Page 3 of A Map to Paradise

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Melanie crushed out her cigarette and watched with aggravation as Eva stealthily approached the fence, tiptoeing as if what she’d been asked to do was scandalous. Did neighbors not talk to one another where Eva was from?

Melanie found that hard to believe. Poland wasn’t Mars. Surely Polish women spoke to their next-door neighbors across the fence, even that early in the morning if both were up.

Eva was now bending slightly to peer at June Blankenship through the slats.

“Just ask her!” Melanie whispered to herself.

It wasn’t often she wished Marvelous Maids had sent over a chatty American to be her housekeeper. Most of the time she was glad the person they sent was a quiet foreigner. Eva didn’t know enough about Hollywood celebrities to be starstruck, and she didn’t have American siblings, cousins, and old high school chums pumping her for information about the actress she worked for. Eva was an outsider. Calm, competent, and unimpressed, it seemed, by Melanie’s notoriety. Melanie liked that. Her agent, Irving Ross, liked that. So did Carson. So did the lawyer Carson had hired for her. Eva didn’t ask questions, didn’t initiate unwanted small talk, didn’t take things as souvenirs, didn’t gawk or gush or giggle. Sometimes Melanie longed for more interaction from Eva—it was lonely being stuck in the house day after day—but if she had to choose between annoyingly talkative and absurdly quiet, she’d still choose the latter.

It had been Irving’s idea to bring in Eva as her housekeeper when Carson insisted she have one.

Irving had specifically wanted someone for the job who hadn’t grown up reading fan magazines. Nor did he want someone from an agency typically tapped by Hollywood elite. It had to be someone outside the studios. Someone they could trust. Carson agreed.

When a friend had suggested he contact Marvelous Maids in Wilshire Park, he thought that was still a little too close to the movers and shakers on Sunset Boulevard. But when this person said a polite young Polish woman named Eva Kruse had expertly and oh-so-quietly cleaned their trashed home after a particularly wild party, Irving made the call and Carson plunked down the money.

It was the Polish part that had motivated them both. Melanie knew this because Irving had told her.

“I’ve found you a housekeeper,” he’d said, not long after Carson had moved her into a furnished house whose owner was on a two-year assignment to Cairo. “She’ll be perfect for you. She’s a DP.”

“What’s a deepee?”

Irving had given her a quick Are you joking? look and then replied, “You know. A Displaced Person. From Europe. From the war. A DP. She’s one of those people the American government brought over after the war because they couldn’t go home or didn’t have a home anymore.”

“Someone from one of those horrible death camps?” Melanie had been ashamed to say the mere thought of being that close to true suffering scared her.

“No. No, she’s Catholic, I think. Polish. That doesn’t matter. She’s not from around here. That’s what’s important. She’ll be perfect.”

“But I can’t afford a housekeeper,” she’d said.

“But Carson can. And he wants you to have one.”

Carson was already paying her rent, and her lawyer’s fees, and buying the groceries that were delivered every Saturday. And now a housekeeper? Carson could indeed afford it; he was rich. And he’d just snagged a great role on Broadway despite being blacklisted, too. Apparently, plenty of theaters in New York didn’t kowtow to congressional hotheads. But still. Carson was being too generous.

“Why is he doing that?” Melanie had asked.

Irving shrugged. “Why do you think?”

It wasn’t because Carson was in love with her; she knew that. Their off-screen romance had been for the gossip columnists—who’d eaten it up like free candy. She hadn’t minded the pretense, though; the post–movie release exposure had been good for her popularity. And then when she and Carson had realized they actually enjoyed each other’s companionship in spite of the studio-arranged affair, she hadn’t minded that, either. Or Carson’s gifts or the fancy dinners or the limo rides. Carson was a fun date.

But he didn’t love her. He’d told her early on he wasn’t one to fall in love, though he was awfully fond of her.

“I’m asking you anyway,” she’d said to Irving.

“He probably feels guilty. You’re in this heap of a mess because of him. If you two hadn’t been seen around town, you’d probably be working right now. I would have had all kinds of offers lined up for you if you hadn’t taken up with him.”

She’d bristled at the inference that this was all her fault. “An arrangement you told me would be good for my career.”

“Yeah, well, if it weren’t for this witch hunt, it would’ve been. He wants you to have a maid. At this point what difference does it make? He’s paying for everything else, and you already know how I feel about that. Do you really want to do your own laundry and scrub your own toilets if he wants to pay to have it done for you?”

It hadn’t been that long ago that she was doing her own laundry and scrubbing her own toilet. But a maid for six days a week? For six hours a day? What kind of a slob did Carson think she was?

It occurred to Melanie now as Eva peeked into the Blankenships’ backyard that perhaps Irving was wrong and guilt had nothing to do with it at all. Maybe the real reason Carson had been happily paying for a maid was that Eva had actually been hired to watch her. To make sure she wasn’t letting reporters into the house or taking phone calls from them.

To make sure Melanie was sticking to her promise to keep her mouth shut and to sound the alarm if she wasn’t.

She frowned. That new explanation didn’t square at all with what she saw in Eva every day. Eva didn’t come across in the least as a spying snitch. Eva didn’t hover, didn’t linger in the room, didn’t seem to be interested in any phone call Melanie made or took.

And it wasn’t because she didn’t understand English. She did. Eva’s accent was pronounced, to be sure, but she could answer any question Melanie posed. Could speak to anyone who came to the door if the bell rang. Could ring up the grocer if Melanie wanted something added to the list. The only time Eva engaged with Melanie was when Melanie initiated it. Eva was like a ghost the rest of the time, a specter who floated from room to room with her broom and feather duster, cleaning a clean house without a sound.

Melanie knew she was only five years younger than Eva, but the maid seemed much older. Her eyes, her demeanor, the way she stared off into space. It was as if sometimes she was back in her homeland and running from the Nazis or whatever or whoever it was that had made her a Displaced Person. Even when she was cleaning in the same room as Melanie, she often seemed far away and certainly not snooping or eavesdropping.

Eva wasn’t a spy.

But how hard was it to obey a simple instruction?

Melanie was just about to rush across the lawn in her nightgown to ask June herself when at last she saw Eva straighten and speak to the woman.

She couldn’t hear Eva but she saw June jump. Saw the woman nearly knock her shovel to the patio in surprise.

Melanie watched as June listened to Eva’s next words, saw June lift her head to gaze at her brother-in-law’s window, and then return her attention to Eva. Saw her shake her head.

Eva said something else.

June shook her head again.

Damn it all! She should’ve known better than to think June would take Eva’s request on her behalf seriously. June was like a cross between a fairy godmother and a general when it came to Elwood and his care.

Melanie pushed the door open all the way and strode across the patio and the grass. She was wearing a thin negligee and matching robe, but the early morning air was surprisingly dry and hinting of coming warmth. A frolicking gust kicked up the opaque fabric and swirled it about her ankles.

As she closed in on them, Eva was swiveling to return to the house, obviously unsuccessful, and June was moving away from the fence, too.

“Wait!” Melanie called out. “Wait, June. Please.”

June turned back around.

“I won’t need more than just a few minutes of Elwood’s time. It really is quite important. And he’s the only person I trust. He’s the only person I know right now who can help me. Please?”

June’s countenance seemed to soften a bit. “He’s…he’s just not been himself lately, Melanie. And he’s not…he’s not been taking calls. I can’t force him to speak with you.”

“Yes, I know he has his bad days and all, but—”

“It’s worse than usual, actually.” June rubbed a bit of soil on her face with a dirty hand, making the smudge even bigger. “It wouldn’t be kind of me to insist he take your call. It just wouldn’t. My first responsibility is to him. I’m sorry.”

June turned from her, and Melanie rushed a step forward and grabbed at the fence, as though that would keep her neighbor from going back inside the house. A splinter slid its way under the skin of her ring finger, but Melanie barely noticed.

“I have an important call this morning, June! From the people in Washington who are ruining my life. They are going to ask me questions. They’re going to want information from me. They’re going to insist I tell them what they want to hear! I need to know what I should do. I need Elwood to tell me what I should say.”

June pivoted back around, a slight frown etched on her face. “Shouldn’t your lawyer be the one telling you what to say?”

“My lawyer isn’t thinking about how to win back my career. He is only concerned with keeping me out of trouble.”

“More like keeping that Edwards fellow out of trouble, you mean.”

Melanie stared at her, wordless.

“I’m sorry, but it’s been impossible not to overhear your conversations with Elwood. Carson Edwards chose your lawyer, right? And is paying his fees? Even I can see how that looks.”

Melanie was taken aback for a moment. June had never so much as even hinted that she had an opinion regarding Melanie’s dilemma. But then she didn’t speak to June much. It was only Elwood she’d ever sought counsel from, not his sister-in-law.

“I can’t afford my own lawyer,” she said after a beat. “The only movie that ever made me any real money isn’t playing anywhere anymore. Please, June. Let me talk to him.”

June inhaled deeply and then let the breath out. She gazed up at Elwood’s bedroom window again. Her face seemed to shift from tired annoyance to something like compassion or sadness, and for a moment Melanie thought she’d won her over. But when June turned to look at her again, Melanie could see that she had not.

“If I asked him about this, you and I both know what he would say,” June said. “He’d tell you to share what you know if you want those people to know it. He’d say whatever information you have belongs to you . If you want to give it to them, give it to them. If you don’t, then don’t.”

“It’s not that simple!” Melanie gripped the fence harder. “They want names! They want me to turn on the people who can help me get my career back when all of this is over. No one likes a traitor, June! What studio will want to cast a lying snitch no one likes or trusts? What actor will want to work alongside one? I’d never get another role. Never!”

Tears began to sting the corners of Melanie’s eyes. With her years as an actress, she could have summoned faux tears if she’d wanted to, but these were real. Being a movie star was the only career she’d ever dreamed of having.

June looked at her thoughtfully for a moment but then shook her head. “But we don’t always get to have what we want, no matter how much we want it. No matter how much we might even deserve it.”

Melanie wanted to scream in the direction of the barely open window; yell Elwood’s name to see if he’d come to the glass, raise the frame, and speak to her. She didn’t care that she might wake the entire street. She turned her head toward the upper story, and June must’ve thought she was actually going to do it.

“Fine. I’ll ask him for you,” June said. “I’ll let you know later if he has any advice for you.”

“Later will be too late! I need to know now. They’re calling me this morning.”

June again took in a breath and let it out slowly. “Then I’ll go in now. If he’s awake I’ll ask him. If he has anything to say to you about this, he can tell me, and I can tell you.”

“Please just have him call me. Why can’t he just call?”

“Because he won’t right now!” June shouted. “All right? He can’t. You’re not the only person in the world with troubles. Now please just go back inside your house and if he has something to say, I’ll let you know.”

June spun away, opened the patio door, and stepped inside her house.

The air around Melanie instantly became hushed.

She suddenly remembered Eva was standing next to her. “I’ll take that cup of coffee now.”

The two of them went back into the house.

Melanie paced and smoked as she drank her cup of coffee, waiting for June to call her. She drained a second cup the same way. When she could no longer put it off, she hopped into the shower. Done only minutes later, she toweled off quickly, opened the bathroom door, and learned from Eva that June had stopped over with a note while she was under the spray.

“Of course she had to come then,” Melanie grumbled as she took the small, folded piece of paper from Eva.

She read it. She took a seat on the closed commode and read it a second time.

And then a third.

All I can tell you is the truth will reveal itself, Melanie. It always does. You can bring it into the open yourself now if you want or you can wait for someone else to do it. Right now it’s your choice. But in the end, it will eventually find its way out.

You must live with what you decide however, so be sure you can.

Elwood