The Slipper (58 page)

“I haven't even met her yet. She only has three scenes, but they're extremely powerful. Just one of them is with me, and we start filming it Monday. I—I'm a little intimidated by the thought of working with her. Faye Holden is a legend.”

“That she is,” he agreed.

“The term ‘movie star' might have been invented for her. If Clark Gable was King, Faye Holden was unquestionably Queen. She started in the silents, and she's still here.”

“She has tenacity, all right.”

“I'm afraid she'll have me for breakfast,” Carol said.

He smiled again. “Faye has done a lot of things in her day, but to the best of my knowledge she's never seriously wounded another actress—although I believe she did once stab Norma Shearer with her knitting needles. Shearer undoubtedly provoked the attack. She and Faye were archrivals at MGM back in the thirties.”

“Is Miss Holden really the monster they say she is?”

“Faye's tough as nails. She's had to be. She came up the hard way, and she was never really accepted. To millions of fans she might have been queen of the movies, but to the Hollywood establishment she was always the waitress trying to pass herself off as a lady. She took a lot of snubbing back in the old days, but she's survived all her detractors and is still a star.”

“Is she difficult to work with?”

“Faye's a professional right down to her lacquered blood-red fingertips. As long as you scrape and bow and indulge her every whim and acknowledge that she's the only one who knows anything about making pictures—it's a piece of cake.”

“You haven't made me feel one bit better,” Carol informed him.

“I'll tell you something—and it's one of the best-kept secrets in Hollywood. Faye Holden comes on like Godzilla, for whom she's frequently mistaken, but underneath that formidable exterior she's terribly insecure and has a heart of pure marshmallow.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” Carol said.

The smile flickered once more on those beautifully shaped lips. He finished his coffee and looked down at the empty cup, toying with it idly. His wife had been in the clinic for some months, Carol knew, in a hospital before that. It must be terribly hard on him, she thought. He was lonely, at odds, in need of sympathetic companionship and that was undoubtedly why he'd asked her for coffee. He was interested in her as a woman, she could see that, but Blake Dougherty was a gentleman and a man of integrity, and he would never make an overt pass at another woman while his wife was living. Carol admired him for that. Friendship, yes, he might ask for that, but he would never ask for anything more under the present circumstances. He looked up at last, setting the cup aside.

“Any idea what your next film will be?” he asked.

“It's to be a comedy, as yet untitled, and the script is delightful. I play Sandra Dee's prim, extremely straitlaced older sister. I take her under my wing after our parents die and am horrified by her boy-crazy shenanigans. She keeps telling me I should loosen up and enjoy life and, under her guidance, I do just that during a vacation in Palm Springs. I get drunk, do a striptease in a bar, captivate John Gavin, the family lawyer, whom I've rebuffed repeatedly during the first reel. It's witty and charmingly risqué, a soufflé that should be a lot of fun to film.”

“When do they start filming?”

“In March, I believe. I'll have a few weeks off between films.”

“And after the second one, you're free, right?”

Carol nodded. “I refused a long-term contract. I signed to do only two films for Universal. I'm pretty sure they're going to offer me another contract and I may well sign, but—I didn't want to be tied down, in case something more interesting comes along.”

“Very wise of you,” Dougherty said.

He started toying with his coffee cup again, and Carol could see that he had something on his mind. She finished her own coffee and watched his long, elegant fingers curling and uncurling around the thick white cup.

“You say you like to read, Miss Martin. Tell me, have you ever heard of a book called
Remember Dennie Lane
? It came out a number of years ago, got a few glowing reviews, promptly sank into oblivion. It's about a young girl in Texas during the depression. Her family was very wealthy, lost everything in the crash, and after their father's suicide Dennie and her older brother have to try and salvage the wreckage. Dennie's an intelligent, compassionate, extremely sympathetic character who happens to have one fatal weakness.”

“Men,” Carol said. “She's a nymphomaniac, driven by compulsive desires she can't control. I read the novel when I was in high school. It was beautifully written and terribly sad.”

“You've actually
read
it?” Dougherty was amazed. “It couldn't have sold more than a couple of thousand copies.”

“One of them was purchased by the Ellsworth Public Library. I believe I was in the eleventh grade when I checked it out. I found it very moving, and the ending was heartbreaking. I cried when she strolled across that deserted oil field and tossed her cigarette aside and the field caught fire and flames sprang up all around her. I'm sure there was a lot of symbolism I didn't understand at the time, but—I remember Dennie Lane. The book is still vivid in my mind after all these years.”

“It would make a wonderful film,” he said.

“It certainly would,” Carol agreed.

“I own the film rights,” he confessed.

“Oh?”

“I bought them outright when the book came out. I've been trying to get a workable screenplay for quite some time. I finally turned it over to Mary Loos and Richard Sale and they've written a magnificent script. It captures the essence of the book yet works beautifully in cinematic terms. I'm hoping to start production in late summer.”

“How exciting,” she said.

“I'd like for you to read the script, Carol.”

“I—I'd love to read it.”

“I've been searching for the right actress to play Dennie for quite some time, too. A couple of years ago I happened to go to an art theater to see a movie called
And the Sea Is Blue
, primarily because I'm an admirer of Maurice Ronet's work. When I saw your performance as his restless, love-starved wife I said to myself, ‘There's my Dennie.'”

“I'm very flattered.”

“At that point I still didn't have a working script, and then a new project came up and I was deeply involved with it, but—I hadn't forgotten you. When I met you at Romanoff's, I knew my initial reactions were right. You've got all the qualities the part requires.”

The waitress came over to see if they wanted anything else, and he shook his head. Carol said nothing more about the part. She would indeed love to play Dennie Lane, it could be the role of a lifetime. If Blake Dougherty still wanted her when she had finished her commitments at Universal, he would contact her agent. In the meantime, it wouldn't hurt for her to read the script. Mary Loos and Richard Sale were two of the best in the business, and if Dougherty was pleased with it, it was bound to be superb.

He gripped her elbow lightly as he guided her through the door. He was so tall, so elegant in his gray suit and wine-colored tie. His thick silver hair was handsomely styled, kept that way, no doubt, by the best barber in L.A. Carol smiled up at him as they stepped outside.

“Thank you for the coffee, Mr. Dougherty.”

“Can I give you a lift?” he inquired.

“My car's in a lot just a few blocks away.”

“I see. I—” He hesitated a moment, looking into her eyes. “I wonder if you might like to come to brunch tomorrow. My wife is ill and I no longer give parties, but for several years friends have come to the house for brunch every Sunday. It's a casual thing and I've kept it up even though Lolly is—even though she is no longer able to serve as hostess. Christopher Isherwood and Don Bacardy will be there, Dick and Mary, three or four others. I'd like it very much if you could join us.”

“I'd love to,” Carol told him, “but unfortunately I have a date.”

The disappointment was clearly visible in his eyes.

“Of course,” he said. “I should have realized that a young woman as attractive as you would naturally be booked up for weeks in advance.”

Carol had to smile at that. Not a single male had asked her for a date since she arrived in Hollywood. She had gone to a couple of parties with Jim Burke and Nora, but that didn't count. Contrary to popular belief, men didn't hotly pursue single young actresses. They were either intimidated by the fame or, like Dougherty, assumed she would already be booked up. Many a lovely and world-famous star spent Saturday night alone, sitting beside a phone that never rang. It was not something that caused Carol much concern.

“My date is with my four-year-old godson,” she confessed. “My friend Julie Hammond is in Arizona, filming a western, and because of the rugged conditions she couldn't take Danny with her. I promised her I'd stop by and see him now and then and help keep him amused. Tomorrow I'm taking him to Disneyland.”

“I see.”

Was she imagining it, or did he look relieved?

“Perhaps you'll come some other Sunday,” Dougherty said. “It's been very pleasant talking with you, Miss Martin. If you'll permit me, I'll send you a copy of the script and maybe we can discuss it later on.”

“That would be lovely.”

Carol gave him her new address, and Blake Dougherty handed her her package of books. He took her hand for a moment, gripping it firmly. You've a very lovely man, Carol thought, and you're a very lonely man, too. She smiled and thanked him again, and Dougherty released her hand. He seemed reluctant to let her go. They stood there in front of the ice cream parlor for another moment and he finally smiled a sad smile and said good-bye. Carol walked on down the boulevard toward the side street where her car was parked.

She thought about the encounter as she drove home. Blake Dougherty was an important and powerful man in Hollywood, and he was undeniably attractive and appealing, but Blake Dougherty was married and he was over thirty years her senior. She would love to work with him, but she didn't intend to see him again unless it was in a professional capacity. She had worked too hard, too long to get where she was to risk it all by getting involved with an older married man, however platonic their relationship might be. Blake Dougherty wanted sympathetic companionship at this point, but Hollywood gossip would interpret it otherwise, and she couldn't afford that. Carol had sacrificed Norman for her career, and she wasn't about to jeopardize it now for a charming stranger who needed someone to help him through a difficult time.

Carol left her car in the underground parking garage and took the elevator up to the lobby. Although the studio had volunteered to help her find a house, she had rented the penthouse apartment here in the building where Nora lived. It was completely, luxuriously furnished, and when her things had arrived from storage she was able to add homey, personal touches. Carol picked up her mail and rode on up to the penthouse. She wished Nora was here now, a long, lively chat would be a great boost, but Nora had left four days ago for a month in Mexico City, where she would be gathering information for an article for
Cosmopolitan
magazine.

Putting books and mail on the coffee table, Carol removed her soft apricot coat and hung it in a closet, surprised to see that it was after five already. The sun would be going down soon, the myriad lights of L.A. springing up like multicolored jewels flashing in the night, and Carol would spend another Saturday night all alone. With Nora in Mexico City, with Julie filming a “psychological” western under strenuous physical conditions in Arizona, with Jim busily squiring half the shapely starlets in town, there wasn't even anyone to pal around with. You're on top of the world, she reminded herself. You've finally made it, starring in a multi-million-dollar production for one of the major studios. Carol changed into a loose, comfortable lounging gown and went into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of tomato juice. Returning to the living room, she phoned Hannah and asked to speak to Danny.

“Ready for Disneyland tomorrow, sweetheart?” she inquired.

“Oh, I am, Auntie Carol. Can we ride all the rides? Can we go see the haunted house?”

“I'm game if you are. I'll pick you up at nine-thirty. We'll spend all day. What have you been doing with yourself today?”

“Nothing much,” he said glumly. “I watched television for a while, but Hannah made me turn it off, said it was gonna ruin my eyes. I wanted to put on my suit and go swimming, but she won't let me go near the pool unless I've got an adult with me who can swim. She can't,” he added.

“Poor baby. Maybe we'll go swimming when we get back from Disneyland tomorrow. I bought you a surprise today!”

“What is it?”

“If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise.”

“I miss Mommy,” he said in a plaintive voice.

“Of course you do, darling. I miss her, too. She'll be back in just a few weeks, and in the meantime you and I will do lots of fun things.”

“I wanted to see the cowboys and horses,” he whined. “
I
wouldn't mind living in a crummy motel in a tacky little town and driving twenty miles in a jeep to location every day. Mommy hates it. She cries every time I talk to her. She didn't want to go to Arizona. Those meanies made her, and she only got to fly home for three days for Christmas.”

“I know, darling, but—you go to bed early tonight,” she said, changing the subject. “I'll buy you a pair of Mickey Mouse ears tomorrow, and you can wear them all day.”

“Okay,” he said, still glum. “Bye, Auntie Carol.”

“Good-bye, darling.”

Carol sipped her tomato juice, thinking about Julie. She had defied the studio by having Danny join her in New Hampshire and telling the press of her early marriage, thus destroying the studio's carefully constructed “image” of her as a virginal young girl. As punishment, they had put her into the western three weeks after she returned in the role originally scheduled for Diane Baker. Carol had read the script and knew it was a grueling role indeed. Julie was playing the wife of stern, sanctimonious lawman Jeffrey Hunter, who is also the preacher in a small Arizona community. When he hangs their partner, outlaws Neville Brand and Ray Danton burn his ranch and abduct Julie. After being brutalized and abused by both men, she manages to escape, only to be rejected by her husband, who considers her sullied. In the climax of the film, Julie is trapped in a mountain cabin with her severely wounded husband. When the outlaws advance, seeking final revenge, she takes her husband's rifle and kills Danton and, when he breaks into the cabin, stabs Brand with a knife. A poor man's
High Noon
, with overtones of
Duel in the Sun
, it was violent trash that would undoubtedly fare well at the box office, but Carol knew the harsh, demanding role must be totally demoralizing to someone with Julie's sensitive nature.