Evelyn laughs and says, “Good girl.”
* * *
“HOW ARE THINGS?” my mom asks the moment I pick up the phone. She says “things,” but I know she means How is your life without David?
“Fine,” I say as I set my bag on the couch and walk toward the refrigerator. My mother cautioned me early on that David might not be the best man for me. He and I had been dating a few months when I brought him home to Encino for Thanksgiving.
She liked how polite he was, how he offered to set and clear the table. But in the morning before he woke up on our last day in town, my mom told me she questioned whether David and I had a meaningful connection. She said she didn’t “see it.”
I told her she didn’t need to see it. That I felt it.
But her question stuck in my head. Sometimes it was a whisper; other times it echoed loudly.
When I called to tell her we’d gotten engaged a little more than a year later, I was hoping my mother could see how kind he was, how seamlessly he fit into my life. He made things feel effortless, and in those days, that seemed so valuable, so rare. Still, I worried she would air her concerns again, that she would say I was making a mistake.
She didn’t. In fact, she was nothing but supportive.
Now I’m wondering if that was more out of respect than approval.
“I’ve been thinking . . .” my mom says as I open the refrigerator door. “Or I should say I’ve hatched a plan.”
I grab a bottle of Pellegrino, the plastic basket of cherry tomatoes, and the watery tub of burrata cheese. “Oh, no,” I say. “What have you done?”
My mom laughs. She’s always had such a great laugh. It’s very carefree, very young. Mine is inconsistent. Sometimes it’s loud; sometimes it’s wheezy. Other times I sound like an old man. David used to say he thought my old-man laugh was the most genuine, because no one in their right mind would want to sound like that. Now I’m trying to remember the last time it happened.
“I haven’t done anything yet,” my mom says. “It’s still in the idea phase. But I’m thinking I want to come visit.”
I don’t say anything for a moment, weighing the pros and cons, as I chew the massive chunk of cheese I just put in my mouth. Con: she will critique every single outfit I wear in her presence. Pro: she will make macaroni and cheese and coconut cake. Con: she will ask me if I’m OK every three seconds. Pro: for at least a few days, when I come home, this apartment will not be empty.
I swallow. “OK,” I say finally. “Great idea. I can take you to a show, maybe.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” she says. “I already booked the ticket.”
“Mom,” I say, groaning.
“What? I could have canceled it if you’d said no. But you didn’t. So great. I’ll be there in about two weeks. That works, right?”
I knew this was going to happen as soon as my mom partially retired from teaching last year. She spent decades as the head of the science department at a private high school, and the moment she told me she was stepping down and only teaching two classes, I knew that extra time and attention would have to go somewhere.
“Yeah, that works,” I say as I cut up the tomatoes and pour olive oil on them.
“I just want to make sure you’re OK,” my mom says. “I want to be there. You shouldn’t—”
“I know, Mom,” I say, cutting her off. “I know. I get it. Thank you. For coming. It will be fun.”
It won’t be fun, necessarily. But it will be good. It’s like going to a party when you’ve had a bad day. You don’t want to go, but you know you should. You know that even if you don’t enjoy it, it will do you good to get out of the house.
“Did you get the package I sent?” she says.
“The package?”
“With your dad’s photos?”
“Oh, no,” I say. “I didn’t.”
We are quiet for a moment, and then my mom gets exasperated by my silence. “For heaven’s sake, I’ve been waiting for you to bring it up, but I can’t wait any longer. How’s it going with Evelyn Hugo?” she says. “I’m dying to know, and you’re not offering anything!”
I pour my Pellegrino and tell her that Evelyn is somehow both forthright and hard to read. And then I tell her that she isn’t giving me the story for Vivant. That she wants me to write a book.
“I’m confused,” my mom says. “She wants you to write her biography?”
“Yeah,” I say. “And as exciting as it is, there’s something weird about it. I mean, I don’t think she ever considered doing a piece with Vivant at all. I think she was . . .” I trail off, because I haven’t figured out exactly what it is I’m trying to say.
“What?”
I think about it more. “Using Vivant to get to me. I don’t quite know. But Evelyn is very calculating. She’s up to something.”
“Well, I’m not surprised she wants you. You’re talented. You’re bright . . .”
I find myself rolling my eyes at my mother’s predictability, but I do still appreciate it. “No, I know, Mom. But there’s another layer here. I’m convinced of it.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“I guess so.”
“Should I be worried?” my mom asks. “I mean, are you worried?”
I hadn’t thought about it in such direct terms, but I suppose my answer is no. “I think I’m too intrigued to be worried,” I say.
“Well, then, just make sure you share the real juicy stuff with your mother. I did suffer through a twenty-two-hour labor for you. I deserve this.”
I laugh, and it comes out, just a little bit, like an old man. “All right,” I say. “I promise.”
* * *
“OK,” EVELYN SAYS. “Are we ready?”
She is back in her seat. I am in my spot at the desk. Grace has brought us a tray with blueberry muffins, two white mugs, a carafe of coffee, and a stainless-steel creamer. I stand up, pour my coffee, add my cream, walk back to the desk, press record, and then say, “Yes, ready. Go for it. What happened next?”
Goddamn Don Adler
LITTLE WOMEN TURNED OUT TO be a carrot dangled in front of me. Because as soon as I became “Evelyn Hugo, Young Blonde,” Sunset had all sorts of movies they wanted me to do. Dumb sentimental comedy stuff.
I was OK with it for two reasons. One, I had no choice but to be all right with it because I didn’t hold the cards. And two, my star was rising. Fast.
The first movie they gave me to star in was Father and Daughter. We shot it in 1956. Ed Baker played my widowed father, and the two of us were falling in love with people at the same time. Him with his secretary, me with his apprentice.
During that time, Harry was really pushing for me to go out on a few dates with Brick Thomas.
Brick was a former child star and a matinee idol who honest-to-God thought he might be the messiah. Just standing next to him, I thought I might drown in the self-adoration cascading off him.
One Friday night, Brick and I met, with Harry and Gwendolyn Peters, a few blocks from Chasen’s. Gwen put me in a dress, hose, and heels. She put my hair in an updo. Brick showed up in dungarees and a T-shirt, and Gwen put him in a nice suit. We drove Harry’s brand-new crimson Cadillac Biarritz the half mile to the front door.
People were taking pictures of Brick and me before we even got out of the car. We were escorted to a circular booth, where the two of us packed ourselves in tight together. I ordered a Shirley Temple.
“How old are you, sweetheart?” Brick asked me.
“Eighteen,” I said.
“So I bet you had my picture up on your wall, huh?”
It took everything I had not to grab my drink and throw it right in his face. Instead, I smiled as politely as possible and said, “How’d you know?”
Photographers snapped shots as we sat together. We pretended not to see them, making it look as if we were laughing together, arm in arm.
An hour later, we were back with Harry and Gwendolyn, changing into our normal clothes.
&n
bsp; Just before Brick and I said good-bye, he turned to me and smiled. “Gonna be a lot of rumors about you and me tomorrow,” he said.
“Sure are.”
“Let me know if you want to make ’em true.”
I should have kept quiet. I should have just smiled nicely. But instead, I said, “Don’t hold your breath.”
Brick looked at me and laughed and then waved good-bye, as if I hadn’t just insulted him.
“Can you believe that guy?” I said. Harry had already opened my door and was waiting for me to get into the car.
“That guy makes us a lot of money,” he said as I sat down.
Harry got in on the other side and turned the key in the ignition but didn’t start driving. Instead, he looked at me. “I’m not saying you should be dallying around too much with these actors you don’t like,” he said. “But it would do you some good, if you liked one, if things progressed past a photo op or two. The studio would like it. The fans would like it.”
Naively, I had thought I was done pretending to like the attention of every man I came across. “OK,” I said, rather petulantly. “I’ll try.”
And while I knew it was the best thing to do for my career, I grinned through my teeth on dates with Pete Greer and Bobby Donovan.
But then Harry set me up on a date with Don Adler, and I forgot why I would ever have resented the idea in the first place.
* * *
DON ADLER INVITED me out to Mocambo, without a doubt the hottest club in town, and he picked me up at my apartment.
I opened the door to see him in a nice suit, with a bouquet of lilies. He was just a few inches taller than me in my heels. Light brown hair, hazel eyes, square jaw, the kind of smile that, the moment you saw it, made you smile. It was the smile his mother had been famous for, now on a handsomer face.
“For you,” he said, just a bit shyly.
“Wow,” I said, taking them from him. “They’re gorgeous. Come in. Come in. I’ll put them in some water.”
I was wearing a boatneck sapphire-blue cocktail dress, my hair up in a chignon. I grabbed a vase from underneath the sink and turned the water on.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” I said as Don stood in my kitchen, waiting for me.
“Well,” he said, “I wanted to. I’ve been hounding Harry to meet you for a while. So it was the least I could do to make you feel special.”
I put the flowers on the counter. “Shall we?”
Don nodded and took my hand.
“I saw Father and Daughter,” he said when we were in his convertible and headed over to the Sunset Strip.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, Ari showed me an early cut. He says he thinks it’s going to be a big hit. Says he thinks you’re going to be a big hit.”
“And what did you think?”
We were stopped at a red light on Highland. Don looked at me. “I think you’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“Oh, stop,” I said. I found myself laughing, blushing even.
“Truly. And a real talent, too. When the movie ended, I looked right at Ari and said, ‘That’s the girl for me.’ ”
“You did not,” I said.
Don put up his hand. “Scout’s honor.”
There’s absolutely no reason a man like Don Adler should have a different effect on me from the rest of the men in the world. He was no more handsome than Brick Thomas, no more earnest than Ernie Diaz, and he could offer me stardom whether I loved him or not. But these things defy reason. I blame pheromones, ultimately.
That and the fact that, at least at first, Don Adler treated me like a person. There are people who see a beautiful flower and rush over to pick it. They want to hold it in their hands, they want to own it. They want the flower’s beauty to be theirs, to be within their possession, their control. Don wasn’t like that. At least, not at first. Don was happy to be near the flower, to look at the flower, to appreciate the flower simply being.
Here’s the thing about marrying a guy like that—a guy like Don Adler, back then. You’re saying to him, “This beautiful thing you’ve been happy to simply appreciate, well, now it’s yours to own.”
Don and I partied the night away at the Mocambo. It was a real scene. Crowds outside, packed tight as sardines trying to get in. Inside, a celebrity playground. Tables upon tables filled with famous people, high ceilings, incredible stage acts, and birds everywhere. Actual live birds in glass aviaries.
Don introduced me to a few actors from MGM and Warner Brothers. I met Bonnie Lakeland, who had just gone freelance and made it big with Money, Honey. I heard, more than once, someone refer to Don as the prince of Hollywood, and I found it charming when he turned to me after the third time someone said it and whispered, “They are underestimating me. I’ll be king one of these days.”
Don and I stayed at Mocambo well past midnight, dancing together until our feet hurt. Every time a song ended, we said we were going to sit down, but once a new one started, we refused to leave the floor.
He drove me home, the streets quiet at the late hour, the lights dim all over town. When we got to my apartment, he walked me to my door. He didn’t ask to come in. He just said, “When can I see you again?”
“Call Harry and make a date,” I said.
Don put his hand on the door. “No,” he said. “Really. Me and you.”
“And the cameras?” I said.
“If you want them there, fine,” he said. “If you don’t, neither do I.” He smiled, a sweet, teasing smile.
I laughed. “OK,” I said. “How about next Friday?”
Don thought about it a second. “Can I tell you the truth about something?”
“If you must.”
“I’m scheduled to go to the Trocadero with Natalie Ember next Friday night.”
“Oh.”
“It’s the name. The Adler name. Sunset’s trying to squeeze all the fame out of me that they can.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think it’s just the name,” I told him. “I’ve seen Brothers in Arms. You’re great. The whole audience loved you.”
Don looked at me shyly and smiled. “You really think so?”
I laughed. He knew it was true; he just liked hearing it come out of my mouth.
“I won’t give you the satisfaction,” I said.
“I wish you would.”
“Enough of that,” I told him. “I’ve told you when I’m free. You do with it what you will.”
He stood tall, listening to what I’d said as if I’d given him orders. “OK, I’ll cancel Natalie, then. I’ll pick you up here on Friday at seven.”
I smiled and nodded. “Good night, Don,” I said.
“Good night, Evelyn,” he said.
I started to shut the door, and he put his hand up, stopping me.
“Did you have a good time tonight?” he asked me.
I thought about what to say, how to say it. And then I lost control of myself, giddy to feel excited by someone for the first time. “One of the better nights of my life,” I said.
Don smiled. “Me too.”
The next day, our picture appeared in Sub Rosa magazine with the caption “Don Adler and Evelyn Hugo make quite the pair.”
FATHER AND DAUGHTER WAS A huge hit. And as a show of just how excited Sunset was about my new persona, they credited me in the beginning of the movie as “Introducing Evelyn Hugo.” It was the first, and only, time my name was under the marquee.
On opening night, I thought of my mother. I knew that if she could have been there with me, she would have been beaming. I did it, I wanted to tell her. We’re both out of there.
When the movie did well, I thought Sunset would certainly green-light Little Women. But Ari wanted Ed Baker and me in another movie as fast as possible. We didn’t do sequels back then. Instead, we would essentially just make the same movie again with a different name and a slightly different conceit.
So we commenced shooting on Next Door. Ed played my uncle, who
had taken me in after my parents died. The two of us quickly fell into respective romantic entanglements with the widowed mother and son who lived next to us.
Don was shooting a thriller on the lot at the time, and he used to come visit me every day when his set broke for lunch.
I was absolutely smitten, in love and lust for the very first time.
I found myself brightening up the moment I set eyes on him, always finding reasons to touch him, reasons to bring him up in conversation when he wasn’t around.
Harry was sick of hearing about him.
“Ev, honey, I’m serious,” Harry said one afternoon in his office when the two of us were sharing a drink. “I’ve had it up to my eyeballs with this Don Adler talk.” I visited Harry about once a day back then, just to check in, see how he was doing. I always made it seem like business, but even then I knew he was the closest thing I had to a friend.
Sure, I’d become friendly with a lot of the other actresses at Sunset. Ruby Reilly, in particular, was a favorite of mine. She was tall and lean, with a dynamite laugh and an air of detachment to her. She never minced words but she could charm the pants off almost anybody.
Sometimes Ruby and I, and some of the other girls on the lot, would grab lunch and gossip about various goings-on, but, to be honest, I would have thrown every single one of them in front of a moving train to get a part. And I think they would have done the same to me.
Intimacy is impossible without trust. And we would have been idiots to trust one another.
But Harry was different.
Harry and I both wanted the same thing. We wanted Evelyn Hugo to be a household name. Also, we just liked each other.
“We can talk about Don, or we can talk about when you’re green-lighting Little Women,” I said teasingly.
Harry laughed. “It’s not up to me. You know that.”
“Well, why is Ari dragging his feet?”
“You don’t want to do Little Women right now,” Harry says. “It’s better if you give it a few months.”
“I most certainly do want to do it right now.”
Harry shook his head and stood up, pouring himself another glass of scotch. He didn’t offer me a second martini, and I knew it was because he knew I shouldn’t have had the first one to begin with.
The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo Page 6