The Memoir of Johnny Devine (12 page)

“
Hollywood, the early
1930s. You were fast becoming a recognized name.”

John stared into the water glass Millie had
left for him. “I’m not sure what to talk about next.”

“
Why don’t you start with
some of your films?”

He stared across the room. “Yes, I suppose
that’s about when things really began to unravel.”

Eliza turned away and worked at her desk.
Perhaps that would make it easier for him.

“
My first big break was on
the film
The Pearl of Kuri
Bay
. Fans went bananas over what Louella
Parsons dubbed an ‘explosively passionate couple’ in her
article—along with a few other nicknames she coined for
me.”

Eliza tried but couldn’t
contain her pesky curiosity about the other half of this
explosively passionate couple
. “I’m not familiar with that film,” she said, her cheeks
cooking. “Who was your co-star?”

John took a sip of water. “Deborah
Marlow.”

Heart thumping, Eliza
wrote the actress’s name, but in her mind’s eye, she saw the
gorgeous blonde from the matinee—her charisma, her raw emotion.
Eliza might have guessed Deborah Marlow was the one. And the
columnist was right.
Explosively
passionate
described that toe-tingling
kiss between Deborah and John, right down to the—

“
Mrs.
Saunderson?”

With a jolt, she turned. “Yes?”

“
I said, ‘Are you ready
for me to continue?’”

“
I’m sorry,
yes.”

John went on and listed a number of films
and directors, stopping at times to look in his notebook to check
his dates.

“
Is that an earlier draft
of your book?” Eliza nodded at the notebook.

“
No, it’s my journal,” he
said. “Some thoughts, reflections, a few prayers sprinkled in. But
in a way, I suppose it’s like a draft. Most of what’s going into my
memoir comes straight from this.”

“
I kept a journal after my
parents’ deaths,” she said. “My way of breaking reality down into
more manageable pieces.”

“
The reality of all you’d
lost.”

She glanced up. “Yes. Actually, it was more
of an ongoing letter to my mama.”

Until Ralph tossed it in
the trash.
Because, according to him,
anything that took Eliza away from attending to his needs was a
waste of time.

She swallowed the sting and readied her
pencil. “What next?”

“
Yes. Well, in spite of my
growing success, something was off-kilter. And getting worse. I’d
never gotten over how Stella had used me, and now, others were
lined up to do the same. Two-timing agents. Dames who only wanted
to be kept in high style. Studio owners who wanted to control my
every move, my life. I no longer knew who I could trust. On top of
that, I worried constantly about my acting. I wondered if I was
being sought after for my talent or just for the image the studio
had created. Any time a critic doubted my talent, I pushed myself
to the limits to prove I was either a superstar or a complete
fraud, one or the other. I started drinking and staying out all
night. I’d show up on the set at the last minute, wearing last
night’s clothes, hungover and scrambling to remember my lines.
Honestly, I don’t know how I pulled it off, but somehow, I did. I
wasn’t going to let anyone tell me I was no good. I was the only
one allowed to do that.” John swirled the water in his glass. “And
throughout all that, there were women.”

Eliza kept her expression
even.
You’re just here to type a book. And
you’re being paid well to do it.
She
gripped her pencil and waited.

John rose and went to the window. “But
that’s all I’m going to say about that for now.”

Exhaling her relief, Eliza nodded.

“
About that time, I met
Oscar Silva.” John turned toward Eliza. “From the moment he signed
on as my agent, I gave that man a steep uphill run for his money.
He could barely keep up with all the scandals. Oscar saved my
backside more times than I can count, and he saved the studio a lot
of bad press. They didn’t want to lose all those ticket-buying fans
by letting it leak that I—”

Air hissed from between his gritted teeth,
and he returned to the window.

She kept her eyes on the page in front of
her. Avoiding eye contact kept things comfortable. And not just for
John.

“
That I never slept in the
same place twice.”

She wrote it exactly as he said it, but the
marks on the page could not convey the shame in his voice.

“
Anyway,” he went on, “I
was a louse. I still don’t know why Oscar stayed with me as long as
he did.”

It seemed John was no longer dictating, but
talking to her. She looked up.

“
As a matter of fact,
we’re still friends to this day, though I certainly don’t deserve
his friendship. Shows you his caliber. He’s a good man.” He let out
a sigh. “A very good, honorable man.”

Her gaze locked onto his, and something
tugged in her chest. The idea of John admiring another man for his
goodness and honor made her heart heavy.

Everyone knows
a realistic actor is either a very good liar or a
very poor one.

~
The Devine Truth: A Memoir

By the end
of the week, Eliza and John had fallen into a
working rhythm. Friday afternoon, when they had finished their
dictation for the day, Eliza read back over her
notes,
then turned to John. “Can I
read this last section back to you?”

“
What am I listening
for?”

“
I’m thinking we should
insert a little more detail, give the reader the feeling you’re
inviting him or her into your inner circle, so to speak. That’s
what you want in a memoir.” She tapped her pencil on her pad, ideas
already forming for a couple of spots where he could engage the
reader more.

“
Mrs. Saunderson
…”

She met his gaze.

John leaned forward in his chair. “I don’t
believe I’ve thanked you for all the hard work you’ve been putting
into this.” He looked into her eyes and smiled. “I’m beginning to
think your name should be on the cover, not mine.”

Eliza had often made a point to avoid those
penetrating dark eyes, especially when they probed hers like this,
and she had succeeded—most of the time. But she couldn’t ignore his
words of praise, which spread through her now like warm cocoa.
She’d always been a sucker for a kind word. There hadn’t been an
overabundance of them lately.

Who was she kidding? There hadn’t been any
at all.

“
I’m just putting your
words on paper,” she said, easing the words carefully around the
sudden lump in her throat. “And I know you’re just pulling my leg.
Your name alone will sell a million copies. I bet as soon as this
book hits the shelves, everyone will be clamoring for you to make a
comeback.”

With a harsh laugh, John shook his head.
“Not interested. In fact, just between you and me, sometimes I wish
God would make the fame disappear. But then I remember I should be
grateful, because that fame will probably help get this story into
more people’s hands.”

“
That’s guaranteed.” Eliza
put her notepad down and rubbed her neck. “Must be nice to have a
name that sells books before they’re even written.” She gasped,
cheeks instantly on fire. What a thoughtless thing to say. “I’m so
sorry, that was incredibly rude—”

“
No, please, don’t
apologize. I completely agree.” He reached for his cane and
examined the smooth, curved handle. “If it were a matter of my
writing merit alone—well, we both know there’s not a publisher who
would touch it.”

She couldn’t look at him, but from the
corner of her eye, she saw John rise.

Millie came in with a tray of iced tea and
molasses cookies. Quietly, she set it down and headed back to the
kitchen.

John watched Millie leave, then turned to
Eliza. “Have you been paid yet?”

She set her notepad down. “I pick up my
first paycheck today,” she said. There had to be something else
they could talk about, something besides being paid to write.

“
Your agency is billing
me, so I’m sure they’ll take care of it,” he said. “But I’d still
like to be sure they’re giving you the proper rate for
collaboration.” He looked into her eyes. “You’ll let me know if
they don’t?”

“
I’m sure I won’t need to
trouble you, but thank you.”

He turned his gaze in the direction Millie
had gone. “She’s been widowed many years. Her life isn’t easy. But
she says, because of her family, she couldn’t ask for a single
thing more.”

Eliza simply nodded. What was on his mind?
This was the time of day when she usually switched to typing the
day’s notes, leaving John free to go about other business. Yet
today, he didn’t seem to be in any hurry to go.

“
Do you have any other
family, Mrs. Saunderson?”

Why did he want to know that? But at least
the topic was better than talking about scratching out an existence
as a no-name writer. “I have a sister.” Eliza turned, put a sheet
of paper in the typewriter, and propped her notepad on the easel.
“And she has a family.”

A perfect family. And she keeps a perfect
home and throws perfect lawn parties and wears perfectly matching
pearls and a perpetual smile in perfectly correct social
circles.

Eliza looked over her shoulder at John.
Surely he was only being attentive to be polite.

John nodded. “I’m just curious, of course. I
mean, why a kind, intelligent young woman such as yourself would
choose a career instead of …” He shook his head. “My apologies.
It’s none of my business.”

She silently
agreed—it
was
none of his business. And yet, society deemed a woman’s role
as a housewife to be implicit and, therefore, everyone’s
business.

“
I’m sorry, I meant no
offense,” John said. Without waiting for a response, he headed out
of the library, the steady
thunk
of his cane echoing on the wood floor.

Was it really so strange
for a woman to
choose
to work instead of making a home and serving a husband and
family?

Of course it was strange. When television
portrayed Harriet Nelson as the happy modern woman, who would
consider doing anything else?

Eliza wasn’t opposed to family. It was just
that, during the past fifteen years, she’d forgotten what family
felt like.

Almost
forgotten. Some longings hovered like a shadow, close but
untouchable.
A baby would have made being
married to Ralph worth it.

A lump formed in her throat. No one knew of
her silent longing, not even Betty. Closing her eyes, she forced
the thought away. No, she wasn’t opposed to family. But family
meant marriage, and she certainly didn’t want marriage if it meant
a life of shackles and lies.

After stopping for her paycheck, Eliza got
off the bus at the market near the Laurel Theater and picked up a
few groceries. The feeling of money in her pocketbook was sweet,
almost as sweet as the Nestlé bar she’d bought for later. She also
bought a can of tuna for Mr. Darcy, just in case.

The stray tom must have had some kind of
feline sixth sense, because when she arrived home, Darcy was on her
balcony drinking from the water dish she’d left out. He looked
startled to see her, but he stood still, watching her movements
through the glass.

“
Pickin’s must be slim if
you’re back for bread and water, huh? Well, I’ve got something I
think you’ll like a whole lot better.” She dug through the sacks
until she found the tuna, opened the can, and piled the meat high
onto one of her two plates. With slow, even steps, she took the
plate to the door, being careful not to frighten him.

He watched her approach, wary but curious,
nose lifted high as if trying to smell through the glass.

Eliza chuckled. She set the plate down,
stepped aside, and slowly opened the door.

The cat sniffed the air again, ducked his
head a few times and listened, looked around the doorway, then
ventured inside. He gave Eliza’s pumps a glance, then went straight
to the dish and dug in.

“
We have to stick
together, Darcy,” she said. “Everything isn’t served to us on a
silver platter. We have to look out for each other.” Humming, she
unpacked the groceries, stacking coffee, cereal, and canned milk
around the sideboard. In addition to the Nestlé bar, she’d also
splurged on a couple of oranges.