All the Stars in the Heavens (19 page)

“That's too bad. Mrs. Gable will be very sorry to hear that.”

“Why do you bring up my wife?”

“Because she's your wife.”

“And I need reminding.”

“Exactly.”

“Since you're so obsessed with Mrs. Gable—”

Loretta gave Gable a playful shove. “I am not.”

“You're such an expert about my situation, so indulge me. What happened with Mr. Withers? On the level, tell me what happened.”

“He drank, and I wasn't ready for that.”

“What did you think marriage was going to be?”

“Happy. He was handsome and sharp. He dressed like a duke. He courted me. He was an actor, and I liked his work. He was good at it. It came naturally, so I assumed that all those elegant gents he played in pictures were real.”

“You're just like the girl who sits in the balcony. She thinks it's real.”

“I've lived it, so I know it isn't. To tell you the truth, I don't like to think about it. I am like the girl in the balcony. I was devastated when I found out the truth.” Loretta fished her key out of her pocket. “Good night, Mr. Gable.”

Gable stood next to her as she unlocked the door. He leaned against the frame. “I'm sorry I brought it up.”

Clark leaned down and kissed Loretta on her forehead. This was something Loretta's father might have done had he stayed. Gable was twelve years older than she was; maybe he was feeling protective, or this was his way of making her comfortable before the cameras rolled in the morning.

“Good night, Gretchen.”

It was cold in Loretta's room. The ruffles on the satin bedskirts were like ribbon candy, stiff to the touch. The maid had left a pot of fresh snow water boiling in the kettle on the hearth. Loretta changed into her nightgown. She covered the warming kettle in a flannel sleeve and placed it under the covers. She brushed her teeth, snapped her retainer in place, and brushed her hair.

Loretta threw another log on the fire, and soon the flames were
roaring, the bits of dry wood crackling and spitting small blue sparks. Loretta placed three lumps of black coal on to the burning logs, where they glistened like black diamonds as the flames engulfed them.

Loretta stood there for a long time, trying to warm herself. She rubbed her hands together.

“Come on, Gretch.” She jumped in place—anything to make heat, anything to shake off what she was feeling for Clark Gable. She had flirted with him, joked around, but it was all for fun, all for the movie.

She admonished herself, shook her head and rejected the thought of him. This was a set crush, that's all. It was simple. It was sex. She found him wildly attractive, and they were stuck on a mountaintop. She could control this situation. She was not going to let anything happen; she refused to fall for a man who belonged to another. Again. She would keep this situation platonic. He was fun, she liked flirting with him, liked being around him, and nowhere—not in any sermon, church, or penance given by a priest—had
that
ever been a sin. That's what she would hang on to—it was just a friendship. And who doesn't need a friend?

There was a knock at the door.

Gable stood in the dim hallway holding a blanket folded neatly. “Thought you could use another blanket.”

“Thank you.” She smiled and then realized she was wearing her retainer. “See you in the morning.” Loretta closed the door.

Gable pushed it open before she could lock it and looked at her with a smile that made her heart beat faster.

He made her so nervous, she blurted, “I wear a retainer. If I don't wear it, I have buck teeth. The studio wanted to pull them, and Mama said no, so I have to wear this thing for the rest of my life.”

Gable laughed. “Last summer I got sick and they pulled mine. I have a few left.”

“Doesn't look like it hurt your career. Or that smile.”

“You can buy teeth.” Gable stood in the doorway. Just as he filled the screen in the movie theaters, he filled the doorway to her room. He leaned against the doorjamb and folded his arms across his chest. She swore he was holding the entire building up, maybe even all of
Mount Baker. The fire threw a golden glow on him. The greatest cinematographers in Hollywood could not have possibly lit him better in this moment. Whatever this man was, Loretta thought he looked part god in the firelight, and she hated him for it.

“Thank you for the blanket. See you tomorrow.” She smiled, lips together, no teeth, no gleam from the silver bands of her retainer to blind him. She pushed the door closed.

He pushed it back open. “Is this good night, Gretchen?”

“Yes, Mr. Gable.”

Loretta pushed the door closed, and locked it.

Gable heard the click and chuckled.

B
uck had been living in a dog shed off the back of the kitchen of the dining hall at the Mount Baker Inn until director Wellman decided that it was inhumane. At night the temperature on the mountain would drop to ten degrees below zero, which evidently was too cold even for a Saint Bernard.

Buck was granted permission to stay in the hotel with his trainer. The crew found the dog much easier to handle once he had moved inside. Gable figured that Buck had somehow seen the rushes, decided he was a star rivaling Rin Tin Tin, and renegotiated his contract to include posh digs for the duration.

The hotel was remote, cold, and—now that Zanuck had ordered the plows—noisy. A group of local workingmen had been hired to keep the road clear between the exteriors and the hotel. The workers plowed incessantly in shifts, covering miles of road in trucks that ground surface ice and cleared snow from morning until night.

Mount Baker was 5,000 feet above sea level, and while Darryl Zanuck loved to brag that it was the highest location ever used on a Hollywood picture, he left out that it was also deadly, and nearly impossible to navigate. Wellman certainly was the best director for the job. Nothing scared him; no climate, no actor, and no stunt was
too great a challenge. He made a personal mission out of professional challenges. He wanted to win.

The stretch of the Bellingham River that Wellman had scouted the previous spring appeared safe, meandering through the foothills of Mount Baker in ruffles of clear blue. At some points the water was shallow enough to cross, yet in a turn it widened, veins of small streams feeding the river. The water was deceptive; it looked deep but was actually shallow. The swift movement of the waves gave the illusion of a raging river, with plumes of white water rushing over rock formations before pouring into the rapids before a waterfall.

Gable, Jack Oakie, and Loretta had rehearsed the raft scene on dry land. There was a good stretch of witty dialogue, and the words were important to the story. Wellman needed the trio to master the raft, navigating it down a cleft of the river. He blocked the scene so the actors' backs were to the camera; this way, he could artfully cut in any dialogue he chose later. Wellman often made story points in voice-over, over the shoulders of actors. It was a trick he employed because he was more interested in getting the visual right. He wanted as much wild as he could get in
The Call of the Wild.

Loretta was wearing a layer of long thermal underwear and a flannel shirt tucked into work jeans trimmed in sturdy oilcloth. The high-waisted pant had a thick belt upon which she had hung hooks, a circle of rope, and a small hammer. Her workboots were laced to the knee. For authenticity's sake, she tucked a small prop pistol loaded with blanks under the belt on her hip. Her character Claire was savvy, brave, and an equal partner to her missing husband, an explorer in the wild. She was wigged in a low chignon with curly bangs. Alda had artfully sewn lace on the collar of the flannel shirt; Loretta was certain that without a feminine touch, the camera would mistake her for a man in the wide shots.

“Come on, Gretchen,” Gable teased Loretta, who surveyed the bank of the river carefully.

Gable had boarded the raft, and dug a guide stick into the river.

Loretta gripped the safety line and stepped into the shallow water before pulling herself up onto the raft. Gable was there to lift her. Oakie trudged through the shallow water and sat on the edge of the
raft, nearly tipping it over. Loretta and Gable hollered and hung on as he threw his legs out of the water and onto the raft, then crawled to standing position. From the shore Wellman cursed Oakie, who pretended he couldn't hear the director.

“You've really done it this time, Oakie,” Gable chided him.

“The minute this stops being a goof, I quit.”

“Have all the fun you want on dry land, but not on the water. I don't want to freeze to death out here,” Loretta told him.

“That water's as cold as a sloe gin fizz.” Oakie chuckled.

Wellman picked up a bullhorn. “Stay on the raft. We have a problem with the camera.”

“How long, Captain?” Gable shouted.

“Don't know. Just stay put!” Wellman hollered back.

“Listen kids, I got a plan.” Oakie rubbed his hands together.

“Don't ad lib. You're killing us,” Loretta told him.

“I'm not talking about the movie. I think I can get us a car.”

“For what?”

“We can get out of here on the weekend.”

“Where are we going?”

“Seattle.”

“Count me in,” Gable said. Gable was not a man who liked being cooped up, and this movie was beginning to feel like a stint in beggar's prison.

“Count me out,” Loretta said.

“If you go, he”—Oakie pointed to Wellman—“won't get mad.”

“Come on, Gretch,” Gable implored.

“You too?”

“Yes, I'm begging,” Gable flirted.

The flirting didn't sway Loretta; she'd seen him use his wiles on everyone, including Buck the dog.

“It won't be any fun without you,” Gable insisted.

“You'll do all right. You two on the town, with your fat wallets, liquored up like a couple of bums, and looking for love when you're not looking for a couple of suckers to take in a card game. No, thank you.”

Oakie and Gable laughed.

“This isn't my first river raft,” she assured them.

“Gretch, wouldn't you love a juicy steak and a baked potato? How about a cream puff? A hotel room with fluffy goose-down blankets and soft pillows and heat from a coal furnace, not a fireplace? Think about it. You could put on a pretty dress for a change. And shoes that don't have laces,” Gable promised.

“We'd treat you good,” Oakie added.

“I'll think about it.”

Loretta hadn't told anyone that this was her twenty-second birthday. Her sisters had written to her and asked her what she wanted, and she wrote back with a single request: wool socks.

“Okay, we're gonna go, kids,” Wellman shouted from his bullhorn. “Set dec is gonna let the raft loose. Clark, take it as far as the turn.”

Gable waved that he understood.

Wellman continued, “The guys are below, ready to pull you in—just anchor the raft with your guide stick when you get there.”

Gable waved again. He said to Oakie, “You must be worth more at the box office than I thought.”

“I'm gold. Comic relief. You can't put a price on funny.”

“Mr. Zanuck puts a price on everything,” Loretta commented. “I'm sure he told you what you were worth with your last paycheck.”

“You know, Loretta, you piss on the fire with the best of them.”

Gable navigated the raft to the center of the river, the undertow tugging the raft down the river toward the cleft. It picked up speed and hit a rock. Loretta lurched toward the side; Gable grabbed her by the waist, keeping hold of the stick.

“I got it!” Oakie grabbed the guide stick. He moved it to stop the raft in the rush of the water, but instead of hitting river bottom, the stick went deep into a pocket of sand in the riverbed, pulling the stick into the water. Oakie got down on his stomach and reached for it. The raft rocked to and fro. The assistant director hollered from the banks as the raft slipped past the point of anchor.

Wellman and his team ran along the riverbank to meet the team at the cleft.

“Keep rolling,” he shouted as he ran.

Gable kneeled in the center of the raft, telling Loretta to lie down in the center to stabilize the raft. Oakie was hanging on, but
he'd taken in the waves, and they rushed over the side of the raft. Gable scooped up the lifeline rope, stood, and with the raft moving down river, threw it back to Wellman, who waded into the river and grabbed it. Soon the entire crew was in the water, pulling the raft back toward shore.

Loretta could feel the undertow of the river pulling them forward. She thought about jumping off and swimming, but worried about the black pockets in the river bottom. They could pull her in, and she'd drown. Gable was cursing, using words she had never heard before. He was angry at the raft, the river, and Wellman.

Oakie stayed on his stomach, trying to ride the torrents and stay on the raft. Loretta reached for him.

The raft tipped, and Oakie fell into the rushing water like a stone. Loretta slid to the edge, reaching for him. Oakie surfaced and bobbed in the water like a hunk of driftwood. He went under, and the crew shouted from the shore.

Gable pulled Loretta back to the center by her feet. “Don't move!” he shouted.

Gable lay down, balancing his body on the edge of the raft as he reached for Oakie. He grabbed Oakie's forearm before he went under again. Oakie sputtered and cursed as Gable pulled him to the raft, now stationary in the middle of the river, thanks to the lifeline rope. He pulled Oakie onto the raft.

Oakie began to shiver from head to toe. “It felt so warm in the water,” he whispered.

Gable looked at Loretta as she prayed silently to herself. Oakie could've died in the accident, and he almost had—but Gable had saved him. Loretta had never witnessed that kind of courage. She was more than impressed, she was in awe.

Wellman shouted from the shore, “We're pulling you in!”

Loretta sat up to help Oakie.

“Stay down, Gretchen,” Gable hollered.

“Don't yell at her, it's my fault,” Oakie said.

The raft inched toward the shore. A dozen men, with all their strength, water to their waists, pulled the raft against the mighty flow of the river. The raft creaked and rocked. Loretta closed her eyes.
She could hear the water rushing under the raft with such force, she wondered if twelve men were enough to pull them safely to shore.

Gable reached across the raft and put his hand on Loretta's. It was the only warmth she felt as the crew towed the actors in. As the raft bumped up onto snowy banks, the crew reached for the actors.

“You're buying dinner in Seattle, bud,” Gable said to Oakie.

“I'll buy the entire town dinner, and French whores for everybody! Sorry, Loretta. I'll get you a Russian prince.”

“No, thanks. You can keep him, Jack.”

Loretta looked at Gable, who kept his eyes on Oakie. She lay still as the crew pulled them to the shore.

“Secure the raft!” Wellman shouted.

Loretta looked over at Wellman, who seemed as concerned about the raft as he was about his actors.

Wellman believed Gable didn't take his acting work seriously enough, but Loretta did not share that opinion. She had come to appreciate the way her costar approached his work. Gable was all in, for anything that might happen. He was present in the moment, alert and intent when the cameras were rolling. It might not be Wellman's idea of great acting or technique, but as far as Loretta was concerned, it was as fine a method as any she had seen.

The crew helped Loretta off the raft. Sitting down on a snowbank, she took deep breaths to steady her heart. The costume crew draped Oakie in blankets to take him back to the hotel. Gable came off the raft, and in a few feet of water, helped secure it to the shore. He trudged out of the frigid water.

“Reset, Mr. Rosher?” Gable said to the director of photography.

“Hell, no. Got the whole debacle.”

“Print?” Gable asked.

“Oh, yeah, we got it,” Wellman said.

Loretta wearily climbed the steps to her hotel room. She pushed the door open, closed it behind her, and immediately began to undress, laying her wet costume pieces on the bathroom floor. She pulled on a warm chenille robe.

When she returned from the bathroom, she saw a large box at the foot of her bed. She was elated to see the return address: Sunset House in Bel Air.

Loretta removed a hairpin from her chignon and ripped into the package. There was a frilly birthday card signed by her mother, her sisters, and Ruby. Polly wrote a newsy note about her new beau Carter Hermann (Gladys-approved). Sally was out on the town with director Norman Foster (Gladys-approved). Life was going on without Loretta in Los Angeles. She was happy for her sisters but painfully aware that she was alone. Her sisters tried to make Loretta's birthday a happy one. The wool socks she had requested were tied with string, a lollipop anchored in each sock.

A stack of fan magazines was tied with a ribbon. Loretta quickly shuffled through them, finding Joan Crawford, Janet Gaynor, and Myrna Loy on the covers. The sight of them in their furs and finery made her long for home. She set them aside and dug into the contents.

The box was filled with glorious food: cellophane packages of noodles, German cured sausages, wedges of hard cheese, a bottle of olive oil, and a jar of Greek olives. Ruby had mixed dry biscuit ingredients in a mason jar, with instructions to add eggs and bake. Another jar held the dry ingredients for chocolate cake. There was a box of See's Candy, Loretta's secret vice. A large square baker's box was nestled in the center; she lifted it out carefully and opened it. As soon as she did, the room filled with the scent of lemon, rum, and butter. Her mother had made her favorite cake for her birthday, wrapped in layers of tinfoil: a southern rum cake, an old recipe handed down from her great-grandmother in North Carolina.