by Jan Moran
In two days, she was leaving for New Mexico to begin filming Diary of a Pioneer Woman. Stroking the half-heart pendant that dangled around her slim neck, Ruby thought about how she and Niccolò had tried to be careful.
Evidently, not careful enough.
“Morning sickness is common at about six weeks,” the kindly doctor said, making a note on her chart. “You’re young, but as long as you get plenty of rest and good food, you should be fine.” He glanced at her chart and frowned. “I don’t see your husband’s name here. Was that a mistake?”
Ruby shook her head. She hadn’t filled out the Husband line on the medical questionnaire. And she hadn’t told her aunt about Niccolò.
Vivienne spoke up. “She’s fixin’ to be married, I assure you.” She pursed her red lips and shot an angry look toward Ruby.
“That’s good,” the doctor said. “My nurse will see you out.”
And just like that, Ruby’s world changed.
As they walked toward her aunt’s old Ford pickup, Vivienne said, “It’s that boy, isn’t it? Niccolò.”
Ruby nodded. “But it’s not what you think.”
“Oh, it’s exactly what I think,” Vivienne spat out, whirling to face her with narrowed eyes. “You went to Italy and got knocked up. Stupid, stupid girl. I promised your mama and daddy I’d look after you, but as soon as you were out of my sight, you went and did this.” Vivienne gestured angrily toward Ruby’s abdomen.
Ruby had promised Niccolò that they would face her parents together, but they hadn’t planned on her getting pregnant. “It’s not as bad as you think.”
Vivienne jabbed her fists to her waist. “And why might that be, missy? If you don’t get back to work, your parents will lose their home.”
Ruby had no choice. “I’m married.”
“Oh, that’s swell.” Vivienne crossed her arms. “And where is this Romeo?”
“Niccolò.”
“Does he have money?”
Ruby shook her head.
“And he’s still in Italy, right?” Vivienne pointed her finger in Ruby’s face. “You’ll never see him again, you know. He’s a bum, just like the rest of them.”
“You don’t know that,” Ruby said, slapping her aunt’s hand away. How dare Vivienne accuse Niccolò?
“Oh, yes, I do.” Vivienne glared at her. “Why the devil do you think I left Texas?”
While Ruby was gaping at her, Vivienne pinched her ear and dragged her toward the truck. “We’re going to call your mama first. Poor Mercy will have to break it to your father. Though you ought to be the one.”
Her anger flaring, Ruby twisted out of Vivienne’s grip. “My husband is on his way here.”
“And when was the last time you heard from him?”
“Not long ago.”
“It’s been more than a month.”
Ruby bit back a cry. “Niccolò is earning money to come here.”
“Oldest story around.” Vivienne dug into her purse and pulled out a cigarette, which she stuck between her lips. “Time to grow up, kid. Those guys are all hat, no cattle. Bet he showed you a real good time.”
The sweetest time ever, Ruby wanted to scream, but she was still in a daze. She ignored her aunt’s last comment. “I didn’t know you smoked.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know, child.” Vivienne fumbled for a match. After lighting the cigarette, she inhaled and blew out a thick plume of smoke. Leaning against the truck, she said, “This is going to break your mother’s heart.”
Wrinkling her nose from the smoke, Ruby pushed her hair back from her forehead, which was damp with perspiration. Maybe from nerves, maybe from her new condition.
Although Ruby wanted to believe her mother would be happy for her—and the grandchildren they’d been waiting for Patricia to have—she knew her father would explode. And her mother would bear the brunt of his temper.
Ruby hadn’t thought about that.
“And your father will kill you,” Vivienne went on. “Unless…”
“What?”
“You go back to Texas and marry Granger Johnston right away. I’ve heard he might do well for himself.”
“But I’m already married.”
“In Italy. Who knows about that here?”
“Never.” Ruby spun around to walk away.
Vivienne latched onto her arm. “Don’t be twice an idiot. Granger would never know.” She huffed. “That’s what I should have done.”
So this was the tragedy her mother spoke of that Vivienne had suffered. Ruby slid a glance toward her aunt. “I will not. I’ll keep working.”
“Like that?” Vivienne sneered. “Not a chance.”
“We need the money. And I won’t show until…” Ruby pressed a hand against her still smooth belly. “When will I actually look…” She couldn’t bring herself to say it. Pregnant. Ruby brushed an errant tear from her hot cheeks. If only she could reach Niccolò. Surely he’d come right away. And he’d be happy, so happy. She’d write to him tonight.
“Well, you’re tall and thin, so…” Her aunt looked her over. “You’re probably good for three more months. Maybe four. You could wear a girdle and keep your weight down. Lots of women do that to keep working.”
Ruby’s head was spinning, and her stomach was threatening to heave again, but if she didn’t focus on something else, she feared she’d collapse. She breathed out slowly. A baby. Niccolò. What could she do? Ruby pressed her fingers to her temple. “I’ll go to New Mexico and finish that film by Christmas.”
“And that new part you just got for January?”
Ruby’s heart dropped. Her agent had been sending her out on auditions at the studio, and she’d gotten another part. “I’ll talk to Joseph.”
“Whatever you do, don’t tell him you’re with child,” Vivienne’s voice dropped to a whisper on the last word, as if pregnancy were shameful. “Women in your condition get black-balled. And you have a good shot at a big career. Just tell Joseph you need a break after Christmas.”
“But I’m married. It’s not like I’m pregnant out of wedlock.”
“You might as well be. Studios like their stars shapely.”
“I’ll get back in shape fast after the baby is born,” Ruby said.
Her aunt threw up her hands. “You’re still only seventeen. In Hollywood, that’s a scandal. Might as well marry Granger, because your film career will be deader than dead when this gets out.” Vivienne stubbed out her cigarette and hoisted herself into the truck. “And here I thought you’d be rich enough to support us all someday.”
Her aunt’s words sliced through Ruby, yet she clung to the thought of Niccolò. They drove in silence back to her aunt’s apartment.
After they returned, Ruby immediately wrote another letter to Niccolò.
* * *
My darling Niccolò,
I have such wonderful news. You’re going to be a father! Please plan to come for Christmas, and we’ll celebrate and get ready for our sweet baby together. I’m starting work on the new film I told you about, so I’ll have a little money for an apartment.
* * *
When Ruby finished writing, she brushed away the tears that dotted the page and sealed the letter right away so that her aunt, who was lingering nearby, couldn’t read it. She tucked it into her purse to mail tomorrow.
But the next morning, Ruby woke up to severe nausea again.
Hurriedly, Vivienne mixed baking soda into a glass of water and squeezed lemon juice into it. “Sip this,” she said, putting it on the coffee table next to the blue couch where Ruby slept.
Ruby did, but moments later, feeling sick, she careened toward the bathroom, nearly knocking over Vivienne’s prized porcelain rooster collection in the process. After vomiting until she had dry heaves, Ruby rinsed her mouth and splashed cold water onto her face. When she finally emerged, her aunt was gone.
Easing onto the couch, Ruby sipped the lemon juice and baking soda concoction, determined to keep it down.
; An hour later, Vivienne returned with more lemons. “Eventually, this will take the edge off.”
“I think your mixture might have already helped.” Ruby sat up. She still felt queasy, but not urgently so. Mostly, she just felt tired. She closed her eyes. The letter. Ruby pushed herself up.
“Stay there,” Vivienne said. “Let your stomach settle.”
“But I have to mail my letter to Niccolò.”
“I just did,” Vivienne said, smiling. “I saw you writing it, and I knew it was important. With you feeling so poorly, I thought you’d appreciate it.” She fluffed a pillow for Ruby and tucked it behind her. “Relax. I’ll take good care of you until you leave.”
Ruby eased herself back down, relieved that Vivienne was no longer yelling at her as she had yesterday. “I need to call Mama.”
“Why worry her? You have plenty of time.” Vivienne sat beside Ruby and took her hand. “I hate to say this, what with your condition, but sometimes a woman’s first go at making babies doesn’t take.”
Alarmed, Ruby scrunched her brow. “What do you mean?”
“You could have a miscarriage. It’s not uncommon. If that happened, you would have worried your mother for nothing.”
“I guess that makes sense,” Ruby said slowly. She longed to hear her mother’s voice, though she didn’t want to bring any more misery into the poor woman’s life.
“I’m sure of it. This inconvenience might just work itself out. Now, how about some hot broth and crackers?”
“Guess so,” Ruby said. She had to get over this sickness soon. The film in New Mexico wouldn’t wait.
* * *
Ruby took her designated place on set, which was an old farmhouse in New Mexico with monument rock formations in the background. The days were dry but still blazing hot, even for early October.
“Places, everyone,” the director called out.
Ruby wore a brown wool skirt that brushed the dusty, wooden floor. The wardrobe supervisor had carefully smudged Ruby’s wrinkled cotton shirt with dirt. Her hair was swept haphazardly from her face. She would have looked even more haggard except for the time she spent in makeup every morning. The makeup artist had a knack for covering the hollows under her eyes and cheekbones.
Still, Ruby fit the part of a weary woman on an unknown frontier.
Due to nausea, Ruby could hardly eat. She nibbled little during the day, except for saltine crackers and Vivienne’s lemon juice and baking soda concoction. In the evening, her nausea lessened, so she managed to keep down fresh vegetables and protein for the baby. Mostly, she stayed in her trailer out of the sun, resting with a cool cloth on her forehead to preserve her strength for filming. Never in her life had she felt so tired.
“Hey, Slim,” the director said, using his nickname for her. He approached her on the set. “After seeing the rushes last night, I have a few pointers for you. Overall, excellent work. But today’s scene will be highly emotional. Are you up for that?”
Ruby nodded. “You can count on me.” Knowing she would soon have a baby depending on her deepened her commitment to work. Ruby conferred with him for a few minutes. In the evenings, the director reviewed the footage they’d shot so they could do retakes before moving on to another setting or location.
Today, retakes didn’t seem likely. Summoning the warring thoughts that raced through her mind—the baby, Niccolò, her mother and father—Ruby hit every emotional high the scene required. After one particularly gut-wrenching break-down, when the director called cut the crew broke out in applause.
Her co-star, who’d earned many awards in his illustrious career, winked and shook her hand. “That was Oscar-worthy, my dear. Simply brilliant.”
After the daily shoots, Ruby wrote to Niccolò. When she could, she went to the nearest small town to call her aunt. Yet every time Ruby called to inquire, Vivienne said she still hadn’t received any more letters from Niccolò.
He’d simply stopped writing.
Ruby worried that something had happened to Niccolò. If only she’d stayed in Rome, she would have known. Maybe he was in the hospital. If he were ill, she hoped his mother was nursing him back to health. Ruby wished she could remember the address of his parents so she could write to Carolina Mancini. But at the time, she’d simply gone along with Niccolò, not bothering to note the address or even the street.
Maybe he’d even died. But Ruby couldn’t bear to think about that.
Nor did she want to face what her aunt asserted—that Niccolò no longer loved her. How could that be? The love she had for him would never dim.
Filming seemed to drag on. By December, the film was nearly finished. One Saturday, Ruby got a ride into the nearby town, where she made a telephone call from a payphone at the local Rexall Drugstore.
Her agent had sent an urgent telegram to the set the day before. Call as soon as you can. Have big offer for you.
Ruby connected to the operator and gave her Joseph’s telephone number in Hollywood.
The operator placed the call. When Joseph picked up, the operator said, “I have a collect call for Mr. Joseph Applebaum from Miss Ruby Raines. Will you accept the charges?”
“Absolutely.” The operator clicked off, and Joseph went on. “You’ll never believe who called back and is now offering you three times the original offer.” He told her the part she’d declined for January was alive again. “Maxwell Banksy, and the film is called Forever a Rebel.”
Ruby leaned against the wall. “Joseph, I need to take some time off.”
“Sweetheart, you’ll have two weeks at the end of December.”
“I need more time.”
“Come on, your part shoots in January and February. By Valentine’s Day, you’ll be free.” He named a figure that was far more money than she’d ever made.
Ruby was tempted. Quickly, she calculated the weeks—and her bank balance. With the right costumes, she could pull it off. “Okay, I’ll do it.”
Properly concealed, she could work up to six months. And maybe Niccolò would surprise her.
Ruby gripped the phone. “But after that, I need a break.”
“You don’t take a vacation just when you’re getting hot,” Joseph said. “I can get you into Wyler’s next film. He’s already asking about you.”
Ruby bit her lip. She’d love to work with Mr. Wyler again. “When will that be?”
“Filming is on schedule for April. Pretty short notice, but you can take a couple of weeks off in March. This is your moment. Don’t let up now.”
By her calculations, the baby was due in early May. “I’m sorry, I just can’t.”
“And I can’t represent moody actresses who don’t feel like working,” Joseph said, clearly frustrated. “You don’t work, I don’t get paid. Come on, Ruby, don’t pass up this golden opportunity. You told me you wanted to work and make money, so give me one good reason why you can’t take this part.”
And then, even though Vivienne had warned her, Ruby had to tell him. She cupped her hand around the receiver and turned to the wall. “I’m going to have a baby,” she whispered.
Over the phone line, Joseph let out a string of curses. “Who knows about this?”
“Only my aunt. And my doctor.”
“Don’t ruin your career.” Joseph’s voice dropped. “I know someone who takes care of problems like this. It can all go away. I’ll set up an appointment as soon as you get back.”
Ruby knew what he meant, and she was horrified. Vivienne had suggested the same thing one day. “I’m married.”
“Oh, jeez. Is your husband in Los Angeles?”
“He’s in Italy.” Tears pooled in her eyes as she thought of Niccolò.
“Why isn’t he with you?”
Why indeed? Ruby couldn’t get the words out.
Joseph cursed again. “You’re far too young for this.”
“Elizabeth Taylor was eighteen when she married Nicky Hilton.”
“Yeah, eighteen,” Joseph said. “And divorced eight months later. Y
ou’re not eighteen.”
“Almost,” Ruby shot back. “My passport says otherwise.”
“You’re making a huge mistake,” Joseph said. “The contracts you sign have a detailed morals clause, among others. You’re in violation, so that’s cause for termination.”
Ruby bit her lip. She’d heard horror stories about actors fired for even minor infractions. But surely being married would make a difference. She could explain everything.
Joseph went on. “Once the press gets hold of this story—and believe me, they will—I won’t be able to book you for dog food commercials, let alone with top directors. I beg you, Ruby, don’t throw away your shot. It won’t come again. Not in this town. I know you need the money, so I’m giving it to you straight now.”
Tears slid down Ruby’s cheeks, and she kept her face to the wall. Behind her, she could hear the soda jerk flirting with another pretty young cast member. Ruby lowered her voice.
“Tell Mr. Wyler I can’t do it, but ask him to keep me in mind for the next one.”
Joseph blew out a breath. “Please tell me you’re not keeping this baby.”
“I am. But I’m going to need to work after it’s born.”
A long pause stretched between them.
“Ruby, when this comes out, it’s going to be uglier than you can imagine. Someone will give up your real age. A neighbor, a relative—a lot of people are thrilled to see their name in the paper, and they don’t care if it destroys you. In fact, they feed on it. See, you can’t keep this baby. If you were my daughter…” Joseph hesitated. “Before you make any decisions, talk to your parents. They’ll know what to do. And forget that guy in Italy. You’re young. You have time to start over. Come back in June if you can. September at the latest.”
“I’ll think about it.” Ruby hung up and hurried from the drugstore, her mind churning with anguish.
Joseph had echoed what her aunt had warned her about—and then some. If she couldn’t work in films, how could she possibly earn the amount of money her family needed? Or provide for her child?