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Authors: Kate Alcott
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instructions for playing the part. The whole thing was over ninety pages; I could hardly believe it.”
“That’s vintage Selznick. No matter, kid. He counts on Carole to calm his big star down, though he would never admit it. Anyway, Gable will be very happy pretty soon, I guarantee it.”
“Why?” she asked.
Andy chuckled. “Not telling you, not yet. Money buys everything, Miss Crawford. Loyalty, love—”
“You can’t buy love.”
“People do it all the time.”
“They think they do, but that’s not what they’re buying,” she said quickly.
The phone line hummed in the silence.
“So don’t you want to know where we are going Saturday night?” he said finally.
“I didn’t say I was free.” She smiled to herself. It was fun again; she liked this play of theirs.
“Are you free, Miss Crawford?”
“Yes,” she said, yawning. “Where are we going?”
“To the home of a very classy writer. Herman Mankiewicz.”
Julie collected a heavy satchel of fan mail from Publicity a few days later and stopped back at Carole’s dressing room, where, as usual, the actress was talking on the phone nonstop. Julie picked up a stack of already autographed pictures. They were of a smoky-eyed Carole offering the camera a lazy smile, a very popular pose with her public. Julie began stuffing them in envelopes and addressing them to the eager fans who had written the actress; she got dozens of letters a day. Easier to do it here and mail them quickly, Julie decided.
She was halfway through when the door was suddenly pushed open with such force the trailer shook.
“Ma, we got it.” Gable’s familiar baritone voice was actually trembling as he bounded in and slammed the door shut behind him. His eyes were wide open, like a child’s.
Carole dropped a silver tube of lipstick to the floor and rushed forward. “Oh my God, she took the money?” she said breathlessly, her arms wide.
He laughed, grabbing her shoulders. “It’s done,” he said, sounding stunned. “God, I can’t believe it; it’s actually done. Rhea took the extra fifty thousand.”
“Whoopee!” Carole shouted. “My God, Pa, you’re almost free! How soon?”
“Early March. She’s been in Vegas, waiting for the pot to sweeten.” His voice actually shook. He ran a hand through his thick hair, now all askew, not doing its essential job of hiding his ears.
“So the extra cash Selznick got Mayer to dig up was finally enough.” Carole shook her head. “I never could fathom how a woman would keep hanging on when a man didn’t want her anymore. Well, this is a fair trade—you get the divorce, and David gets a less grumpy Rhett Butler.”
“Hell, I’d even play a fairy if I had to,” he said huskily. He took Carole into his arms, his hand grazing the small of her back before gliding downward.
Julie rattled a few papers to remind them of her presence, but they were oblivious. “Miss Lombard, I’ll come back later,” she said hurriedly, gathering up the stack of photos and fan letters, figuring she could finish them over at the publicity office. They seemed to have almost forgotten she was there.
“Shut the door tight when you leave, honey,” Carole said with a giggle. She and Gable were already intertwined on the sofa. The actress thrust one long leg upward and began peeling off a stocking.
“I’m really happy for you both,” Julie said, a bit flustered. She stepped out into the sunshine, pulling the door closed behind her, feeling she had somehow intruded on their obviously heartfelt delight. A fleeting thought startled her: had she doubted before? Maybe that wasn’t the right question. Could true feelings in Hollywood be explainable in Fort Wayne terms? She hurried up the path, past the commissary, the carpentry shop, the foundry, the studio florist; over there, to her left, was the upholstery shop where fabric was aged chemically to make the
Gone with the Wind
furniture as weathered as possible; behind that, the barber
“That’s vintage Selznick. No matter, kid. He counts on Carole to calm his big star down, though he would never admit it. Anyway, Gable will be very happy pretty soon, I guarantee it.”
“Why?” she asked.
Andy chuckled. “Not telling you, not yet. Money buys everything, Miss Crawford. Loyalty, love—”
“You can’t buy love.”
“People do it all the time.”
“They think they do, but that’s not what they’re buying,” she said quickly.
The phone line hummed in the silence.
“So don’t you want to know where we are going Saturday night?” he said finally.
“I didn’t say I was free.” She smiled to herself. It was fun again; she liked this play of theirs.
“Are you free, Miss Crawford?”
“Yes,” she said, yawning. “Where are we going?”
“To the home of a very classy writer. Herman Mankiewicz.”
Julie collected a heavy satchel of fan mail from Publicity a few days later and stopped back at Carole’s dressing room, where, as usual, the actress was talking on the phone nonstop. Julie picked up a stack of already autographed pictures. They were of a smoky-eyed Carole offering the camera a lazy smile, a very popular pose with her public. Julie began stuffing them in envelopes and addressing them to the eager fans who had written the actress; she got dozens of letters a day. Easier to do it here and mail them quickly, Julie decided.
She was halfway through when the door was suddenly pushed open with such force the trailer shook.
“Ma, we got it.” Gable’s familiar baritone voice was actually trembling as he bounded in and slammed the door shut behind him. His eyes were wide open, like a child’s.
Carole dropped a silver tube of lipstick to the floor and rushed forward. “Oh my God, she took the money?” she said breathlessly, her arms wide.
He laughed, grabbing her shoulders. “It’s done,” he said, sounding stunned. “God, I can’t believe it; it’s actually done. Rhea took the extra fifty thousand.”
“Whoopee!” Carole shouted. “My God, Pa, you’re almost free! How soon?”
“Early March. She’s been in Vegas, waiting for the pot to sweeten.” His voice actually shook. He ran a hand through his thick hair, now all askew, not doing its essential job of hiding his ears.
“So the extra cash Selznick got Mayer to dig up was finally enough.” Carole shook her head. “I never could fathom how a woman would keep hanging on when a man didn’t want her anymore. Well, this is a fair trade—you get the divorce, and David gets a less grumpy Rhett Butler.”
“Hell, I’d even play a fairy if I had to,” he said huskily. He took Carole into his arms, his hand grazing the small of her back before gliding downward.
Julie rattled a few papers to remind them of her presence, but they were oblivious. “Miss Lombard, I’ll come back later,” she said hurriedly, gathering up the stack of photos and fan letters, figuring she could finish them over at the publicity office. They seemed to have almost forgotten she was there.
“Shut the door tight when you leave, honey,” Carole said with a giggle. She and Gable were already intertwined on the sofa. The actress thrust one long leg upward and began peeling off a stocking.
“I’m really happy for you both,” Julie said, a bit flustered. She stepped out into the sunshine, pulling the door closed behind her, feeling she had somehow intruded on their obviously heartfelt delight. A fleeting thought startled her: had she doubted before? Maybe that wasn’t the right question. Could true feelings in Hollywood be explainable in Fort Wayne terms? She hurried up the path, past the commissary, the carpentry shop, the foundry, the studio florist; over there, to her left, was the upholstery shop where fabric was aged chemically to make the
Gone with the Wind
furniture as weathered as possible; behind that, the barber
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