tell me about the picture you did together,” Harlean asked Lula and Lloyd with genuine interest.
“It was Hearts and Spurs with that cute young Carole Lombard, if memory serves.”
“Why, yes, that was it!”
“I played a gambler. You ran the saloon,” he recalled with a broadening smile.
“We shot it in the Santa Monica Mountains. I had my own trailer on that picture.”
“We both did.” He let out a nostalgic sigh. “I thought I was really on my way to being somebody back then.”
“All right, everybody, places!” the assistant director finally called out on his bullhorn again.
For Harlean the tedium of the process was balanced by the entertaining company surrounding her. She was fascinated by the stories they began to tell, and she felt relaxed with them both. No one here knew who she was, that she had been so sheltered her whole life—or that, until she met Chuck, she had considered herself a loner and a bookworm. Nor did they care. They seemed to be taking her at face value. Today, she was just “Jean,” a new girl in the business, one who could use some advice, and camaraderie, from two seasoned professionals.
During the lunch break, as they ate bologna and cheese sandwiches and drank lukewarm coffee, she could hear a murmured conversation between the two assistant directors as they looked at her then looked away. She could see that Lula heard it, as well.
“Now, see that one, Harry, the blonde over there? I’m tellin’ you, the camera loves her. She jumps at you right through the lens. I saw it for myself when we were setting up the last shot.”
Even though they spoke in low tones, Harlean did not miss a word of their conversation. She drank it in, savored it and thought of how she might use it to her advantage. Touch the line without crossing over it—she was learning for herself that was the key.
“No fooling. Who is she?”
“How the hell should I know? She’s some extra, for now, anyway. But if she’s got an ounce of ambition, we’ll be seeing her again.”
Lula took a swallow of the cold coffee. “They’re talking about you.”
Harlean felt a sly grin turn up the corners of her mouth. Their compliment was flattering to her.
“I didn’t think I’d like this whole picture business, but I actually kind of do. Around here, no one is judging me.”
“My dear, everyone is judging you. It’s just that, for the moment, it’s in a good way.”
“How can I do what he said, come around again, get more work?”
“For that, you’ll need to be smart, and stand out for more than your looks.”
“But how can I do that?”
“To begin with, make sure your shoes are clean. Assistant directors always look at your feet first. And another thing, if you really want my advice, invest in a few smart-looking hats. You can fake clothes, but you can never fake a stylish hat.”
She thought for a moment. Those things would be easy. Her mother had given her a strong sense of fashion and her grandfather had long funded it. “Sure, I can do that.”
Lula reflected for a moment on her own advice as extras began to stand up and toss the remains of their lunch boxes into a garbage can at the end of the table. “And watch your makeup. You’ll never get a close-up if your skin isn’t flawless.”
“A close-up?”
“I assume you aren’t going to want to do extra work forever. That dress of yours alone is worth more than a lot of these folks earn in a month.”
“I hadn’t thought...”
“Well, you’ve got to think ahead. Believe me, your competition does.”
She hadn’t fully considered that it was a competition—but Lula Hanford was right, that’s just what Hollywood was—one great, big, tumultuous competition. But suddenly, the prospect actually seemed more exciting than frightening.
* * *
It had been a long day and Harlean was dragging by the time she arrived back at the house, toting her evening dress in a garment bag. Marino was making pasta and her mother was sitting at the kitchen table filing her fingernails. A lively Duke Ellington tune blared from the radio, threading through a conversation between Jean and her husband. Finally, at least it wasn’t opera she had to listen to.
Chuck came in a moment later and stood in the doorway.
“Where the devil have you been all day? I talked to Ivor and he said Rosalie hadn’t seen you.”
“No, I wasn’t with Rosalie,” she confessed.
The nail file stilled in her mother’s hand as she glanced up.
“Well, at least you’re not planning to lie now,” he grumbled.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Chuck, is that really necessary?” Jean sighed as she rolled her eyes. “Sit down, Baby, and tell us about your adventure today.”
“How the hell do you know what my wife was doing?”
“Best to watch your tone, my boy,” Marino interjected matter-of-factly as he stood stirring marinara sauce at the stove.
“A mother’s intuition, is how I know, and a mother is always right,” Jean replied in a curt tone.
Harlean sat down beside her mother as Chuck sulked around the kitchen. “It was an adventure, Mommie, an amazing one.”
“There, you see, Chuck? So, Baby, you got a casting call?”
“I went to Paramount. They called me in when you were all still asleep, and then I was chosen from a huge herd of people. Gosh, you wouldn’t believe the size of the crowd, people were everywhere and it took the whole day to shoot the one scene. It was for a picture they’re going to call Moran of the Marines. Richard Dix is the star. I saw him, Mommie, I was as close to him as I am to Marino! I made seven dollars all on my own, and they gave us a box lunch.”
“Insipid title. Sounds like Moron of the Marines.”
“Don’t be rude, Charles. Clearly, the directors could see how exceptional your wife is, the way I have seen it all along. She was picked from an enormous crowd,” Jean boasted with an overabundance of maternal pride.
“I can’t believe you went behind my back.”
“It was early, Chuck, and I just didn’t want to wake any of you, that was the only reason, honest.”
“Well, seven dollars won’t even buy a pair of those fancy buckle shoes you insist on wearing, so I sure as hell don’t see what all the fuss is about,” Chuck grumbled.
Marino set down the wooden spoon and pivoted away from the stove. His blue-black hair shimmered in the light from the milk-glass ceiling fixture. “Good gracious, boy, can’t you be happy for the Baby? She had herself an adventure. Why would you begrudge her that?”
“She’s not a baby, she’s my wife, goddammit, and I don’t see why either of you would want to get her hopes up. Particularly not you, Mrs. Bello, since you know how tough rejection is in Hollywood. You sure got enough of it yourself during your failed attempt at becoming a star.”
Jean shot to her feet. “Impertinent prig.”
“That’s enough, both of you,” Harlean said, trying in vain to run interference. “Come on, Chuck, take a walk with me till dinner’s ready.”
“Tell me this first, did you get another job?” Her mother interjected as Harlean walked over to Chuck and clutched his hand.
Harlean saw Chuck’s deep frown. His face had flushed crimson with pent-up frustration. She wanted to tell him first, and privately, once they’d