by Jan Moran
Ruby hadn’t realized this would be such a large casting call. She took a seat and studied the script, trying to suppress her nausea.
After a few minutes, the uneasy feeling overtook her. She hurried to the reception desk. “Where’s the ladies’ room?”
“Down the hall.” The receptionist pointed toward a door.
Ruby rushed toward it, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor like typewriter keys. She burst through the door and raced toward one of the stalls.
Just in time.
Thankfully, the ladies’ room was empty. After being sick, she made her way to a couch in the mirrored makeup area. She was so dizzy. The room spun around her like a tilt-a-whirl at the county fair.
For the next hour, she alternated between the couch and the nearest bathroom stall. She couldn’t remember when she had been so sick. She’d always had a hardy constitution.
Collapsed on the sofa again, she brushed tears from her cheeks. The worst of this was that she might miss the audition. She waited as other women cycled through the ladies’ room. A few asked if she needed any help.
“I’ll be okay soon,” Ruby told them, but from the worried looks on the women’s faces, she could tell they doubted her self-prognosis. She closed her eyes and tried to will away the feeling.
Ruby wasn’t sure how much time had passed when the receptionist bustled into the ladies’ room. “You’re the last one on the list. They’re waiting for you inside.”
“I’m not sure I can do this,” Ruby said.
The receptionist pressed her lips together. “You have to. Mr. Wyler sent a letter of recommendation for you. Mr. Blackstone is in there with the producer and the casting director. They’re waiting for you, so pull yourself together.”
Ruby groaned.
The woman turned on a faucet and dampened a paper towel. “Sit up and put this on your forehead. If you can’t make the audition, they’re going to give that part to another girl. And Mr. Blackstone and Mr. Wyler are friends, so you’d better get in there. I won’t be blamed for not sending you in.”
“I’m trying.” Ruby pressed the cold towel to her face. With a couple of minutes, the spinning room slowed, and she pushed herself up from the couch.
Ruby forced herself to ignore the roiling in her stomach, fighting through it with every bit of grit she had. Chin up. “Tell them I’m on my way.”
“I can get you five, maybe ten minutes, but that’s it.” The woman hurried out.
Ruby staggered to the sink to splash more cold water on her face. When she looked up into the mirror, she nearly gagged at her reflection. Her face was pale, and her carefully coiffed hair was in disarray. She thought about what David, the wardrobe assistant in Italy, would have said about her appearance. But there was nothing to be done about it. No makeup artist or hairstylist could disguise the way she felt.
The only thing Ruby could rely on to get this part was her acting ability. She breathed in, summoning her strength. If she didn’t get this part because of a silly stomach ailment and her parents lost their ranch, she would never forgive herself. Niccolò needed her, too.
And she needed him.
Ruby smoothed her hair and pushed her shoulders back. Walking out of the ladies’ room, she called out, “I’m ready.”
The receptionist pointed toward a closed door. “Go in, and good luck.”
Ruby stepped inside the audition room. The room was bare except for a long table that anchored one side. Two men and a woman were seated at the table. Each had a stack of papers and a notepad in front of them.
“Come in,” the woman said, consulting her notepad and a headshot that Ruby’s agent must have sent. “You’re Ruby Raines, correct?”
Ruby swallowed a wave of nausea. “Yes, I am. Very nice to meet you.”
“I’m Meg Wallace, the casting director for Diary of a Pioneer Woman,” the woman said. “We understand that you’ve been in Italy working with William Wyler.”
“It was an excellent experience,” Ruby managed to say.
Meg went on to introduce Mr. Blackstone and the producer. “We’re also going to record this on film.” She made a note on the pad in front of her.
Ruby wished she could protest. The thought of being immortalized on film when she looked like this was disturbing. She would have to make the best of it.
Just then, the lights snapped on, and a camera operator hurried in to take his position behind a large movie camera.
Ruby stood in the middle of the room, collecting her thoughts and breathing to quell the persistent sour feeling in her stomach. She couldn’t think about what would happen if she became sick here. That wasn’t an option. She had to get this part.
Ruby blinked, grounding herself in the scene.
Meg put down her pen. “State your name and begin when you’re ready, please.”
The director gave a signal to start.
Transforming herself into the character she was to play, Ruby rose and threw her head back as if she were looking at another actor. She gritted her teeth and cradled her arms in front of her as if she were clutching an infant.
“If you’ve come ‘round these parts lookin’ for a handout, you won’t find it here,” Ruby said, letting her Texan accent come out. “My baby’s real sick, and with this drought, I’m nearly out of food.”
Mr. Blackstone read the part of the other actor in a flat monotone voice. Other actors might have found it challenging to maintain a high emotional level against that kind of reading, but not Ruby. She drew on her anger and charged ahead with the scene, filling the room with her character’s desperation. This character and situation she knew all too well.
With a burst of emotion, Ruby finished the scene and held it.
No one said anything for several seconds. Ruby could feel her stomach churning and prayed the growling wasn’t loud enough to be caught on film.
At last, the director said, “That’s enough.”
“We have everything we need.” Meg stood up. “You may go. We’ll be in touch with your agent soon.”
Ruby thanked them and walked out, waiting until she had shut the door to race down the hall to the ladies’ room once more. As she passed the receptionist, the woman gave her a thumbs-up sign.
Ruby knew that that was merely a supportive sign that she had persevered, not that she had prevailed. That audition had been the worst of Ruby’s life, and she hated that she had gone through with it. Even worse, it was on film. Had it not been for Mr. Wyler’s letter and her family’s desperate financial need, Ruby would have skipped the audition and gone straight home to bed.
The bus ride back to her aunt’s rented bungalow in Hollywood was grueling. As soon as Ruby returned, she nibbled on saltine crackers to calm her stomach. It seemed to work, and as soon as she felt better, she decided to write a letter to Niccolò.
She hadn’t received mail from him in a few weeks, though he’d written to say he was working in construction and making good money. He had applied for his passport and papers, and he was waiting for those to arrive. Niccolò said that he and his cousin had to move, but he would send the new address as soon as they had it.
After changing the cartridge in her fountain pen, Ruby sat at a small desk in her aunt’s living room that looked out over a busy street in Hollywood. The sounds of cars honking and people chattering floated up to the second story apartment through the open window. Outside, pink petunias in window boxes opened to the sun.
Ruby couldn’t wait to share a home with Niccolò, even if it were a one-room flat. With that thought in mind, she pulled out the pretty ivory paper she’d bought at Woolworth’s five-and-dime store to write letters to him.
My darling Niccolò. She told him about her audition and how sick she’d been. But there will be other auditions. I keep hearing your words in my mind: Chin up. Even thousands of miles away, you help me get through each day, my love.
Her aunt Vivienne had seen Niccolò’s letters from Italy arrive, and she’d quizzed Ruby about who was w
riting to her. Ruby had told her a little about Niccolò—leaving out the part where they got married—and she begged her aunt not to tell her parents. Though Aunt Vivienne liked to gossip, Ruby hoped she could trust her.
Ruby continued writing, imagining that Niccolò was there beside her. Have you spoken to your father yet? You might not want to hear this, but I think it’s important that you see him before you leave. You might be gone a long time, darling. Don’t leave with an argument still festering.
As Ruby wrote, the thought of Dante Mancini forcing Niccolò to annul the marriage clawed at the edges of her mind. But Niccolò would never do that. She closed her eyes and recalled their last kiss before she boarded the ship, remembering every detail of his face and how he held her. She wrapped her arms around herself, imagining him enveloping her with love.
Just then, Ruby heard the front door open. She snapped open her eyes.
“Lawd, child, what’re you doing mooning about like that?” Aunt Vivienne balanced several bags of groceries. With a drawn face and pinched, red-painted lips in a perpetual frown, she said, “Don’t just sit there. Help me.”
Ruby sprang from her chair to take the groceries from her aunt.
Vivienne pushed all the bags into Ruby’s arms. “It’s been a hard day, and I need a tonic. I’m not like your mama. I don’t have a man supporting me.” Vivienne worked in a beauty shop cutting and curling hair for wealthy women whose husbands, she told her, ran Hollywood. Her hair was bleached and bobbed in the latest style.
“Mama works as hard as Dad,” Ruby said, even as Vivienne shot her a withering look.
“That’s her fault.” A faraway look came into Vivienne’s eyes. “I could have been a lady of leisure. Almost made it, I did.” She winked. “Maybe you’ll be the one.”
Ruby didn’t push the issue. Once, when Ruby had asked her mother why Vivienne wasn’t married, Mercy replied that it wasn’t good manners to speak of the tragedy her poor sister had endured. However, her father referred to Vivienne as an old spinster, though as her mother’s youngest sister, she wasn’t much older than Patricia. Ruby knew better than to ask her aunt about any of this. Until Vivienne had her evening tonic, her words could be sharp.
Even though Vivienne was often irritable, Ruby was grateful to Vivienne for sharing her photographs with Joseph. Had it not been for Vivienne, Ruby would never have gone into acting.
Vivienne glanced at the letter on the desk. “Writing to that boyfriend again?” Her voice was strangely flat.
Ruby tried to step between her aunt and the letter, but Vivienne beat her to it.
“Well, ain’t that sweet.” Vivienne stared at the stationery.
“It’s private,” Ruby said firmly. “Do you mind?”
Vivienne shrugged as if it was of no importance to her. “Plenty of rich, eligible men here if you’re young and pretty. But you know your daddy has a grand old plan for you.”
Ruby bristled against her words. “That’s his plan, not mine. Any mail today?”
Vivienne quickly shook her head. “When you stopped in Texas, did you talk to your father about this plan for your future?”
Ruby ignored the question. “With the drought on, I have to keep working.” Ruby had hoped she’d receive a note from Niccolò today. She turned over the letter and took the groceries into the kitchen.
However, Ruby had a sinking feeling as she recalled her visit to the ranch on her way back to California. She’d given her mother and sister scarves and her father a brass letter opener. Not that he had much use for it, but she couldn’t think of anything else.
“Looking awfully grown-up,” her father had said when they picked her up from the train station.
Ruby walked through a cloud of hot, swirling dust that settled onto her skin, making her itch. Still no rain, she surmised.
“Real cosmopolitan,” her mother cooed, giving her a big hug. “Wait until your Johnston boy sees you now.”
“About that, Mama,” Ruby began.
“Why, you look so different now.” Her mother held her by the shoulders, admiring Ruby’s new look. “Like a real movie star.”
“I hope so,” Ruby said. For starters, she wore red lipstick now. She’d learned how to set her hair when it was damp to make it wavy. For the train trip, she’d worn one of her new sundresses with a printed silk scarf tied at a jaunty angle around her neck. And dark sunglasses that David had insisted she take.
Ruby’s father glared at her. “We have a deal, Ruby.” Her father’s voice was low and even. Not threatening, just reminding her of the promise she’d made. A man is only as good as his word, he always said.
Ruby assumed that went for women, too.
Her mother saw the tension between them. “Are you excited to see Granger while you’re here?” she asked.
“I’ve only got a couple of days, Mama. I want to spend that with you and Dad and Patricia. I’ll be back soon enough.” With Niccolò. By Christmas, she hoped.
After supper, Ruby’s father went to the barn to check on a horse. While Ruby and her mother sat in the parlor stitching flour-sack cotton for a quilt, Ruby said, “I grew up a lot in Italy. I need to talk to you about Granger.”
“I’m on your side,” her mother said. “But you’ll have to talk to your father about that matter. You know what was discussed.”
Ruby put her needle down. “Mama, I can’t marry Granger.” She wished she could confide in her mother, but it would be too much for her mother to bear. Mercy was worried enough about the ranch and stretching their budget as far as she could.
“I didn’t want to marry your father either,” Mercy said in a weary voice. “But then I wouldn’t have had you or Patricia. It’s women’s lot, honey.”
“Times are changing, Mama. Say, is Minnie Becker still hankering after Granger?” That would solve the issue. Then they’d all be happy—except for her father.
Her mother’s thread snapped, and she looked up. “That boy’s waiting for you. A deal’s a deal.”
“But I want to keep acting. And you need the money.”
Measuring out a new length of thread, her mother furrowed her brow. “You’ll have one more year. Surely we’ll have rain by then, and you can come home. And then we’ll all be together and happy again.”
Her parents were still cleaving to prayers, while Ruby was facing reality.
Now, as Ruby set the grocery bags on the tiled counter in Vivienne’s kitchen, the telephone rang.
Vivienne’s heels clicked on the wooden floor. “I’ll get it. Pour my tonic, would you?”
Ruby brought the icy tonic water from the icebox and poured some into a glass. She measured an amount of gin, which turned her stomach, and stirred. Vivienne had sworn her to secrecy about her tonics, saying that Mercy wouldn’t understand, which was true.
Placing her hands on the tiny, white hexagonal tiles on the counter, Ruby waited. Would the studio have made a decision already?
“It’s Joseph, calling for you,” Vivienne called out.
“Your tonic is in the kitchen.” Ruby hurried to the telephone stand in the hallway. She couldn’t help feeling hopeful about the audition, even though her performance had been dreadful. Pressing the telephone receiver to her ear, she said, “Hello?”
Joseph charged right into the conversation, as was his style. “Hey, kid. Blackstone, the casting director, and the producer said they had never seen an audition like yours in all their years of screen tests.” He chuckled. “They said you sure fit the part of a downtrodden woman on the prairie—ragged, pale, and disheveled. What the heck happened to you in Italy?”
“I was so terribly ill that day,” Ruby said, her words tumbling out. “If they could give me another chance—”
“Absolutely not,” Joseph yelled over the line. “You had one shot at that role.”
“And I bombed.”
Joseph chuckled. “You got the part, kid.”
Ruby didn’t know what to say. She thought her audition had been horrible. “How?”
“The casting director said that all the other women were too pretty. The scene was about a woman who’d lost everything, and not only did you act the part, but you became the character. They could see you in that role because you embodied it.” The agent paused. “Have you been studying method acting?”
“No, I was sick as I could be,” Ruby said. She could deal with a stomach virus, but she hoped this wasn’t something worse, like influenza. She felt a little better today but not great.
“Well, get yourself together because filming starts in a couple of weeks. You were the last important role to be cast.”
Relief flooded her, and Ruby leaned against the wall. “Where will it be filmed?”
“New Mexico. You’ll be out of touch for a while, but it’s a fairly short schedule. You’ll leave the first week in October, and you’ll be finished by Christmas.”
“That’s good,” she said, doing the mental calculations in her head. The money would be enough to last her family through the winter, even if she didn’t get another part right away. “Any more auditions I can go on?”
“Over these next two weeks, I’ll send you on auditions for films that start shooting in January,” Joseph said. “Now that you’ve landed this part, your star is rising.”
After Ruby hung up the phone, she let out a whoop. Nothing could stop her now.
Vivienne raced into the hallway, her breath smelling of gin. “Did you get the part?”
“Sure did,” Ruby said. Elated, she threw her arms around her aunt. Yet, a moment later, she clamped a hand to her mouth and stepped back.
“What’s wrong?” Vivienne asked.
Feeling sick to her stomach again, Ruby rushed to the bathroom. As she lay on the cold tile floor, her aunt cracked open the door.
“Are you okay in there?” Vivienne frowned.
“I’ll be fine,” Ruby said. “Whatever this is, I have two weeks to get over it. The filming is in New Mexico.” She prayed she’d be up for it.
Chapter 22
Hollywood, 1952
* * *
Ruby balanced on the edge of the examination table at the doctor’s office. “Pregnant?” she repeated numbly. She’d pegged this as a stomach virus, but the nausea hadn’t gone away.