Platinum Doll

by Anne Girard

  Chuck doted on her for a week afterward, insisting that she rest while he did all of the cooking and cleaning without complaint. It went on like that until Mother stopped by unexpectedly while Harlean and Chuck were napping. She left a note on the dining room table indicating that she hadn’t wanted to disturb them. Along with it, she placed a folio containing Harlean’s set of prints of the Hesser photographs. It was propped against a vase of flowers so it would be impossible to miss.

  * * *

  It had been eight days since the procedure at Good Samaritan Hospital when the photographs arrived—eight days in which Harlean had tried in vain to fill the emptiness she felt, even though nothing really helped.

  She saw the folio, emblazoned with the words Hesser Photography, on the table as they came together out of the bedroom. Instantly her heart crashed against her chest and her mind surged with panic. No, she thought, not now. We are not ready for this.

  “What’s this?” Chuck asked her. His voice was piqued by suspicion. It always began like that.

  Harlean could feel the hot rush of blood, pushed forward by guilt, as it blossomed on her face. Oscar was nipping at her heels, barking. She swatted him away as a dozen thoughts and possible responses to yet unasked questions crowded her mind and tangled there. She had been so proud of that daring photo shoot with a man of Hesser’s caliber, and she was eager to see the results, but now felt like the worst possible time for that to happen.

  She moved behind him as he shuffled through the prints, certain at that moment he could actually hear the slamming of her panicked heart. But as she looked over his shoulder, Harlean was stunned by what she saw. Each print was an exquisite black-and-white piece of art. Hesser had captured the scene, and the mood, exactly as he had explained it to her beforehand. They were beautiful, not tawdry at all, for all the difference that would make now.

  When she glanced over at Chuck, his face was a hardened mask.

  “You posed for naked pictures without consulting me?”

  “I am eighteen, Chuck. I didn’t need to ask for your permission this time!”

  He stepped back as if her sharp response had struck him. Harlean knew he was trying to hold on to something they could both feel slipping away.

  “Jesus, Harlean. Were you carrying our child when you whored yourself out for this?”

  He pressed his hands against his forehead and turned away from her in a futile attempt to push away what they both knew he was about to say. The words moved into his mouth, driven by too many deep wounds, and already she felt herself drowning in the turbulent sea of everyone’s expectations of her. Chuck’s, most especially.

  Once upon a time, she thought, he had called her perfect. Now he raged at her, and it broke her heart.

  “My wife the whore.”

  “Chuck, please, I’m begging you, don’t do this again.”

  “Do what? How could you strip bear like that for some pornographer?”

  He began to stalk the length of the dining room, and she felt the opening of old wounds that had not healed since San Francisco.

  “Mr. Hesser is an artist, I swear to God. Mommie was there, his wife, too!”

  He slammed his hands against his head, pressed on them tightly. She could see that he was painfully struck. But this time she could not stop him from hurting because she did not regret it. She was not sorry she had posed for Hesser. And there were other things she wasn’t certain she regretted.

  She had wanted the child, truly mourned the loss of it, but reflected in his rage now, Harlean saw the sad truth that perhaps her mother had been right after all. A child would have complicated a situation that was already frighteningly volatile between them. Realizing it surprised her. She was not justifying what she had done, she could never do that. Yet still... She could not save him. She knew that she could not save them.

  He flashed her an angry glare. “Your body is for my eyes only! I’m your husband, for God’s sake!”

  Even though he had a point and he was justified in his anger, she couldn’t make herself do this again—the back and forth of his rage and her pleading in these charged encounters.

  “I’m going to take a bath.”

  Suddenly he grabbed her wrist and spun her back to face him. It was a violent movement and, in it, all of their previous arguments, the many scenes, flashed back hotly into her mind.

  “Oh, no, not again! Let go of me!” she yelled.

  Harlean could see that her defiant tone startled him because his hand quickly fell away and he freed her. It was a small thing and yet a final straw—an accumulation of months that happens in an instant. It certainly had for her.

  Harlean turned, and yet she felt in that motion of her body, the pivoting away, that she was leaving far more than just this moment between them. As she closed the door then turned on the faucet, she realized her hand was shaking. She sank onto the edge of the bathtub and poured soap into the rushing water until it bubbled. She thought then how she wanted to escape beneath them into the calm, dark quiet of the water, hidden, so she did not have to face what lay ahead. This was a crossroads. She was afraid of taking the wrong path, and so she had refused before this moment to see how inevitable their end was.

  I do so love him, she thought as Chuck began to pound on the locked bathroom door. Her mind was whirling, her heart breaking. But if I remain, will I not only lose the love I have for him, but begin to lose myself more and more?

  She submerged herself fully in the bath water then, so she could no longer hear his pleas. She had been a good wife, done everything that she could. She would still grieve the loss of something so precious to her as a marriage, but she would not, could not, allow the regret to consume her.

  Hesser might have rekindled her ambition, but it had been there inside of her all along.

  She had to survive.

  Harlean stayed awake all that night as Chuck slept in the guest room. Too angry with her to confront her again, he had gone off and slammed the door, but she knew he would be back at it in the morning. For her part, she felt too drained from her many conflicting emotions to seek him out and try to mend things just now. Part of her knew that she owed him an apology for having posed for Hesser without telling him. She would have owed him another apology if he had known about the abortion. She would never forgive herself for that. It was only one of the many things that could not be changed for wishing it were so.

  Early the next morning, with eyes blurred by tears, Harlean quietly packed a suitcase, picked up Oscar and tucked him into the car. It was wrong to leave without saying goodbye, but she simply couldn’t face a final confrontation since there was nothing he could have done to convince her to stay, and she was afraid of what he might do if she gave him the chance to try. They both needed to cool down and find a bit of perspective.

  Neither of them would get that chance if she didn’t leave. Considering the months of turmoil, she knew in her heart this was the only way.

  Then, with more sadness in her heart than she had ever felt in her life, and a quiet anguished cry, she drove the short distance to the house her mother shared with Marino and asked if she could stay with them for a while.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Line up over there, ladies. Have your information handy. We’ll call each of you when it’s time.”

  Ten days after she left Chuck, Harlean attended another casting call at Paramount Pictures. She had lost out at an audition with Joel McCrea last week and she was certain she had only gotten this because her mother had relentlessly peppered Dave Allen’s secretary with phone calls. Ordinarily, it would have embarrassed Harlean to know that, but she felt rudderless without working.

  The call was for a small part in a picture starring Clara Bow, and the number of actresses going for the role was daunting. While it was a small part, even Betty Grable was auditioning, and sh
e had just done a movie called Happy Days that everyone was talking about.

  Harlean tried to relax and remember that she had done this before, but she was so far down the snaking line of girls that she was certain they would cast someone before they got to her.

  “Jean Harlow.”

  She heard her name and her heart vaulted into her throat. Maybe she wasn’t ready for this yet after all, with everything that had happened, and all she was still going through. She certainly wasn’t eating or sleeping well.

  Reluctantly, she followed the casting assistant through a set of heavy metal doors and onto a soundstage. Ahead of her was a set designed to look like a bedroom. Beside it was an empty director’s chair, lights and two cameras. A tall, dark-haired young man was reviewing a script with a production assistant. This was about to be a repeat of her audition last week, a part she did not get in spite of their enthusiasm for her. Harlean needed to steel herself against the inevitable rejection and just get through this.

  “Jean, this is Jimmy. He will be doing your test with you.”

  He had such a genuinely kind smile when he looked up at her that some of her hesitation faded right then. Harlean extended her hand. James Hall, she thought, recognizing him. She had loved him in The Fifty-Fifty Girl, with Bebe Daniels. As intimidating as it was to meet someone famous, he had an easygoing air. She had no idea what she would do if she got to meet Clara Bow herself. Bow was one of the biggest silent film stars in the world.

  A moment later, the director and assistant director sank into their canvas-back chairs as Harlean took the script from the casting agent.

  “You and Jimmy will be reading from here down to here.” She motioned to the page where a passage had been highlighted.

  Since Harlean was such a voracious reader she scanned the page quickly and saw that it was a romantic comedy, so she adjusted the way she planned to deliver the lines.

  “Think you’ve got it?” Hall asked her.

  “I better have it.”

  He smiled and she could sense that he was charmed. Good, she thought. Now, if she could just charm the director.

  “Okay, Mr. Sutherland. We’re ready when you are,” Hall called out.

  It was over with quickly, and she felt good about her performance. She had even heard the assistant director chuckle at one of her lines. But then there was the murmuring and waiting while the two directors conferred. Harlean could see the next girl waiting with the casting assistant in the shadows back by the door. Her heart was racing. She needed the work so badly. The weight of expectation, supporting herself, Mother and Marino before she was even nineteen, felt crushing. Her pride would not allow her to ask anything of Chuck anymore.

  “That’s it, Alice. You can send the other girls home,” the director called out. “We’ve got our Hazel.”

  “Does he mean me?” she whispered to Hall.

  He nodded. “Yep. Jean, wasn’t it?”

  “Well, Harlean actually, but I’m trying to be Jean Harlow. My mother thinks it sounds more professional. Although that might have something to do with it being her name,” she said, chattering out the explanation as she often did when she was nervous.

  “Well, now, that sounds complicated.”

  “We’re just close, that’s all.”

  The assistant director called out to her. “All right, Miss Harlow. Show up in Wardrobe tomorrow morning at eight. Alice over there will see that you get the script before you leave. It’ll be a day’s work, maybe two tops.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she called back.

  “Congratulations,” Hall whispered. “And you’ll like Clara. She’s a kick. A little insecure about this being a talkie, though, since she doesn’t like the sound of her own voice. She’s got a Brooklyn accent thick enough to knock your socks off, but anyway, I’m sure you gals will get along just fine.”

  “I hope so,” Harlean said.

  She certainly didn’t need any more complications in her life.

  * * *

  Harlean and the Bellos celebrated that evening with dinner in the ballroom of the Miramar Hotel because they had an orchestra there, and mother said she felt like dancing. Harlean wore her favorite white silk sheath dress and the way it clung to her body gave her a sense of daring. It was nice suddenly to feel that she was breaking free without fear for the repercussions.

  They were shown to a linen-draped table near the bandstand, which was flanked by several massive potted palms. As the maître d’ held her chair, Harlean saw a few of the young men in the orchestra look at her and smile. She liked their attention, particularly since there was no guilt attached to it any longer.

  The hotel was in Santa Monica, on the side of town where police turned a blind eye to the liquor laws, so Marino ordered highballs for all three of them as the orchestra struck up a new tune.

  “I’m telling you, Baby, this is finally it. Clara Bow! There aren’t bigger stars than her. If you get on her good side there is no telling what might happen.”

  “It’s a small part,” Harlean reminded her mother.

  Secretly, she had never been more thrilled at the prospect of anything in her life.

  After another round of drinks, she realized that the dark-haired bandleader was staring at her. He had deep, expressive eyes, a long, square jaw, and he looked to be in his early thirties, which made him the antithesis of Chuck. And even though she sometimes missed him, she was growing angry. Yes, she had been the one to leave but why had he not even tried to phone? In spite of having said he couldn’t live without her, he was making no attempt at all to fight for her.

  Chuck... Damn him. She had gone against her family to marry him. She had gone against her better judgment to remain with him after San Francisco. While she, too, had made mistakes in the marriage—yes, withholding things had been wrong—she had given him more than a few chances to right their course. His erratic bursts of anger had sealed their fate.

  Harlean had no intention of being a fool for love any longer. In that, her resolve surprised her. She was eighteen now and apparently that chapter of her life really was over.

  She settled back in her chair then and watched the bandleader more closely. Fortunately, her mother and Marino were so engrossed in their own conversation that she knew they didn’t see him smile and nod in acknowledgment of her, or that she returned his gesture with a smile of her own. Tonight she was allowing herself to be a bit rebellious. She felt a growing sense of deliverance at the absence of Chuck’s constant volatility.

  She finished her second cocktail and took a long sip from her mother’s glass.

  After the set concluded, Harlean excused herself to go and find the ladies’ room. Her mother nodded to her, and then turned back to Marino, who was ordering yet more cocktails.

  When Harlean came back out a few minutes later, she found the bandleader waiting for her in the softly lit corridor that smelled of the gardenias that were floating in a glass bowl beside her. There was no one else coming or going around them. He was leaning against the wall, one leg crossed in front of the other, hands shoved into the pockets of his black tuxedo trousers.

  “I do believe you are the loveliest creature I have ever seen grace my audience. I had to meet you. I’m Roy.”

  “Harlean.”

  “Can I see you later, after we finish up here?”

  “I’m married. Separated, actually, but still.”

  He offered her a crooked smile. “I wasn’t asking for your hand. At least not yet, anyway. I’ll be finished here at midnight. Would you consider waiting for me so we could get acquainted?”

  She felt the attraction flare between them. Only one time before she’d met Chuck had she felt anything like it. But flirtation this powerful was a little frightening to her for where she knew it could so easily lead.

  “I’m here with my mother and he
r husband tonight.”

  “Tell them you have a ride home.”

  “I’m staying at their house for a while, Roy.”

  “Then we won’t go to your place. I’ll think of something. If you want to spend some time together, that is.”

  An image of Chuck flared in her mind. She closed her eyes to it. It was too late for that, too late for them. Was there any real reason not to ease the pain from the tear across her heart?

  The element of control was a thing she had never possessed, and she knew she had paid a heavy price for the lack of it in her life. There was always either Mother or Chuck to make every decision for her. But curiosity, circumstance and growing up were steadily transforming her from an uncertain girl into a confident woman. She would only be dipping a tentative toe into the water of independence but, just now, the lure of that was too strong to turn away from.

  “Sure, I’d like that, Roy,” Harlean said.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The next morning, Harlean selected one of her favorite dresses to wear to the studio. After the time she had spent with Roy the night before, she felt more sensual and beautiful than she had in a long time, and her clingy black crochet dress seemed perfect for the day.

  She paired the dress with her favorite black strap high-heeled sandals, fluffed her freshly bleached hair and grabbed her handbag. She was eager to work with James Hall but she was beyond excited to meet Clara Bow. That alone seemed like a dream come true.

  She only hoped she didn’t trip over her own feet, or her tongue, when she did.

  Rosalie, who hadn’t been getting parts lately, offered to go with her as moral support but Harlean didn’t trust herself on the subject of Roy if it came up. While their friendship was strong, she and Rosalie were both still married women and she wasn’t sure she was willing to risk the potential of Rosalie judging her. Especially since Harlean fully intended to see Roy again in the face of yet another day of continued silence from Chuck.

  She felt collective eyes on her the moment she walked onto the set. Someone whistled.