Not Without You (35 page)

‘What did you do?’ I asked him slowly.

‘I got friends in the force. Tipped them off about who they needed to talk to, they go round to our friend Mr Matthews, catch him at home before he’s setting out for – Las Vegas, was it? Some trip he had planned. He said he’d come willingly. It was the best solution. We didn’t tell Don how serious it was. Don’t think he’d’ve agreed to go through with it all if he’d known. We said it was a little local difficulty. How am I supposed to know it’s jail, the works? Sure, he was angry but … He knows he owes Jerry, and by then it was too late.’

Moss’s eyes were black as night. He wiped his hand across his comb-over and nodded. I remember very clearly watching him, thinking,
He believes he’s right
.

‘Listen to me, Eve. He was trouble, that guy. He’s out of the picture now. So much the better. We got our three stars. Conrad’s OK, you’re OK, Gilbert’s OK. Some dipso writer goes to jail for being a homo – who cares?’

‘You’re – you’re a monster,’ I said. ‘You can’t mess with people’s lives like that.’

He leaned forward, across the scratched Formica surface, his flat face immobile, his lips moving only slightly, and he hissed, ‘It’s for the good of the studio, Eve. Millions of people spend their hard-earned dollars with us Friday night at the movies. It’s our job to give them the stars they want, the pictures they want. We have a responsibility. To the American public. You don’t get that, you don’t get anything.’

‘The studios are dying. They’re over, Moss,’ I hissed back at him. ‘You’re playing God.’

‘No, Eve. Some filthy homo decided to try and ruin his own life by getting sucked off by another guy in some dust-bowl clearing in the woods. I’m just saving him from himself.’

‘He wasn’t doing anything wrong!’ I thumped my fist on the table, and Moss’s hand shot out and grabbed me by the wrist, an iron grip that burnt my skin.

‘Shut up, goddammit,’ he said. ‘Shut your fat stupid mouth.’

I could see Don’s face as he waved me goodbye that morning in September, as I turned around on my seat for one last glimpse of him as we drove away. His dear, kind face, his crooked smile, his dark, passionate eyes, hand waving furiously as he followed the disappearing car intently.
Not without you.

I stood up, unable to bear another second with Moss. ‘I have to go,’ I said, and I walked away.

‘It was the right thing to do,’ he called after me. And then, ‘Think about Miami. It’s best for you. And the baby.’

Of course, movie stars don’t just storm out of places. I walked so fast out of the canteen I was almost running, in my black kitten heels, feet aching, back aching. There was a long row of buildings just outside, with parking spaces neatly labelled:
Mr Joseph Baxter, Head of Studio
;
Mr Leonard Baxter, Head of Production
;
Mr Moss Fisher, Head of Publicity
. The Rolls-Royce Mr Baxter and I had ridden in that fateful night had long since, like me, been traded in for a younger model: exactly the same, just newer, fresher. I stood and stared. Five years, five years.

‘Miss Noel?’ Gary, my driver, was leaning against the car parked in front of the sign:
Miss Eve Noel
. I had been there for a long time now. I had my own space. I looked around me, at the water tower, at the outside sets in the near distance, the ones the Baxters had built twenty years ago, exact replicas of New York tenements, with fire hydrants on the sidewalks and cracks made by a heavy’s hammer. Main Street, USA, complete with diner, sheriff’s office, grocery store and gentlemen’s outfitters. And beyond them the sound stages, twenty or so, each one the size of a small cathedral, black and scuffed when empty, bursting with colour, people, lights, when the cameras were rolling. I had spent so long on this lot it never occurred to me that I might not come back here again. But I wouldn’t, I knew that then. The studios were dead. The Baxters and Moss and their henchmen were still clinging to the old system, the one that had worked for them for so many years. They’d ignored television, the rise of the superstar, of pop idols and teen dreams, but it’d all catch up with them soon, it had to, and I wasn’t a green girl any more either. I’d grown up.

Gary was standing by the car, waiting for me to tell him what happened next. ‘Take me to Bel Air, please,’ I told him, and he nodded and opened the door. I climbed in, not looking back.

once I had a secret love

I KNEW WHERE Conrad lived: a modern condo, high up in Bel Air. I’d been there, in happier times, to a New Year’s Eve party he’d had a few years ago. Three – was it four? I wasn’t with Gilbert then. It was a young Hollywood gang I‘d run with for a while; Conrad was always in that group and it was always fun, girls in pedal pushers and with heavy fringes, boys in shirts without ties, playing Sinatra and Brubeck, someone passing round a joint, highballs and eggnog. Funny, that scene, I enjoyed it. I liked them all; it could have been back in London again, like we weren’t all famous, beautiful, adored by millions around the world – we were just young kids, enjoying ourselves.

My fingers were knitting themselves together, plucking at the tight skirt; I wished I could loosen the waistband as I worked out what I was going to say. ‘Won’t be long now,’ I whispered to my bump as we turned into the drive, and the baby moved cautiously, sleepily, inside me. ‘Nearly there, and then we’ll go, go away from here.’

‘Did you say something, Miss Noel?’ Gary called to me.

‘Nothing.’ I climbed out of the car. ‘Wait here. I won’t be long.’

Conrad’s maid answered the door. It was strange to be there in the middle of the day, unannounced: you didn’t do that in Hollywood. The surprise showed on her face. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Noel,’ she said. ‘Are you looking for Mr Joyce?’

‘Yes. I want to talk to him.’

She hesitated. ‘He’s – sure …’ she said doubtfully. ‘I don’t know if he’s working or not. Wait here, please.’

I waited alone in the lobby, looking at the parquet floors, the tartan wallpaper on one huge wall, festooned with kitsch: antlers, photos, awards on a shelf. I could hear music playing faintly in the distance. The front wall of the lobby was glass, looking right out over the canyon and onto Sunset and the rest of the city.

‘Well, hi! Miss Noel!’ Conrad’s voice came floating towards me from the direction of the music. I turned and he had his arms open. ‘This is a lovely surprise, darling. What can I do for you?’

‘I wanted to see you.’ Despite my anger, I couldn’t help smiling a little at the sight of him. We had been so close. He’d picked me up when I was blue, he was always on the end of a phone. We’d laugh for hours together, on sets, in restaurant booths, out on the town, in a way I never did with Gilbert. And when I think of Conrad now, it is with a smile, despite my sadness, because he never meant to hurt anyone.

‘How fine for me, darling.’ He licked his lips. ‘Want something to eat? A Martini?’

‘I’d like a Martini, thanks,’ I said. ‘I want to talk to you.’

‘Uh-huh, uh-huh. Come this way.’ He led me through to the den, which opened with glass sliding doors onto a terrace, complete with drinks cabinet, table and chairs. The music was Doris Day, I recognised it now. ‘We’ll sit here by the window, not outside – it’s too hot, darling. I’ll make your drink. See, I’ve got everything we need. Olive or a twist?’

‘Olive, please,’ I said.

‘Sit yourself down. Cigarette?’

‘No—’ I pushed my hand away. ‘I’m off them. I’m having a baby, did you know?’

‘Yes, yes, I heard,’ he said, glancing briefly at my stomach. ‘That’s so wonderful, darling, what a great mommy you’ll be. I’ll make you something safe, something sweet, you’ll love it, darling.’ He was chattering manically. There were two empty glasses already on the table, and an ashtray filled with butts. I could smell them, and there was a grey worm of ash hanging off one, as though the cigarette had burnt out. I wished that they weren’t there, that the table was wiped clean and sparkling again. Lately, anything messy disturbed me. I cleaned the house obsessively, waiting till Victoria was gone to polish and scrub and wipe.

‘What did they say at the studio? What does Mr Baxter think? Great publicity. I’ll bet Moss is pleased.’

‘I don’t really care,’ I said. ‘I don’t want a relationship with them any more.’

He swivelled round and the sun caught his face and I stared at him, as if seeing him properly. I hadn’t seen him in so long, not since the premiere of
Rose.
He’d never returned my calls, replied to my postcards, and now I knew why.

He had become terribly thin, too. His legs in their hip-hugging nylon pants were skeletal, his cheeks sunken. ‘Oh, Eve. Always the renegade. You’re about to win an Oscar for them, you shamelessly stole the picture from the rest of us, and you’re finished with them? I don’t know that they’ll let you, darling.’ He laughed and lit a cigarette, then jumped up to mix a drink. ‘I certainly wouldn’t. June and I are still furious at you for the way you’re the best thing in every scene. Unforgivable.’

The worm of ash from the dead cigarette fell onto the table, scattering into grey flakes, some mixing with the condensation from the glasses. I stared at it, itching to take my handkerchief out, wipe it down. He smiled, and jabbed his cigarette out, though it had barely been smoked, then handed me my drink. It had a little pink plastic stirrer in it, a tiny pineapple on the end, so incongruous, so sharp and pretty and silly. ‘To tomorrow, darling,’ he said, too loudly. ‘Good luck, not that you’ll need it. It was a great picture, wasn’t it.’

‘Yes, it was,’ I said. ‘Because of Don.’

‘Sure, sure,’ Conrad said. ‘Oh, I’m about to start working on something in two weeks. It’s a comedy. European. Should be a lot of fun.’

Something rang a bell in my head. I looked at him over my Martini glass. ‘You’re going to Europe?’

‘Sure, sure,’ he repeated, his eyes ranging around the room, out to the terrace, where a little sparrow landed on the cream-grey flagstones just beyond us. ‘It’s a silly thing, but Jerry’s finally brought it all together. We’ll have a blast.’

‘With Jerry? You’re making the film with Jerry?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Jerry’s the director. Good old Jerry, hey?’ He sank the rest of his drink.

‘Conrad,’ I said slowly. ‘Don’s in jail because of you. Don’t you realise that?’

He clamped his mouth shut. After a few seconds his pointed pink tongue shot out between his lips. He nodded nervously. ‘Sure I do,’ he said. ‘Don’s a great guy.’

‘That’s all you’ve got to say?’ I shook my head slowly, staring at him. ‘He’s in jail, his career’s over, his reputation, everything. For you.’

‘How do you know?’

‘How do I know? Because no one’ll employ him now!’ I was almost laughing. ‘You know what his track record was. He’ll never work in this town again. He—’

‘No –’ Conrad interrupted. ‘How do you know about Don … about all of this?’

‘Moss,’ I say. ‘He just told me. I came straight here. I’ve never really understood it, you see. Not till now.’

He gave a nervous half-giggle. ‘We have to keep it secret, you see. If it got out that I’d done it …’ He trailed off.

I got up slowly. ‘Goodbye, Conrad. I hope you enjoy Europe.’ I turned and looked at him. ‘I hope you realise how lucky you are.’

‘Hey,’ Conrad said, reaching out for my hand, pulling me back firmly but gently towards my chair. His voice was sharp. ‘Listen. I’m not lucky. I’m unlucky. I wish I wasn’t like this … I am. OK?’

He rattled his cocktail stick loudly against his own glass.

‘What?’ I said. ‘A liar?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘A queer.’

‘It’s not so bad,’ I said. ‘There’s nothing wrong with it. You’re not in prison—’

He laughed. A big belly laugh, like we were watching a Laurel and Hardy film. Like I’d just said something hilariously funny. It echoed around us, bouncing off the great glass walls, rolling down the hill, and I shivered as I watched him.

‘You have no idea, honey, no idea at all.’ He waved my hand away. ‘And I wish I wasn’t, Eve. I don’t want to be like this. I’ve tried so hard not to be like this. It’s just like my mama said it was, it’s a disease. I could cure myself if I let it happen, and I keep trying and trying and nothing … nothing. I’m sick.’ His beautiful mouth was turned down like a Pierrot’s, an almost cartoonish expression. His eyes bored into mine. They were hunted, dark, huge, so sad.

‘You’re not – you’re not sick,’ I said. ‘Conrad, you’re not.’

He gave a choked laugh. ‘Oh, yeah? I’ll just tell them then, shall I, tell the girls who cream themselves waiting outside the studio, the women running after me in the street, I’ll tell them I prefer screwing boys, shall I? See how they like that. What I am is illegal. There are people who want to castrate me. You know that?’

‘You could just—’ I began, but I didn’t know what to say next.

‘I can’t, Eve,’ he said. He began to laugh. ‘You know how often I wished I could be in love with you, ask you to marry me? That would have solved so many of my problems, you know? And I couldn’t do it. To me, or to you.’

Gilbert’s baby moved inside me again, and I wondered what life would have been like with Conrad. How I loved him more than my own husband, in so many ways, and yet how I hated him, now.

‘I’m supposed to be every housewife’s dream. And they have no idea what it’s like, to be lying all the time. That whenever you talk to someone, smile at someone, you’re hiding a part of yourself. The part that matters most, who you love, how you love. It’s all that matters, and it’s all a lie.’

‘Why can’t you just be honest, though?’ I said. ‘Tell the truth, let them set Don free. You’d feel better. I’m sure you would.’

‘You say that to me?’ He laughed. ‘I gave you away at your wedding, honey, your sham of a marriage, and you’ve got the nerve to come up here and lecture me about telling the truth so I go to jail and you can walk out of your marriage with your lover? Come on, Eve.’

How had we come to this? This gentle kind man whom I had liked so much, and I, heavy, pregnant and desperate, both trapped by our fame.

‘It’s different.’

‘It’s not, Eve, and you know it.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘I – I can’t.’ His breathing was shallow and quick. ‘You think I’m a coward. Well, I am, then. I don’t have the strength to do it.’