Page 25 of Glamorous Notions

Chapter 24

Ruby Dennison twisted to admire the way the deep blue silk skimmed her shoulders. At her movement, her chihuahua, perched on the arm of the love seat, barked sharply.

“Quiet, Kit! Oh, it’s perfect, Lena. Just perfect. It makes me feel so confident. Kit, I said be quiet!—Connie, can you hand me that spray bottle?” Ruby brandished the bottle of water and the little beast went silent, still quivering with tension and suppressed rage. “How’s that, you little monster, you don’t like that, do you?” Ruby pulled at the neckline of the dress. “Can we go just a bit lower?”

Lena pretended to consider. “Hmmm ... Ruby, you really do have the most beautiful collarbones—doesn’t she, Connie? I hate to ruin how well this neckline accents them.”

“Gorgeous,” Connie said, eyeing the dog.

Ruby turned to study herself better in the mirror, then traced her collarbone with a graceful finger. “I suppose that’s true. They are nice. I remember I caught Tony Curtis looking at them once.” Kit made a tiny yip. Ruby spun on her heel with the spray bottle. The dog stepped back. “Well, I guess the neckline is fine. But I really need to catch Sammy’s eye in the first scene.”

Lena scowled, distracted as she bent to adjust the hem. “Sammy who?”

“Sammy the Ox. The Mafia guy? I’m supposed to seduce him later but I haven’t seen the scene yet.”

Lena sighed. Another revision she knew nothing about.

Ruby jiggled a little. Kit could no longer contain his outrage. He yapped like an insane thing, which he was.

Lena said, “Connie—”

“He likes to be held,” Ruby offered.

Connie picked up the dog, who, while little, was rotund. He must have weighed twenty pounds. Kit struggled in her arms, but at least he was quiet.

Lena fixed the hem and sat back on her heels.

“I think it should be a bit higher.” Ruby tugged on the skirt. “Just a tad.”

“This is an evening gown, Ruby.”

“Oh. Well.” Ruby exhaled. “I suppose. But I think my legs are my best feature.”

Connie yelped. “He bit me!”

“I’m sorry, Connie. He’s in a temper today—you bad dog! Put him down. Could you please get the danish from my purse, Connie?” Ruby jerked away from Lena and bent to the dog, covering his little face and snout with kisses, letting him lick her bright red lips.

Ruby took the paper-wrapped danish from Connie and tore a piece off for the dog, who gobbled it as if he’d been starving to death.

“Be careful,” Lena warned Ruby. “The butter will stain the—”

The door creaked open, and Shirley poked her head in. “Changes, Lena.” She held out a piece of paper and made a sympathetic face. “From Mr. Runyon.”

Lena took the paper and read the first lines. Club Medusa opening scene changes: Helen’s gown is now RED. She is triumphant and scandalous in scarlet.

Lena threw back her head in exasperation. She looked at Ruby feeding that ridiculous dog a pastry, the deep blue gown they’d rushed to get ready for the first shot. “He must be joking.”

“What is it?” Connie took the note from her and skimmed it. “This is impossible.”

“I told him Helen should be triumphant,” Lena said. “But I didn’t count on scandalous. What the hell are they doing?”

“Scarlet,” Connie murmured. “We still have that brown silk we used for The Scarlet Bride .”

That particular shade of brown looked like bright red when filmed in black and white—unlike red itself, which didn’t read well. Lena took a deep breath. “Let’s get it cut, but ...” She looked at Ruby in the dress. Lena was in a bad mood today, and if Michael Runyon wanted scandalous, scandalous was what he would get. “Ruby, would you stand for a minute?”

When Ruby did, Lena handed Kit to Connie and took a piece of tailor’s chalk from the table. She slashed a line across the gown from one shoulder to beneath Ruby’s arm, turning it into a single-shoulder dress. To Connie she said, “I want a bit of a flair here too—not a bow, but two panels that cascade over her shoulder. Short ones. They shouldn’t go past her elbow. And ask Marge to take it in an eighth of an inch.”

Ruby eek ed. “God, Lena! I won’t be able to move!”

“He wants you scandalous,” Lena said grimly. “And if you’re going to seduce a mob thug, then you want it tight. But you’d better stop sharing danishes with your dog for a week or so.”

After the fitting Lena went back to her office, feeling worn out, frustrated, and angry. The meeting tonight with Walter clouded her day like a fog; she couldn’t get past her tension and rage to think of much else, and it didn’t help that she was supposed to comply gracefully with Michael Runyon’s changes on Medusa , especially since Paul had reluctantly agreed to stay on the film.

The others in the costume department had gone home by the time she’d finished reading the script and making notes for the next movie in her queue, Moon Crazy , and done some preliminary sketches for Promise Me Tomorrow , which was Higgy’s attempt to cash in on the success of From Here to Eternity with half the budget.

She glanced at the clock. Nearly time to meet Walter. She left the studio and drove back to her apartment, and the neon sign of the Lucky 8 flashed at her from down the block like a warning light. She parked her car where she normally did, but didn’t bother to go to her apartment first, knowing she looked tired and not her best. She didn’t care. Walter was no longer someone she wanted to impress. She just wanted to find out how to get him out of her life as quickly as possible, and keep him far away from gossip columnists and especially Paul.

The bar was small and stank of beer and stale cigarette smoke and had the feel of a habitual stomping ground for retired men of the neighborhood. When she walked in, they all swiveled on their barstools and squinted through the cigarette smoke at the neon light shining through the open door. If they were surprised to see a woman, they didn’t show it, but it was also obvious that women rarely came in this place. She cursed Walter for suggesting it and cursed herself for agreeing, because it was unlikely that anyone would forget seeing her here if someone asked, and she should have at least worn a hat and sunglasses to disguise herself.

But it wasn’t likely these men had any connection to Louella or Hedda Hopper, nor did they likely care about the latest Hollywood gossip.

Walter was there already, settled in a red leather booth. At least he’d been smart enough to choose a table in the back. She slid in across from him. She thought he looked nervous. He was smoking. There were two beers on the table. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“I was pretty sure you’d show up at my apartment door if I didn’t.”

“You know me so well, baby.” He pushed one of the beers toward her. “I bought you a beer.”

She reached into her purse for a cigarette and lit it. “I don’t have time for a beer, Walter. Tell me what you want from me and let’s be done with it.”

“You’re so cold now. What happened to my hot little farm girl?”

Lena exhaled into his face.

“Don’t you care where I’ve been the last six years?”

She shrugged. “I guess you want me to know.”

“I was in New York for a while. I did a couple of off-Broadway productions. A touring show or two.”

The clock on the wall was half an hour fast, no doubt for last call purposes. “So what are you doing back in LA?”

“Well, now, that’s why I wanted to talk to you. I was in Las Vegas—it’s a booming city, Else, I think you’d like it—”

“My name is Lena.”

“Okay, Lena . Whatever you want. Anyway, I was at a show there. Some Negro guy, Sammy something. Pretty good, you know? I was in the bar when he was there, and he left behind an Examiner , and I open it up and there you are! At first I don’t recognize you. I think, who’s that gorgeous thing, and then: she looks familiar, and then, bang! Why, that’s Elsie! The love of my life! My long-lost wife who ran off and disappeared and I looked , baby. I looked everywhere for you for weeks. Where’d you go?”

She regarded him stonily. “Aliens took me.”

Walter turned petulant, never his best look. “You left me with nothing.”

“So you saw me in the Examiner .”

“With some other guy.”

Paul, of course. Lena tried to ignore a cold shiver. She wondered if Walter had read the caption.

“My wife, with a different name, in a Flavio dress, with some other guy.” Walter shook his head as if the whole thing was too much to take in.

“It was my own dress, not Flavio’s,” she couldn’t help saying.

“You looked good,” he snapped, obviously annoyed. “So I thought, my wife’s made a success of herself in Hollywood, in the movies, so why not come see her and see if she can’t throw a little of that success my way?”

“I’ve moved on, Walter. I guess maybe you have too. Why don’t we just get a divorce and be done with each other?” She was smoking too quickly. She smashed the butt in the ashtray and lit another.

“What? Walk away from my baby? I can’t go into a pool hall without expecting to see you there looking like a goddess in that orange dress. Don’t tell me you don’t still think about me the way I think about you.”

She debated whether to tell him about Paul, and decided not to. It would only give him more to work with, and besides, she had forgotten to take off her engagement ring. If he didn’t notice it, he was blind, but she didn’t want to broadcast it if he somehow missed it. “I don’t. I honestly don’t. I’m sorry. It was a long time ago. I’m thankful for what you did for me, but—”

“Thankful.” He seized on the word. “You see, that’s what I was hoping for. Thanks. I’d like a little thanks, baby. In a tangible way.”

They’d got to it at last. Lena took a deep drag on the cigarette to calm her now racing nerves. “How much money do you want?”

“Money? No, what I want is nothing too hard for you, I’m sure. A leading role in something at your studio. I’m sure you’ve got something. A Western, maybe? I’d do one of those. I think I’d make a great cowboy. Or maybe in a musical. You know I can sing and dance.”

She had a vague memory of him practicing tap to a song on the record player.

“Walter, I’m not a casting director.”

He leaned over the table. “But you know people, baby. You can get me through the door. And I have a script too. You can get it read.”

“You’re a screenwriter now?”

“In fact, maybe you can have your fiancé read it.”

So he already knew about Paul. Very bad. “No. Absolutely not.” She said it so loudly the bartender asked, “Hey, everything okay over there?”

She turned with a quick smile. “Fine, just fine,” she reassured him. She turned back to Walter, and in a quieter voice repeated firmly, “No.”

Walter had always known when he’d pushed too far. “Then Marlon Brando,” he insisted. “I want you to set up a meeting with Marlon Brando for me. It’s got the perfect part for him. Once he reads it, I know he’ll want to do it.”

“Marlon Brando?” She stared at him in disbelief. “I’ve only met him in passing.”

“Then get me into a party where he’ll be. You get invited to these things all the time, don’t you? Get me on the list.”

“Walter, I can’t do any of these things—”

“I see.” He nodded soberly. He drank his beer, and set it down again, licking the foam from his upper lip. “I guess Louella Parsons has been asking around about you. Wondering where you come from. How you just ‘sprang up’ in LA. Hedda Hopper too.”

Lena said nothing.

“Talk is that Hedda’s offering money for answers. I guess either one of them’d be happy to hear from someone who knew you when. Before you got to LA. Wouldn’t you think? Someone who maybe brought you here. When you were someone else. Maybe your screenwriter would be interested to read that his fiancée is already married. He might even want to talk to me about it. What do you think?”

Her fingers tightened on the cigarette. “A part in a movie, you said?”

“A good part. Not some extra. And a meeting with Brando.”

“I don’t know if I can do that.”

“Well, you’ll try, won’t you?” Walter smiled. “You’ve always been good at getting what you want, haven’t you, Lena ? I guess you’ll find a way to manage.”

The echo of Louella Parsons’s similar words the night before enraged her in a way nothing else he’d said had done. She took a deep breath. “If I do this, then that’s it. Nothing else. I get you a job. I get you at the same function as Brando. Then you give me a divorce and you forget you know me and you’re on your own.”

“Of course,” he said smugly. “I’m a man of my word. You know that.”

She didn’t know that. She honestly could not remember anything she’d trusted Walter to do, or any promise she’d trusted him to keep, and she had the sinking feeling that this was only the beginning, that now that Walter was in her life again, he would stay there. But what choice did she have? None. She had none. She looked into his satisfied eyes and hated him in that moment so sincerely she wouldn’t have felt anything but happiness if he’d fallen dead to the floor, but mere wishing did not make things happen.

“Fine,” she said, sliding from the booth. “I’ll do what I can. But don’t contact me in the meantime, do you understand? No notes, no phone calls. Tell me how to contact you, and I will when I’ve got something.”

He smiled and took a card from his pocket. “I’ve got a service. You can call that. But I’ll need to hear something in a week. And in the meantime, I guess I do need some money—would you mind fronting me a little cash? I’m a bit tapped out.”

She opened her purse and took out all the cash she had. She threw it on the table with such force the bills scattered, which made her feel good until she turned on her heel and realized that the men at the bar were watching. She ignored them and left. When she stepped out in the still-warm night, her temples began to pound.

Walter followed her out, the bills crumpled in his hand. “Come on, baby, don’t leave mad. Give me a kiss for old times’ sake.”

She turned to face him, and he stepped toward her, more quickly than she expected, a lunge really. She turned her face at the last minute, so the kiss landed on her cheek instead of her mouth.

She recoiled. “Don’t touch me again. Never touch me.”

Walter laughed. He held up his hands, still laughing, and then ambled away, and Lena stared after him, so furious that it took a moment to realize she was clenching her fists. She watched until he disappeared around the corner.

She wanted a drink. She wanted Paul. But instead she went to her apartment, wondering what made people say things about her like she’s good at getting what she wants , and why that wasn’t a badge of honor.

The hallway light was dimmer than usual. Lena made a mental note to tell the apartment management about it as she slid her key into the lock. Her hand trembled—damn Walter, anyway—and the key would not go, not right. She had to jam it in, and it wasn’t until she tried it twice that she realized the lock was broken.

Her apartment door was already unlocked.

Lena hesitated. She nudged the door with her foot; it creaked eerily open. She heard no sound from inside, none at all, and she pushed the door again, fear tightening her muscles as it swung to reveal the narrow foyer, the little entry table, its small drawer and the notepad and pencil she kept inside tossed onto the floor. The mirror above hung crookedly, as if it had been bumped. In it, she saw herself reflected, eyes wide, pale faced, frightened. Yes, she was frightened. This wasn’t how she’d left things; the sense of being invaded overwhelmed her so that for a moment she could only stand there.

“Hello?” she tried quietly. Her voice echoed back. She palmed her keys, shoved them between her fingers as a weapon—it was the only thing she had. There was no one there; she knew it, she could feel it. Such a profound sense of emptiness, more so than usual, but as she rounded the corner of the hallway and took in the living room, Lena gasped so loudly it filled the empty spaces.

Her apartment had been ransacked. Her sketchbooks had been thrown to the floor, and some of them had been torn apart. Her books and magazines were strewn everywhere. The drawers in the coffee table had been emptied of coasters and colored pencils. But worse ... worse were her records. Every one of them was pulled out of its sleeve. Some had been broken. They looked as if someone had hurled them across the room. Her whole collection ... Coleman Hawkins, Charles Mingus, Charlie Parker, Miles Davis’s Birth of the Cool ...

Lena dropped her purse and knelt on the floor, pulling them together, gathering them, trying to comprehend what had happened. Some of the sleeves had been torn apart. Thelonious Monk’s Genius of Modern Music was shattered. Dizzy Gillespie was in pieces where it had been thrown against the wall.

What had happened here?

She abandoned the records. Her bedroom was in ruins. Every drawer of her dresser opened, clothing flung about as if by a tornado. Her closet, her shoes ... the bathroom was no better. She shook as she made her way to the phone, but when she lifted the receiver, there was no dial tone.

Suddenly she couldn’t breathe. She stumbled to the window and opened it, leaning into the dust-filled Los Angeles night, but it didn’t help. She couldn’t stay here. She gathered toiletries, and clothes for tomorrow, and then, half-blind with fear and shock, she hurried from her apartment and out to her car. The street was as empty as LA side streets were at night; she felt as if she might be the only person in the world as she fumbled with her car door, which became strangely recalcitrant thanks to her trembling fingers. She tossed her bag inside, crawled in, and pushed down the lock with such force it bruised her palm.

Then where ... How to explain what she couldn’t explain herself? The whole night. Walter ... then this ... she tried to put it all together, but she could see no reason for Walter to have done this, not when she’d met with him, not when she’d given him what he wanted, and she didn’t want to think beyond that, could not think beyond that. The police ... she had to call the police ... but ...

So many secrets. She was afraid to call. She was afraid of what the police would discover. There was so much she was hiding. She needed Harvey and Charlie, and Paul ...

But she couldn’t go to Paul tonight, not as shaken as she was. He would demand answers, and she had none that she could give him, not yet. Not until Walter was gone. Not until she was thinking more clearly.

She would go to the studio. She’d be safe there. No one could get past the gate. No one could get to her there. The studio.

She started the car. Its engine rumbling to life reassured her; it was a familiar sound in a day that had turned itself upside down.

It wasn’t until she was nearly to Lux that she saw the blue Ford behind her and realized that she was being followed.