All the Stars in the Heavens

by Adriana Trigiani

  Gable had a rule: he didn’t work past five o’clock. At first Loretta thought that was ridiculous, but eventually she admired his rule; it benefited the entire company. Crews could get home to their families at a decent hour. In his quiet way, Gable supported working people by demanding fairness on the set. It was something everyone who worked with him noticed and appreciated. In her opinion, his reputation as a lover and romantic idol was overstated; he was mostly a decent man and a fine friend. Loretta, however, at twenty-two, liked the combination of danger and the protection that Gable represented.

  Loretta knew she was hooked on Gable when she felt sad on hearing the weather report that the snow had cleared, and they could get back to work. Every frame of film shot was another frame toward the completion of the picture, to the wrap, which meant the end of their time together. Their inevitable return to Los Angeles seemed like a punishment after this long winter. She knew that when the bubble burst, the snow globe would shatter like blown glass, and there would be no putting the picture inside back together. Not again, Loretta said to herself. But yes, for certain, it had happened again.

  Loretta Young had fallen in love with Clark Gable.

  Zanuck had secured a large barn in Mount Baker to use as a sound stage. Finally the blizzard blew through, the roads were plowed, and the crew made it to the barn. Industrial heaters were brought up from Bellingham to thaw out the makeshift studio to film the interiors.

  The set designer camped out in the barn, overseeing his crew as they built a two-story saloon set, with a Victorian decor, including an ornate banister from which a stunt man would be thrown through the air during a choreographed brawl, a staple of Bill Wellman’s pictures.

  The set designer’s job was to create the place, and it was Luca’s job, as the scene painter, to bring the set to life with color that would read in hue and tone on black and white film. Luca had researched the world of turn-of-the-century hucksters, panhandlers, and chiselers and devised a palette that played brightly against the grim background of the Gold Rush’s muddy streets, rough-coated horses, and tattered players.

  Luca had painted a main street of a mining outpost in four parts, which would serve as a series of murals in a saloon. There was a mountain scene, featuring prospectors combing the creeks for gold, and another of cancan girls dancing on a stage lit by rustic oil lamps as they are cheered on by miners. A third showed a mother tending her children by a hearth, and in the fourth a fundamentalist preacher admonished his frightened flock against the backdrop of a sinful Yukon.

  Luca looked to early-twentieth-century French art, the ruffles and flourishes of Degas’ dancers, an explosion of color and celebration of the theatrical world to create the American version. Luca’s rendering of the times was painted in a fantasia of vivid swirls of green, fuchsia, and deep blue. The contrast would look lively in black and white on camera.

  Alda stood against the wall and watched Luca transform the barn into a saloon.

  “Alda, honey, lend a hand?” Luca hollered.

  Alda went to the set and helped hold up the mural as Luca scaled a ladder to lift the flat into position. While Alda enjoyed being a secretary, she loved being on the set. She found the stagecraft of filmmaking fascinating, though she was pretty sure she was interested in it because of her interest in Luca.

  “Hand me that hammer.”

  Alda gave Luca the hammer.

  “Now the nails.”

  Alda reached for the nails. Before she handed them to him, she said, “Per favore?”

  “Yeah, yeah, please. All right. Please.”

  Alda placed the can of nails on the floor and walked away.

  “Hey, where are you going?” Luca said from the top rung of the ladder.

  Alda went to the far side of the barn and sat on a bench.

  “Alda, get over here!”

  When Alda didn’t move, Luca got off the ladder and went to her. The crew stayed busy on their detail work, but every person in the barn was aware of the brewing argument.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Come on, what is it?”

  “I’m not your servant.”

  “Alda, I’m in the middle of working. We’re running over time. Don’t take it personally. I’m barking orders at everybody.”

  “That’s no excuse. I know you’re important. Grande artista!”

  “I’ll watch my tone from now on.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But you need to do something for me.”

  “Va bene.”

  “Let me in.”

  Alda was confused.

  Luca continued, “Let me into your life. You’ve given me a second chance, but I’m not feeling the heat—you know what I’m saying?”

  “I’m trying.”

  “Try harder. Marry me.”

  “Luca.” Alda looked around. The sound stage had emptied out, the crew gone on a break, though no one had called for one.

  “I mean it. Marry me. The only way in the world to get through to you is complete surrender. Well, here I am, surrendering. If we have a chance, we have to work it out. We just have to live together and work it out.”

  “Are you ready for that step?” Alda wondered aloud. She was really asking herself the question, but Luca was eager to answer it.

  “I’ll learn on the job.”

  Alda thought about it. Isn’t every job a process of learning something new, making mistakes and sorting out the rest? Her practical nature took over her emotions. She took Luca’s hands in hers and looked him in the eye.

  Luca threw his hands in the air. “Damn. I don’t have a ring.”

  “I don’t need a ring.”

  “What do you need?”

  “You,” Alda cried. She had spent the last seven years of her life trying not to need anyone. She was tired of fighting. If she was honest with herself, she craved connection. She was ready to build a life with someone she loved, and who loved her. Alda wanted the peace that would come from a good marriage, and the stability that would come from a home of her own, with a fence covered in roses.

  “Is that a yes?” Luca Chetta said as he covered her in kisses.

  Reginald Owen, a British actor, played Gable’s nemesis in the movie. He would only be with the production for a month, as he would die by drowning in the third reel. His imminent demise did not keep him from beating Gable, Wellman, and Oakie at poker, however. He pulled the chips toward him, then drew out a starched handkerchief to hold the booty.

  “Gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure.” Reginald bowed his head.

  “I thought you said you were lousy at poker,” Oakie groused.

  “I said it with my poker face.”

  “I don’t like my ass handed to me by an Englishman.” Wellman puffed on his cigar.

  “But we do it with such grace, Mr. Wellman,” Reginald said. “I doubt you even felt the pinch.”

  “I’m feeling it in my wallet,” Gable said as he shoved it back into his pocket.

  Luca and Alda blew through the door with the crew and a gust of cold wind, which always sent up a round of complaints among those gathered by the fire. Snow blew in with them, showering the floor with a dusting of white. Luca pushed the door closed. He kissed Alda on the cheek, summoned up his courage, and went to Bill Wellman. Alda went up the stairs to wait in her room.

  “Sir, I need a favor,” Luca began.

  “Bad time,” Wellman said.

  “Reggie just beat him bad at poker,” Gable said as a warning.

  “What I have to ask is a little more important than your lousy card game.”

  Wellman sat up in his chair. Gable smirked. Oakie and Reggie looked at one another, gave a signal, and left the table. Actors never want to be part of a fight between the crew and the director.

  “What is it, Chet?” Gable asked.

  “I’d like to requisition a car for Seattle for the weekend.”

  “So would I,” Wellman joked.

  “I�
�m serious. We have a two-day turnaround, and I’d like to spend mine in church.”

  “Doing what?” Gable wanted to know.

  “Getting married.”

  “Chet . . .” Wellman sighed. “That can wait until we wrap.”

  “It can’t, sir. I promised my fiancée.”

  “You never break a promise to a woman?” Wellman shuffled the cards.

  “Not yet, sir. And I hope I never do.”

  “You’re a prince among men, Chet,” Gable said. “But there isn’t a man at this table who will give you the keys to a car to make the rest of us look bad.”

  “Here’s all I know. You may be able to get off this mountain, but I need you back here on Monday morning.” Wellman extended his hand to Chet, who shook it.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “There’s a food supply truck going to Seattle in the morning. You can hitch a ride on it.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Luca ran up the stairs to give Alda the news.

  “Now that’s love,” Gable observed. “He’d walk down that mountain to marry his girl if he had to. There’s no blizzard, no river, no mountain that will keep him from marrying the woman he loves.”

  “Until they do.” Wellman cut the cards, and Gable picked them up and shuffled them.

  Loretta climbed into the empty food truck after Alda. They sat on the jump seat, tucking their suitcases under it. Behind them was the cold steel expanse of the storage area in the back of the truck. The metal shelves that lined the side walls were empty, as were the bins strapped underneath them, held in place by elastic bands.

  “This is hardly a fairy-tale coach,” Loretta remarked.

  “It will get us there.”

  “It does have wheels and an engine. I would’ve loved to throw you a wedding by the pool at Sunset House.”

  “Thank you, but this is fine.”

  “You say that now, but someday you’ll want to look back on this day and have a pretty picture of it.”

  “Can you take a few at the church?”

  “I’ve packed my camera, and you’ll have your memories.”

  Luca hopped into the passenger seat in the cab of the truck.

  “Where’s the driver?”

  “He’ll be here shortly.”

  “We’re bringing food back, right?” Loretta asked.

  “I have the requisition right here.” Luca patted his pocket.

  “They’re out of everything in the kitchen,” Loretta said. “All she’s got left in there is a jar of pickles and a pound of sugar.”

  The driver’s-side door opened, and into the leather seat hopped Clark Gable.

  “You’re the driver?” Loretta was surprised and immediately pleased.

  “I’m the only guy on this mountain who has driven a six-wheeler in snow.” He turned to face her.

  “How did it get up the mountain?” Loretta teased.

  “That’s a mystery. My mission is to get these two crazy kids to Seattle and get them hitched. Miss Young, are you with me on this?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then change seats with Chet. He’s just the man to keep Alda warm till we get there. It’s my policy to never get in the way of true love.”

  Loretta climbed up to the cab as Luca climbed over her to the back.

  “Who’s going to keep me warm?” she wanted to know.

  “I have a couple of ideas.” Gable grinned.

  “I’ll bet you do.”

  He took off his fur coat and tucked it around Loretta. As he leaned over her, she saw that he was wearing an elegant navy blue pinstripe suit with a gray-and-blue-striped tie. The collar on his white shirt was starched.

  “You brought your Sunday best up the mountain?”

  “You never know when you’ll need a suit.” Gable tucked the fur coat around Loretta’s ankles.

  “Hey. Keep those hands on the wheel and your eyes on the road, buster.”

  There was no one like Gable when it came time for a lark. The destination did not have to be exotic; it could be a road trip a few miles from home that would bring out his sense of fun and adventure. He was a man who didn’t like to sit still. Loretta marveled at his ability to have fun, no matter what the circumstances. He’d throw a card game together on a whim, take Buck and a posse of pals to hike the woods, or lead the crew in camp songs after dinner. In his own way, he created families wherever he went. She smiled to herself. She could see the headline in Photoplay: “Gable . . . He-Man or Family Man?”

  Gable’s eyes sparkled as he took sharp turns down the icy mountain road, holding the vehicle steady with his massive hands, relishing the opportunity to master in his own small way the terrain that had everyone else in Washington State licked. If someone else had been driving, she would have been nervous, but it was Gable, and she believed, because it had already been proven, that no harm would come to her as long as she was with him.

  As Gable drove down the mountain, she took the chance to study him. She understood, sitting close to him, why he drove women wild. He looked like a giant on the silver screen, and he lost none of that stature in life. He was over six feet tall, trim, broad-shouldered, and muscular. His profile was strong and manly, with crinkles around his eyes, deep dimples around his mouth, and a strong, square jaw. His unruly black hair made her crazy; she was always pushing it into place and ruffling it when he teased her. She even loved his ears, knowing that those ears were acts of defiance in and of themselves. They’d almost cost him his career in movies.

  Darryl F. Zanuck, who stood to make a big profit on The Call of the Wild, had rejected Gable a few years earlier, insisting that no one with ears that large could ever be a movie star. As it goes in show business, first impressions are forgiven and snap judgments forgotten when it came time to tally the grosses. Gable was a star, and no one anywhere on Planet Earth where there was a movie house and patrons to fill it would dispute it.

  Loretta liked that he was the biggest star in the world. She thirsted for the challenge to work with the best, and appreciated the wattage his starlight threw on her as his costar. They treated each other as equals, which almost never happened. As a woman who was wholly independent, Loretta didn’t need Gable’s money; as a fellow actor, she did not need the glow of his fame because she had her own. Together, they were combustible at the box office.

  In real life, Loretta was looking for what every young woman her age craved in a romantic relationship: to feel safe and loved. Beneath the charm, Loretta saw the vulnerability of her costar. A man who liked as many women as Gable was rumored to must be afraid of the love of one good woman. Loretta believed Gable could not be tamed, not by her or anyone else. Gable was looking for the perfect woman—as long as he did not have to be the perfect man, and the lady didn’t expect him to stick around.

  Whenever Loretta found herself imagining something more with Gable, she pictured the hotel maid and the look on his face as he watched her ascend the stairs, and it cured her of the wild crush like a pill for a fever. But in this truck, for as long as it took to get them to Seattle, she had him to herself with a common goal, to get Luca and Alda married. The mission served her romantic nature and filled her longing heart with joy, and it was also the fulfillment of a sacrament: Alda and Luca would be married by a priest in church. For a Catholic, there was no higher honor.

  Father Glenn Borman, the pastor of the Immaculate Conception Church in Seattle, greeted Alda and Luca at the side entrance. Luca was nervous, and Alda was quiet, so Loretta attempted small talk as she and Clark followed them inside.

  The priest looked at Gable, and an expression of wonderment crossed his face,

  “Are you Clark Gable?”

  “I am, sir. And I can go one better: this is Miss Loretta Young.”

  “She is indeed.” The priest shook her hand.

  “It’s good to meet you, Father. Alda is my secretary, and Luca is a highly respected scene painter in motion pictures.”

  “We’re making a picture on Mount B
aker,” Gable added.

  “This is a divine church,” Alda said, her eyes filled with tears.

  “Don’t cry,” Luca whispered.

  “You’re not alone, Miss Ducci. Sometimes I come and sit in the church and I’m overwhelmed by the frescoes. They were painted by a group of Jesuit priests. We’re proud of them.”

  “They look like the ones in my church in Italy,” Alda said. “I’m from Padua. We have frescoes by the great Renaissance artists, including Tiepolo.”

  “That’s high praise. Thank you.”

  The priest took Alda and Luca back to the sacristy to prepare them for the sacrament of marriage. Gable took a seat in the front pew, while Loretta knelt before the altar and made the sign of the cross. She stood up and went to the grotto of Lourdes, a replica of the shrine in France where a schoolgirl named Bernadette had seen a vision of the Blessed Mother.

  Loretta hoped to visit Lourdes someday. The story of the girl and the blind devotion she had to Mary the Mother of God was something she intimately understood. Loretta’s faith was based upon the love of her family, upon their close relationships, and upon the ultimate respect that they had for Gladys. The rosary was said often in the Youngs’ home. Perhaps the girls were more at ease appealing to the Blessed Mother, as their fathers on earth didn’t do much to look after them.

  Loretta knelt down and looked up at the statue of the Blessed Lady nestled in carved stone. There were votive candle holders lit on the cart below it, their blaze so bright that she could make out the beads on the blue marble rosary draped on the statue.

  Gable kneeled next to her. “What’s this all about, Gretchen?”