All the Stars in the Heavens

by Adriana Trigiani

Alda was typing a response letter when Loretta joined her in the pool house, which had become Alda’s office since the suspension. Throwing secretaries off the lot was another way to punish the stars. Alda loaded bags of mail into her car and drove them to Sunset House to answer them.

  Loretta’s fan mail had doubled since the announcement of the first radio broadcast. Loretta was building a solid fan base beyond the movie crowd, one that she hoped would stick with her in the years to come. As much as she might want to credit her movie career, it was radio that would make her one of the most important young stars of her time.

  “You weren’t kidding about the mail,” Loretta marveled.

  “I know movies are big, but they’re nothing compared to radio,” Alda said as she sorted the mail. “Wait until next week. I won’t be able to fit in here for the bags of mail. You know, these letters that your fans send—they’re stories.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “Maybe read them on the radio and answer them.”

  “I like it. I’ll talk to Myron.”

  “What happened with Mr. Gable?”

  “It wasn’t good. I threw him out.”

  “You did?”

  “I’m angry.”

  “It’s about time.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You never get angry at him, even though he’s treated you poorly.”

  “Isn’t that love? To endure the worst and love him anyway?”

  “He’s made you unhappy.”

  “I’ve let him.”

  “Because of Judy.”

  “I don’t need a man to take care of me. But my daughter does. I grew up without a father—I’ve never felt protected. Sure, I have an agent and lawyers who protect my career, but I’m not talking about business. I’m talking about me. And my heart. My feelings. They need to be honored and protected too. I know I’ve made it difficult for him, but I haven’t done it to be cruel, I’ve done it because I’m afraid. Afraid for him—for me, for Judy, for my mother. All I wanted was for him to take the fear of it all away—to make me feel that nothing could harm me. But he doesn’t understand my fear. He doesn’t understand me.”

  “It’s never easy. Not with any man.”

  “Polly and Sally have good men.”

  “Yes, but you don’t see how much work is going on behind the walls of their homes. Luca and I struggle.”

  “You do?”

  “Sometimes I want to throw him out a window.”

  “But you’re so patient.”

  “Not really. It looks like patience, but I’m really just slow to react. I take my time before I respond. Nobody has it easy. Nobody.”

  Loretta felt guilty for having been so hard on Gable. But she didn’t believe him anymore. She had bought the promises early on and hoped he was sincere, but he hadn’t made any move to indicate he was ready to leave Ria and be with her once and for all. “He’s never coming back, Alda.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I know it for sure.”

  “How?”

  “It’s the one thing he said to me that he actually meant. He said I made it easy for him to walk out. The only thing I can think of that has ever been easy with Clark is throwing him out for good.” Loretta sighed and sat down to autograph a stack of photographs when the phone rang.

  “We’ll be right there.” Alda hung up the phone. “Sally had the baby!”

  Loretta ran down the hallway of the maternity ward at Saint Vincent’s until she found Sally’s room. She pushed the door open and peeked inside. Sally was sitting up in bed, holding her baby girl, wrapped in a pink blanket. Carter, her husband, sat on the edge of the bed. Loretta had never seen her sister so blissful.

  “Oh, Sal, a baby girl!” Loretta took the infant from Sally and held her close. “She’s perfect.”

  “We’re nuts about her.” Carter smiled.

  “Why wouldn’t you be?” Loretta cooed.

  “Yep, we are crazy about baby Gretchen.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “We want our daughter to be strong and smart and kind,” Carter said.

  “She’s already got your beauty,” Sally said.

  Loretta’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m honored, but I’m not worthy.”

  “If she grows up to be half the woman you are, we will be happy,” Sally assured her sister.

  Loretta was kneeling in Good Shepherd Church in early December when the sun split into rays of bright orange across the altar. Loretta looked into the light, made the sign of the cross, and slipped up onto the pew. The church was empty. It was a Tuesday afternoon, and she was on her way to Sunset House when she decided to stop in to light a candle. Loretta couldn’t believe it was almost Christmas, and she still didn’t have Judy home. The commute between Los Angeles and San Francisco was difficult, and it was almost impossible for Polly and Sally to travel to see their niece, now that they were busy with households of their own.

  Loretta looked to the end of the row and saw Spencer Tracy genuflecting.

  “Is this seat taken?” he whispered.

  “Yes, but I’ll make an exception.”

  “Mighty big of you.”

  “I’m known for my largesse.”

  “I thought it was your legs.”

  “Those too.”

  Tracy nodded. “What are you doing here?”

  “What do you think?” She smiled. “What are you doing here?”

  “I saw your car out front. You still can’t park to save your life.”

  “That’s because I’m self-taught,” Loretta whispered.

  “That’s obvious to all. You’re hugging that curb with nothing but rubber.”

  “I’m getting better.”

  “Tell your mechanic.”

  “How’s Louise?”

  “Fine. Fine.”

  “Johnny and Susie?”

  “Both fine. Your mother?”

  “She’s well. Sally had a baby.”

  “I heard. Gretchen the Second.” Spencer patted her hand.

  “And Polly just had a son, James.”

  “Your mother must be in her glory. Two new rooms to wallpaper.”

  “She’s having a ball decorating the nurseries,” Loretta admitted. The Young sisters had always been close, and now that all three had children of their own, it would be a new era in their family.

  “And how about you? A place of your own?”

  “I’m still at Sunset House.”

  “I heard you on the radio.”

  “How did I do?”

  “You were swell.”

  “Thank you, Spence.”

  “I’m making a picture with your pal Gable. Test Pilot with Myrna.”

  “She’s the best.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Spencer picked up a missal and flipped through the pages. “How are you holding up, Gretchen? My buddy Gable treating you okay?”

  “Haven’t seen him in a while.”

  “The big vamoose.”

  “Whatever you want to call it. Said he was getting a divorce, and still hasn’t.”

  “Don’t let him break your heart.”

  “Too late for that.”

  Spencer took Loretta’s hand. “You want me to talk to him?”

  “What good would that do?”

  “I’d tell him a thing or two. Set him straight.”

  “I don’t think he’s the type of man that responds to suggestions. It has to be his idea.”

  “Sounds like you know this fella pretty well.”

  “Well enough. He’s not like you. One woman isn’t enough for him.”

  “One woman isn’t enough for any man—unless, of course, she’s the right woman.”

  Loretta rested her head on Spencer’s shoulder, as she had done so often before they ended their strange yet compelling relationship, one that she thought was mysterious and he believed was loving.

  They sat for a very long time, without saying a word, as was their way.

  The next tim
e Loretta saw Spencer was at midnight mass that Christmas Eve. He and Louise sat on the side aisle, on the end of the pew, close to the communion rail, as was their habit. Spencer would look across the main aisle until he found Loretta. That face always did him good, made him feel better about the world. Spencer wondered if Loretta knew it.

  14

  Alda savored her early mornings in the bungalow in the valley. The meandering street that she and Luca lived on slowly came to life under the morning fog as a sun the color of a ripe peach burst through the haze. Alda poured a cup of coffee as the screen door snapped shut.

  “Get ready for this,” Luca said as he handed her the newspaper. Alda’s heart sank as she read the headline:

  GABLE IN COURT—FATHER OF BABY?

  Alda sat down with the newspaper and scanned the words in the article, looking for the name Loretta Young. She went into a state of panic, figuring Ria had somehow figured out that Judy was her husband’s daughter and was living in San Francisco.

  “It’s about another woman entirely,” Alda said breathlessly. The article didn’t mention Loretta or Judy, but a woman named Violet Norton who had accused Gable of fathering her daughter years earlier. “What is the matter with him?” Alda put the newspaper aside.

  “Movie stars.”

  “I’m tired of looking for excuses for Clark’s behavior.”

  “At least it’s not about Loretta.” Luca shrugged. “I thought you’d be relieved.”

  “There’s no relief! Ever. I live in fear of the studio finding out. The press. I’m always looking around, afraid to say or do anything that will jeopardize Loretta and the baby.”

  “Alda, it’s not your life. Loretta is tough, and she has Gladys.”

  “Gladys doesn’t know what to do either. None of this has been good for Judy. Loretta is torn. And it isn’t right to keep the child from her father.”

  “Clark hasn’t done the right thing from the beginning.”

  “Will you talk to him?”

  “And say what? He doesn’t listen to anybody.”

  “Neither does Loretta.”

  “So let them work it out.”

  “I thought I could help her. I can’t support the decision she made any longer.”

  “You moved to Los Angeles because the nuns forced you out. If you haven’t noticed, you’re not a nun anymore. It’s your life, Alda.” Luca kissed his wife and went out the door.

  Alda heard the engine turn, and the crunch of the car wheels on the gravel as Luca drove off to work. The house was quiet after he left, and she didn’t like it. She had made a home for them, but when he was gone, the house was empty, and a still kind of lonesome set in.

  Alda believed she hadn’t chosen her path in life; events happened to her, and she reacted to them. Her life had been a series of decisions made for her. Her career was decided for her by the Mother Superior and a priest. When she married Luca, it was because he wanted it, and she wanted to please him. Of course she loved him, but he had chosen her first. Alda thought back to her first day at Sunset House. Even her clothes had been selected for her. And yet, even though it appeared that others had control of her life, Alda was entrusted with the most delicate information and the deepest secret Loretta Young would ever keep.

  When Alda was on the sound stage and her boss was doing her job, the order of the universe was apparent. There were many planets and moons around the sun, the one who shined brightest, the movie star. Whether they were technical, costume, hair, or makeup, the crew all stood by, waiting to serve the lead actor, who would create the scene that would tell the story of the movie. Every pore, eyelash, and strand of hair was examined and attended to; every line written was rewritten until it could be delivered with ease by the actor. No wonder Loretta thought she could control every corner of her life. She had been doing it since she was four years old.

  The aim of the director was perfection, the harmonic orchestration of camera, script, and talent. The actor’s job was not to fall short in interpretation of the script and the director’s instructions. Alda was sensitive to the position Loretta’s choice of career had put her in. The actor was owned outright by the studio for the duration of the contract. When the star made a misstep, a crew of publicists and handlers came along to clean up the problem, rewrite the story, put everything back as it once was, in order to salvage a star’s reputation and with it public opinion.

  The studio controlled the actors’ public and private life. Their personal time was not their own—they were required to make appearances, endorse products, and behave in a manner that reflected well on the product, whether it was lipstick or the movie itself. Movie stars were salesmen, but the profits of their wares went to the studio.

  Loretta was asked to sell soap, face cream, and cars. She discovered that her likeness and name had been used on ready-to-wear blouses at major department stores without her permission. When she tried to shut them down, it was discovered that she had signed a release with the studio to use her name and likeness on products, including the blouses, and they need not inform the star when they did.

  Alda was growing weary of working within the studio system. The veneer that required constant maintenance was exhausting. The movies, for a paying customer, could be entertaining and uplifting, but for those who worked on the inside, there was a seven-day-a-week grind with little reprieve from impossible schedules and demanding talent. There was rarely a day off, and when Alda had one, she was worried about the workload she would face the next morning. The bags of mail that arrived at the studio for Loretta had multiplied, as had her obligations beyond acting.

  At first Alda had been enchanted by the spectacle of movies. She learned to appreciate the work of the artisans who created beauty on the screen. The visions of the costumer, set designer, and cameramen fascinated her. The power of the director intrigued her. She saw directors pull performances from actors using fear and manipulation, and when the scene was right, the director yelled “Cut!” and the actor would be grateful to the director for the abuse, as long as the performance on film was excellent. All that mattered in the movie business was the movie. Life beyond the sound stage was unimportant as long as the cameras were rolling inside capturing brilliant performances. Even Luca’s work was an illusion. The false walls, doors, and windows led nowhere and had a view of nothing. Alda wanted the real thing for a change, and she knew she’d have to quit her job to get it.

  Alda longed for the simplicity of the life she knew in Italy. She missed the garden, the grape arbors, and the olive trees. She imagined returning to Italy with Luca, leading a good life in the hills of the Veneto by the lake. But she knew that it would never be. Luca Chetta was in demand.

  Over the mountain, in Bel Air, Loretta read the same article in the same newspaper with the same wide-eyed disbelief. She looked at a photograph of a smiling Gable in a business suit outside the courtroom as though he were a stranger. A wave of sadness washed over her, his rejection stinging anew, followed by anger. Christmas had come and gone, 1937 rang in, and now it was March, and Clark still didn’t have a divorce from Ria. The kicker was a simple sentence that ended the article.

  Clark Gable keeps a suite at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel for appearances only. He lives with Carole Lombard as he awaits his divorce from Ria Langham Gable.

  Loretta shouldn’t have been surprised about Gable’s current living arrangements. He had been married most of his life, and she knew from their time together that he didn’t like to be alone. She was disappointed for herself, but the feelings went to her core when it came to their daughter. His serious love affair with Carole Lombard was a rejection of Judy.

  Loretta knew instinctively, after she professed her love for him, that Gable would put distance between them. He had gotten what he wanted, an admission of her feelings for him. Once Gable knew he had Loretta’s heart, he could put her in line with all the other women who were crazy about him. Gable was her true love, but he was also a first-class cad.

  Loretta picked
up the phone and called Alda. “Did you see the paper?”

  “I did.”

  “I’m done. I’m done with him.”

  “It’s about time, Loretta,” Alda said.

  “I’m bringing Judy home. I don’t care what anyone thinks or what anyone says, I want my baby with me.”

  “I’ll make the arrangements.”

  The moment Alda had waited for had finally come. Loretta Young was standing up for herself, choosing her daughter over the hopes of a life with Gable and the distant dream that they would ever be a family.

  Alda would put her own needs aside until she returned Judy safely home to Sunset House. Once Judy was settled in with her family, Alda would leave Loretta and the Young family for good.

  Alda Ducci Chetta was done with Hollywood.

  The director Jack Conway had just turned fifty when he took on MGM’s hottest script, Saratoga, and its two biggest stars, Gable and Harlow. Anita Loos had lost the battle to use Harlow in San Francisco, and she didn’t forget that Louis B. Mayer owed her a favor when he greenlit Saratoga. Anita got her Harlow.

  Conway was striking, tall and dapper; he had been a successful actor in the silents, a matinee idol. Actors loved him because he understood their process, while the studio bosses loved him because he didn’t go over budget. Conway thought it was impossible to make a good movie from a lousy script, so he steered clear of stunt movies, conceived in the publicists’ office and cast off the popular covers of the fan magazines. Conway relied on good actors who happened to be stars for his project, and would accept nothing less.

  Hattie McDaniel checked her costume in the set mirror. She liked the cut of the dress, with a slight dropped waist, which made her round frame appear long. The black actress, singer, and dancer, a veteran of vaudeville and the theater, put her hands in the pockets of her maid’s costume. She slipped off the diamond pinky ring she had forgotten to leave in the dressing room. She motioned for her dresser to fetch the ring.

  “I can’t serve Miss Harlow oatmeal wearing a diamond ring.”

  “No, you can’t,” her dresser, a wizened white woman of sixty, replied.