Stars Over Sunset Boulevard

by Susan Meissner

  Audrey smiled lightly. “I wanted to be wanted. And for the past dozen years I’ve known firsthand what it’s like to be sought after. It’s funny how when you get what you’ve always longed for, sometimes the reason you wanted it no longer exists.”

  She went on to talk about the different philanthropic ventures she and Glen were involved in, and that they were planning to spend the autumn months at a Tuscan villa they had just bought in Italy.

  “Maybe you two could come visit us for a week or two this fall,” Audrey said.

  “What about Lainey?” Violet replied.

  “What about her? She can come if she wants to.”

  “But she’ll be in school.”

  “Then she can come some other time.”

  Audrey seemed to be suggesting that it was time for the three of them to start living without Lainey at the center of their universe.

  Easy for Audrey to look at it that way; she had Lainey’s forgiveness.

  Audrey turned to Bert. “There are lots of birds to photograph in Tuscany.”

  He smiled. “That reminds me. I wanted to give Lainey one of my cameras for her trip to Paris. I’ll be right back.”

  Bert left the room. The women watched him leave.

  “Are you two all right? With each other, I mean?” Audrey asked in a low voice.

  Violet’s first response was to tell Audrey that of course they were all right, but she was feeling alone and vulnerable and very much in need of her friend’s companionship.

  “I hope so. I think so.”

  “Bert’s a good man. And he loves you.”

  Violet turned to face Audrey. “Does he?” The two words spilled out of her heart as well as her mouth, surprising them both.

  “Of course he does,” Audrey said with gentle force.

  “He’s disappointed in me.”

  Audrey leaned forward and took Violet’s hand. “He’s just disappointed in the general state of things.”

  Violet sighed. “I wish I could fix it. I wish I could just kiss the wound and make it all better.”

  Audrey squeezed her hand and let go. “Spoken like a true mother.”

  Violet looked up at her friend. Sometimes, as at that moment, Violet could see Audrey in her mind’s eye, sitting on the little cement bench at the studio commissary the first day she met her and the two of them were both young and full of dreams. They’d both managed to seize what they had so desperately wanted. And yet here they were, all these many years later, and it seemed as if what she had so determinedly clutched to her chest was struggling to free itself from her grasp.

  Audrey stood and pulled the handles of her woven bag over her shoulder. “I should probably start heading back.”

  Violet stood as well. She suddenly decided she wanted Audrey to take something for Lainey, too. As a peace offering of sorts. She’d look for something in the box her mother had sent.

  “I’d also like you to give something to Lainey. From me,” she said.

  Violet went into the kitchen and Audrey followed. Violet bent over the box.

  “My mother sent me a box of things that were mine when I was young that she and Daddy have kept at the house for me,” she said as she began to sift through the contents. “They’re moving and emptying closets and such. I was thinking maybe one of my old dolls would cheer Lainey up.”

  “How wonderful that your mother saved all these things for you,” Audrey said in an astonished voice. She leaned over the box, too, her gaze taking in all the saved pieces of Violet’s childhood.

  “I have this one doll from France. A cancan dancer,” Violet went on. She uncovered a muslin-wrapped bundle. “If it’s in here, you can—”

  But Violet didn’t finish. Her words froze in her mouth as the fabric fell away, exposing at first folds of green velvet, then gold braid, and the iridescent tail feathers from a farmyard rooster.

  Audrey gasped next to her.

  Lying on the unfolded muslin was the curtain hat from Gone With the Wind.

  “Oh . . .” Violet breathed.

  “How in the world did your mother get that hat?” Audrey said, incredulous.

  The room seemed to spin, and heat flared to Violet’s cheeks.

  “That is the hat, isn’t it?” Audrey seemed happily dumbfounded.

  Violet could only nod.

  “How did she get it?”

  “I sent it to her,” Violet whispered.

  “When? When did you find it?”

  “The day after you took it.”

  The curious smile on Audrey’s face slowly morphed into a doubtful grin.

  “What are you saying, Vi? That you had it this whole time?”

  Violet slowly nodded.

  “Why?” Audrey asked, her expression one of bewilderment, not anger. After what the truth had done to her relationship with Lainey, Violet had no desire to repeat that situation. Perhaps this was just a little thing; perhaps Audrey would laugh about it. Perhaps Bert would, too. But she wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure of anything anymore. She knew only that this hat had been the beginning of every deceitful thing she had done to win her heart’s desires.

  “Don’t ask me that, Audrey.”

  Audrey stared at her, her gaze betraying that she was puzzling over what would have motivated Violet to hide the hat all those years ago. “Does Bert know you have it?”

  Two tears that had formed at the corners of Violet’s eyes spilled out and slid down her cheekbones. “No.”

  Audrey opened her mouth to say something else, but Bert’s voice called out to them from the hallway. He was asking Violet if she knew where his lens cleaner was. He was coming their way.

  In an instant Audrey had the hat and its muslin covering in her hands and was slipping it into her woven bag. When Bert rounded the corner with a Leica camera in his hands, the hat was nowhere in sight.

  He looked with concern at Violet. “You all right?”

  Violet could only nod as she wiped her eyes.

  “She was looking for one of her old dolls to send home with me to Lainey,” Audrey said quickly. “But it wasn’t in the box.” Audrey reached out her hand to pat Violet’s arm. “Maybe your mother doesn’t have it anymore?”

  Violet nodded. “Maybe not.”

  Audrey looked at the camera in Bert’s hands. “That the one you want me to take to her?”

  “Yes. I just wanted to clean up the lens a little.”

  “I saw the bottle of lens cleaner on your dresser last night,” Violet said, unable to take her eyes off Audrey’s woven bag.

  “Oh. Right.” Bert spun away, back down the hall.

  “What do you want me to do with it?” Audrey said as soon as Bert was gone, softly but with no emotion. Violet could not read her friend’s thoughts.

  “I’ve never known the answer to that,” Violet whispered back.

  The two of them stared at each other for a moment.

  “You know, I always liked that hat,” Audrey said a moment later, her deep voice low and rich. “I’ve always admired what it was made from. It scared me a little, too, what it was made from.”

  “It still scares me.”

  Bert was coming back. The women fell silent. He had placed the camera in a leather bag and was dropping the lens cleaner inside it as he came back into the kitchen. “Lainey knows how to use it. This camera was her favorite when she was a teenager. Give it to her with our love?” Bert offered the bag to Audrey and she took it.

  “I will.”

  Bert put his arm around Violet’s waist. “From both of us?”

  Audrey smiled. “Of course.”

  She turned to leave, and Violet found she could not put words together to say good-bye.

  “We’re so sorry you can’t stay for dinner,” Bert said, when she said nothing. “And we’ll keep Glen in our praye
rs.”

  “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

  The three of them walked to the front door. Bert hugged Audrey and kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you for all you are doing for Lainey right now.”

  “Of course. Good-bye, Bert.” Audrey turned to Violet and pulled her into an embrace. “Think about what I said?”

  “What you said?” Violet replied, trembling.

  Audrey pulled away. “About you and Bert coming to Italy this fall. It would be nice to just sit and talk without having to rush off somewhere. We barely got to talk about anything today.”

  Violet licked her lips. “Yes. That would be nice.”

  “Kiss Lainey for us!” Bert said as Audrey started to walk toward her car.

  “I will.”

  Violet watched as Audrey strode confidently toward her silver Thunderbird.

  “She has a new car,” Bert said.

  But Violet barely heard him. Her eyes were on the woven bag with the fat, floppy daisies running riot across it.

  “Tell me you love me, Bert,” she murmured as Audrey drove off.

  Bert looked at her. “You know I love you, Vi.”

  “Why? Why do you love me?”

  He laughed. “Do we have to have reasons?”

  “Don’t we?”

  He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “No. We don’t. I don’t think it’s love if there are reasons. Reasons are for why you like someone.”

  Audrey’s car was getting smaller in the distance. “Do you ever wish you had married someone else?”

  “What? No! Do you?”

  She turned to him. “Never. You are the only one for me. You always have been. Always will be.”

  He cupped her face in his hand. “That’s reason enough if I needed one. And you are the only woman for me. Where is all this doubt coming from?”

  Violet put a hand to her heart. “From here.”

  Bert took her hand and kissed it. “We’re going to be okay. Lainey isn’t the glue that keeps us together. We are. We’re the glue. Okay?”

  She nodded and they went back into the house, where she spent the rest of the afternoon going through the box her mother had sent and remembering the time of her innocence.

  • • •

  Two months later, on a blazing-hot August afternoon, a trans-Atlantic phone call came to the house. Bert answered it and he yelled for Violet, who was hanging up undergarments to dry in the bathroom.

  “It’s Lainey!” Bert yelled. “She’s calling from Paris!”

  Violet dropped the hosiery and ran to where Bert stood with the telephone receiver in his hand. Bert held it so they both could hear.

  “I’m here, Lainey!” Violet said excitedly. “I’m right here!”

  Lainey’s voice sounded remarkably clear considering how far away she was.

  She sounded like she was just next door when she told Violet and Bert that she and Marc Garceau had just eloped in Marseille.

  THIRTY-THREE

  September 1963

  Glen hadn’t wanted anyone to wear black to his funeral, and although some of the guests on the patio hadn’t gotten the message, most were clad in shades of yellow, red, and gold. Autumn hues. The colors of change. Audrey had chosen a fitted dress of crimson lace that had been one of Glen’s favorites. He had often told her she looked like Scarlett on the day of Ashley Wilkes’s birthday party, only without the guilt, when she wore that red dress.

  Audrey moved about the patio now, thanking people for coming, for sharing the day with her, and even for having happy little conversations as they ate catered hors d’oeuvres off china plates. Glen’s two children and their spouses were making the rounds, too, greeting their father’s friends and family. Glen’s sole grandchild, a quiet college student named Roland, was sitting by the pool, talking with Bert about photography.

  The afternoon had been a calm, clear one with barely a hint of chill in the breeze; Glen’s favorite kind of day. It was almost as if he’d paid for it and had it waiting for the day his life would be celebrated. The memorial at Hollywood Presbyterian had been attended by hundreds. Glen had lived a life of benevolence, and those who’d been touched by his generosity had turned out in droves to mourn his death and pay their respects. The reception afterward at the house had been a private one, but still attended by more than one hundred people.

  Glen had left Audrey quickly, while asleep next to her; one of myriad, end-of-life kindnesses he had been able to show her. Others included having taken care of all the complex arrangements related to death and dying, including the disposition of his estate. Audrey didn’t care that Glen had left the Beverly Hills house to his children. It was only right that they should jointly own the home they had been raised in. Besides, she could not imagine living in the house now that Glen was gone. She still had her bungalow, although her portion of Glen’s estate and her own earnings had made her a wealthy woman.

  She was glad that he’d left her the villa in Italy, though. He had bought it as a twentieth-wedding-anniversary gift, and due to his health, they hadn’t been able to visit it yet. Up until a week earlier, they had hoped he would soon feel well enough to travel so that they could have the Italian autumn they’d dreamed about. Glen had even extracted a promise from Audrey that she would go alone if anything should happen. The thought of traveling there solo had at first filled with her sadness, but as she mentally began to prepare to leave the mansion in the days after Glen’s death, she found herself looking more and more forward to discovering all of the villa’s lovely secrets. And perhaps staying there past the autumn. She had more than enough money to live on her own. The bungalow was being rented out by a kind, childless couple in their forties who would take good care of it.

  And she’d be relatively close to Lainey in France.

  Lainey.

  That girl was so like her and Violet. First in her response to the wounding by those she loved most, and then in her spontaneous move to elope. So like them both.

  When Violet had called Audrey in tears to tell her Lainey had married Marc Garceau, remarking over and over, “How could Lainey do such a thing?” Audrey had not been able to conceal her amusement.

  “How can you laugh at a time like this?” Violet had railed. “She got married! Without telling anyone!”

  “So did you!”

  There had been a couple seconds of silence.

  “But I didn’t marry a Frenchman! Who lives in Paris!”

  “You married the man you loved. I am sure Lainey did the same thing.”

  “But . . . but she’s so young! How does she know what she wants?”

  At this, the smile that had been on Audrey’s face thinned to a thoughtful grin. “How do any of us at that age, Violet?”

  On the other end of the phone, Audrey had heard Violet sniffle.

  “What am I going to do?” Violet finally said.

  “You already know what to do.”

  “I do?”

  “You and Bert will send a lovely card and wedding gift, and you will welcome your new son-in-law into the family. And then you will let them know you’d love to come see them whenever they are ready for a visit. And then when the invitation comes, you will go, and you will say only how happy you are for them. That is what she wants to hear from you. From all of us. That we love her and trust her. You already know this.”

  “Is that what you’re going to do?” Violet had asked, the tiniest undercurrent of contempt in her voice.

  Glen had needed her at that moment, and she was glad to tell Violet that she had to hang up. She’d had her own feelings over the news of Lainey’s elopement to wrestle with. Part of her was glad, glad, glad that a married Lainey living in a foreign country was no longer Violet’s responsibility. That seemed childish and ugly and she hadn’t wanted to think about it then. She still didn’t.

  Violet
appeared now on the patio, a tea towel on her arm as she gathered plates that funeral guests had left behind.

  “You don’t have to do that,” Audrey said. “The catering staff will take care of it.”

  “I want to do it. I need to feel useful,” Violet answered as she fisted a used napkin in her hand and used it to brush crumbs off a tablecloth.

  Audrey half smiled. “I know you do.”

  Violet stopped for a moment and looked toward Glen’s grandson and Bert. “Those two have been talking for over an hour.”

  “Roland is an aspiring photographer. And he’s a shy person. Having Bert to talk to today has been perfect for him.”

  “I suppose he and his parents are moving in here?”

  Audrey shrugged. “I don’t really know what the children are going to do with this house.”

  “You aren’t sad about having to leave it?”

  “This always felt like Glen’s house to me. I was happy here. But it was never my house.”

  “So you really are going to the villa alone, then?”

  Audrey nodded.

  “For how long?”

  “I don’t know.”

  They were quiet for a moment.

  “I still have your hat,” Audrey said.

  Violet stiffened. “It’s not mine. It was never mine.” A pained look had crept across Violet’s face.

  “Does that mean you don’t want it back?”

  Violet shook her head.

  “Are you ever going to tell me why you hid it all these years?”

  Violet turned to her, her eyes pleading. “Can’t you just get rid of it? Please?”

  “Get rid of it? As in ‘throw it away’? You can’t be serious. It’s from Gone With the Wind.”

  “Shhh!” Violet said. “I mean I don’t want to see it anymore.”

  “Are you giving it to me, then?”

  Violet cast a glance toward Bert. “What will you do with it?”

  Audrey followed her gaze. “I’ve put it in the bungalow. I have renters there who don’t have a key to the attic. It will be safe there.”

  Violet chewed her bottom lip and nodded once.