by Anne Girard
“I didn’t want any guy. I wanted you,” she said, feeling her tenderness for him swell up again and take the place of her anger. “I still do.”
“I’d do anything for you, Harlean, you know I would. I just get scared sometimes...your mother, Marino—Hollywood. I feel like I’m always racing against this great big wind that one of these days is just gonna rise up and carry you away from me.”
She kissed his cheek. “Only if you let it.”
“And I just can’t stand the thought of you being hurt or rejected by a whole lot of second-rate hacks who don’t know how special you are.”
“I have to try. I’m going to do this, Chuck—with or without your support. But I love you, so I’d sure rather have it than not.”
“It’s just that you’re everything to me, Harlean. I can’t lose you. I don’t think I’d make it if I did.”
“You’re right, you can’t lose me. Unless you are the one to chase me away,” she said as she took his hand. “Come on, I want to take you somewhere. This feels like the perfect time.”
A quarter of an hour later, Chuck helped her out of the car with a gallant hand and they stood together on a dirt-covered plot of ground at the top of a very steep hill. It had a majestic view over the city lights.
“So, then, what do you think?” she asked cautiously. She was steepling her hands, resting them beneath her chin.
“As bare lots go, it’s mighty fine.”
“Not as a lot, silly, as the site of a home.” She could see that he still didn’t understand. “I bought this land for us, Chuck, as a surprise. I was planning to bring you and Ivor and Rosalie up here and make a real celebration of it after we were finished at the speakeasy. I even got Marino to give me one of his precious bottles of Muscatel, which is still in the trunk.”
He looked around again and sank, stunned, against the car’s front hood, suddenly appreciating the spectacular view more fully. “But how...? I mean, with what?”
“You know my grandpa gave me a bit of money after we got married. He wanted me to have something to fall back on.”
“Besides me?”
“Yes, sadly. No one thinks we’re going to work out but the two of us. Anyway, for now, even with adding what I’ve made here and there as an extra, all I could afford on it was the down payment. But I wanted this to be like my wedding gift to you, at least something in return for all you’ve done for me—for us. Are you surprised?”
“You always surprise me, doll.”
“But do you like it? I mean, can you see us building a home here one day?”
“It’s pretty breathtaking,” he finally replied. She could see that he was stunned by the commitment she was offering to their marriage.
She hugged him as they looked out at the twinkling city lights, in the darkening night. “Can’t you just see us here, chasing a couple of our kids around?”
He drew her against himself and they kissed. “Only a couple?”
“For starters. A boy and a girl. Then we’ll see.”
“Let’s start trying right now, what do you say, doll?” he asked as he pressed her back against the hood of the car. She knew he would not take no for an answer and tonight she was glad of it.
* * *
The phone was ringing out in the dining room alcove.
Oscar was barking at the foot of their bed. Harlean rolled over to check the time on her clock the next morning. Half past seven. She tried to focus, remembering only then how they’d drunk the last drop of Muscatel up on that hilltop.
They had come home after midnight, having made love in the car, steaming up the windows so that Harlean drew little hearts on them. Then they just sat for a while, holding one another until all of the anger from the evening had faded away.
She did so adore him. His power and sheer need always took her somewhere so far beyond herself that she never wanted to come back. Chuck was perfect, she thought. Perfect for her. She believed that she was perfect for him.
She hoped with all of her heart, he was reassured about her devotion.
“Hello?” she said into the receiver. Harlean struggled to push away the slight hangover she felt as she held the phone. This was a daily ritual for a working extra, the prayed for, yet jarring, early morning phone call. She, too, had begun to hope for it in spite of the repetition.
“Jean Harlow, please.”
“This is she.”
“Miss Harlow, this is Eleanor, secretary to Mr. Allen over at Central Casting. They have a walk-on role for you the day after tomorrow. It will be brief but you’ll be highlighted on-screen in a frame or two. It’s a comedy with Maurice Chevalier and a new actress, Jeanette MacDonald.”
Harlean slumped against the dining room wall. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. It was definitely an improvement from a background scene, and with Jeanette McDonald, who she had read all about. “What time?”
“You’ll need to be on set by eight.”
She scrambled to keep her voice sounding calm. “Sure, I can do that.”
“Perfect. I’ll let Mr. Allen know.”
Dazed, and still only half-awake, Harlean hurried back to the guest room. She couldn’t wait to tell Chuck. Perhaps from now on they could share these small victories, and finally, he could be happy for her. She wanted so badly to have his support in this new adventure. They were a team, after all.
“Chuck!” she excitedly cried as she burst back into the bedroom.
Only then did she notice that Chuck’s side of the bed was untouched. She felt the stirring of a new panic and that protectiveness for him flare.
“Chuck?”
Her heart began to race as she dashed back down the hall, calling his name. She found him in the backyard, asleep in a camellia plant. There was an empty bottle of gin still in his hand.
Disappointment flooded her. But instead of feeling defeated, her spirit soared.
“Damn you, Chuck McGrew. You won’t ruin this for me! I won’t let you!”
Jean’s unfailing belief in her, especially in the face of Chuck’s reticence, only spurred Harlean’s ambition now. She thought with pride of the bare plot of land she had taken it upon herself to buy and only just shown him—a place she could envision a fabulous grand home once they had conquered this town together. She wanted that for herself one day now more and more. Anger and disappointment redoubled her determination. Oh, yes, she was going to show up for that walk-on role and she was going to find a way to make something of it. She fully intended to surprise everyone—with or without his support.
With that thought like the punctuation mark at the end of a bittersweet sentence, Harlean turned and walked alone back into the house to let him sleep it off.
Chapter Nine
“Hurry up, will ya, this stuff smells like poison!”
“It is poison, honey,” Rosalie said in her Texas drawl. “But you want it blonder, don’t you?”
Harlean leaned farther over Rosalie’s sink and squeezed her eyes against the burn of ammonia. Noxious fumes filled the kitchen and burned their eyes. It had been a while since she had bleached her hair and now, as her scalp began to burn, she remembered why. The complex process, a combination of peroxide and ammonia, was slightly barbaric, and certainly painful.
With each role as an extra, she had become ever-more fascinated by the complex process involved in movie making: timing, lighting and staging. There was also definitely an art to being noticed on film—to seducing the camera, winning viewers with just a look, a tip of the head. She tried to learn from everything.
Last week, on one of the sets, she had seen a young actress with almost white-blond hair who stood out noticeably from the crowd. It was closer to the shade with which Harlean had been born. The ash-blond shade she had grown into was pretty but it was not striking. The only wa
y to stand out from the hordes of beautiful competition she faced every day was to look striking.
“Well, you want it light, so you’ve got to be patient,” Rosalie instructed. “By the look of it, I’m pretty happy to stay a redhead!”
“I can’t say I blame you. I know it’s a risk but I’ve got to stand out somehow where the beautiful girls are just all over the place. This isn’t easy, though, a minute too long and all of my hair would fall out. I’m gonna need to find a real hair salon one of these days.” Finally, she stood and wound her hair in a towel. “Thanks, Rosie.”
“What are friends for? My sink is your sink,” she joked as Harlean blotted the tears from her eyes with the corner of the towel. “But, man, it does look painful.”
“That it is. But you know my mother. When I was growing up she always used to say a woman has to suffer for her beauty. I guess I took that to heart.”
“And it looks to me like you are proving her right. Like a drink?”
“What’ve you got?”
“A new bottle of whiskey. We could make highballs. Ivor got it from a guy he knows at another speakeasy under the Rosslyn Hotel.”
“You and Ivor sure know all the joints around town, that’s for sure.”
“The other night was a kick. Well, in the beginning it was, anyway. How are things with you and Chuck since then? He was pretty steamed.”
“He just drank too much, that’s all,” she lied and she felt uneasy about it even as the words left her lips. “We’re fine, honest.”
“He really can be a hothead. Good thing for you he’s so damned in love with you.”
Harlean smiled even though she was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the conversation. It felt disloyal to Chuck, first and foremost. And she didn’t like thinking about their quarrels. She had always wanted to fix the problems around her, not create them, or make them worse. But lately, it seemed the harder she tried to avoid conflict the more complicated things became.
Suddenly she very much wanted that highball.
“You know the ironic thing? About my hair I mean,” Harlean said as they walked toward the living room. “When I was a little girl, I hated my white-blond hair so much, you can’t imagine. Girls in school called me cotton top and my daddy always said, ‘don’t worry, sweetheart, you won’t have that hair forever. And maybe, just maybe, someday, you’ll wish you had it almost white like that again.’”
“Wise man, your daddy. Too bad your mama didn’t think so.”
Rosalie mixed their cocktails as Harlean unwound the towel and began to blot her freshly blond hair. Her scalp still burned.
“They never got along. Mommie always thought she could have done better.”
“Your daddy loved her, though?”
“He would’ve done anything for her.”
“Kind of the way Chuck is with you. Good thing you appreciate your man, right?”
“Yeah,” Harlean said carefully as she took a sip of the cocktail and felt the warmth calm her. “Good thing.”
She knew it was a tepid response but she certainly didn’t want to find herself confessing to Rosalie the condition in which she had found Chuck that morning, and how angry with him she still was over it.
“He wants babies, right?”
“Yep.” It was becoming a challenge to retain a tone of nonchalance, so best, she thought, to keep her answers brief.
“Ivor, too. I do what I can to put that off,” Rosalie said. “I want a career first, otherwise what’s the point of me being me at all?”
Not so long ago, Harlean would’ve had no idea what Rosalie meant. Today, she understood it completely and felt the same way. She was experiencing so many new things about the world of movie making, and about herself. She was using her wits, spirit and a substantial dose of her newly kindled determination and, to her surprise, she really liked how it felt to challenge herself.
Harlean would have confided in her mother about her recent change of heart involving a career, but Jean would have held that over Chuck’s head in their rivalry for her loyalty. It still broke her heart that the two people she loved most had to be at such odds. At the moment, it felt to her like Rosalie was the only one who understood this bright flare of ambition she was feeling and the price she was beginning to pay for it.
“So, what was the rush with your hair today anyway?”
Since they were confessing, she might as well keep sharing, Harlean thought. And talking about their careers would keep the conversation away from her personal life. “I’ve got a walk-on tomorrow. The picture is with that pretty Broadway singer, Jeanette MacDonald. It’s only one scene, a moment really, but I’ll be one of just a handful of girls in an opera box, and I get to stand and applaud. For that moment, I’ll only share the camera with them, not a big group.”
She couldn’t keep the excitement from her voice. Jeanette MacDonald was about to be a huge star, everyone was talking about her, so it was a picture a lot of people would see. If she didn’t plan to remain an extra forever, it was time for a gamble, not just with her hair, but with her entire career—the career she suddenly intended to have. Fully admitting that to herself now came as a revelation.
“Gee, that’s really great, Harlean. Why didn’t you tell me before now? Don’t say it’s because I’m an actress, too.”
“I don’t know, actually,” she said, but her tone was not convincing. She reflected for a moment before she added, “For so long, I said I didn’t need a career. It was what I told Chuck, and I honestly didn’t think I wanted one. But something has changed inside of me since I’ve been back. I’ve found that I really like all of the activity, and the challenge of trying to figure out how to stand out from the crowd.”
“You knew I was joking the other day about being mad at you, right? Any director who would hire you wouldn’t give me a second look, and vice versa. Sure I’m envious of you, who wouldn’t be? You’re a knockout. But I’m not jealous. There is a difference.”
A reluctant smile broke slowly across her face. “You’re sure?”
Rosalie laughed. “We’re friends, honey. That just wouldn’t be right. Have you told Chuck?”
“He doesn’t care about that stuff, Rosie. As long as he has his friends in the afternoon, and his supper on the table when he gets home, and a drink or two, he’s happy.”
“You mean he’s not angry.”
They were both finishing their drinks and Harlean’s short wavy hair was quickly drying a feather-white blond. She was not going to get back into a discussion about Chuck and his temper so she chose for the moment not to respond.
“Wow, go look at your hair in the mirror!” Rosalie exclaimed, the former subject suddenly, thankfully, forgotten. “It’s striking, honey, it really is.”
“Striking good or striking bad?” Harlean asked warily as they trooped toward Rosalie’s bathroom.
“In your case, it’s more than good. It makes you stand out.”
“Exactly the result I was hoping for.”
“With that figure of yours, you look like a goddess now.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“I wish I were. If Ivor had a thing for blondes, I’d sure be in trouble.”
“You know how tough competition is in this town. All that matters is that, for one instant tomorrow, the camera sees me as alluring, or I may not get another shot.”
“Oh, you’ll be plenty alluring, no doubt about that, honey. The camera doesn’t lie, and your best friend doesn’t, either,” Rosalie said with a wink that made Harlean smile.
* * *
The next morning while she was dressing to leave for the studio, Chuck brought her a cup of coffee, then watched as she sat on the edge of the bed and pulled up her stockings. She slipped on a pair of low-heeled calfskin Mary Janes because she knew she would be standing arou
nd a lot today and her feet wouldn’t be on-screen anyway.
She had taken to heart the advice Lula Hanford had given her, and her face, in morning light, had the dewy, pearlescent quality of something almost angelic. She had worked on her makeup for almost an hour in case there wasn’t anyone available for the extras once she got to the studio. It was a perfect complement to the sleek, willowy body she had sheathed in a new ivory-colored, knee-length crepe de chine dress with a band of lace at her hips. Ivory and white had always been her favorite colors so she wore them often. Today Harlean felt pretty and ready to make an impression.
Chuck leaned against the doorjamb with one hand behind his back. He was holding his own cup of coffee in his other hand. He had just come from a bath so his hair was wet. He was barefoot, shirtless and wearing khaki trousers.
“You nervous?” he asked.
“Nervous as a cat, if you want to know the truth.”
“Well, you look gorgeous as usual, doll.”
She glanced up from her shoes and gave him a fleeting grin. “You’re biased, I think.”
“Guilty as charged. Love does that to a fella.”
“Do you have plans for today?” she asked.
“I’ll find something to do, don’t you worry about me.”
It was these days when she knew he was bored and aimless that Harlean worried about the most. Afternoons at the club or with the boys already weren’t enough to entertain him. But she didn’t want to upset things between them by starting another argument now that her mother and Marino had moved out and things were beginning to calm down. “I don’t know how late I’ll be.”
“That’s okay, you just do what you gotta do. I bought you a little something to wear in your big scene,” he said as he held up an exquisite orchid corsage that he had been holding behind his back. Harlean gasped at the surprise, and how delicate and lovely her favorite flower was.
It looked like a work of art.
“For good luck, doll. I hope they let you wear it with your dress.”