Page 17 of A Map to Paradise

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Melanie sat cross-legged with her nephew in her lap as she tied his shoelaces. He still smelled of the bath he’d had the night before and the dish soap she’d used to create bubbles that he insisted on having.

Had it been safe to plunk a kid down in a tubful of Joy dish detergent soap bubbles? She didn’t know. But he hadn’t broken out with hives or boils or been transformed into a cup and saucer. It surely wasn’t the worst thing she’d ever done, but still, that was one more thing she needed to get when she went into Santa Monica: real bubble bath.

She added it to the list she’d made, which already consisted of presents for Nicky to open on Christmas, ketchup, Frosted Flakes, grape jelly, Ovaltine, and a tin of Band-Aids and Mercurochrome. Carson hadn’t sent her any of what he called “fun” money that month. He’d paid the rent and kept up with the grocery tab, but he hadn’t sent anything extra like he had in October and November.

She detested, a little more every day, that she needed him to. She’d be making these purchases today with what she had left from last month’s generosity and perhaps some of her own money from her dwindling savings account.

Melanie could feel Carson distancing himself from her now that Washington had called her and yet hadn’t followed up with contacting him. He hadn’t said it outright but she wondered if he felt Melanie’s continued silence wasn’t something he had to pay for anymore. She’d proven she wasn’t going to be a patsy for the Committee like others had been—others who were now pariahs in Hollywood. She’d made it clear to him she wanted her career returned to what it had been before the blacklist, with her character and fidelity to her coworkers intact.

He’d suggested she return to Nebraska to wait out the HUAC and the studios.

He hadn’t said it, but her crawling back home would cost him just a one-way plane ticket—a cheap way to get out of the nearly six hundred dollars in rent and groceries he was paying for every month. He wouldn’t have to fork over the fun money anymore, either.

The only obvious way she could see to stay where she was in Malibu was to find a way to make the six hundred a month herself. And that seemed nearly impossible.

She could sell the expensive jewelry and clothes and shoes she’d bought with the movie money, but how did one even do that? It was humiliating to even think about. And how long would the resulting cash last if all she could get for used clothing was twenty cents on the dollar? A couple months?

Did she really want to beg for a job down at the café where actors and actresses from the Colony dined and schmoozed? Would the owner even hire her? Could she handle the embarrassment if he did? And even if she could handle it, would she make enough money pouring coffee and delivering plates to live in the Gilberts’ beautiful Malibu house? That didn’t seem likely.

Nicky stood up when the laces were tied, anxious to go next door and see Algernon, which was how Melanie convinced him to be willing to spend the next couple hours with June and Eva.

She’d been astonished at both Eva’s and June’s willingness to help her out with Nicky—June especially. June didn’t have children, so had never raised any, but she’d come over that first day after Eva told her what had happened, bringing saltines and peanut butter when Nicky wanted them for a snack and Melanie didn’t have either ingredient. And quiet Eva, who hardly ever spoke to Melanie when she was at the house, was suddenly full of words for Nicky—and gently delivered advice when Melanie responded to tantrums with near-tantrums of her own.

While the withdrawal of Carson’s care and attention—and soon his money—was soul crushing, the unlikely almost-friendship she was developing with Eva and to an extent June was softening that blow.

The only thing that could complete this welcome addition of having friends again would be if Elwood appeared at his window and started talking to her again.

Well, that wasn’t the only thing that would complete it.

There was also the matter of Alex’s return…

Her brother had vanished for the first time on a Friday.

In reality, he’d been gone for several days when Melanie’s parents found out from college officials that Alex, instead of attending classes, had packed a suitcase and left. Herb and Wynona Kolander were advised their son was in danger of failing every class that semester—and losing his scholarship, too, by the way—if he didn’t return pronto.

Herb and Wynona’s first response had been to call the police. Alex was a gifted violinist; he’d never voluntarily leave like that. He had to have been tricked into packing his things. Fooled into getting in someone’s car. Prevented from asking anyone for help, and likely been threatened with harm if he tried to contact his parents.

The local police in Cincinnati had obligingly considered this scenario until Melanie received a postcard from London: Alex and a girlfriend named BJ were happily on their way to the Continent and could she please tell their parents not to worry? The police assessed the postcard—which Herb and Wynona had Melanie mail to them in Ohio, as they’d left her at home—determined it was Alex’s handwriting and not written under duress, and closed the file.

The closing of that file had happened on Melanie’s eighteenth birthday.

Melanie had imagined that she’d still be angry when Alex showed up in a few weeks, which she was sure he would do, and she’d give him the cold shoulder about it. A person only has one eighteenth birthday, and Alex had found a way to ruin hers.

But Alex hadn’t reappeared after a few weeks. In fact, Herb and Wynona Kolander—who’d returned to Omaha after ten days in Cincinnati—spent the summer after Melanie’s high school graduation frantically waiting to hear from Alex again. They took only short breaks from their vigil to urge Melanie to rethink her plan to study theater at the local university in the fall and likewise abandon such an unreachable career goal as becoming a movie star.

As the weeks went by, Melanie’s anger toward Alex had softened into longing. She heard again from him only once. A postcard arrived from Calais in July, which was not where he and BJ were planning to stay; it was merely a stopping-off place before heading to the interior of France. Alex did not say where their ultimate destination was to be, nor did he give Melanie any kind of return address.

This was what saddened Melanie the most: that Alex had seemed to have gone to a completely different planet, and right at the time when Melanie needed him most. For the past two years if Melanie wanted to talk to Alex, all she had to do was pick up the phone and call him. She hadn’t phoned him that often, but it was knowing that she could that eased her mind. Living in the Kolander house without Alex had been lonely and burdensome. Melanie had been especially looking forward to her brother coming home to Omaha that summer—even though Alex had promised no such thing—and now she didn’t know when she would see him again or hear from him.

Melanie could have especially used Alex’s insights in mid-August when Herb asked for a serious sit-down talk about Melanie’s post–high school plans. He began the conversation by asking Melanie what she envisioned she might do with a degree in theater arts. Teach? Wouldn’t it be better, then, to major in education and minor in theater? He also said it was highly improbable a person could become a movie star by simply wanting to be one.

It surely didn’t happen as a result of college coursework.

More likely it came about by chance and happenstance and knowing the right people. Melanie didn’t know anyone in Hollywood and was fifteen hundred miles from Hollywood. A degree in communications or public relations was the smarter choice because there were actual jobs in those fields. And if a gainfully employed Melanie wanted to perform in community plays in the evenings and the weekends, well, she still could. That made more sense, didn’t it?

It wasn’t until after Melanie had gone to bed that same night that she’d thought of what Alex would have added to the conversation if he had been there. He would’ve said something like, “Well, if someone can’t become a movie star by studying acting, then maybe Melanie should just skip college altogether and head out right now to Hollywood.”

That little thought had made her smile. And ponder.

She’d lain awake a long time wondering what it might be like to just pack a suitcase and head west. To leave it all behind and go after what she really wanted.

To do what Alex had done.

Although not how Alex had done it. Melanie would never do that to her family.

But could she—after she’d kissed her disappointed parents goodbye—hop on a train bound for California with nothing on her side but determination, some high school acting classes, and a couple of senior high lead roles? Is that something she could actually summon the courage to do?

She had known she would need money. Money for the train ticket. Money to rent a room or a little studio apartment until she found a part-time job. Money for professionally produced photographs. Money for nicer clothes to improve her chances at open call auditions. She knew about open call auditions. Her high school drama teacher had told her about them. Open call auditions were how someone like her got acting jobs, got her foot in the door, got noticed. It only took one casting director to decide a person was perfect for a role—even if it was just a tiny part with seconds of screen time—to set things in motion and maybe change the course of a person’s life. It could happen that easily. It could happen just by being in Hollywood. Lana Turner had been discovered at fifteen, purchasing a soda at the Top Hat malt shop; Rita Hayworth at sixteen while dancing with her father at a Los Angeles club. She’d heard of women with no connections at all—just like her—getting noticed by a studio exec or talent scout while picking up dry cleaning or walking their dog in a park or buying flowers at an outdoor market, and then being asked if they’d like to come in for a screen test.

As the grandfather clock in the hall struck a single chime at one a.m., Melanie had decided she would take less than a full load of college courses, she’d live at home to save money, and she’d get a better job than just running the cash register at the five-and-dime a couple days a week. She’d save every penny she could. As soon as she had enough—and she knew it might take a while, two years, maybe three—she’d pack her bags.

It took only one and a phone call from Alex.

Her parents had left one late summer morning after her freshman year for Minneapolis for an annual teachers’ conference they routinely attended. It was a little after two p.m. when the phone rang. She answered it on the third ring.

“Hi, Nellie.”

Alex.

Joy and surprise and something akin to sadness had filled Melanie in an instant and she could not find her voice.

“Mel, you there?” Alex had said, when Melanie said nothing.

“Alex…” Melanie finally spoke.

“Hey. Mom and Dad aren’t home, are they?”

“I can’t believe it’s you. Where are you?”

“You’re alone, right? Mom and Dad have left for that thing in Minnesota, yes?”

Alex hadn’t sounded like he was calling from across a faraway ocean, and this replaced surprise with hope. “Yes. Yes, they’re gone. Where are you?”

“I need to keep it short, Nellie. I just wanted you to know I am back in the States for just a little while. I’ve been thinking about you and I wanted to know how you are.”

“I’m fine, I suppose. Can’t you tell me where you are?”

“You suppose you’re fine? Why? What’s up?”

“Alex, please, can’t you just come home? Please?”

“Mel. Omaha isn’t home for me anymore. I can’t come home because that’s not my home.”

“Then just come back to visit. You don’t have to stay. I just…I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too, but Nebraska isn’t on the itinerary at the moment. Why do you only suppose you’re fine?”

“Because…because…I don’t want to be here anymore, either,” Melanie had said in a sudden rush of found words. “I want to be in California. I want to be in films. I want to be an actress. In Hollywood.”

Alex had been quiet for only a moment. “Well, then I think you should go and be one.”

Melanie had laughed. “Right. It’s not that easy.”

“Going? Sure, it is. What’s keeping you? God knows you’ve got the talent and looks.”

“It takes money, Alex. I’ve saved some but I don’t know if it’s enough. It won’t last forever.”

“Is it enough to get there?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“So go. Get a job there. I assume that’s what you’re doing now, right? Working to earn money? You can do that there. And then you’d already be right where you want to be.”

Melanie paused too long and Alex spoke again.

“Look, I promised my friend I wouldn’t be on his phone more than a minute. It’s long distance. I’ve got to skedaddle, Mel. But I want you to promise me you’ll go to California. Don’t give up on your dream. Promise me you won’t.”

“Wait, Alex!” Melanie shouted. “Please don’t hang up! Please!”

“Here’s what I want you to do, Melanie. BJ has a friend in LA. I’m going to give you Rich’s address and as soon as you’re settled in Hollywood, I want you to go over to his place and give him your new address and phone number, okay? I’ll get it from him and I’ll call you sometime, okay? Got a pen?”

“Alex, wait—”

“You need to get a pen, Melanie. I have to hang up.”

Melanie had grabbed a pen next to the phone and the little note tablet her mother kept in a tidy drawer in the telephone table. Alex rattled off a Los Angeles address for an apartment on West Third and Melanie wrote it down.

“You can tell Mom and Dad I called,” Alex had said. “And tell them I am perfectly fine, okay?”

“Alex, if you could just—”

“I really do have to go. I’ll call you in California. Someday soon, I hope. It’s up to you, really, how long it takes. Bye, Mel.”

The line had gone dead.

For several long moments, Melanie had only been able to gaze at the piece of paper in her hand. As she stared at the numbers and letters, the images in blue ink seemed to transform into something more than mere scribbles on a page.

It had been almost as if the address were a directional pointing to a door cracked open just far enough to reveal light on the other side.

She’d packed her bags, waited for her parents to return so she could tell them goodbye, and then stepped toward that brightness.