Stars Over Sunset Boulevard (16 page)

A
udrey tipped her head as she sat on the divan, her knees curled up under her, and drank from the cocktail in her hand. Her satin dressing gown was tied loosely around her. She pulled at the lapels as across from her in an armchair Vince lifted his own drink to his mouth.

“Does your fiancée know where you are?” she said as she rearranged the bathrobe's folds. Her hair had tumbled out of its pins and fell about her face in fat curls.

“She's the understanding type. She knows I can appreciate all kinds of beauty without getting myself into trouble.” He raised his glass. “To your enduring loveliness, Birthday Girl.”

“Don't call me that.” She took another sip.

“Hey. I think it's high time you got out of there, Audie. I think this is the best thing that could have happened to you. Best birthday present in the world.”

“I know what you think.”

“And I know what
you
think. You can't wait around for good things to happen to you, darlin'.”

She studied the liquid in her glass, shimmering, cool, and bracing. “I wasn't waiting.”

“Yes, you were.”

Audrey emptied the glass and handed it to him. “Well, I'm done with waiting.”

“Good for you.”

A truck pulled up alongside the curb outside. From windows that had been opened to let in the cooler, late-August night air, Audrey watched Violet and Bert get out.

“Ah. At last we can have a party.” Audrey rose unsteadily to her feet and fluffed up her hair, and tied the sash of her robe tighter. “How do I look?”

“Smashing, as always. Not a day over twenty-five.”

“Why do I put up with you?”

Vince laughed as she strode toward the front door and swung it open. “Come in, come in!” she said.

Violet and Bert stood on the welcome mat, facing each other. Bert had his arm around Violet's waist. They both turned their heads in surprise.

For a second, Audrey could only stare at the curl of Bert's arm around Violet's back and how close she stood to him.

“I thought I heard the truck,” she said, smiling and reaching out to pull Bert into the house. “Come inside, you two. Vince is making Sidecars.”

Bert was three steps into the house before Violet spoke. “Bert was just leaving,” she said.

“Nonsense.” Audrey tugged Bert fully into the living room and Violet followed. “Vince, this is my dear friend Bert. The first real friend I made here in Hollywood.”

Vince smiled and extended a hand. “Pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Uh. Likewise,” Bert said numbly.

“And here is my sweet little Southern belle roommate, Violet.” Audrey reached behind her for Violet. He extended his hand toward her also.

“Ah, Violet. I've heard so much about you.”

“So nice to meet you, Vince.” Violet shook his hand, an unmistakable “so this is Vince” look in her eyes.

Vince took a seat on the sofa and proceeded to pour Cointreau into a shaker on the coffee table.

“Sit with us!” Audrey said gaily, pulling Violet down on the couch with her. “Take the other armchair, Bert, darling.”

Bert hesitated a second. “It's getting late. I should probably go.”

Audrey frowned at him. “Since when is midnight late? Don't be a stick in the mud, Bert. Not you.”

She didn't wait for him to respond, but leaned forward and took a paring knife from the coffee table next to a trio of limes. She grabbed one of the limes, cut it in two, and handed one of the halves to Vince. He squeezed the fruit into the shaker and liquid squirted out. A tiny jet of lime juice hit Audrey's neck and she squealed in mock alarm. It had felt like a kiss. Bert sat slowly down with an unreadable expression on his face.

Vince put the cover on the shaker and began to shake it.

“Oh!” Audrey exclaimed. “We need two more glasses. I'll get them.”

“I don't need one.” Bert started to rise. But Audrey, already on her feet, pushed him back onto the chair.

“Yes, you do. We are celebrating.”

“Celebrating what?” Bert said.

“It's her b—,” Violet began, but Audrey cut her off.

“The end of an era!” Audrey said dramatically as she
headed to the kitchen. She returned a moment later with two more tumblers.

She plopped back down next to Violet and set the glasses on the coffee table.

“Wonderful. Here we are,” Vince said as he poured.

Audrey extended a tumbler toward Bert. He stared at her for a moment before he took it. It was almost as if he was wondering what he had ever seen in her.
What, indeed?
Audrey raised her own tumbler high and so did Vince.

“Cheers!” she said.

Bert held his glass but did not drink. “What exactly are we toasting?”

“I told you. The end of an era.”

“And what era would that be?”

Audrey stared at Bert, a smile plastered to her face, and didn't reply. She had never seen him so distant from her. So detached. He used to look at her with different eyes.

“Come on, then, Bert,” Vince said encouragingly. “Drink up.”

Bert ignored him. “What era would that be, Audrey?” he said again, this time with more determination.

Her eyes were suddenly burning with ready tears. “The end of my captivity,” she finally answered, still smiling. She brought the drink to her lips and tipped it back, draining the glass.

“You lost your job today,” Bert said, in a kinder, gentler tone.

Audrey wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I haven't lost anything.”

Bert leaned forward in his chair, as if he and she were alone in the room and he was speaking only to her. “Your supervisor let you go, Audrey.” His tone now brimmed with disappointment and concern. Maybe even sorrow.

“I let
her
go,” Audrey said defiantly, as she extended her glass to Vince. “I'll have another, Vincent.”

Vince nodded toward Bert's drink in his hand. “How about it, Bert? The lady wants to celebrate. It's her life.”

Bert set his drink down on the table in front of him. “That's right. It is. And we each only get the one. I think I should be going. Good night.” He stood and headed for the front door. Violet jumped up to open it for him.

“Come back, Bert! Don't be a fuddy-duddy!” Audrey called after him.

But Bert didn't turn back or answer her. He stepped outside and Violet followed him, shutting the door behind her.

Vince rose and reached for his sport coat and hat.

Audrey stared up at him. “You're leaving now, too? Doesn't anybody know how to have a good time anymore?”

Vince leaned over her and kissed her forehead. “Even good times must come to an end at some point, Audie. So that there can be more on another day.” He stroked her cheek.

Audrey didn't want to dwell on such philosophical thoughts. “Hand me Bert's drink.”

As Violet came back inside, Vince obeyed.

“It was very nice to meet you,” he said a moment later, as he walked toward Violet. “Take care of her, will you? It's been a rough day,” he said in low tones, but Audrey caught every word. He tipped his hat to them both as he let himself out.

Violet turned to her when the front door closed. Audrey took a long swig of Bert's drink.

“How about if I help you get into bed?” Violet said as she took a step toward Audrey.

Audrey looked at Violet over the rim of the drink. “I
can take artifice from just about anybody, but not from Bert and not you.”

“What . . . what do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” She closed her eyes and folded one arm lazily over her head, and with her other hand rested the tumbler on her bosom. “Don't treat me like a child, Violet.”

When Violet said nothing, Audrey opened her eyes. “For heaven's sake, Violet. Sit down and enjoy your drink.”

Violet made her way to the armchair where Bert had been and sat down. She picked up her glass.

“Just please don't patronize me, Violet. Please?”

“I wasn't trying to. I was just—”

“Try the drink. Vince makes a devilishly tangy Sidecar.”

Violet lifted the glass to her mouth and sampled the concoction inside. She startled at its invigorating effect.

“Do you ever feel like you are living someone else's life?” Audrey set the tumbler down on the coffee table and reached for her cigarettes and lighter. Droplets of lime juice had spattered the cigarette box. She lowered her arm from above her head and wiped the liquid away with a finger.

“Sometimes.”

Audrey nodded as she lit a cigarette. She inhaled deeply and stared up at the ceiling. “If you could be living any kind of life but the one you've been handed, what would it be?”

Violet hesitated a second. “I don't know.”

Audrey lowered her gaze to look at Violet. “Sure you do. What is it you want from life, Violet? What have you always wanted?”

Another pause from her roommate. “It doesn't matter what I've always wanted. I can't have it.”

Audrey sat up on the couch on her elbows. “Why? Why can't you have it?”

Violet took another drink and lowered the glass to the table as she swallowed. “Because what I've always wanted is to be a mother. Even when I was little, I didn't want to be a teacher or a nurse or a stupid secretary. I wanted to be a wife and mother and have a sweet little house with a white fence and rosebushes and toys in the yard. I wanted to feel a baby growing inside me and then push him or her out into the big world, and then take that child to my breast and sing lullabies. And I wanted to soothe away fevers and fears, kiss away the hurts and doubts, and be that child's very universe. That's what I was raised to be. That's what I wanted to be.”

Audrey stared at Violet, her mouth slightly open. “And?”

Violet shrugged. “Something was wrong inside me and I had to have surgery. And now I can't have children.”

“That's terrible,” Audrey whispered.

“Yes, it is,” Violet murmured, and she flicked away a spilled tear.

“Is that why that man named Franklin broke things off with you?”

Violet nodded.

“Lousy scoundrel.”

Violet said nothing.

“I just don't get it.” Audrey reached for Bert's drink again. “I really don't. You, who would make a great mother, can't get pregnant, and I, who would make a terrible mother, wouldn't have any trouble with that at all.”

Violet blinked a second set of tears.

“That just makes no sense,” Audrey continued, thoroughly perplexed by the arbitrary unfairness of life. “Why would it be so awful if you got what you wanted and I got what I wanted? You want to be a mother; I want to be a movie star. It's not like we're asking for wings to fly or
immortality or to play hopscotch on the moon. Lots of people are mothers. Lots of people are movie stars. I just don't get it.”

Violet sighed heavily. “I don't, either.”

Silence hung between for them for a moment. “I've been pregnant twice.” The confession fell from her lips as though it had bubbled out from the deep with a force of its own.

Violet slowly looked up from her glass. “What?”

“You already know about the first time,” Audrey said as the buried year that still felt like it had been someone else's life continued to froth out of her. “After the movie was canceled, Mr. Stiles tried to get me other auditions and screen tests. He did get a few, but no one wanted me, Violet. No one. It was such a . . . such a dark time for me. And then when I got pregnant again I . . .” Audrey's voice fell away.

“You what?” Violet said, her fingers white around the tumbler in her hand.

Audrey pushed away the fragmented images of the parties, the alcohol, the old desire to just disappear the way her mother had. “The father wasn't anyone I truly cared about, and he definitely didn't care about me. I never saw that baby. I . . . They wouldn't let me. I don't even know who adopted it.”

“They?” Violet's voice sounded splintered.

“I spent a year away,” Audrey said, the multiple cocktails making it easier to speak of the twelve months she did not often mentally revisit.

“
Who
didn't let you see your baby?” Violet sounded insistent.

“The doctors and nurses at the sanitorium.”

Violet stared at her, wide-eyed.

“After I lost the movie, no one would hire me for any
kind of movie. It was very disheartening and I . . . Well, after a while I didn't care what happened to me,” Audrey said. “I went to parties and drank too much and woke up in strange beds, and I didn't care. I fell into such a terrible state of sadness that Aunt Jo convinced me to voluntarily have myself committed so that I could get well. I was pregnant then and didn't even know it yet. I had that baby at the hospital and I never saw it. When I was ready to be released, it was the one time Aunt Jo said maybe I should go home. But I didn't want to go back home to my father, as a failure. That's the way I had felt when I left.” As these words tumbled from Audrey's mouth, she remembered the look in her father's face the only time he came to visit her at the sanitorium. He had barely been able to speak to her. She closed her eyes tight to squash that memory and flatten it back into place.

“And they wouldn't let you keep your baby?”

Audrey heard Violet's question but it floated away the second Violet asked it, as if that query belonged to a completely different conversation. “You know, Violet,” Audrey continued sleepily, “sometimes I just want to say to hell with all of it. I just want to say to hell with the movie business. There's no one in heaven watching over me. Sometimes I just want to fall in love with a good man like Bert and live an anonymous, ordinary life with that little house you talked about with the toys in the yard. Sometimes that seems like the sweetest dream of all. Can you see me living that life, Violet?”