Revenge of a Not-So-Pretty Girl (21 page)

“Is that you?” I ask, because as young as the woman on
the television is, there is something familiar about her. “It said starring Evelyn Ryder. Are you Evelyn Ryder? Because I thought your last name was Downer.”

“It is me,” the old lady says without taking her eyes off the screen. “Or rather, it was.”

So Caroline was right. The old lady really was a movie star. And I’m in complete awe. The woman on the screen is stunning.

“You were so beautiful!” I whisper.

“Yes, hard to believe, isn’t it?”

But as I steal a glimpse at the old lady, I can make out some of the same features as the woman on the screen. Only, they’re a bit clouded by wrinkles and sun spots and time.

“Not that hard to believe,” I say.

And then the film buff starts talking. He’s excited and happy and sad and surprised all at the same time. I can’t tell whether he’s about to laugh, burst into tears, or pee his pants.

“One of the most talented stars of the early years of film.”

“If you can say that for someone who only made six pictures,” the old lady says.

“Oh, it’s not the quantity that counts.” The film buff has a really long, skinny head. It’s as if it was made of putty and stretched to the maximum. His nose is equally long, and turned up at the end. And his Adam’s apple is about as big as I’ve ever seen one. It’s as if he actually swallowed a real apple, whole, and got it stuck there in his throat.

“A star who never got her due,” he continues. “But look how brilliantly she shines. Not a twinkle, but full-on
combustion.” When he says this, he’s looking not at the old lady, but at the television screen. And he hardly blinks, as if he’s afraid he might miss something. It’s as if he’s in love with that young image of the old lady on the screen. Weird.

But I’m still focused on the whole name thing.

“I don’t get it. If your name’s Evelyn Ryder, why does it say Downer on the bell out front?”

“People in Hollywood often change their names,” the film buff answers instead of the old lady. “So much of Hollywood is an illusion. It was, and still is, about always looking your best, sounding your best, being the best. Downer’s a bit depressing-sounding, don’t you think? But Evelyn Ryder … magic!”

The old lady’s character has two love interests in the movie, and she’s running around the whole time trying to juggle them and hide one from the other. Her clothes seem to get fancier in every scene. And her hats get bigger and bigger.

“Did you always wear a hat?” I ask.

“The movie’s called
Lady in the Blue Fedora
,” the film buff answers again. Only, I wasn’t talking to him. And I’m starting to wonder if something’s gone wrong with the old lady’s tongue.

“It’s the very definition of a screwball comedy. Only the third movie Evelyn ever made. The first two, she was little more than a glorified extra. She was twenty-nine at the time, quite long in the tooth in those days for her first starring role, but her beauty couldn’t be denied. Wasn’t she the most beautiful?” Only, he really isn’t asking me this. He’s
telling me. And he’s hypnotized by what’s on the screen once again.

I start thinking about how small and lonely the old lady looked when I helped her into her bed that day. I start thinking of her not having anyone to share Easter dinner with. I start thinking of that old-as-dirt picture she keeps framed on her kitchen counter and the fact that she hasn’t seen her kid in all that time. What is it, again? Forty-two years. That’s three times the number of years I’ve been alive. I’m thinking of all this and trying to figure out how she went from being the glamorous star I’m watching on television to the lonely old woman sitting next to me.

“The movie opened surprisingly well, so the studios did everything to get as much publicity for it as possible,” the old lady finally says. I shoot a glance at the film buff, who I’m expecting to jump in at any moment. But he doesn’t. Instead, he gets up and fumbles with the video machine so that the movie is paused. Then he turns back to the old lady and stares, as if he’s a little boy admiring his mother.

“They actually told me never to leave the house without a hat,” Ms. Downer continues. “They treated me as if I were the same person as my character. It became, ‘What kind of hat will Evelyn Ryder turn up in today? How big will it be? Will there be feathers? Will it be satin, silk, plaid?’ I got so sick of the whole hat drama. Truth be told, I think I was jealous of my hats. I wanted people to see me for me, for my acting, and I felt they were only seeing me for my wardrobe.” She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

“So I refused to wear hats altogether. Then I realized that
as an actor, the worst thing that can happen is that no one is talking about you at all. And I realized that as a woman, you have to find your own style. You have to discover what fits your body, your personality, and make it work for you.”

“I never have enough money to get the clothes I want,” I blurt out. “I don’t get anything in the way of an allowance. Sometimes I see all the neighborhood kids wearing Lee jeans and Gloria Vanderbilt. And Pumas and Adidas sneakers. And I wish I could look just like them. And now we have this school celebration at the end of the year and everybody’s dressing up for it. I’m talking clothes from Bloomingdale’s with major designer names on the labels. They’re all acting like it’s the high school Oscars. But Mama doesn’t believe in wasting her money on anything that has a brand name. She doesn’t believe in wasting her money on clothes for me at all, unless I’m about to burst out of them.”

The old lady doesn’t say anything. She just nods at the film buff and he restarts the tape. I shake my head. What do Lee jeans and a fourteen-year-old’s allowance problems have to do with the style of a big glamorous movie star, anyway? When the movie finally ends, the film buff starts clapping and panting and wringing his hands. Then he takes out a notepad, asks a few questions about the making of the movie, and begins scribbling away. I’m not so sure they even remember I’m there, so I go into my bag and take out my geography book. We have a test in a couple of days. I look down at my watch and realize that since the movie ended, I’ve been sitting there getting ignored for a whole fifteen minutes, so I start gathering my stuff together.
That’s when the film buff jumps out of his chair and gets extra-terrifically excited.

“Oh, would you, Ms. Ryder? Would you?” And he’s clapping like a trained seal. The old lady stands slowly and walks into the hallway leading to the bedrooms. She’s not using her cane anymore.

“Faye, will you come in here with me?” she asks.

“Sure,” I say a little uncertainly, not quite sure what I’m about to get myself involved in.

I’m standing in
Ms. Downer’s bedroom, just in front of the closet, as she points to the shelf with all the hatboxes she made me restack.

“If you’d grab the top four for me …,” she says.

I do as she asks and put them on the bed. Ms. Downer takes the cover off the first box and removes a giant purple hat that looks as if it belongs in
Alice in Wonderland
.

“Is that from a movie?” I ask.

“Sometimes I bribed them into letting me keep some of my wardrobe. Believe it or not, I actually wore this out a few times, away from the movie set. I liked being an original.” She turns to me.

“You talked about all the other kids in their jeans and tennis shoes … and how you want to be like them. But why? Why look like everyone else? They’ve all just found a way to blend in. They’re afraid to stand out. And part of figuring out who you are is finding that special thing that expresses you, even if it’s the craziest thing
ever. Even if it’s something no one else on the planet will understand.”

I check out the old lady in her shapeless brown pants and beige sweater.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she says. “I guess the more life beat me down, the less energy I had for playing dress-up.”

“But you have such nice clothes here.”

“Maybe I hold on to them as a reminder of what used to be. Anyway, you’re young. You need to find your own unique style.”

“I don’t really know if there’s anything that unique about me,” I say. “I’m pretty average.”

This strange smile comes across the old lady’s lips. “We haven’t known each other so long,” she says. “But the last word I’d use to describe you is average.”

“Well, average-looking. I’ll never look like you did.”

The old lady gets up and puts that
Alice in Wonderland
hat on my head and turns me in the direction of the mirror on her dresser.

“I had people who picked clothes out for me, people who put on my makeup, styled my hair. I had people who drove me around town, called me in the morning to make sure I was awake. Sometimes all that fussing and fawning makes you lose touch with reality.” She closes her eyes for a moment.

“How do you like this one?” she asks once her eyes open up again. I shake my head and shudder a little.

“You’re probably right about that,” she says with a little laugh.

I follow her back into the living room wearing a green hat with feathers sticking out and what looks like three squirrel tails hanging from the back. She wears a giant black one with a brim wide enough to block out the entire sun.

The archivist lets out a loud gasp, and I turn toward him, wondering if he’s choked on his Adam’s apple.

“It’s like the calendar has been flipped back to the thirties,” he says before pointing to the hat I’m wearing. “
Summertime Harvest
. Another RKO picture. Release year 1934.”

“That’s very impressive, William,” the old lady says.

“I told you,” he says as he shoots me a look. “I worship this woman, for she is a goddess.”

The film buff then points to the old lady’s hat. “
Bolero
, also 1934.” And he just sits there grinning and staring at the old lady with these wide, excited eyes. He looks as if he’s about to burst.

We model another couple of hats before the old lady excuses herself and goes off to the bathroom, leaving the archivist and me alone. I have to will myself not to stare at that lump in his neck as he writes on his notepad.

“How do you know Ms. Ryder?” he asks without looking up.

“Just from the neighborhood.”

“You’re a lucky little girl. You might be too young to realize it, but you’re in the presence of greatness. So much talent and grace and promise. And only six films. Only four starring roles. Personally, I think the world lost out as much as she did when she turned her back on it all.”

“Why did she? What happened?”

“Not enough, and at the same time, too much.”

“Okaaay.” I drag out the word, since I have no idea what he’s talking about. “So are you writing a book?”

He nods.

“About her whole life?”

“At first, I was just interested in her career. To be honest, I didn’t even know she was still alive when I started this project. And when I found her a year and a half ago, she wouldn’t even talk to me. It took almost eight months. But I quickly realized how much her personal life affected every move she made. How it affected her turning her back on a potentially brilliant career so quickly.”

“When you say personal life, are you talking about her daughter?”

He closes his notepad and looks directly at me. “You know about that?”

“I know she hasn’t seen her in a very long time. And I know how sorry that makes her. But she won’t say much else about it.”

“It’s too painful for her. I think the only reason she finally agreed to talk to me is that she hopes her daughter will pick up this book one day and understand why Evelyn did what she did. Of course, by that time, it will be too late.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that one of the guidelines I had to comply with to get her to cooperate was that the book would be published only on her death. It’s more or less written. I’m just here doing some fact-checking. All the artwork has been
completed. But not until she’s gone will the public be able to read it.”

“Wow … Well, do you even know where her daughter is? What her name is?”

“Her name is Delaine Lawson. And the sad part is that she moved back here from Florida a couple of years ago and works at a nursing home right in Manhattan. They’re just a train ride apart.”

“Does Ms. Downer know that? Does she know how close she is?”

“I offered to tell her, but she doesn’t want to know. Her only concern is that Delaine is doing okay, and that Delaine’s son, who is grown and living on his own, is also okay.”

“But it just doesn’t make any sense,” I say. “Them living in the same city and not speaking. No matter what’s happened between them.”

“For some people, it’s easier to walk away from difficulties than to confront them.”

“Well, maybe you should try talking to the daughter … to this Delaine Lawson person.”

“I did. I even tried to interview her for the book, but she refused to be a part of it. I think she expelled Evelyn from her life a long time ago and doesn’t want to stir up any of those emotions.”

“But why? What could have happened between them that was so bad?” I ask.