Stars Over Sunset Boulevard

by Susan Meissner

  “Vince called me. I need to be somewhere in a little bit and I’ve got to look like a million dollars.”

  “You already look like a million dollars.”

  Audrey smiled. “If anyone asks, just tell them I was called out to one of the stages.”

  Before Violet could respond, Audrey turned from her and headed for the door.

  The sun was bright and hot as she stepped outside, warmer than she thought the sense of heaven would feel, but she was sure of its presence just the same. The magic was happening all over again, just like it had before. She had been patient. She had played by the rules of Providence. She had kept her head this time. And now her angel mother was smiling down on her finally, finally.

  Finally the tide was turning.

  When she raised her hand to signal a taxi she felt as if she could fly.

  SEVENTEEN

  Violet took the dictation she had been working on that afternoon and readied the memos and letters for the mail room and interoffice mail courier. No one had asked her about Audrey, much to her relief. Everyone apparently had enough on their minds with postproduction for Gone With the Wind and preproduction for Rebecca to notice. Audrey had seemed excited but also nervous when she stole away. Audrey hadn’t ever seemed the type to get nervous, not even when she took Violet home to the farm for Christmas. Violet couldn’t imagine what could have called Audrey away in the middle of the workday and so unsteadied her. The oddity of it reminded Violet that a few days earlier, Audrey had mentioned a name Violet hadn’t heard before: Peg Entwistle.

  What had Audrey said—Peg Entwistle had had the right idea? Violet had forgotten to ask someone else who that woman was. She’d ask Bert on the way home if he knew.

  A few minutes after quitting time, she met him at his pickup truck.

  “Audrey had somewhere she had to be,” Violet said as soon as she was near him and before he could ask.

  “She doesn’t want us to wait for her?”

  Violet was fairly certain he was asking more from politeness than genuine interest. Fairly certain. “No, she snuck away at lunchtime. Something came up.” She climbed into the truck.

  It was the first time in many days that they had been alone in the truck and Violet wished she didn’t feel so awkward. She asked about Bert’s day as they pulled onto Ince Street and he returned the favor by asking about hers. But it was all such superficial talk. Violet didn’t know how to get back to the place they’d been two weeks ago when he’d kissed her. She was pondering this when Bert cleared his throat.

  “Would you like to go get some dinner?”

  She wanted to squeal that she would absolutely love to, but managed to smile and accept his invitation with far less volume.

  He grinned and Violet scooted nearer him. He looked down at her.

  “You don’t mind if I sit here, do you?” she asked.

  “I don’t mind,” Bert said easily. “I don’t mind at all.”

  Sitting close to Bert felt natural and right, like they were already a couple and he already loved her. She didn’t want to think about what she would have to tell him at some point. Right now it didn’t matter. How could it matter right then? It was too soon to talk about something as personal as that. Far too soon. Light conversation was in order, not the intimate details of her flawed body.

  “Say, do you know who Peg Entwistle is?” she asked.

  Bert crooked an eyebrow and looked away from the road for a second to peer at her. “You don’t?”

  “No.”

  “What brings her up?”

  “Why? Who is she?”

  “You mean who was she.”

  “Oh. So she’s deceased, then?”

  “I’d say that’s putting it lightly.”

  “What happened to her?”

  Bert sighed lightly. “It’s very sad what happened to her. Peg Entwistle killed herself.”

  A slender stab of alarm pierced Violet. “When? Why?”

  “A few years back. She was an actress trying to make it here in Hollywood but it wasn’t working out for her, I guess. Her last film got such poor reviews that she climbed to the top of the H on the Hollywoodland sign and jumped.”

  Violet couldn’t breathe. Surely Audrey had been joking when she’d said what she did. She had to have been. Had to.

  “I was still living at home then,” Bert went on. “I didn’t get the job at MGM until a couple of years later. Audrey would have been here, though. Peg Entwistle didn’t live far from Audrey’s bungalow. Her name doesn’t come up much anymore. Did someone in the secretary pool mention her?”

  But Violet barely heard him. Audrey had been speaking sarcastically, surely.

  “Violet?”

  “Oh. No. I mean yes. Someone in the pool brought her name up. Just in passing. As a joke. Sort of.”

  “A joke?’

  “Sort of. Never mind. We don’t have to talk about her anymore.”

  It was a name Audrey had mentioned by way of simple exaggeration. That was all.

  When Bert brought Violet home a few hours later, the bungalow was dark. He walked her to the door and leaned in to kiss her lightly, tentatively, as though he was still getting acclimated to letting his affections drift to another woman.

  Violet listened for Audrey’s return as she lay in bed, but Bert’s kiss lingered on her lips and lulled her into dreamless sleep.

  • • •

  At seven fifteen the next morning the temperature read eighty degrees and a thin ribbon of sweat circled Violet’s neck and forehead as she finished her breakfast. The past few days had been sweltering, like it got in Montgomery, but there was no moisture in the air. It was as if someone had turned on an oven and everyone in Los Angeles was roasting inside it without so much as a tablespoon of sauce for basting.

  Violet poured the rest of her coffee down the sink and dabbed at her moist skin with a tea towel. She looked at her wristwatch, even though she knew what time it was. Bert would be coming for them soon and Audrey still hadn’t emerged from her bedroom.

  Violet tossed the towel onto the countertop and headed down the hall. She listened at Audrey’s door but heard nothing.

  “Audrey?” Violet knocked gently.

  When there was no response, she knocked again. “Audrey?” she said again, this time louder.

  “What is it, Violet?”

  The words from beyond the door sounded weighted by more than just the timbre of a sultry voice. Violet turned the knob, slowly cracked open the door, and peeked inside. The room was swathed in rust-colored light created from the closed curtains. Audrey, in her bathrobe, sat in an armchair, smoking a cigarette with the cat on her lap.

  “It’s getting late. Bert will be coming for us,” Violet said.

  “I’m not going to work today.”

  Violet stepped in fully and Audrey looked up at her. Even in her nightgown, with her hair tousled about her shoulders, Audrey looked lovely. But her expression was one of cool disinterest. She brought the cigarette to her mouth and inhaled.

  “You’re not?” Violet said.

  Audrey exhaled and tapped the cigarette on the ashtray on the bedside table next to her. The little nightingale was on the table, too.

  “No. I think a girl should get to do whatever she wants on her birthday.”

  Violet, surprised by this news, took another step inside the room. “It’s your birthday? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I told you when you moved in when my birthday was.”

  “Audrey, that was ages ago.”

  “Thanks for reminding me.”

  Bert hadn’t said anything, either, about Audrey’s birthday coming up, which meant he likely had overlooked it. They shouldn’t have forgotten it. Violet walked over to the armchair. “I’m sorry I didn’t remember.”

  Audrey shrugged and took a drag
on her cigarette.

  “We can do something fun later,” Violet said.

  “I like what I’m doing right now.”

  Violet sat down on the unmade bed, her knees touching Audrey’s knees. “Are you sure skipping out on work is a good idea, though?”

  Audrey laughed and even with her dark mood it sounded like music. “You do have a way with words, Violet. It is quite possibly a terrible idea.” Audrey stroked the cat, and he lifted his head and meowed lazily.

  “Then get dressed and come with me.”

  Audrey put the cigarette to her mouth again. “No,” she said when she pulled it away. Smoke wafted out of her pursed lips like it had somewhere to be and was late.

  “But what if . . . what if Mrs. Pope—”

  “What if she fires me?” Audrey finished for her. “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.” She tipped her head back and laughed at her comical reference to Rhett Butler’s last line in the current version of the Gone With the Wind script. Valentino jumped off her lap and strolled away.

  “But, Audrey—”

  Audrey leveled her gaze back to meet Violet’s. “I honestly don’t care, Violet. I’ve given this studio the best years of my life, and what has it given me?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “I’ve ingratiated myself before every assistant producer, director, writer, idea man, and talent scout who’s had even a modicum of influence. I’ve done everything they’ve asked of me and then some. I may as well have been a fifty-year-old grandmother, for all the good it’s done me.”

  “But maybe . . . maybe they don’t know how to see past the fact that you’re a secretary. Do any of those people know what you’d really like to do?”

  For a second Audrey didn’t answer. “You go on to work, little busy bee Violet. Go on,” she finally said.

  A truck pulled up to the curb outside the house. Audrey heard it, too.

  “Go on.” Audrey crushed out her cigarette.

  Violet stood up. “I’ll tell Mrs. Pope you’re not feeling well.”

  “Tell her anything you want.”

  Violet made one last appeal. “I can tell Bert to wait for us. Or I can tell him to go ahead and you and I will catch the streetcar. I’ll help you get ready, Audrey. Come on. Please?”

  Audrey smiled at her. “You’re a peach. But I need to think. I can’t think at work. Go on. Bert’s waiting for you.” She turned her head to the curtained window where, on the other side of the glass, the truck idled at the curb. “Dear, sweet Bert,” she said in a faraway voice that sounded heavy with regret.

  At first Violet could only stare at Audrey. “I’ll tell Mrs. Pope you have the flu,” she said a few seconds later.

  “You do that.” Audrey leaned back in the chair and rested her head on its rounded back.

  Violet walked back out into the main room, grabbed her purse, and headed for the front door.

  When she climbed into the truck, Bert looked past her to see if she was alone.

  “Where’s Audrey?”

  “She’s . . . she’s feeling under the weather.” Violet shut the passenger’s-side door.

  Bert put the truck into gear and pulled away from the curb. “After deciding out of the blue to leave early yesterday? She’s going to lose her job if she’s not careful.”

  “I actually don’t think she’s too keen on staying at Selznick much longer.”

  “Getting fired from one job is not the way to go looking for another.”

  “That’s pretty much what I told her. She won’t listen to me.” Violet scooted closer to him. “But I think she’s always been the kind of person to do what she wants.”

  Bert shrugged. “Well, I don’t know about that.”

  The subject of her roommate fell away, and Violet finally relaxed next to the man she was falling in love with. She’d tell Bert later that it was Audrey’s birthday and they should take her out for a malt or a movie. If Audrey was even amenable to that.

  Half an hour later, when Violet told Mrs. Pope that Audrey had the flu, the woman regarded Violet with unmistakable doubt in her eyes.

  “The flu?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “She couldn’t call in herself? She’s that sick?”

  “Oh. I told her I would tell you.”

  Mrs. Pope cocked her head slightly. “You’re a good worker, Violet. One of the best we have here in this office. You do yourself no favors by lying for your roommate.”

  Blood rushed warm to her face. “But Audrey is—”

  “I know exactly what Audrey Duvall is.” Mrs. Pope lowered her gaze back to her desk. “She is someone who left without permission yesterday and abandoned a pile of unsent dictation that has caused no small amount of trouble this morning.”

  Violet sensed that not only was Mrs. Pope aware of Audrey’s absence yesterday afternoon, but she also knew why she’d slipped away.

  “She just wants a chance!”

  “What she wants is to be a star. What she is is a secretary. It’s what she was hired to be. Nobody forced her to take up a steno pad.”

  “Please don’t fire her, Mrs. Pope.”

  “That decision has already been made.” Mrs. Pope did not look up. “We’re finished here.”

  Violet returned slowly to her desk, numb with worry and unease. Her wire basket of incoming correspondence was brimming, and she was glad. She didn’t want to think about what had just happened and the work would keep her mind from it.

  She sought out Bert at lunch and told him the news that as far as she could tell, Audrey had lost her job.

  “What do you think she’ll do?” she said.

  “I don’t know. She owns that house and I think she might still have some of the inheritance Aunt Jo left her. I know she’s been careful with it.”

  “But it will be so strange not going to work with her each day.”

  Bert crumpled up his napkin. “Things are already strange. Maybe it’s time she did something different. She doesn’t want to be a secretary, anyway. She’s wasting her time here. It’s all been a waste.” His attitude seemed forced and abrupt.

  “Surely it hasn’t all been a waste,” Violet said, hoping to lighten his mood.

  “Maybe.” He was quiet for a moment. Then he turned to her, a different look on his face. “So you want to go bowling with me and some friends tonight? We can go out for hamburgers first.”

  It sounded like a date. She was about to say she’d love to when she remembered it was Audrey’s birthday. She pondered for just a moment what to do. Audrey probably wouldn’t be in much of a mood to celebrate turning thirty-one. She’d say nothing until Bert took her home to change out of her work clothes. If Audrey was home, she’d ask her to join them.

  Before the day was over, Violet was called out to the Forty. The opening scene on the porch with Scarlett and the Tarleton twins was to be shot again, for the fourth time. Miss Leigh was back on the set for it, and Violet was to stand in for Miss Myrick, who was now at home in Georgia. This time, Miss Leigh didn’t wear the dress with the green sprigs. She wore the ruffled white dress from the evening prayers scene. Mr. Selznick wanted her to look naïve and innocent when she complains that she doesn’t want to hear one more word about some silly war.

  EIGHTEEN

  Audrey tipped her head as she sat on the divan, her knees curled up under her, and drank from the cocktail in her hand. Her satin dressing gown was tied loosely around her. She pulled at the lapels as across from her in an armchair Vince lifted his own drink to his mouth.

  “Does your fiancée know where you are?” she said as she rearranged the bathrobe’s folds. Her hair had tumbled out of its pins and fell about her face in fat curls.

  “She’s the understanding type. She knows I can appreciate all kinds of beauty without getting myself into trouble.” He raised his glass. “To your
enduring loveliness, Birthday Girl.”

  “Don’t call me that.” She took another sip.

  “Hey. I think it’s high time you got out of there, Audie. I think this is the best thing that could have happened to you. Best birthday present in the world.”

  “I know what you think.”

  “And I know what you think. You can’t wait around for good things to happen to you, darlin’.”

  She studied the liquid in her glass, shimmering, cool, and bracing. “I wasn’t waiting.”

  “Yes, you were.”

  Audrey emptied the glass and handed it to him. “Well, I’m done with waiting.”

  “Good for you.”

  A truck pulled up alongside the curb outside. From windows that had been opened to let in the cooler, late-August night air, Audrey watched Violet and Bert get out.

  “Ah. At last we can have a party.” Audrey rose unsteadily to her feet and fluffed up her hair, and tied the sash of her robe tighter. “How do I look?”

  “Smashing, as always. Not a day over twenty-five.”

  “Why do I put up with you?”

  Vince laughed as she strode toward the front door and swung it open. “Come in, come in!” she said.

  Violet and Bert stood on the welcome mat, facing each other. Bert had his arm around Violet’s waist. They both turned their heads in surprise.

  For a second, Audrey could only stare at the curl of Bert’s arm around Violet’s back and how close she stood to him.

  “I thought I heard the truck,” she said, smiling and reaching out to pull Bert into the house. “Come inside, you two. Vince is making Sidecars.”

  Bert was three steps into the house before Violet spoke. “Bert was just leaving,” she said.

  “Nonsense.” Audrey tugged Bert fully into the living room and Violet followed. “Vince, this is my dear friend Bert. The first real friend I made here in Hollywood.”

  Vince smiled and extended a hand. “Pleasure to finally meet you.”

  “Uh. Likewise,” Bert said numbly.

  “And here is my sweet little Southern belle roommate, Violet.” Audrey reached behind her for Violet. He extended his hand toward her also.