Not Without You (24 page)

I loved acting, but I loathed this part, more than ever. To be told a week before that the vile gossip magazines like
Confidential
have decided it’s open season on you, that you could easily become box office poison; to be called to a meeting with the heads in the studio to decide on a strategy; to concoct these stupid, humiliating, false sessions with girls who genuinely like you. I had had Katie’s name written down on a piece of paper for two days now.
‘We’ll start with the girl at the hotel. She’s a huge fan. I’ve told her when you’re arriving, she’ll be on duty. This is what you say …’

‘Please, Moss,’ I said quietly now, putting my coat down on the bench and slowly pulling off the cream kid gloves I always wore. ‘I won’t do that again. It feels so unnatural.’

He tapped a cigarette slowly out of its case, without looking at me. ‘You mean you can’t be bothered to make nice with your fans?’ he asked quietly. ‘You don’t care what they say about you any more?’

I shook my head, smoothing my hand over my aching brow. ‘It’s not that and you know it. I’d happily send a photo to anyone who wants it. I’d have had that conversation with her anyway – you didn’t need to set it up like that.’ I paused. ‘I’ve only ever said no to signing an autograph once. It’s the … lie. The set-up. I hate it.’

‘I see.’ Moss nodded. ‘Listen, Eve, Mr Baxter wouldn’t want you to be reminded there’s plenty of girls coming up behind you who’ll do anything for—’

I raised my hand in front of him. ‘Go away, Moss, please.’ I’d realised lately I wasn’t frightened of him any more. He was a bully, Mr Baxter’s enforcer. I hated him, but I didn’t fear him.

‘She’s tired,’ Jerry said soothingly. ‘Honey, sit down, have a drink.’ He patted my arm, then turned to the gentleman sitting next to him, whom I hadn’t noticed in my anger. ‘Hey, Matthews, what’ll you have? Same again?’

I looked at his companion, and nearly slid off the bench. It was Don. Just there, two people away from me.

‘H-hello!’ I said.

‘Hey, Rose,’ he said softly, so the others didn’t quite catch the name. He gave me one of his funny, one-sided smiles. ‘Surprised to see me?’

‘I – I am,’ I said, simply staring at him. I knew him so well, yet I’d only really seen him three times in my whole life. He looked older, the lines round his mouth and eyes more pronounced, and he was thinner than ever. But the face was still kind, handsome, with its long jaw. The same dark, shining eyes. ‘You got a haircut,’ I said eventually.

‘In twelve months? I should say I did, honey,’ Don said, tapping a cigarette against a case. He moved over, as Jerry ordered the drinks. ‘Sit down, why don’t you. Let me look at you.’

‘You guys know each other? That’s great,’ Jerry said. ‘Why didn’t you tell me, Eve? Don’s an old buddy of mine.’ He patted Don’s thigh, rather defensively. ‘Back on board to tighten a few scenes up.’ He shot a glance at Don. ‘Shh. This one up at the beach needs looking at. And when Rose is back in the office, and of course the final scene with her and Peter. I wanna really punch them up. This is gonna get us an Oscar, this picture, honey. One way or another.’

I nodded. I couldn’t stop smiling. ‘It’s very good to see you,’ I said, turning back to him. ‘How’ve you been?’

‘Me?’ His head was nodding. His long, strong fingers were splayed out on the table. He drummed them on the wood.
Clickety-clackety-clickety-clackety
. ‘I’m great, Rose. Oh, I’m just great.’

I watched him curiously. ‘I wondered—’

‘Don’cha wonder about me, honey. Rose.’ He nodded again. Then it struck me.
He’s drunk
. Jerry didn’t seem to notice, but then Jerry was a pretty hard drinker himself.

Moss was hovering behind us, and I knew why he was here, or at least wasn’t leaving. He was checking up on me.

‘Eve, come here and say hi!’ I looked over to the next table where June Dexter and Conrad, my co-stars, were sitting. I went over, almost relieved, to greet them.

‘When did you folks get here?’ I said.

June nudged Conrad. ‘We came up together this morning. Had little Miss Tiny Tears here crying his eyes out over some affair, so I thought I’d keep him company.’

She rolled her eyes as Conrad sat up straight, looked around and said, rather waspishly, ‘What a crock, young lady. I only came early to help you shake off that oaf you call a boyfriend and you know it.’ He smiled at me. ‘Darling, how are you? Did you finish that crossword?’

When Conrad played Captain Hawkins in
Lanterns Over Mandalay
he’d kept a book of crosswords in his jacket and produced it at odd, hilarious times, which is when I’d first loved him. Since then we’d do crosswords together in our dressing rooms during any break from filming. I loved working with Conrad; he made everything a little better, brought a little more warmth and sparkle in the world. June I knew less well, but she was fun and full of incredible stories. She was an ex-child star who’d got rid of an overbearing mother and fought off a lecherous studio head attempting to deflower her on her fifteenth birthday. She was always perky, a wise head on young shoulders, a terrific comedy actress. She’d also slept with virtually everyone I knew.

‘I’m fine,’ I told Conrad. ‘I made it up here. And now I need a drink.’

June drained her glass. ‘I’m having Gimlets, Eve darlin’. Join me. They’re out of this world. Never thought this goddamn place would have a bartender who knew how to make a decent cocktail.’ She gestured to him. ‘Another one for Eve here.’

Conrad smiled. ‘Eve, don’t fall in with her. She’s a bad influence on a good girl like you. I’ve always told you that. Stick with me, honey.’

‘Oh, I will,’ I said solemnly, but something like joy gripped me, because it was all so carefree and funny.

‘Goddammit!’

There was a splash and an oath from Don in the corner, and when I turned I saw he’d spilled his gin Martini over my gloves.

‘Shoot,’ he said, pressing them to his thigh, to blot the liquid with the wool of his suit. ‘Look at that.’ He pressed them again. ‘Oh, darn it.’ They were streaked with black, ash from his cigarette that he’d scattered over them somehow. He wasn’t even focusing, just smiling a stupid juvenile smile and patting the gloves ineffectually.

‘Give them to me,’ I said. I was almost embarrassed, as though he were my responsibility. I snatched the gloves back from him, surprised at how upset I was.

Don sank the rest of his drink. ‘No, no, no need for that, Rose,’ he said. His head seemed to be detached from his shoulders; it was rolling around loosely, like a marble in a pinball machine. I stared again at him. It had only been just over a year, but what a change that time had wrought in him; I could see it now, when I looked at him properly. It wasn’t just the lines on his face. He looked tired, too – so tired. He shrugged, defeated. ‘No need. Don’t want to cause you trouble.’

‘You’re not,’ I said. ‘Just – don’t.’

‘How’s married life? How’s it treating ya?’ he said. He brought a floppy hand up to loosen his collar; even when he was drunk, his shirt was pristinely pressed, the lines of his suit sharp on his long, lean body.

‘Very well, thank you,’ I answered primly.

He stared at me. ‘You’re not so green any more, are you.’

There were so many things I wanted to say to him, and they all sounded far too intimate; after all, I really did barely know him even though I felt he knew me, better than most people.
Why have you been blacklisted? Who’s your wife? Oh, Don, why are you drinking so much? What can I do to make it better? What can I do to make you grin again like you used to?

But I couldn’t ask, in front of everyone. There was an awkward silence. I smiled, pleasantly, my best polite Eve way.

Though he was also several drinks down, I could see Jerry knew Don was far gone. He patted him on the back. ‘Hey, old chum,’ he said. ‘Why don’t we go get some food? We’ll go over what we need to, Eve, then give you the changes tomorrow. It won’t affect the morning shoot, I promise you.’

He patted Don on the back, and he heaved himself to his feet. I stood up to let them pass, and Don’s hand dragged across my shoulder. I touched it lightly, a farewell gesture. I remembered then how his hands felt as he clutched mine, that long-ago day, how his lips felt on mine, our bodies meeting like that.

I shook my head, and said out loud, to distract myself, ‘Goodnight, boys.’

‘Night,’ Don muttered. He turned to look at me, but I pretended to be moving seats. I couldn’t bear to see his face. June and Conrad watched politely. I don’t think they knew how drunk Don was; more likely they were too absorbed in their own gay world to notice. I moved around to join them.

‘Say, Eve,’ June said, in a friendly way. ‘Did Gilbert hear yet about that part?’

Katie from the reception desk appeared with a Gimlet, and I took a long sip, giving her a grateful smile. ‘No, not yet. I’m so anxious he gets it. He’s perfect for it. It’d be plain wrong if it went to someone else.’

They both smiled, and Conrad stubbed his cigarette out. ‘Young love is a wonderful thing,’ he said. ‘Well, Gilbert’s a lucky guy, and I’m not the first person to say it.’ He smiled sweetly; Conrad was genuinely without an ego or a malicious bone in his body.

‘I’m the lucky one,’ I said, and in that moment I believed it. Gilbert had been so nice that morning after breakfast, kissing me goodbye, seeing me into the car, shutting the door solicitously, so much so that I had scolded myself for my bad behaviour towards him. Poor Gilbert, I’d told myself on the drive up. You fight for King and Country, you nearly die, and what awaits you when you return to your job? Indifference, then rejection. ‘I’m very lucky indeed.’ I smiled, glad to be thinking these thoughts. Behind me, Jerry shepherded Don out of the room as he muttered something to him. I heard my name, but I ignored it.

too good to last

WE BEGAN THE shoot on Pfeiffer Beach the next day. Shooting by the sea is not ideal in an industry that prizes the re-creation of reality above actual reality, with the result that people fuss around you, even more than usual. The sound of the sea and gales ruin take after take. The wind whips the hairdresser’s most careful preparations into a mockery. Screams of surprise kept ruining the shots, as the freezing cold surf slid across unsuspecting feet or once, to everyone’s amusement, when a tiny, translucent crab nipped at one of Jerry’s toes as he was yelling out a direction to the cinematographer. Yet it was wonderful to be there. The beach is only accessible down a long, thin road that is gothically dark, with arching trees and greying vines, then suddenly opening up at the end onto a wide cove about three-quarters of a mile long. A vast, dramatic lump of rock, with an arch hollowed out by the waves, stands in the centre, foaming surf crashing around it. I wanted to paddle beside it in between takes, but they wouldn’t let me. The current was too strong, they said.

For the first few days of the shoot Moss Fisher was everywhere. He came to the beach, watching all the while, sand flecking the pants of his suit, hands thrust into pockets, occasionally taking notes. He was there, he said, to report back on filming for
Photoplay
magazine, who wanted pictures and a story. I didn’t believe him. He or one of his underlings were always watching what went on, and normally I was used to him – but now I found his presence especially unsettling, I don’t know why. I think he would have had me attached to him with a string if he could. Moss’s one concession to the beach was his tortoiseshell glasses. His tanned, deeply lined, impassive face gave nothing away. But he looked like a mobster, a joke, standing there watching the comings and goings of the crew with their shirtsleeves and trouser legs rolled up against the sea.

I didn’t see Don after the first night. I think Jerry was protecting his old friend, keeping him out of the way. Jerry knew how good Don was. He also knew how much Moss and the executives disliked him. We shot on the beach for two days, then up on the hill, in an old cafe overlooking the sea. Through the windows the Californian coastline stretched out below us for miles and miles. I could see sea lions and otters playing in the water far below as the crew changed the lights, and adjusted my hair, June’s make-up, Conrad’s hairpiece.

It was hard work, tiring but joyous, and after a couple of days I had fallen in love with Big Sur. We all had. Perhaps it was the sea air, perhaps the magic of the place – Highway 1 the only way in and out, the people completely unlike Los Angeles people, or movie people. Every night we all of us ate together in the old wooden dining room, and a camaraderie sprung up, the like of which I’d never had on a film set before. I felt – we all did – that we were living in a lovely, gilded dream, like the memories of a summer childhood holiday, too good to last.

I have always loved the sea. Perhaps it was growing up far from water that did it, and thus the holiday I remember particularly is the summer before Rose died. In 1941 Daddy was a doctor at the army hospital in Keynsham, and he got four days’ leave in July. We went to Dorset and swam in Lulworth Cove every day. Sand got into everything. Rose ate a handful of sand when Mother told her not to, and was immediately sick. She went limp, her eyes rolling back in her head, totally still. It was terrifying, but my father knew what to do. He called out to our fellow holidaymakers, ‘She’s allergic to the seawater. Don’t worry. Nothing is wrong with her.’ I remember thinking then how lucky we were. If the sea was that dangerous for Rose it could render her totally limp and lifeless; though I loved it so much, best that we live far away from it, in the very middle of the country.

It was the last time we were all together for any long period of time as a family; my father was always at the hospital, and for the rest of the summer though I was always out in the garden or playing amongst the stones in the ruins of the house nearby, more and more my mother made Rose stay behind, for some breaking of the rules or another, some piece of silly behaviour or hysterical fit she was increasingly prone to having, when my parents tried to cross her.

And by the following summer Rose was dead, and I was playing alone amongst the stones, although she was always there with me, talking to me, telling me what to do, who should ride out next, and where I should hold the following night’s feasts, just as it always had been, as though I was acting and she was directing me.