Stars Over Sunset Boulevard (18 page)

October 1939

A
blanket of predawn mist shrouded the bungalow in ghostly white fog as Audrey slipped her key into the lock. She turned and waved at the man who had brought her home, and was now sitting in his sleek Packard at the curb. Desmond, the aspiring playwright who had wanted her to stay overnight at his place, had been playfully disappointed when she'd declined. They'd spent the evening dancing and drinking at the Trocadero, and then continued with impromptu festivities at a friend of Desmond's whose Beverly Hills mansion easily accommodated the forty people that showed up. Desmond waved back and then sped away.

She liked Desmond. He was ten years older than she was, a confirmed bachelor—so he liked to say—and a gifted writer. Several of his plays had been produced in Los Angeles over the past few years; one had even caught Broadway's eye. Glen Wainwright, Desmond's longtime
friend with the Beverly Hills mansion and a passion for live theater, had funded the local productions. Vince had told Audrey weeks ago that Desmond was being courted to write screenplays for several movie studios. He was a good person to know. But what she enjoyed best about Desmond was that he wasn't like the other men in Hollywood with whom she'd been trying to get close. Desmond Hale was hungry for fame, just like she was. He was further along than she in his pursuit of happiness, but he still craved what he didn't yet have. It was of secondary importance to Audrey that Desmond had friends in well-appointed places.

She stepped inside quietly, so as not to wake Violet. Their friendship was different now that Audrey was no longer at Selznick International and Violet and Bert were a couple. She had acclimated to not going into the studio every day far more easily than she'd gotten used to the idea that Violet and Bert were in love with each other. In all the years Audrey had known Bert, he had always had a calming influence on her, and she'd been careful not to lead him on romantically or trample on his obvious affection for her. She had grown fond of his attraction to her and hadn't realized just how much until she had misplaced that costume hat and almost gotten him fired. He had started to look at her differently after that. And then there had been that disastrous evening Bert came to the house after she'd lost her job. The way he had looked at her . . . If Violet hadn't been there after he left, she surely would have swallowed every pill in that bottle. If there was anyone she might have given up her career dreams for, it would have been Bert.

Except that he deserved someone better than her.

And now he had fallen in love with Violet. And she with him. She wondered if he knew Violet could never
give him children. It would be just like Bert to love her anyway.

Valentino sidled up to her as she closed the front door and kicked off her shoes. He meowed loudly and she shushed him. She scooped up the cat and lowered her purse and outer wrap onto the sofa as she walked past it. In the little hallway that led to the bedrooms she stopped. Violet's door was open, her bed made.

Instinctively Audrey looked at her watch. Five twenty-two in the morning. Violet hadn't slept in her bed. All night. Half alarmed and half shocked, Audrey set down the cat and walked into the kitchen. The hoped-for note lay propped up against a juice glass.

We will be home on Sunday! Don't worry. All is well!

Love, Violet

Audrey frowned as she read the note a second time.

We. We will be home on Sunday.
Had Violet actually gone with Bert on a trip somewhere? Just the two of them?

Were they sleeping together?

“I don't believe it,” Audrey whispered.

“Meow,” said Valentino.

She stood there for a few seconds longer, unable to fathom the thought that sweet, innocent Violet was sharing a bed with kindhearted Bert Redmond.

Bert.

When at last she turned for her bedroom, she tossed the note back toward the table, but it wafted to the floor when she walked away.

Much later, after Audrey had slept a few hours,
Desmond called to ask if she wanted to see a play that night. They went back to his place for drinks afterward and he asked her to stay.

She stayed.

•   •   •

Audrey had been home only for a few minutes late Sunday afternoon when she heard Bert's truck pull up just outside the bungalow. From the armchair by the front-room window, she watched Violet get out of the truck. Bert got out, too, reached into the back, and pulled out a small suitcase, which he handed to her.

He said something to Violet and she shook her head, leaned up, and kissed him. Then she started up the short path to the front door. Violet had just opened it when Audrey heard Bert call out, “I'll be back in an hour or two.”

“All right!” Violet said.

And then she was in the house, clutching her little suitcase, her cheeks flushed with excitement. And something else. At first Violet didn't see Audrey sitting there with a cup of coffee and the unread Sunday paper in her lap. When she did see her, she jumped.

“Spent the weekend with Bert, did you?” Audrey asked, a knowing tone in her voice.

“Oh my goodness! Audrey! You frightened me!” Violet laughed like a schoolgirl who did not sound frightened at all. She set down her suitcase and unbuttoned her coat.

“Well, you surprised me.” Audrey smiled slyly and put the cup on the coffee table. “What would your sweet Southern mama say if she knew you had spent the weekend with a man?”

Violet giggled and plopped down on the couch. “I already told her.”

Audrey laughed. “You
what
?”

“I called home. Yesterday. From the hotel in Las Vegas. I told my parents where I was and who I was with.”

Audrey couldn't believe what she was hearing. “Oh, really?”

Violet nodded happily. “Yes, ma'am. I did!”

“And were you sober when you did this?”

Again Violet chuckled. “Well, I'd had some champagne by that time. So not exactly.”

Audrey shook her head. “Violet, Violet. And what did your parents say?”

Violet leaned forward on the sofa. Her eyes were bright with mischievous glee. “Mama started crying and Daddy started yelling, and I had to tell them that if they both didn't stop I was going to hang up. They simmered down, and then I told them what a wonderful man Bert is, that he comes from a wonderful family, that I love him very much. Mother kept saying, ‘But he's not Southern!' And Daddy kept saying, ‘What kind of future does a costume boy have?' That's what he called Bert—a costume boy.”

Words failed Audrey. “Violet, I must say, you have taken me completely by surprise. You and Bert both. I hardly know what to even say to you.”

Violet's happy grin increased. “Well, how about congratulations?”

Audrey felt the air around her grow still.

Violet thrust her left hand forward. A gold band with a tiny diamond sparkled on Violet's finger and happy tears shimmered in her eyes.

“We got married!”

The moment felt like make-believe, like a line in a script. “Married?” Audrey echoed.

Violet pulled her arm back to admire the ring herself.
“It wasn't like we planned it. Not really. We were just cuddling and kissing Friday night, very late, and we both just wanted to be together, you know, in the married way. And we started laughing about how expensive and complicated weddings are when it really is so very simple for two people who love each other to pledge their devotion and sign a paper. So very simple. Right?”

Audrey could neither nod in agreement nor shake her head to the contrary. After a second, Violet went on.

“So we just said, ‘Let's do it. Let's elope.' And the next thing you know, we are heading out of Los Angeles in the middle of the night to drive to Las Vegas. Bert was a little nervous about doing something so spontaneous and he wanted to call his mother to tell her, but he didn't when I said I wasn't going to call mine until after. Once we got there and had breakfast, we bought two very simple rings and some white daisies at a roadside stand. Then we filled out some papers, and next thing you know we're both saying, ‘I do!' Bert kept saying, ‘I can't believe we just did that!' and I kept saying, ‘I know, I know!' Then we found this sweet honeymoon cottage to stay the night in, and, well, you know!” Violet blushed crimson.

“And your parents?” Audrey said, numb with surprise and a strange sense of disappointment. “They are all right with this?”

“Well, Mama was sad that I hadn't been married in a church and that she hadn't been there. I can understand her melancholy about that. But Bert wouldn't have wanted a big Montgomery wedding that would have put him in the center of all that attention. He's a very private person, you know.”

Audrey nodded. “Yes, I know.”

“We will go home to Montgomery for Christmas—
Mama and Daddy are insisting on it. They want to host a wedding reception for us. The premiere of
Gone With the Wind
will have taken place by then, so we won't be so incredibly busy. I am so excited for all my Montgomery friends to meet Bert! He's such a gentleman, everyone will think he was Alabama born and raised!”

“No doubt,” Audrey said.

Violet leaned across the table and took Audrey's hands in hers. “You are happy for me, aren't you?”

“I'm happy if you're happy.”

Violet closed her eyes and squeezed Audrey's hands. “I'm over-the-moon happy!”

“And you will remember what you promised me?”

Violet nodded. “Not to forget you.”

Audrey squeezed Violet's hands in return. “To be good to Bert. You will be good to Bert, won't you?”

Violet hesitated only a second. “Of course! I love Bert, Audrey. I do. And he loves me.”

“You got what you wanted,” Audrey murmured a second later, as tears stung her eyes. They would be happy together, these two. Life wouldn't always be easy, certainly, but at least they would always have each other to lean on.

“Mostly,” Violet whispered in return, her eyes glassy as well.

“The love between you will be enough—I'm sure of that.”

Violet nodded, unable to say anything else.

It occurred to Audrey then that Violet would be leaving the bungalow that very night. “I guess I've lost you as a roommate,” she said.

“But not as a friend,” Violet said quickly. She stood up, reached over, and pulled Audrey up out of her chair and into an embrace. “Thank you for everything, Audrey.”

Audrey laughed lightly. “I didn't do anything.”

Violet broke away. “You introduced me to Bert! I owe you everything.”

Then Violet pulled away and headed to her room to pack her belongings.

December 1939

V
iolet awoke before her husband, pulled from sleep by a troubling dream that faded from her memory even as she opened her eyes. She didn't want to remember what had been chasing her while she slept, so she sat up in the bed and leaned back against the headboard so that sleep could not return to her. The pale light of a mid-December daybreak seeped through the blinds of the one narrow window in their bedroom, and she glanced at Bert lying beside her. Violet reached out a hand to gently touch his shoulder, not to awaken him but rather to reassure herself as she had done every morning since he'd married her that he was indeed lying next to her.

She turned her head to look at the clock on the bedside table. Just a few minutes after six. She switched off the alarm so that Bert could sleep a little while longer. It would be quiet at the studio that day; they didn't need to rush. Selznick and his entourage were all in Atlanta for the
premiere of
Gone With the Wind
. She rose from bed, slipped on her robe and slippers, and tiptoed out to the main room of their half of the tiny duplex they were renting. The open space tripled as living area, dining room, and kitchen. It was a sweet little place. Not far from the studio but away from the busiest streets. They didn't have much for furnishings or other conveniences but they had managed to come by the necessities at a used furniture store. Her parents had sent a wedding gift of china in an elegant pattern Violet might have liked a year or so ago, but that seemed out of place in their humble quarters. But since it was all they had for dishes, they ate everything off it. Bert's mother, Delores, had put together a box of hand-me-downs from her own kitchen for Violet and Bert to set up housekeeping with, which she seemed happy enough to do after she recovered from the surprise and shock of her son's elopement. When they drove up to Santa Barbara the weekend after they married, Violet had overheard Delores ask Bert in a hushed tone if she was in the family way. After a quick prick of anxiety, Violet had taken comfort in Bert's quick defense of her high morals. Delores seemed to relax after that, at least somewhat. She said more than once how astonished she was, though it did not seem that she was unhappy about Violet being her new daughter-in-law. Just surprised. Delores had now had six weeks to get used to the idea of Bert and Violet being married. Everyone had. It was not so astonishing anymore, surely.

After getting the coffee going, Violet sat down with the morning paper and the unopened mail from yesterday, which included a gas bill and a letter from her mother. She noted with satisfaction that the headline story in the newspaper was the success of last night's premiere in Atlanta. Violet glanced at all the news stories on the front page,
even the ones that didn't interest her, until at last she set down the paper. She couldn't put off reading her mother's letter forever. It was the second one since Violet had eloped; the first had arrived ten days after she and Bert had married. Mama had closed that note with how much she and Daddy and everyone else were looking forward to meeting Bert at Christmas, and a PS that read,
You
did
tell him, didn't you?

Violet hadn't answered that letter. She had been too busy. Too distracted with the details of setting up a house. She reached for the newest one, tore open the flap, and pulled out the single sheet of paper.

Dear Violet,

I've been anxious to hear back from you, and while I've been waiting it has occurred to me that perhaps you think I stuck my nose in where it doesn't belong. Perhaps you think I shouldn't have asked what I did in my last letter. Maybe I shouldn't have.

Since you have not written me, which is not like you, I cannot help but think I have my answer—you did not tell Bert that you cannot give him children. I so very much hope that I am mistaken. If you love this man as you say you do, surely you agree that he is worthy of knowing the truth.

I will say nothing more of it after this, Violet.

Until we see you at Christmas,

Love, Mama

Violet stared at the letter for several long minutes after she'd read the last word. It wasn't until she heard footfalls
behind her that she folded the letter into thirds and slipped it back in its envelope.

A second later Bert's arms were around her and he was kissing the back of her head. “Good morning. Letter from your mother?”

“Yes.” She put the letter in her robe pocket with one hand and reached up to touch his face with the other. “She and Daddy can't wait to meet you when we go home next week.”

He nuzzled her neck before standing straight and heading for the coffeepot on the stove. “She and all your friends must be pretty angry with me for denying everyone a fancy wedding to attend.”

“The minute they meet you they won't care about any of that. They're going to love you. Just like I do.”

Bert poured coffee into two bone china cups and handed her one. “If you say so,” he said, grinning.

She took the offered cup. “I know so.”

He sipped his coffee and grimaced at its heat. “It will be strange not being with my mother and sisters this Christmas, especially with my mother's health the way it is,” he said, almost as if musing aloud to himself.

“We can take turns where we spend our Christmases, darling. Next year we can stay in California, and then maybe the following Christmas we can go back to Alabama.”

“Unless we've a little one to make us want to stay close to home.” He brought the cup back to his lips as he winked at her.

She laughed despite a slight lurching sensation inside her stomach. “Look,” she said a second later. “The premiere went well.” She handed him the newspaper as she stood. A corner of the envelope in her pocket was poking her thigh.

Violet moved toward the fridge to get out the carton of eggs and a bottle of milk. Taped to the door was an
invitation from Audrey to her Christmas party that evening. Bert wanted to go. Of course he wanted to go. He had already told Audrey they were coming. Violet had spent little time with Audrey in the past few weeks. It was awkward to be in Audrey's presence now that she and Bert were married. Audrey looked at her differently. Looked at Bert differently. When Violet had started to box up her few kitchen things at Audrey's, she noticed the little nightingale was on the sill above the sink, where Audrey would see it every time she stood and looked out at the world beyond the glass.

Violet closed the fridge door now and turned away from Audrey's invitation. She and Bert were quiet as she whisked eggs and he sat at the table, reading the article about the premiere.

“So the masses weren't horrified after all that Rhett Butler said ‘damn,'” Bert said a moment later. “I still can't believe the Hays Office let him say it.”

Violet poured a splash of milk into the eggs. “Me, either.”

“Well, Selznick ought to be happy.” Bert set down the paper on the table. “Hope the rest of the world likes the movie as much as Atlanta apparently did.”

“Of course they will,” Violet said as she reached for their only frying pan.

Several minutes later they sat down to their meal, and there was no conversation between them at first. Violet was too distracted to notice. Her mother's letter crinkled in her pocket when she leaned forward in her chair to take a bite of breakfast.

“I need to ask you something, Violet,” Bert finally said when his plate was empty.

She nearly dropped her fork. “Yes?”

“I've . . . I've been thinking.”

She waited.

“I've been thinking maybe you and I should maybe move home to Santa Barbara. I'd like for us to be closer to my mother. She hasn't said anything, but I can tell the house is getting to be too much for her. I think eventually that house will be ours. So I was thinking, why don't we start helping her with it now?”

Violet's first thought was one of astonished elation. “Move to Santa Barbara?”

Bert mistook her tone for hesitation. “Think about it, Vi. Mr. Selznick wants the studio to take a major break after
Rebecca
is finished. I am likely to be laid off then, anyway. You probably will be, too, since you're one of the last hires in the secretary pool. And with your office skills you could work anywhere. I don't want to be pushing around costumes the rest of my life. I'd like to see if maybe I could go back to school, learn what I need to have the career in ornithology that I want. There's a university right there. And I don't want to raise a family here in Hollywood.”

“Raise a family,” Violet echoed, toneless.

“Yes. Can you see us trying to raise kids in a place like this?”

She shook her head. No, she could not.

“So you'll think about it?”

But Violet didn't need to think about it.

“I will go anywhere with you, Bert,” she said, and the smile that broke wide across her husband's face made her eyes water.

He grabbed her hand across the table and squeezed it. “I love you, Vi. And you won't regret this. I promise you.”

Bert started to explain when and how they should make the move, but Violet was not listening. She was pondering.

What Violet had wanted from her new life she had—for the most part. There was really nothing left in Hollywood but reminders of what she'd done to get it.

A few minutes later, after Bert had left the table to shave, Violet pulled Bert's handkerchief from the zippered pocket in her purse, where it had been nestled since the day before Valentine's Day. She brought it to her face, brushed it across her cheek, and kissed it. Then she tossed it atop the rest of Bert's laundry that needed washing.

She would write her mother at lunch and tell her that she need not worry so. All was perfectly well between her and Bert.

Bert adored her and she adored him.

They couldn't have been happier.