The Memoir of Johnny Devine (17 page)

In a minister’s home …

Where was Betty’s voice when she needed
it?

She finally chose a slim-fitting, red with
white polka-dot dress, a white cardigan and gloves, and a red
pillbox hat with a matching net, and then worried that her ensemble
wasn’t smart enough.

When John’s cab pulled to the curb in front
of her apartment, Eliza reached for the car door, but John got out
and held it open for her. She glanced around before getting in.
Luckily, none of the girls in the building were early Sunday
risers.

On the way, John told her she might
recognize a familiar face or two.

“
A face from
where
?—
the
movies
?”

“
Yes, but don’t worry,” he
said. “I’m sure you’ll feel right at home.”

She wanted to believe him, but it depended
on whom she saw. Would Deborah Marlow be there?

The cab stopped at a sprawling house set
back from the road. John ushered her into the house and introduced
her to the hosts, Pastor Ted and Sondra Moore. Sondra hugged her
tight, which was a bit of a surprise but not unwelcome.

The service was held in the Moore’s large
den, where plush couches and chairs formed a large circle and more
chairs formed a row along the back wall. A panoramic window
stretching the length of the room offered a view of a flower garden
behind the house and a glimpse of the shimmering bay beyond.

Eliza glanced around the
room at the twenty or so faces, doing a quick double take at every
blonde. John introduced her as Mrs. Eliza Saunderson to a lovely
couple named Miller. When she met an older actress whom she
recognized, it took Eliza a moment to find her tongue. Goldie
Simons had been one of her favorites as a teen. In Goldie’s younger
days, she had played sweetheart roles similar to Doris
Day’s
.

Goldie smiled. “I’m so pleased to meet you,
Eliza. Won’t you sit by me?”

Eliza looked at John, who offered a
reassuring smile. Perhaps it was his way of turning her loose, but
into what, she wasn’t sure.

She listened through the hymns, rich with
harmony, followed by a prayer. Then Pastor Ted read from the Bible.
The story about an adulterous woman about to be stoned to death by
an angry mob of men touched Eliza in an unusual way. Hearing of the
woman’s humiliation and Christ’s compassion toward her brought
tears to Eliza’s eyes. In the midst of such hate and disapproval,
the woman found forgiveness and acceptance from Christ.

After the sermon, the congregation sang
another hymn, one Eliza had heard Millie sing. Eliza sat still and
listened to the words.

“
Because the sinless
Savior died,

my sinful soul is counted free;

For God the Just is satisfied

to look on Him and pardon me.”

At the end of the service,
everyone moved to a large dining room for a buffet lunch. Glancing
around, Eliza realized an older man in the group was also a film
star from a few decades ago. It made sense, of course, that
celebrities who wanted to attend church might find a quiet setting
like this easier to manage. She would have to ask John later why a
number of actors were living around the East Bay. Perhaps, like
him, some film stars preferred not to live in Hollywood and found
this area a pleasant getaway
,
but not too far from L.A.

Eliza followed Goldie to the buffet and
searched the room for John. She finally found him off to one side
talking to a handsome, silver-haired man with a goatee and a lean,
athletic build.

The man placed his hand on John’s shoulder
and closed his eyes, saying words she couldn’t hear, but with a
fervor she could see.

John’s eyes were also closed and he nodded
as though listening.

Was the man praying for John?

“
Ted and I are looking
forward to reading John’s book, Mrs. Saunderson.”

Turning, Eliza met Sondra
Moore’s friendly face and smiled in return. How much was she
supposed to say about
the
book? “It’s an incredible story. I am sure you’ll
find it very intriguing
.”
Eliza glanced in John’s direction to keep sight
of him, but he and his friend were already heading her
way.

“
Mrs. Saunderson,” John
said. “I’d like you to meet my good friend and agent, Oscar Silva.
Oscar, Mrs. Saunderson is working on my memoir. And she’s sharp, so
be careful what you say.”

Eliza smiled at the man. With any luck, he
wouldn’t notice how flustered she was at being put on the spot.
“Mr. Silva, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard such good
things.”

Oscar turned to John with a sigh. “So you’ve
taken up lying, John?” He winked at Eliza. “Do I get to preview the
manuscript, or should I just call my lawyer now?”

“
What? Does someone need a
lawyer?” a man said, leaning back from the nearest
table.

Oscar laughed. “If I do, I won’t be calling
you, Lester. I can’t afford you. In fact, I don’t know anyone who
can.”

Eliza kept a polite smile fixed on her face,
but her heart sank. As she went through the buffet line, listening
to the friendly chatter in the room, all she could think about was
how these people lived smart, glamorous, completely foreign lives.
Holding her food-laden plate, she looked across the small sea of
prominent people.

She was so out of place here.

John came to her side with a plate in one
hand and stood close enough for her to catch the scent of his
tantalizing cologne. “Where would you like to sit?”

Oscar approached
them
,
balancing
his plate and a Bible. “Mind if I join you two?”

“
Please do,” Eliza
said.

Dining with film stars, agents, and lawyers?
Eliza shook her head to clear the sense she was dreaming and tried
to eat her lunch, but with a handsome man seated on either side,
her attention was anywhere but on her plate.

“
Well, what do you think
of our little church, Mrs. Saunderson?”

Eliza returned Oscar’s kind smile. “It’s
lovely. I’ve only attended church one other time, so I’m no expert,
but I’m guessing this one isn’t typical.”

Oscar laughed. “Good! Shows you’ve come with
an open mind.” He unfolded his napkin. “I hear you’re making great
progress on John’s memoir.”

Eliza glanced at John. How much he had
confided in his friend about the project? “I think it’s coming
along nicely.” She nibbled on a slice of dilled cucumber.

John ate in silence. Rather, he toyed with
his food. “You’ve also got a book in the works, Oscar. Maybe she’d
like to hear about yours.”

“
Oh, I’m sure she would.”
Oscar smiled at Eliza. “
How to Win the
Press
is probably just the book you were
looking for, Mrs. Saunderson, am I right?”

Eliza laughed. “Yes, how did you know? And
please, call me Eliza.”

John grabbed his cane and stood. “I need to
talk to Pastor Ted, and I see he’s alone right now. If you’ll
excuse me.” He left, weaving awkwardly between the chairs and
diners.

Eliza watched him go, her heart burdened by
his discomfort. Some days he seemed to be in more pain than others.
She returned her attention to her plate, her waning appetite now
gone. When she looked up, Oscar was watching her intently.

“
So, Eliza, I’m curious.
What’s it been like for you, writing John’s story?”

How much should she say? This man was John’s
good friend, but even if Oscar knew him better than anyone, perhaps
he didn’t know everything. “It’s certainly different from anything
I’ve written.”

“
No surprise.” Oscar
nodded. “It must be difficult, isn’t it? I mean, being a woman and
hearing some of the stories?”

Eliza studied him. Oscar seemed genuine, and
from John’s account, he was a man of admirable character. “To be
honest, yes, sometimes. But I think his story is important,
especially in its entirety. I’m glad he’s writing it, and not just
for the reason he states—to share the hope he’s found—but also
because I think people need to understand who he is now. For his
sake.”

Leaning forward, Oscar met her gaze
squarely. “Thank you.”

“
For what?”

“
For seeing John for who
he is. Not what he was.”

Eliza’s throat tightened. She hadn’t always
seen John in a positive light. The day she met him came back in a
rush, her mistrust of him, her assumptions. She swallowed hard.
“It’s just … the religious part of it is not something I’m familiar
with—an invisible God who can change a person inwardly. It’s so
opposite of …”

Oscar rested his chin on his hand. “Of
what?”

“
Of the pressure in
society to look perfect, to conform, or at least to appear that
way. Everyone in their proper place doing exactly what’s expected,
all the while turning a blind eye to oppression. It’s … I’m sorry,
I’m getting on my soapbox now.”

“
No, please, go on. I’m
interested in hearing what you think.”

Eliza looked around to be sure no one was
listening. Why was she telling a virtual stranger the inner battles
of her heart? “There’s an unspoken pressure to conform to the
American ideal—happy and prosperous in appearance, but sometimes
all I see is an empty façade. Empty and also unjust, because you
can only fit the American ideal if you are of the right economical
class and ethnicity. And for those who do fit the criteria, I
suspect some seek fulfillment by conforming outwardly, but are only
fooling themselves and growing emptier by the day.”

“
That’s rather profound,
Eliza. You’ve thought about this quite a bit?”

More than you know.
“Yes.”

“
And you see John’s
experience as a genuine change, then, rather than simply the
appearance of change?”

“
Yes.” Eliza pushed her
plate away and leaned her chin on her hands. “Yes, I
do.”

“
Or a person who’s been
truly transformed, instead of conformed?”

“
Exactly!” She’d spoken
too loudly. She glanced around.

Goldie met her gaze with a smile. John
looked at her from across the room, then quickly resumed his
conversation with Ted.

“
So you know about John’s
conversion experience, then? How he found Christ?”

She shook her head. “We haven’t gotten that
far yet.”

“
Hmm.” Oscar nodded,
studying her. “That’s interesting.”

Eliza twisted a grape from its stem, more
out of a need to escape his scrutiny than from hunger. “Why do you
say that?”

He shrugged. “Oh, I don’t
know.” Oscar leaned back and folded his arms loosely across his
chest, the picture of a man perfectly at ease. “So, do you think I
should buy a copy of
The Devine
Truth
?”

With a smile, Eliza popped the grape in her
mouth. “You should buy cases of them.”

Oscar laughed long and loud. “Ouch. I guess
John won’t be needing his agent. Sounds like you’ve got that
covered.”

Eliza smiled. “I believe his is a very
powerful story that can touch many people.” She glanced across the
room and found John watching them carefully. “I can’t wait to see
how it ends.”

Oscar nodded slowly, studying her with a
thoughtful look. “Neither can I.”

O
scar often said he was praying for me, but I told him he
could keep his prayers. I was a rational creature. A careless,
drunken creature, to be sure, but rational enough to know my
perfectly happy life needed no interference.

~
The Devine Truth: A Memoir

Monday morning, Eliza made it to the street
corner long before the bus arrived, a notable first. It was
unfortunate that Pastor Ted hadn’t finished the adulterous woman’s
story in his sermon. Had she gone on as before, or had Christ’s
pardon changed her? Perhaps John could tell Eliza what had become
of the woman.

At John’s house, she gave
her coat and scarf to Millie
,
then entered the library.

John was on the telephone near the kitchen.
He smiled and beckoned her in.

Her question would have to wait. Perhaps she
could ask Mille when she had a chance.

“
I’m sorry,” John said to
Eliza, pressing the telephone receiver to his chest. “I have to
take this call. But listen, I had a boatload of ideas last night
and jotted them down. Maybe you can salvage something useful from
it. It’s on my table.”

Eliza went to the table beside his chair and
found a notebook with writing in it. He’d actually written a lot.
And on further inspection, it wasn’t bad. In fact, it was quite
good. Perhaps her input had been rubbing off. Or, more likely, John
was a better writer than either she or John had realized. Maybe
he’d just needed a little encouragement and practice. Maybe soon he
wouldn’t need her help on the composing at all. Maybe—

Maybe things would go back to the way they
were. Him writing elsewhere, and her typing in the library,
alone.

Eliza stared at the typewriter, then out the
front window. A dull fog obscured the bay. Dead leaves dotted the
grass at the base of the trees, their usefulness at an end. Winter
was coming.

She sat down to work. John had written
enough that she worked on it until five o’clock, stopping only for
lunch.

Tuesday, John gave her more pages, which
were also fairly well-written, so she spent the entire day working
alone, again. By Wednesday afternoon, they had made more progress
on the book than they had the entire previous week. John seemed
more focused, less reticent. His story had now circled back to the
point where it had first begun, in the final year of his film
career. It shouldn’t take much more to finish that phase of his
life. After that, Eliza didn’t know where his story was going, or
how much of his life after Hollywood would be included in the book.
Surely there was much more to his story. There had to be. Whatever
it was, she couldn’t wait to hear it.