a janitor. You know
that
.”

They seemed to be recalling a conversation between the two of them that had taken place long before Violet had moved to California. In those few seconds, Violet felt invisible. “It's such a pretty dress,” she chimed in, wanting her companions to remember she was in the room with them.

Audrey let go of Bert's arm to run her fingertips through the yards of fabric. “Miss Leigh will look stunning in it,” she said dreamily, almost as if she was imagining herself wrapped in the folds of the dress Vivien Leigh would wear.

Bert cocked his head and smiled, as if he, too, was imagining Audrey in the gown.

“I didn't know filming was what you really wanted to do,” Violet said to Bert.

A couple seconds passed before he turned his head to reply. “Doesn't matter.” He shrugged. “It won't ever happen, anyway. There's probably a dozen or more people ahead of me, wanting to train on those cameras. I guess I should be glad I'm not still pushing a broom.”

He returned his attention to Audrey, signaling as politely as he could that he really didn't want to continue
that conversation. Audrey was holding the gown up to her neck and swishing the fabric so that it sounded like muted applause.

•   •   •

The following morning when Violet reported to Miss Myrick's little office, she learned they were to spend the first part of the day talking with Mr. Lambert, the wardrobe supervisor.

Violet grabbed a pencil and her steno pad. “I thought Walter Plunkett was in charge of all the costumes for this movie,” she said, recalling the dozens of memos she had sent out in recent weeks related to the extensive clothing needs
.

“Mr. Plunkett designed the costumes, but it's Mr. Lambert who has to see that all Mr. Plunkett's designs get made, and made properly, and then are properly cared for. And it's my job to make sure they're right for the time period. Let's be off.”

They walked under gray skies that hinted of rain, past several soundstages to the wardrobe building, and Violet found herself hoping that she would run into Bert. She wondered if he would be pleased to see her.

When indeed it was Bert who brought out the green-sprigged gown for Miss Myrick's approval, his face registered mild surprise at seeing Violet, but then he cautiously winked at her. Violet knew he meant only to silently acknowledge that he had already shown her this dress in secret, but her face colored nonetheless. The wink felt personal, intimate, and suggestive. She could not remember the last time a man had winked at her.

She replayed the gesture in her mind for the rest of the day.

A
udrey swung open the bungalow's front door, and Valentino, at the threshold, meowed a greeting from the edge of the dark living room.

“Hello, kitty.” She stepped inside and reached for the wall switch, and kicked off her shoes as light spilled into the room. She tossed her purse and coat onto the sofa and walked barefoot into the kitchen, the cat at her heels.

Moments later, with the cat munching on his food and a martini in her hand, Audrey contemplated making herself something to eat for dinner. She didn't have much of an appetite, and her skills in the kitchen paled miserably in comparison to Violet's. Filming of
Gone With the Wind
had officially begun that day. She'd wait to see whether Violet arrived home feeling motivated to prepare something for the two of them to eat.

She wandered into her bedroom to change into more comfortable clothes, but once there, she lowered herself to
the armchair beside her bed. With Violet working late the past few days, Audrey had more hours for introspection—something that most of the time she was content to avoid.

A month had passed since the holidays and the trip home, and her thoughts crept backward now.

She had arisen early Christmas morning, leaving Violet to her dreams while she tiptoed from the room. The sun had been peeking over the eastern horizon, and Audrey expected to find the kitchen dark and empty. But a light was on and coffee had been brewed. Her father stood at the window, looking out over the orchard, a cup in his hand.

He hadn't heard her coming and she could have gone back to her room without him knowing she had seen him, but she'd remembered what Violet had said about making the horse thirsty so that he would have no choice but to drink.

“Good morning,” she said softly, so as not to surprise him.

Her father startled, anyway, and turned around abruptly. Coffee sloshed out of his cup and onto his hand and the floor.

“I'm sorry.” She rushed forward to grab a dish towel.

“It's all right, it's all right.” He set his cup down, took the towel, and blotted his hand with it, grimacing slightly.

“Do you need some ice?”

“I'm fine. Don't worry.”

He turned to the sink and ran the cold tap over his wrist for a few seconds. Audrey opened a drawer to get a clean dish towel for him but found hot pads and place mats instead.

“She keeps them in the next drawer over,” her father said.

Audrey located the towels, handed him one, and watched as he patted his skin dry.

“You're up early,” he said.

“So are you.”

He shrugged. “It's the usual time for me.”

“Guess I'd forgotten.”

He hadn't known what to say to this, and she immediately wished she had made no comment that alluded to how long she'd had lived away from home. He picked up his cup.

“I better go let the dogs out.”

“I can get dressed quick and come with you if you like,” she offered.

A look of doubt or maybe unease wavered across his face. “I'm sure you don't want to do that, Audrey. It's cold and dark.”

“I don't mind.”

“They'll be anxious for me now. I'd best get out there.”

Her father had started to move past her and Audrey reached out to stop him. “Are you really saying you won't wait for me?”

Leon Kluge's gaze was trained on the door. “You should go back to your bed, where it's warm. It's too early. Too dark.”

“But I want to come with you.”

Her father had half turned toward her. “No, I don't think you do,” he had said gently, but there had been a pleading undertone.
Just let me go
.

But she hadn't let him. “Why are you making such a big deal of this?”

He'd looked down at his shoes. “I'm not the one who is making a big deal of this.”

Anger and frustration had boiled up within in her. “What is it with you?” she had yelled. “Why can't we talk about this?”

“What is it with
me
?” he shot back. “You really want me to say it?”

“Yes! Tell me!”

He'd hesitated a moment, as though he'd not expected her to answer in the affirmative. He opened his mouth and his silver-gray eyes bored into hers. “I was never good enough. Never.” He said the words slowly, as though he'd dredged them out of a dark pit and each one weighed a ton. “This farm, over which I've sweat and bled, was never good enough. All your mother ever wanted was to go back to the city. She didn't want to be here. She didn't want to be here with me.”

Audrey's complete surprise at this revelation silenced her only momentarily. “But I'm not her!” she'd shouted.

Her father had paused for only a second before saying quietly, “Yes, you are.”

And then he'd left.

Now she sipped from her martini, willing the alcohol to numb the echoes of that morning. She wished she had said nothing to him. She wished she hadn't gone at all. She wished she and Violet had driven to San Diego for Christmas to stay at a beach cottage and eat lobster.

Audrey took another swallow, a longer one. The new year was less than a month old; there was still plenty of time to reassess her situation and chart a plan for 1939. She didn't have to think about home if she didn't want to. Besides, what did anything back home have to do with Audrey Duvall? What had taken place there on Christmas didn't matter. Not even the war in Europe mattered. All that mattered was right here, right now. This time, this place. She needed to focus on finding a way to re-create the magic like when she was eighteen. It had happened once before; it would happen again. That was her only concern.

The previous couple of years hadn't yielded her much in the way of opportunities—a screen test here, an interview
there—which meant her current approach needed updating. It was becoming clear that she had tapped out her leads at Selznick International. Mr. Selznick himself had had ample opportunities to screen test her and hadn't, and neither had any of his assistant producers. She had taken dictation for nearly every Selznick executive with even a modicum of influence, gotten them coffee and Danishes, bought birthday presents for their wives, made excuses for them when they were late or unprepared, playfully turned down any sexual advances so that she would always remain wanted, not had.

She knew how this game worked. It was not about getting your résumé into Central Casting and becoming just another pretty girl who wanted to be discovered. It was about being in the right place at the right time.

Her hopes had been raised with all the borrowing of actors for
Gone With the Wind
—Clark Gable from MGM, Olivia de Havilland from Warner—as it had led to many letters of correspondence and phone calls to other studios. But obviously those connections hadn't been enough. She had made no new inroads. And Violet's question—“Is it working?”—on the streetcar on the night they met had been a constant niggle at the back of her mind. Perhaps she wasn't availing herself of the opportunities in play now that MGM was getting more involved with this film. She should ask to work more shifts. Selznick was working twenty-hour days and popping Benzedrine to stay awake. She'd heard he'd been asking for a secretary to be available at all hours, and Mrs. Pope was looking for volunteers. Perhaps working more closely with Selznick would in turn get her closer to MGM and Selznick's father-in-law, Louis B. Mayer. Selznick had not proven to have much use for her, even though he knew who she was and what she had almost been. But MGM's
needs might have changed in the four years she'd been gone. They'd likely forgotten about her.

Audrey emptied her glass, set it down on the nightstand, and rose from her chair. She reached for a box marked
Photos
on the bottom shelf of her closet and set it on the bed, lifted the lid, and dumped out the contents.

The publicity shots Stiles had paid for all those years ago lay somewhere near the bottom. Audrey fished through the photos of home and the farm and the ones with Aunt Jo until she found them. She pulled them away from the others, wanting only to remind herself of the name of the photographer who had taken them, but the images held her gaze. She had been so young when these were taken.

The poses were alluring and evocative. Stiles had told her that she had luminous eyes, a rosebud mouth, and a china-doll look as enchanting as that of any silent film star. Her hair, long and luxurious, had the same curl and shine, and her body had been as delicately curved as Mary Pickford's and Lillian Gish's. These pictures and that description were what Stiles had used to pitch Audrey to the studios.

She heard in her head Stiles telling her, “You got the part, Audrey. You're going to be a star.”

A star. A star. A star!

Audrey closed her eyes. For several moments she stood still, waiting for the past to recede to its shadows, for the voice to be stilled. But it lingered.

She snapped her eyes open. She needed air in her lungs, air that belonged to the here and now, not yesterday. She turned from the room, went into the kitchen, and then threw open the back door to the patio. The cool blast of a night breeze met her, bracing and welcoming. She breathed it in and then stepped outside to indulge in it. She grabbed a tablecloth from the clothesline that Violet
had pinned up earlier that day and wrapped herself in it as she stood on the cold patio stones.

Audrey sat down in a rattan chair, not wanting to go back inside, even though her feet were at once freezing. Valentino jumped onto her lap and she pulled him close for warmth.

She had lost her edge—that was what it was—and the trip home at Christmas had just made it worse. She had lost sight of her goal. And it had taken Violet's “Is it working?” question and the Christmas-morning encounter to wake her up.

Making it as an actress in Hollywood was about the people she met. She'd been putting in her time at Selznick International and getting zero results. She hadn't met the right people, and she had gotten lazy trying to find them. She would not keep making that mistake.

Audrey lifted the cat and held him in her arms as she walked back inside. She tossed the tablecloth onto the back of a kitchen chair and then went into the living room to get a cigarette from her purse. Her shoes, which she had kicked off and left in the middle of the floor, were now nowhere in sight, nor was the coat she had thrown onto the couch.

Violet was home.

Audrey set the cat down. She headed for Violet's room, eager for her roommate's company. But Violet wasn't in her own bedroom. She was in Audrey's, standing beside the bed, looking at the photographs. Audrey's shoes stood side by side, toes pointing toward the closet, on the floor by Violet's feet. The coat was draped neatly on the back of the armchair.

Violet turned suddenly at Audrey's approach and the photo in her hand fluttered to the bed. “Audrey! I didn't
know you were home! I thought maybe you were at one of the neighbors'.”

“I was out on the patio with the cat.”

“I'm . . . I didn't mean to pry. I just brought in your shoes and coat and I saw these pictures on your bed. I wasn't—”

“Don't worry about it. I don't care that you're looking at my photos.” She moved to stand next to Violet.

“They're beautiful,” Violet said, attempting a more casual tone. “These were your professional ones?” She held up one of the studio glossies.

Audrey nodded and took the photo. “It's a shame I can't use them anymore. They cost a fortune.”

“I can see why that talent scout thought you looked like Lillian Gish.”

“I guess the world only needs one Lillian Gish.” She tossed the photo lightly to the bed. “I was thinking I might have some new ones made. That's why I got these out.”

Violet lifted another photograph from the pile, one of a ten-year-old Audrey with pigtails. Her slender mother stood next to her. They were squinting in the sun. Her mother looked thin and weary.

“That picture was taken just a few months before she died.”

“Was your mother already sick then?” Violet asked carefully.

“I think she must have been, but I didn't know it yet.” Audrey extended her hand and Violet placed the photo in it.

“What disease did she have? Did the doctors know?”

“I don't know if they knew. Aunt Jo told me it must have been some kind of wasting disease. It was like she just started disappearing. A little more of her each day would vanish until there was nothing left. I remember her
being so weightless at the end. She didn't even have the strength to put her arms around me.”

“I am so very sorry, Audrey,” Violet said, after a moment's pause. “I can't imagine losing a mother so young. A child's mother is everything.”

They were both quiet for a few seconds.

Audrey placed the photo back in the box and then began to gather the rest. “So, I hear filming began today. I barely saw you at all.”

Violet reached for a few of the photos as well. “Mr. Cukor shot the scene on the porch at Tara when the Tarleton twins are talking about war. It was very exciting. But tedious, too. Those two actors aren't twins and neither one is redheaded, so their hair has been dyed and it looks very orange. I guess Mr. Selznick isn't happy with the dye job, and he's thinking of scrapping the porch scene altogether. But they shot it anyway, several times. And then the camera broke down for a while, so we had to wait for that, and then Mr. Cukor wanted to shoot a scene where Scarlett runs out to meet her pa coming home from Twelve Oaks.”

Audrey sensed a hunger within her that she had not felt in a while. It had been a long time since she had been on a movie set. Secretaries usually weren't needed there. “Tell me all about it.” She sat on the bed and patted the mattress. Violet sat down beside her.

“Every action or bit of dialogue was done at least three times, sometimes more,” Violet said. “You wonder how these actors and actresses can keep repeating themselves over and over.”