“You have to get control of this, or someone else will write your story,” Sally reminded her.
“I know, I know.” Loretta lit a cigarette.
“Gable got his legal separation,” Niven said. “What is keeping you apart, really?”
“I had a baby out of wedlock with a married man. Louis B. Mayer would cancel his contract, and kill my career. Can I say it any plainer?”
“Let’s say we could avoid all that, and that you can be with Clark. Do you want him?”
“I don’t know.”
Sally and Niv looked at one another.
“There’s your trouble, sis.”
“Clark wants to see the baby,” Niven said softly.
“He can’t. They’ll find out about her, and I can’t risk it!”
“Please, it’s all he talks about. You must let him see her. It’s his baby—don’t you owe him that?”
Gable stood on the cliff above Lake Arrowhead and surveyed the position of the sun. The navy-blue lake rippled below, the soft sound of the water against the shore soothing as it lapped against the rocks. The ground was carpeted in orange leaves. He took out his rifle, flipped the gun, and checked the chamber. He heard the flap of geese wings overhead as they circled in the bright blue patch like a ribbon.
He cocked the gun on his shoulder and took a shot. A bird fell out of the sky as the others flapped away, until all that remained was the cloudless sky.
“The master at work,” Niven said from behind him.
“When are you going to take a shot?”
“Never.”
“Why not?”
“I happen to like birds. My mother had a parakeet, you know. A darling turquoise thing with a pink beak and a yellow ruff. She was Shakespearean. Clever. I taught her to greet all guests with a squawk and a ‘Bugger off’ in plain English. It was scandalous.”
“I’ll bet,” Gable said.
“I was sent up this ridge to tell you that the bellman at the hotel has loaded the car.”
“Good.”
“Heading back to Los Angeles.”
“Down the mountain and home.” Gable checked the gauge on his rifle.
“Might we make a stop?”
“Sure.”
“There’s a little house in Venice on the beach I’d like to show you.”
“Another one of your practical jokes? I get there, and there’s an eighty-year-old hooker with less teeth than me?”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“Well, what then?”
“Your daughter.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Gretchen has the baby in Venice. It’s one of Gladys Belzer’s rental properties.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“She told me she took the baby away—out of town.”
“To be fair to Gretchen, it’s not a lie. She is out of town.”
“How long have you known this?”
“Not long at all. I took the girls out—Sally and Gretchen—to throw off the hounds.”
“And did you?”
“We’ll see. How’s your divorce coming?”
“I paid my lawyer double to get the separation pushed through—and that wasn’t easy. Ria is going to take me for everything I’ve got. Said she can’t put a price on humiliation.”
“Does she know about the baby?”
“Suspicious. Ria didn’t believe a word of the Manners column in August.”
“The public believed the story.”
“If the public buys it, so do the bosses. You know what kills me, Niv?” Gable replaced the cartridge in the gun.
“That gun?”
Gable chuckled. “We’re in service to the audience, that’s it. Forget the bosses, the code, and the church. We could have come out of this.”
“She doesn’t see a way, Clark.”
“Because she’s hell-bent to do everything alone. I don’t understand it. Let the man take care of it.”
“I’m afraid there haven’t been many men around the Young family—at least in positions of authority. Darling Gladys runs that show.”
“And that’s the problem. Whoever those chumps were that Gladys married did a fine job of ruining it for me. Do you have any idea how crazy about Gretchen I have been?”
“I have an idea. Every man that has ever known her has fallen a little bit in love with her.”
“You’re not helping, Niv.”
“Is it over?”
“What do you think?”
“I think as long as there’s love and a baby, there’s hope.”
“Let’s get going,” Gable grumbled.
“We’ll stop in Venice?”
“I want to see my kid, don’t I?”
Gable and Niv parked his old pickup on the marina in Venice, where it blended in with the trucks parked to haul tuna, swordfish, and sea bass to the local markets.
Niv led the way through the sand-covered streets of Venice to Rindge Street, where a row of simple gray saltbox houses with white trim lined the street. Gable followed his friend up the walk. There was a milk case by the door, and a rocker with cobwebs between the spindles on the porch, but nothing else, not even a house number.
Gable stood back as Niv rapped on the door.
Clark had a sinking feeling, one of dread, but he also held out hope, as that was the kind of man he was. He figured there was a solution to every problem, as long as people wanted to work things out. His midwestern values were ingrained in him, and he applied them to every situation. For most of his life, they had held him in good stead.
He looked at the house and thought it unworthy of his child. It seemed like a shanty, the pinewood exterior faded gray from the sun. There was no landscaping, not a flower; just the low brown brush that grows by the beach. The sand hemmed the street and spilled off onto the sidewalk, which was plain concrete, certainly not the elaborate hand-laid brick of the driveway at Sunset House, or the California red fieldstones at the ranch he had just bought in Encino. His working farm was more elegant than this dump. His daughter had been born in this squalor. It broke his heart.
The door opened from the inside.
Niven walked through the door, followed by Gable.
Loretta stood in the living room of the house in a skirt and blouse. She was barefoot. The shades were pulled down, as though there was something to hide inside, and of course there was—an illegitimate baby.
Judy cooed in her pink blanket.
Gable’s heart beat faster when he saw Loretta. She was as radiant as she had been on Mount Baker, but here she was not made up for the camera, with lipstick and mascara; she was natural, just clear skin, sparkling eyes, and a smile that gave him hope.
“Gretchen,” he said as he crossed the room to her.
Niv winked at Loretta and slipped out the back door to give the family their privacy.
“Here’s your daughter,” she said, handing the bundle to Gable.
Loretta stood back and watched as he kissed his girl and gently rocked her in his arms. He pulled her close.
“She’s irresistible.” Loretta smiled.
“How did you do this?” he said.
“You helped.”
“What did you name her?”
“Judith.”
“Judy. I like it.” Gable kissed his daughter. “Where’s the crib?”
“We use a drawer. It’s the old-fashioned way. We line it with satin blankets.”
“A drawer?”
“She’s comfortable and happy. See?”
“How are you doing?”
“I’m all right. Going back to work soon.”
“What happens to the baby?”
“You’ll go on your trip, and I’ll figure it out.”
“Why won’t you see me?”
“We can’t.”
“We could get a little place somewhere. I could work the farm. We could have our little family and be happy.”
“What about your work?”
“I don’t care.”
“You’re under contract.”
“Screw the contract.”
“I’m under contract.”
“Screw your contract.”
Loretta remembered how fired up Gable would get when Wellman tried to control him during a scene. He had the same fire in his eyes, but this was different; the stakes were higher. She could see that she mattered to him, and that the baby did too.
“Let me proceed with my plan. When you get back from South America, we’ll talk.”
“Will you take my call?”
“I will.”
Before Gable handed the baby back to Loretta, he held her close and kissed her.
Loretta had never seen anything quite as moving as Clark holding their daughter. He was gentle and strong, the father she’d longed for in her dreams. She wished that they could find a way to bring up their baby together.
Gable fished in his pockets until he found a wad of bills. He placed them on the table. “Buy our daughter a decent bed, will you?”
The poinsettias on the altar of Saint Paul the Apostle Church were in full bloom two days after Christmas. The dark church was empty, except for the baptismal party of Judith Young that had entered from the back of the church, through the sacristy, past the altar to the baptismal font.
A life-size nativity scene made of hand-painted plaster from Italy was positioned in the side alcove. Loretta held her daughter in her arms as she sat in the first pew of the church. She looked at the baby Jesus in the scene, and then down at her daughter, and said a silent prayer of thanksgiving that her daughter had been born healthy.
Polly, in a blue velvet coat and hat, and her husband Carter, in a black suit, stood next to the font. Loretta rose from the pew and joined them as Gladys and Father Fitzgerald, the pastor at Saint Paul’s, joined them. Loretta handed the baby to her sister Polly, the godmother.
As Father blessed Judy and baptized her with holy water, Loretta took a step back and wept. Gladys gripped Loretta’s waist and held her tight as Polly and Carter promised to bring her up in the Catholic faith. The priest anointed the baby with oil, protecting her, welcoming her into the faith. When the priest was done, Loretta kissed the baby and her mother. Polly doted over the baby, as Carter stood by, supporting his new bride. He was nervous; as a new member of the family, he had taken on the secret out of respect for his wife’s wishes.
Loretta followed Father Fitzgerald to the sacristy. She genuflected before the altar with the priest, then followed him through the door, past the sacristy, and to his office.
Loretta took a seat in front of him at his desk. “Father, thank you for baptizing my baby girl.”
“We welcome your baby into the fold. Now I need your help on this paperwork.”
“Father, you understand my circumstances. I want to protect my daughter, and in order to do that, I have to change the names on this document.”
“I understand, Loretta. I want your word that in the years to come, you will return to Saint Paul’s and change this document to reflect the truth and the proper names involved in this baptism.”
“I will, Father. Once Judy is settled and we’ve figured out what to do.”
“I’m going to leave this with you. You fill it in, and I will sign it.”
“Thank you, Father.”
Father Fitzgerald went to the door. She picked up the pen. “Father? I don’t want to put my sister and brother-in-law’s names on this document as godparents for now. Can you provide me with a name?”
Father thought for a moment. “When I was a boy, there was a lovely couple who were very devout and couldn’t have children. Write down Mr. R. C. Troeger and Mrs. R. C. Troeger.” The priest spelled the name for Loretta.
“Thank you.”
The priest left Loretta alone as she filled in the rest of the fictional document. She wrote slowly, having thought these names through. Mary Judith Clark was the infant: Mary in honor of the Blessed Mother; Judith as her proper name; and as for the surname, Loretta chose Gable’s first name deliberately. She wrote “William Clark” in the space identifying the father. William was Gable’s own father’s name.
Loretta left the clues for her family and ultimately for Judy, who one day would want to know when and where she was baptized. Loretta would explain why she had to hide the truth on paper. She was protecting her baby, Clark Gable’s career, her own livelihood, and the reputation of her family. Loretta made sure Judy was baptized for spiritual reasons; those were more important to her than any of the other reasons for fabricating the names on the baptismal certificate.
Loretta closed the fountain pen and left it next to the document on the pastor’s desk. Father Fitzgerald would return, sign it, stamp it, and record it in the permanent ledger of the church. He would make another copy and send it to the prelate at the diocese of Los Angeles.
Loretta was relieved her daughter had received the first sacrament of her spiritual life. She had brought Judy to the church to be blessed, welcomed into the community, and washed in the waters of baptism. Loretta had ensured the salvation of Judy’s immortal soul. No matter how Loretta might fail her daughter, on this point she was clear. Loretta’s faith brought her comfort. Her church hadn’t let her down; it had been there for her in her darkest hours, its prayers had soothed her while the ritual of the mass had given her continuity and grace. Loretta could not give Judy everything, including her father’s presence on this special day, but she could give her the gift of everlasting life, even if the certificate that confirmed it was fiction.
The Mayfair Ball at the glamorous Victor Hugo restaurant, with its intimate tables and its indoor garden motif of trellises, lush greens, and exotic flowers, broke up the long winter in late January of 1936.
Carole Lombard, the quirky bombshell actress, hosted, requesting that everyone in attendance wear white. Carole was the highest paid actor in Hollywood at the moment, and she liked to share. She expected opulence, a blizzard of sequins, crystals, and beads hand-sewn on Indian silks, Italian velvets, and French faille, and she got it. The women kept the studio costumers busy up to the final fittings, draping white velvet, cutting white tulle, and hemming white satin until there wasn’t a stitch of white thread left in Hollywood.
The men were required to wear white tie and tails. Loretta accepted the invitation of Lydell Peck, a studio executive, a good friend who slipped her the best scripts on the Paramount lot. She decided to go at the last minute, knowing that advance word of her attendance would bring the barrage of questions about Gable. The Mayfair Ball wasn’t a night out on the town for Loretta; it wasn’t fun, it was strictly business. After nearly a year off for her illness, Loretta had to show she was back in the game.
Loretta entered the restaurant in a white chiffon sheath, anchored with a diamond brooch on her shoulder. Her evening gloves trailed up her arm in sleek satin. As the stars poured into the restaurant, Niv left his date, Merle Oberon, to greet his pal Loretta.
“He’s coming,” Niv whispered in her ear.
“With whom?”
“Some lounge singer. I think he found her on the MGM extras roster.”
“Incorrigible.” If Loretta needed proof that Gable was incapable of being faithful, all she need do was check his dinner companions. “I saw Ria Gable at the valet with about a hundred attorneys. I’ll have to give her the old dodge.”
“I wouldn’t worry. She’s off your trail and back on Elizabeth Allan’s.”
“Is he seeing her again?”
“Off and on,” Niv admitted.
Loretta turned pale at the thought of Gable juggling so many women. He might claim to be serious about wanting to divorce Ria and marry her, but his actions proved otherwise.
Niven took Loretta’s arm. “Are you all right? If you need me to snuff any reporters or steal you away from any dirty old bosses, you just give me the high sign and it’s Niv to the rescue.”
Niv left Loretta to join Merle Oberon. Loretta took in a long,
slow breath to calm her racing heart. She chided herself for having shown up to this party at all, but her agent had convinced her that she needed to be out, to be seen, so that the studio bosses could see for themselves that she was the picture of health. Tonight, even her career seemed too high a price to pay for the humiliation of being part of a circus that included Gable, his wife, and his women. Loretta decided to act her way through the evening, pretend that she was having a nice time, and cut out of the joint as soon as possible, faking a headache to her date.
Carole Lombard had a big raucous laugh that she threw her entire body into. She was wearing satin—a skin-tight bias-cut gown that clung to her as though it were wet, more nightgown than formal wear. Loretta watched Lombard command the room like one of the boys looking like one of the girls. Lombard had style, but very little couth.
“Pretty dress,” Gable said from behind Loretta.
The sound of his voice made her heart race. Loretta turned to him, remembering her vow to pretend she wanted to be there. “You look handsome.”
“Not handsome enough to keep you.”
“Oh, Clark.” Loretta let her guard down, and Gable saw through her veneer.
“I miss you,” he said.
“Do you mean it?” Loretta was about to invite him to see Judy, to hold her again, to see the crib she had purchased with the money he had given her. As she looked into his eyes, she regretted everything. She wanted him back. She had to talk to him about Judy, and how to have him be a part of their lives. “If you do . . .”
Ria Gable entered the restaurant with more attorneys than the Supreme Court bench. She wore a floor-length white chemise, with enormous puffed sleeves the size of Halloween pumpkins. Ria’s dress said party, but her face said execution.
Sensing the social chopping block, Gable whispered, “I have to skedaddle.”
Loretta watched as Gable walked away. He had been sweet to her, a drive-by of warmth, one that any pretty girl in the room would enjoy. Clark joined the MGM studio executives, playing the role of delightful, accessible movie star, artfully working the bosses and their wives with charm. Gable was smooth; whatever he earned, he deserved. Loretta was reminded how hard he had to work to stay at the top. If only she had met him anywhere but Hollywood, they might have had a chance.
All the Stars in the Heavens Page 32