Stars Over Sunset Boulevard

by Susan Meissner

  “Oh,” Violet said numbly.

  “Dear Violet, you do brighten my days.” Audrey shook her head. “Vince has stealthily put me in contact with someone who scouts for Warner and that’s who I am meeting on Tuesday. They’re looking to groom some new talent. I’ve been working on getting this meeting for a long while. I had to do it my way and that takes longer.”

  “Your way?”

  “I had to wait for this man to ask me for the meeting, of course.”

  Violet immediately pictured Audrey at soirees and parties where this man had been present. In her mind’s eye, she saw Audrey subtly positioning herself so that Providence—in the form of her mother—could persuade him to look Audrey’s way. And perhaps he said to the person next to him, “Who is that over there with Vince?”

  She pictured that man walking over to Audrey and saying something like, “Have we met before?” and Audrey, pretending she didn’t know who he was, responding with, “I don’t believe so. I’m Audrey Duvall.”

  The man surely would be charmed by Audrey’s loveliness and appeal; all men were. Violet wondered if Audrey truly knew how devastatingly beautiful she was. Or if she had considered that this man she would be meeting on Tuesday might have something on his mind other than Audrey’s future as a movie star.

  “But . . . but does this man think it’s a date?” Violet asked tentatively.

  Audrey’s hands fell still over the keys as she looked up. “Do you think that’s the only reason a man like that would ask me out to dinner?”

  Violet stiffened. “No. That’s not . . . I didn’t mean it that way. I just meant—”

  “You think I let him come up to me out of the blue and ask me to dinner with absolutely no context at all for it? You think I haven’t had him wanting to find a way to get me interested in what’s happening at Warner? That I haven’t been in complete control of this from the moment he introduced himself to me?”

  “Audrey, I . . .” But Violet could not finish her thought.

  “What? What are you trying to say?”

  “You are just so beautiful and elegant and alluring. Men can be so stupid. And selfish.”

  Audrey’s laugh was musical this time, and she reached out a hand to pat Violet’s arm. “It’s sweet of you to worry about me. But I promise you that I’m not naïve about any of this, Violet. And I don’t want you to ever be naïve about it, either.” Audrey leaned forward in her chair and locked her gaze onto Violet’s. “Don’t ever sleep with a man to get what you want, because you won’t get it. He will, but you won’t. You get what you want by being smart with what you have, not by giving away what you have. Promise me you won’t forget I told you this.”

  Violet was stunned for a moment by Audrey’s profoundly fraternal devotion toward her.

  “So you won’t forget?” Audrey pressed.

  Violet promised she would not give away what she had.

  FOURTEEN

  Audrey stood in front of her closet, arms folded across the front of her dressing gown, and studied the dresses on their hangers.

  The rose-and-ivory linen suit was a possibility.

  Or perhaps the ivy challis with its fitted waist and dolman sleeves?

  But no. The challis would wrinkle while she sat all day, taking down Rebecca dictation notes and then typing them up. There would not be enough time to come all the way back to the bungalow to change before meeting the Warner talent scout at Musso and Frank at six thirty. Whatever she wore to work would be what she wore to dinner. It had to still look perfect at the end of the day.

  Maybe the tangerine sheath and matching bolero jacket?

  She reached for the orange-hued ensemble, turned toward her vanity mirror, and held it up to her body.

  “That looks fabulous on you even with your hair up in a turban.”

  Audrey caught a glimpse of Violet’s reflection in the mirror. Her roommate stood in her nightgown at the open doorway, a cup of coffee in her hands.

  “Not so, but you’re sweet to say it, Vi.” She tossed the hanger onto the bed and pulled from the closet a lemon yellow fitted dress with ebony trim. “What do you think of this one?”

  “It’s stunning. I wish I could turn heads the way you do,” Violet said.

  Audrey turned to her. “Who says you don’t?”

  “I know I don’t.”

  Audrey turned back to the mirror. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that. Anyway. Beauty is all about perception, Vi. Your own perception is right up there with everyone else’s. You could turn heads if you wanted to.”

  Violet shrugged. “I wouldn’t know where to begin. Back home it was all about dressing modestly and organizing church bazaars and attending teas with the governor’s wife. We weren’t supposed to turn heads. We were raised to impress just one good man from one good family and win a proposal from him.”

  Audrey swung back around. After six months with Violet as her roommate, it seemed she was finally getting a peek into why Violet had gotten on the train that brought her westward. “And you wanted something more?”

  Violet was quiet for a second. “It doesn’t matter now what I wanted.”

  Audrey tossed the yellow dress back on the bed. “Of course it matters. If there’s something you want, you shouldn’t let anything stand in your way, Vi. Or anyone.”

  She waited for Violet to tell her more, but her roommate sipped her coffee and said nothing else. Audrey sensed a hundred unspoken thoughts in the tiny stretch of seconds.

  “What was his name, Vi?” Audrey asked gently.

  Violet looked up from her cup. A weak smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Clearly Violet was relieved she could skip the painful rehashing of the general details. “Franklin.”

  “Were in you love with him?”

  “At the time I was.”

  “And if you had stayed in Alabama and this Franklin had asked you to marry him, you’d be volunteering at all of Montgomery’s white-glove social events right now?”

  The little smile curling on Violet’s lips broadened. “Probably.”

  “I’m sure you’re meant for more than church bazaars and teas with the governor’s wife, Violet.”

  Violet laugh was short but genuine. “Maybe.”

  “Assuredly.”

  Audrey retrieved the dress in the shade of ripe tangerines. This was the one. She peeked at Violet’s reflection in the mirror. She was staring off into space. Audrey turned to face her. “Want to wear something of mine to your cast party today?”

  Violet slowly turned her head toward her. “Something of yours?”

  Audrey reached for a white pencil skirt and periwinkle silk blouse hanging in her closet. “Here. You’ll look dynamite in this shade of blue. And I’ve got just the shoes for you. I’ll do your eyebrows for you, too. And your rouge. You’ll turn heads all right.”

  Violet stood speechless before her. Audrey wondered for a moment if by suggesting such a makeover she had offended Violet. She opened her mouth to apologize but Violet filled the silence before she could say another word.

  “Can you do my hair, too?” Violet said.

  Audrey grinned and handed her the clothes.

  • • •

  Primping Violet for the last day of shooting Gone With the Wind had been exciting; watching heads swivel their way as they strode onto the studio had been enjoyable, too. But the rest of the day slogged on. The studio was abuzz with the energy that accompanies a film’s last day of shooting. But Audrey sensed only the tedium of the long day’s work.

  By five o’clock, she could no longer concentrate on her typing and clocked out, giving herself plenty of time to get to the restaurant.

  She took the streetcar to Hollywood Boulevard and stopped first at The Broadway department store to browse the perfume counter and pretend to be an interested customer so that she could be spritzed with the t
antalizing scent of Tabu. After a quick trip to the ladies’ restroom to fluff her hair and reapply her lipstick, Audrey was ready to meet the scout. She left the store and cast a glance skyward as she began to leisurely walk the three blocks to Musso and Frank. She hoped that through the ruffled clouds, her angel mother was watching over her.

  The scout, Woodrow Wallace, had already been seated when Audrey arrived. She had met him at a party Vince had taken her to a few weeks earlier, and she was glad they wouldn’t need to waste time on pleasantries. When she was shown to the table he rose and smiled, but Audrey detected the faintest hint of pretense behind it. She sat down.

  The man was her age, perhaps a year or two older, newly married for the second time already, and father to a newborn son. Audrey knew Wallace’s father had been a silent film star and that he had dabbled in acting himself until he got a taste for working alongside producers and directors to help cast movies. He had confided in Audrey that he hoped to follow in Myron Selznick’s footsteps and start his own agency in the not-too-distant future. She had dared to believe that he might want to talk to her that night about becoming his first client.

  But as she took her seat, she sensed that nothing about this situation felt like the moment when Stiles had stared at her in that coffee shop and asked her if she wanted to be a star.

  “Would you like a drink?” he said politely as he raised his martini. Too politely. He had bad news to share.

  “Am I going to need one?”

  Wallace placed his drink on the table. “I got called into a meeting today. Your name came up.”

  He smiled, but not happily so.

  “Did it?”

  “I brought it up, actually. The conversation was leading right to what I had told you earlier, about Warner wanting to find their own Joan Crawford–type breakout star. It seemed like perfect timing for me to mention you.”

  The room felt warm and the splashes of Tabu at her neck suddenly smelled cloying. She said nothing.

  “They want someone younger, Audrey. I couldn’t get them past the fact that you’re turning thirty-one. I showed them your photo. They saw that you don’t look a day over twenty-five.”

  Audrey half grinned at the stabbing compliment. “Then let’s just tell them you’re bad at math. You added the numbers wrong. I’m only twenty-five.”

  Wallace smiled. “I wish it was that easy. Some of them remember you.”

  Audrey winced uncontrollably. There had been a period of time after the failed movie that she wished she could erase. She nearly thought she had. “What do they remember?”

  Wallace lifted a shoulder. “I guess they remember how old you are.”

  Audrey pushed the dark memory away. “What about a screen test? Shouldn’t they wait to decide until they’ve seen a screen test?”

  “Yes, they should. But they feel they don’t need to. They’ve already got someone else in mind.”

  Audrey closed her eyes to keep the room from spinning. “Someone younger.”

  “Yes.”

  She kept her eyes closed as she fought to hold on to the trailing edge of heaven. Hadn’t she just felt it as she walked down the boulevard? Or had it been a dream? Had it all been a dream?

  “I’m so sorry, Audrey. If it was up to me, this would have turned out differently. I think you have potential.”

  “You there, Mama?” Audrey whispered.

  “Pardon me?”

  But there was no sound except for the clinking of silverware in the distance and the soft tones of a dozen nearby conversations.

  Audrey opened her eyes. “I believe I’ll have that drink now.”

  FIFTEEN

  Stage 5, which had recently been dressed to look like Atlanta during the War Between the States, now appeared to have been overrun by time travelers from another era. Men and women were tipping back drinks, Glenn Miller played on a radio that someone had brought in, and there were laughter and noise and other unmistakable signs of the twentieth century.

  The mood was relaxed and festive, and even though the mingling of cast and crew wouldn’t be out of place, Violet sensed there was still an atmosphere of quiet division between the two, not because one couldn’t appreciate the other, but because the Herculean effort to film the monstrous project that was Gone With the Wind had ended, thank God, and everyone was ready to slide back into the normal, easy lives they’d had before it had begun.

  Violet, standing off to the side, felt very much like the spectator she had been from the beginning. Miss Myrick, comfortable with cast as well as crew, since both had relied on her expertise during filming, moved easily through the small clutches of people, posing for pictures, smiling, and saying her good-byes. She’d told Violet just as the party got under way that she would be leaving Hollywood for a much-deserved vacation before heading back to Atlanta, and she didn’t think she’d be needed for any of the post-filming. Violet could only assume that she would have to report back to the secretarial pool in the morning.

  She sighed at this thought and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Audrey’s shoes were squeezing her toes, and she allowed herself a grimace before edging out from the wall on which she’d been leaning to again scan the crowd for Bert. This time she was rewarded. He stood among other wardrobe staff, off to the side. He wore his cap and jacket and had the look of one not planning to stay long. Violet tossed her paper cup into the trash bin and headed in his direction, her pained feet protesting every step.

  “I hoped I’d see you here,” Violet said cheerfully when she was just a few feet from him.

  Bert looked at her, taking in the sweep of her hair around her shoulders, the hue of the silk blouse, Audrey’s slimming skirt, and even the shiny charcoal gray shoes on her feet.

  “Violet.” Bert said her name as though he wondered if that’s who she really was. The three coworkers he was with were all looking at Violet, too.

  A grin tugged at her mouth but she reined it back to a polite smile as she said hello to Bert’s companions.

  “Hey, Violet,” one of them said. “You’re looking nice tonight.”

  “Why, thank you, Teddy,” she replied as demurely as she could, mindful that Bert was still staring at her.

  “Who’s the lucky fella?” said another, winking at her almost as if he could read her thoughts.

  “No one!” Violet tried to sound pleased and playful. “You’d think I’d dyed my hair green instead of just deciding to wear it down today.”

  Bert’s friends laughed.

  She turned back to Bert, who seemed less surprised now by her appearance, but he was not laughing with the others. He looked as though he was contemplating something.

  “Are you not staying for the party?” she said.

  Bert hesitated a second before answering. “I’m . . . I’m picking up my truck at my friend’s house tonight.”

  “You finished it!”

  “Almost. I was waiting on a part that came in yesterday. I just have to pop it in.”

  “Maybe you’d like to bring Violet with you to get it,” the one named Teddy said slyly.

  Violet pretended she didn’t catch the connotation. “I’d love to come with you,” she said to Bert.

  The men laughed again and eyed one another.

  An embarrassed smile pulled at the corner of Bert’s mouth. “I’m sure you’d rather be here at the party.”

  “No, I wouldn’t,” she said quickly. “I don’t really know anybody here except Miss Myrick and she’s off saying good-bye to everyone. I’ve been bored out of my mind.”

  “But you’re all dressed up.”

  Violet looked down at the milky blue blouse and the white pencil skirt and then raised her gaze to meet his. “They’re just work clothes.”

  “What kind of work would that be?” one of the men whispered to Teddy.

  Before Violet could even
think of a response Bert told the man to shut his trap.

  The three friends laughed and stepped away, with one telling Bert to make sure he knew how to drive the thing before he took off down the street in it.

  “Sorry,” Bert said as his friends moved out of earshot. “They’ve no manners.”

  But Violet wasn’t pondering the offense. Bert’s quick and chivalrous defense of her honor was the only thing reverberating in her head.

  “You honestly don’t have to come with me,” he said, when she didn’t reply.

  “But I really do want to come.”

  He studied her for a moment. “Okay.”

  “I’ll be right back. Don’t leave without me.” Violet rushed away to say good-bye to Miss Myrick. As she returned to Bert she couldn’t help but limp a little. A blister on her right heel felt ready to burst. He looked down at her feet as she neared him.

  “New shoes,” she said, dismissing her pain as if it was nothing.

  Bert opened the door for her as they left Stage 5. “Maybe we should stop by your place so you can change?”

  Violet was immediately stung by his suggestion. She didn’t want to be, but she was. She wanted to respond with, Don’t you realize I went to all this trouble for you?

  Bert saw her veiled displeasure and quickly added, “Not that you don’t look great, Violet, because you do. But I’m going to pick up a truck, not a limousine. And those shoes are obviously hurting your feet.”

  The sting was gone in an instant. “Do you really think I look great?”

  “Sure. I mean, it’s a different look for you and all, but it’s . . . it’s a nice look.”

  A nice look. She wanted to hear him say she looked beautiful. She wanted him to say she was as beautiful as Audrey was.