by Anne Girard
“Actually, I was speaking to you.”
“What in heaven’s name has gotten into you?” Jean huffed with escalating anger that she could clearly hear.
“That spirit you push me to show doesn’t always just go where you want it to,” Harlean shot back, surprising herself with the warning tone in her voice. “Sometimes I actually get angry, too!”
She wasn’t totally sure where it was coming from but a growing sense of inner confidence prevented her from reining it in right then. Her mother definitely wouldn’t like it. That much she knew as her mother’s face began to turn crimson and her expression hardened to one of anger.
“You might feel like the toast of Hollywood right now, young lady, but don’t you dare be disrespectful to me!” she growled furiously.
As frustrated as she was at their assumptions, and how they took advantage of her, Harlean simply could not have her mother angry and raging at her—which was the next thing that always followed an expression of indignation like this one.
That was a dark storm she knew well enough to avoid at all costs. And right now, without Chuck in her life, she felt as if her mother was the only anchor she had.
“I’m just saying that in the future I’d like to be made aware of important things like that before you and Marino decide them.”
“It seems to me, my dear, that your mother and I were doing just that by telling you about the house,” Marino interjected as Jean lit a cigarette as a way to calm herself.
His tone was irritatingly even, with the usual note of condescension.
He and Mother were not going to take no for an answer about their house now that there was the slightest hint of her success in the air. Perhaps she hadn’t fully won this round but she had made a first stand—she had spoken up at last, and Harlean was proud of herself for that. She was continuing to work toward that confident woman she wanted to become, and she had made great strides since she arrived back in Hollywood. Today was another step forward, but it was just a step.
If she survived the movie premiere, now so close at hand, the three of them would soon be moving to Club View Drive and on their way to living like royalty, even if they were destined to do it for now on a servant’s paltry wages.
* * *
On the twenty-seventh of May, five months after filming finally concluded and she had turned nineteen—and six months after Harlean first sued Chuck for divorce—Hell’s Angels was at last set to premiere.
Ahead of time, the Caddo publicity team had told her how everything would go. True to his promise, Howard Hughes had arranged such a spectacle, and promoted it so widely, that the frenzied, cheering crowd wound for blocks down Hollywood Boulevard just to gain a glimpse of the monumental event. Blinding searchlights lit the night sky, highlighting a squadron of military planes as they flew overhead, to mirror those in the film, and a carpet was rolled up to the theater where the coterie of stars would appear and wave to the adoring crowds.
As Harlean, Paul Bern, Jean and Marino waited for the long, black limousine provided by the studio, she tried very hard not to think of the night ahead. She didn’t like crowds, and even the thought of public speaking made her uneasy. She was a virtual unknown, starring in the biggest, most heavily promoted picture in years, and Quarberg had informed her that she would be required to step before the assembled masses to say a few words.
She had also been told that all of Hollywood’s biggest stars would attend a night where the focus would be on her, the Platinum Blonde. Her mind spun at the list of names she had been given: Gloria Swanson, Buster Keaton, Mary Pickford, Cecil B. DeMille, Charlie Chaplin. All of them had confirmed that they would attend.
There was not a person on the list she had not idolized for years.
Paul touched her arm as she stood in the living room, wearing a stunning snow-white silk gown which Caddo had provided, along with an extravagant white fox-fur wrap. Her lovely white-blond hair matched the shade of her ensemble exactly.
“You really do look exquisite, my dear,” Marino said.
“He’s right about that,” Paul agreed with the compliment and he looked at her in a way that felt calming.
In the several evenings they had spent together over these past few weeks, Paul had never seemed to have anything but a professional interest in her and yet, she found it strangely appealing, in spite of his being a forty-year-old, potbellied man.
“Oh, with all the fuss going on, I almost forgot,” Marino said as he dashed into the kitchen himself, leaving the two of them alone for a moment.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m terrified, actually.”
“You will be spectacular. You’ll see. And I will be right there beside you,” he reassured her just as Marino returned bearing a long flower box.
“This came for you earlier, my dear. I assumed it was flowers, so I popped it in the icebox.”
Harlean removed the ribbon and the box top and the sight of a large, exquisite orchid corsage inside was a surprise.
Only one person in the world would have sent it to her.
“That thing certainly won’t be missed if you wear it!” Marino said dryly. “It’s huge.”
“I think it’s lovely. Is it from Mr. Hughes?” Paul asked.
Harlean did a perfunctory search for a card, yet there was no need to find one. She knew then that something had prevented Chuck from continuing to phone. Though she was loath to admit it, Harlean realized that her well-meaning mother must have had a hand in it.
Though she was outraged at that, for now she wanted to wear the corsage, and she would do just that.
She would deal with her mother tomorrow.
* * *
They could hear the roar of the massive crowd and voices on the loudspeaker as they sat in a long line of limousines, all approaching the theater at a crawl. Searchlights lit the night sky, highlighted by the extraordinary promised aerial display which they could see through the car windows.
When they arrived and she emerged from the limousine, Harlean was quickly encircled by a mob. Paul gave her hand an encouraging little squeeze before he, her mother and Marino melted into the crowd that surged forward around her car. At the same time, a group of policemen moved in to protect her and spirit her up a flight of stairs to an office to prepare before she was to go before the microphone, the fans and the camera.
The office into which she was ushered was small and dimly lit but for a cluttered makeup table adorned with lights. A young female publicity assistant drew off Harlean’s wrap for her and tossed it aside as her colleague, a wiry young man with a beak-like nose looked on.
The girl was pretty, with wide brown eyes and lovely chestnut-colored hair. “I’m Kay Mulvey, from Lincoln Quarberg’s team, Miss Harlow. I’ll be working with you from now on, going with you on press events. It’s nice to meet you.”
Harlean was grateful for the female companionship, especially since they seemed to be of a similar age, and she had such a warm and genuine smile. “I’m sure we’ll get along great and please call me Jean,” Harlean said, trying to steady her nerves in the face of so much commotion and noise just beyond the walls.
When the young man on the publicity team tossed her wrap onto a chair, the corsage came loose and tumbled to the floor. Harlean saw it fall and stood to retrieve it just as a silver-haired man, wearing a natty herringbone jacket and crisp necktie, came in and approached her.
“Thank you for coming, Mr. Factor,” Kay Mulvey said as she shook his hand. “Mr. Hughes considers this an honor as well as a personal favor.”
He studied Harlean with an almost clinical intensity from behind round, horn-rimmed glasses, before he let a very small grin soften his expression. “My pleasure. She really is a lovely girl. Fabulous skin.”
Harlean struggled not to gasp or gape at him. Max Factor was n
early as famous as his cosmetics were, and for his reputation for enhancing the beauty of countless celebrities. She sat silently with one eye on the fallen corsage as he personally enhanced her eyebrows, sharpening their shape, then he changed the shade of her lipstick amid the deafening roar of the crowd beyond the office wall.
“Hey, you can’t come in here!” Kay Mulvey called out as she charged toward the door.
It was Chuck standing there, a little awkwardly in a stiff navy blue suit and necktie, having somehow pushed past the phalanx of police and guards around the theater or cajoled his way inside. Perhaps a story about being her husband had worked.
Stunned, Harlean rose very slowly from the makeup chair.
“My dear, would you like the boy ejected?” Factor carefully queried as his gaze slid from one of them to the other.
“Could we have a moment?” she managed to ask.
Chuck took a step forward into the scene. Seeing the corsage lying on the floor, he bent down, picked it up and handed it back to her. Harlean could hear Mary Pickford being introduced beyond the walls and the crowd roared at the sound of her name. Her heart was racing—for so many reasons.
“I wasn’t sure they’d give it to you,” Chuck said as Max Factor and the two assistants went to stand near the office door offering them a paltry moment of privacy.
“You didn’t include a card.”
“I was pretty sure they wouldn’t give it to you if they knew it was from me, doll, or want me involved on your big night.”
She felt her walls against him go up again as they stood facing one another. She was still drawn to him and she probably always would be, but so much had happened. “What are you doing here, then?”
“In spite of our differences, I wanted to be here for you tonight. I remember how you hate crowds.”
He picked up her wrap, then eased it around her shoulders, coming near enough to her that she could smell the familiar musky scent of his skin. Could they ever find their way back to each other?
Should they even try?
He brushed a finger along her jaw and looked for a moment like he might kiss her, before he gently repinned the delicate corsage onto her wrap.
“I went to Hughes’s office yesterday,” he softly confessed.
“You did?”
“I demanded to know where you were since your phone number was changed and I was out of my mind with worry. I kind of acted like an idiot.”
“Not you?” she exclaimed, managing the hint of a twisted, teasing smile. “I had no idea the number was changed, honestly. I’ve been so busy with promotion for tonight. I should have guessed, though. My mother probably thinks she did it for my own good.”
“She answered the phone last week and told me to stop bothering you. I should have told her to go to hell but I know how much you love her.”
He ran a hand behind his neck. The door opened again. Lincoln Quarberg and the young, blonde assistant now carrying a clipboard, were with Harlean’s agent, Arthur. Max Factor and Kay moved forward with them until it felt like they were crowding her and she could not breathe. None seemed to care for the fragile moment they had come upon or how they were about to extinguish it.
“It’s time, Jean. Gee, there are at least a half-million people out there. They’re lined up for miles!” Kay announced.
“I’m sorry I’ve been so blind, Harlean,” Chuck said haltingly as he glanced at the door, then back at her, refusing to let go of the moment that had taken five months to happen, even though they could both see that it was fleeting. “I know how much this life means to you and I want you to know that I support you going after it with all your heart.”
“You won’t believe it. Hughes has life-size war planes dangling from buildings and real planes buzzing the night sky. You are about to be big business!” Arthur exclaimed.
“He’s right.” Chuck smiled. “You are about to be something big.”
“Come on, Jean,” Arthur urged. “Like Howard Hughes always says, it’s time to dazzle them!”
As he and the publicity team led her to the door, Harlean stopped and turned back. “He comes with me,” she said, surprising even herself with her declaration.
“Impossible!” Lincoln Quarberg barked. “Mr. Hughes expects you to make a star’s entrance. This is the most pivotal night of your life, and I am not about to let you do it with some nobody. Besides, Bern is waiting, and he, at least, is wearing a tuxedo.”
“Go ahead, doll,” Chuck returned with tender assurance. “I’ll be waiting when it’s over.”
“They won’t like me, Chuck. The director said I was awful. There will be boos all around.”
“Not a chance.” He offered an encouraging smile then, but he did not move nearer to her. She knew he was trying to let her leave. “Go on ahead, and meet your public. It’s what you’ve wanted, and worked so hard for. You deserve this moment.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, go ahead now. We’ll talk later. Your fans are calling. You can’t keep them waiting.”
* * *
After two years of trying and failing, Jean Harlow was suddenly what the papers termed an “overnight success.” In spite of some cruel reviews, calling her performance “awful,” the public loved her and the movie itself was a hit.
Arthur Landau brought the newspapers and trade papers to the house the next morning as the phone rang off the hook. Each time she heard it, Harlean perked up in bed, calling out, “Who is it, Marino? Is that one for me?”
But none of the calls were from Chuck.
“Look at the review in Variety, Baby!” her mother exclaimed as she plopped down onto the bed beside her and proudly read aloud, “‘...This girl is the most sensuous figure to get in front of a camera in some time.’ Now, what do you think of that?”
“Is that all they said?” Harlean asked, knowing of her mother’s well-meaning penchant for hiding the more negative aspects of Hollywood in order to keep her daughter cheerfully ambitious.
“Let me see it,” she said, grabbing the paper from Jean’s hand so quickly that she hadn’t time to hold on to it. Then she read aloud herself as Arthur, Marino and her new publicity assistant, Kay, stood loitering awkwardly just inside the doorway to her bedroom.
“They say that you might always have to play those kinds of roles but then the writer adds that no one ever starved possessing what you’ve got.”
She lowered the paper and surveyed their collective expressions.
“But I don’t want to play those kind of roles,” she firmly announced. “I can do more, I know I can. People will start believing I’m like Helen, some man-eating femme fatale if this is all I do.”
Her mother laughed. “Oh, don’t be silly. This is all wonderful news!”
“Why did you do it, Mommie?” She asked the question and her tone suddenly was low, vulnerable. “Why did you change the phone number without telling me?”
She had chosen this moment to confront her mother. Harlean still wasn’t good yet at confrontation, she couldn’t make it seamless, but she knew she had to try standing up for herself. Jean shot Marino a stern look and, in response, he and Arthur took Kay and retreated from the room.
“Really, Harlean? You want to talk about that now?” She only ever used her daughter’s given name when she was perturbed. “Last night you became a star. You need to get this divorce behind you, not cloud the issue by listening to his whining.”
“That was never your choice to make!”
“Stop being so naive, it doesn’t work that way. You needed help, I helped you.”
“We are working it out on our own, whatever ends up happening.”
“Over my dead body. An impulsive child named Harlean Carpenter married that silly boy. You are Jean Harlow now. I am not about to ever let you forget that.”
&nbs
p; Their conversation was interrupted by a commotion out at the front door. A honey-warm voice, yet one that sounded like a whirlwind, suddenly filled the house. Harlean let out a weak smile, knowing it was none other than Aunt Jetty.
Jean Bello sprang from the bed and bolted from the room as Harlean scrambled to find her bathrobe.
“Where is our Baby, the big star?” Jetty loudly asked in her telltale warm voice. “I need to hug that child while she still remembers who I am!”
Harlean knotted the tie on her bathrobe as she stepped into the living room just in time to see silver-haired Jetty scoop up both cats, Nip and Tuck, kiss each of their heads, then set them back down onto the sofa.
“There you are, fresh from your amazing evening. I listened on the radio to every minute of you all arriving. How exciting that must have been!” she exclaimed with zeal and her usual dramatic flourish as she enveloped Harlean in a great embrace while Arthur, mother, Kay and Marino looked on.
“Chuck asked me to come, so the cavalry has arrived. You know, dear, that I am always in your corner until you two, and you two alone, figure it all out,” Jetty whispered to her privately as she held on to her. “He told me what’s been going on... Marino, be a dear, would you, and fetch me a cup of coffee?” she asked in a louder voice as she then turned to Arthur.
She placed her hands on her hips. No one else would ever know she had come into Beverly Hills for anything other than to offer her congratulations. Harlean knew that Jetty reveled in being an enigma. It was one of the many things she adored about her aunt.
“And who might this young man be?”
“Arthur is my agent, Aunt Jetty, and this is my new publicity assistant. Kay Mulvey, Arthur Landau, meet Miss Jetta Belle Chadsey.”
“Look at you, with a team around you. Soon you’ll be too grand for ol’ Aunt Jetty.”
“Never,” Harlean replied. She could feel herself absolutely beaming at the unexpected visit. Jetty always liked to say that one of the gifts of her older age was having gained the ability to mother differently than a real mother. As much as she loved her mother, Harlean craved that difference, especially now that she was trying to learn how to deal in a better, and more healthy, way with her.
