Pages of Promise (26 page)
“And you haven’t heard from him since he disappeared?”
“Not a word, and I’ve had people looking for him. They’ve gone to his hometown, but he has no people there. He had no brothers or sisters, and his parents died some years ago. His friends say they haven’t heard from him. His royalty checks are deposited at a bank in Kentucky, near where he taught, and the bank absolutely will not tell us where the money goes from there. Personally, I don’t think he’s in the country. Perhaps he’s gone to Mexico, or who knows where.”
Mona felt the keen edge of disappointment. But she said, “I’m going to keep on trying. Will you give me the name of the college where he taught? I’ll go there next.”
“Certainly. The more power to you. Would you care to become one of my agents? I’d be glad to pay you a handsome sum if you could get him to sign a contract to do another book—any book!”
“I wouldn’t care to do that, Mr. Sutton.” She rose and put out her hand and when he took it said, “Thank you for your help.”
“Well, I haven’t been any help, Miss Stuart.” He released her hand and said, “Why are you so determined?” Then enlightenment came. “I know. You want to do a movie of
Bride
of Quietness.
”
“That’s right.”
“Well, so does every major producer and studio in Hollywood. It’s a fine book, but I don’t think you’ll have much success.”
“Perhaps not, but I must try.”
Sutton escorted her to the door. He put his hand on it and started to say something and then broke off, for Mona was staring at a framed photograph on the wall. It was one of seven or eight, and she stood carefully examining it.
“That’s a very old photograph of William Starr,” Sutton said. “We didn’t think it good enough to put on the jacket. It was a blowup made from a snapshot. He’s probably the most unphotographed best-selling writer in the country. Maybe in the world.”
Mona was staring at the photograph as if transfixed—it was the eyes that arrested her—the half-lidded look. She got as close to the picture as she could. It’s true it was a poor photo.
No, it isn’t—couldn’t be,
she thought. “But–but,” she muttered. She looked at Sutton, then back at the picture.
It’s all
in my mind. Because of my feelings I think every man I see looks like
him.
It looked enough like Tom Henderson to be a son or a brother, though. Her mind was going in circles, for the man she saw was Henderson! A younger version, without a beard and looking very fresh and unlined, but it was him.
Actress that she was, Mona composed herself. “Thank you very much for your time,” she said, without any explanation. She left the office and stopped outside the building, the bright sunlight causing her to blink. She leaned against the wall a moment and took a deep breath. Then she hailed a taxi and gave the name of her hotel. All the way through the busy streets she heard none of the angry clamor of the traffic or the shouts. She heard nothing, for her mind was grappling with what she’d learned.
He’s buried himself in those hills,
she thought.
It’s like he killed
William Starr, and there’s another man.
She knew some of it. His broken marriage had no doubt embittered him. She knew, also, from what she had heard that he had grown sickened by the publishing business, the biddings, and the underhanded methods of many agents who had pursued him relentlessly. Publishers had been no different, and she had heard enough from Lawrence Sutton to know that for a sensitive man like—William Starr—as she must call him now in her mind, that would have been unthinkable.
As soon as she got to her hotel room, she picked up the phone, and when the airline answered, she said, “I want a ticket on the next flight to Fort Smith, Arkansas.”
Mona made no pretense this time that her visit was to see her uncle Logan. She arrived late in the afternoon and spent the night. Logan was glad to see her, welcoming any company, and he talked enough so that Mona could simply smile and agree, adding a comment from time to time.
The next morning, she saddled Logan’s horse and rode to the Vine. Tom was coming out of the barn when she rode in. She dismounted and walked toward him quickly, and when he saw her, his face lightened. He put down the buckets he was carrying and came at once to meet her, wiping his hands on a bandana, which he stuck into his back pocket.
Taking her hand, he held it for a moment, then said, “Come inside. Most everyone is still at breakfast. They’ll be anxious to see you.”
“No. Not this time, Tom. I have to talk to you alone.”
Her seriousness brought a surprised look to Henderson’s face. “What is it?”
“Can we go for a walk?”
“Why, of course.” He offered his arm, and she walked along beside him. He gave her a curious look sideways from time to time and made a few remarks about what he had been doing on the place. They followed the path that ran along the edge of the woods to a pasture where some of the livestock grazed. A broken down section of rock fence ran close to the woods, and Tom asked, “Is this private enough, Mona?”
They sat down on a part of the fence that was still shaded by the woods from the morning sun. Mona had been wondering how to speak of her discovery. She finally discarded every approach except one. She lifted her eyes to Tom’s face and asked, “You’re William Starr, aren’t you?”
For just an instant, his sleepy-looking eyes didn’t look sleepy. He shrugged his shoulders. “I used to be. Well, that was my pen name. Now I’m just Tom Henderson.”
“Will you tell me about it?”
Hesitation showed in him, but he said, “All right. It’s a long story and not a happy one.”
Mona listened as he struggled to tell her how he had come to give up a successful life, with everything that most people dreamed of, for a small farm in the Ozarks. His eyes revealed how deeply he felt about what he had done. “I couldn’t stand that kind of life, and there was no escape from it. Everywhere agents, publishers—all calling, all wanting me to write another book.”
“But didn’t you want to write another book?”
“Of course I did, but I didn’t want it butchered. It was just a commercial thing to most of them, and I thought it was more than that, Mona.”
“It is more than that.” Mona began telling him again how deeply moved she had been by
Bride of Quietness.
Henderson listened carefully, but then he interrupted her. “You’ve come, Mona, because you want to make the book into a movie, and you want to be in it.”
“Yes. That’s why I came.” Mona’s answer was simple, and she made no apology. “I think it could be a great movie, not just a good movie. Adam has talked about it many times, that it needs to be available for those people who will never read a book but would go to see a film. Would you consider it, Tom? You don’t know Adam, but you know the family. Adam would never do anything to harm your book.”
“Maybe not intentionally,” Henderson said, slowly, “but Hollywood has a way of ruining everything it touches.”
His words raked across Mona’s nerves, for it had been said to her before, by him and by others. She said resignedly, “I guess that’s your final answer then.”
“Why, it’s final for today.” He looked at her and noted the loveliness of her hair as it framed her face. She looked very young in the dapple sunlight under the trees, and he said quietly, “I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. Nobody does.”
She had said all she could. Her surrender touched him. He expected a battle, but he recognized her honesty and integrity in refusing to give one. She smiled at him and said nothing more.
A woman’s silence may mean many things. He wondered what it meant in her. He was enticed by the mystery. It touched his own solitary thinking, and he felt a slowly rising excitement. She had the power to stir him, to deepen his hungers and his sense of loneliness.
She got to her feet, and he rose quickly. He asked, “Are you staying on for a while?”
“Do you want me to?”
The heat of something rash and timeless and thoughtless brushed them both. He opened his arms and she came to him. She put her arms around his neck as he embraced her, and she offered her lips. There was sweetness and richness and enjoyment of an intimacy they’d both longed for. When they released each other, Tom took a deep breath and said, “We’re having venison stew for lunch. Will you stay?”
“Oh, yes. I’ll stay.”
Mona’s visit was strange—at least to her. She saw Tom every day. She spent time with her uncle Logan. She listened to Richard preach in the church for Brother Crabtree, and for two weeks nothing changed.
She had come here to coerce Tom to do something, but she had discovered a softness and a gentleness in herself that would not permit her to do that. So her days passed in quiet contentment.
One blot marred her visit. After supper at the Vine one night, she went to the kitchen to help Carmen do the dishes. Mona felt a resistance in Carmen and with feminine wisdom knew what was troubling her. This was confirmed when Car-men faced her suddenly, her eyes narrowed to slits. “Leave him alone!” she whispered fiercely. “You have everything. When you come here, he’s restless. You could have any man you want. Why do you have to come here for him?”
Mona knew there was nothing she could say. This young woman admired and revered and, seemingly, loved Tom. It was natural enough—he had come for her and for her children when nobody else cared. He had given them safety, had become a haven, and Tom himself, Mona realized, had become the symbol of all that Carmen longed for.
“I’m sorry, Carmen,” she said quietly. She turned and walked away, knowing nothing else to say.
Later, when Tom spoke of Carmen, he seemed unaware of what was happening. He walked Mona to her car, and she made a tentative attempt to speak to the situation she saw developing.
“The kids are growing up. She’s happy,” Tom said.
“Are you sure about that?”
Henderson said nothing.
Mona continued. “I think she’s a very lonely woman. She craves what most women want.”
“I know she does,” he said.
“She’s a young woman. She wants a husband and a home. You know, don’t you, that it’s you she wants?”
“So what would you have me do, Mona? Throw her out because I don’t want to marry her?”
“Well, no, but—”
“Sometimes you just have to give people time to work through their own emotions. I think she can’t help what she feels.”
“That makes sense,” Mona conceded. He opened the car door and she got in.
“Love is a rare thing in this world. Shouldn’t I value hers for me and love her in return, even if it’s not the same? I don’t think Jesus was afraid to let people love him.”
She smiled. “I’ll have to think about that.” Mona didn’t agree with him altogether, but she saw that he’d given the matter a lot of thought. “Good night, Tom.”
He leaned in and kissed her. “Good night, Mona. Ride over in the morning. We’ll go on a picnic.”
M
ona sat down across from Irving Segal, one of the better-known producers in Hollywood. She felt nervous. At once he demanded, “Well, it’s a great script, isn’t it? I think it’ll be big-time, Mona.”
She hesitated for only a moment, then shook her head. “I think it’s not for me, Mr. Segal.”
Segal prided himself on casting his pictures well. He considered long before making a choice, and his temper slipped a little, for he had expected an instant acceptance. “I wouldn’t have offered you the role unless I was convinced you can do it!”
“It’s just not for me. I know you wouldn’t want anyone in your picture who couldn’t give it her best, and I just couldn’t do that.”
Segal was unaccustomed to people turning him down, and he glared at her. “You’re getting pretty choosy, Miss Stuart! I’ve heard you turned down a picture for Hopkins over at RKO, one that turned out to be pretty hot stuff.”
“Yes, I did.”
Segal puffed angrily at his cigar, then said, “Big stars can afford to do that, but you can’t. I’ll give you one more chance. We’ll say no more about it. Will you do it?”
Mona knew this decision would affect her future. She would never be asked again by Segal to do anything, and word would get around, just like it had gotten around to him about the RKO deal. But the script seemed to her a tawdry thing without any significance at all. It was full of not-so-subtle sexual allusions and guns and noise, and nothing in it appealed to her. She got to her feet and smiled, saying graciously, “It was kind of you to think of me, Mr. Segal, but I just can’t do it.” She felt his anger strike against her, and when he grunted and sat down and began going through papers without giving her another look, she turned and walked out of the office. Her knees felt slightly weak. Instead of taking a cab back to her apartment, she began to walk.
She searched the faces she met and saw several pretty young women—there seemed to be a superabundance of them in Hollywood—and she thought,
Any one of these would
give anything to have a chance like I just turned down. What’s wrong
with me?
She walked until she grew tired, then went back to her apartment. It was a period in her life when she could not reason clearly. Her thoughts went to Tom Henderson, and she knew that if he were here he would tell her something about the way she was acting. She thought about her life and, once more, was not pleased. She shook her shoulders angrily and muttered, “Mona, you’ve got to get over this!”
But she did not get over it. There was a hunger in her that she could not identify, a sadness that would rise in her every time she grew still, and, in desperation, she made a decision.
Mona had not been intimately acquainted with her aunt Lenora, but for years, at the family reunions, she had made it a point to spend time with this aunt. Though Lenora was confined to a wheelchair, she had worked tirelessly for the Salvation Army and had more life in her than almost anyone Mona knew. Something about the silver-haired woman drew her. How could a woman who had never had a so-called normal life be so filled with joy?
