The Memoir of Johnny Devine

by Camille Eide

  “The sad thing is,” John said, “everyone knew what I was. Including the studio. And yet everyone turned a blind eye, because reviewers adored me, other studios made competitive offers, and critics raved about the ‘Devine’ magnetism and charm.”

  “The studio turned a blind eye?” Eliza said. “But I thought your agent was always bailing you out of scandals because it looked bad for the studio.”

  He shook his head. “By that time, I was getting truckloads of fan mail and my fame skyrocketed. The studio ate it up and gave me a huge raise. As long as the lines at the box office were growing, studio owners looked the other way. But I guess the truth is not everyone turned a blind eye. Vivienne, my second wife, divorced me in 1940.”

  “Second? What about the first?”

  John sighed. “I married co-star Veronica Neumann in 1934. Then in 1938, while filming Back Alley Business, I met another co-star, Vivienne LaPlante. Veronica didn’t appreciate my habit of collecting co-stars. As soon as my divorce to Veronica was final, I married Vivienne.”

  Eliza started to write, but paused and looked at John.

  “Yes, I suppose you should write that,” he said, voice weary. “Surely everyone knows. Unfortunately, by the time my second marriage ended, I didn’t even care. I was getting stone-cold drunk every night. From then on, my address was the Hollywood Roosevelt.”

  With another sigh, he rose and went to the fireplace. “I’d lost all sense of honor. A real man strives to leave a lasting mark in this world, you see. Make it better somehow because he was here. But I had no such ambitions, not by that time. I was topping all the charts, but even with so much fame, all I had to show for my life was a stack of films and a long line of women who wished I’d never been born. Even if I’d wanted honor, you couldn’t find a trace of it in me. If there was ever a time in my life I’d longed for true significance, it was long past.”

  Eliza’s pencil froze. True significance? The words echoed, taunting her. She had believed everything John said so far, but his last statement struck her as ludicrous. Could a Hollywood star with scores of fans truly have any concept of the quest for significance? Could a man whose name had emblazoned every marquee in the country understand the void that she—a penniless nobody—had so long struggled to fill?

  Don’t think, just write.

  She finished his lines, then waited.

  John paced the floor. “I felt vacant, no matter how much I tried to fill the emptiness with women and booze and night life. Deep down, I knew I had become something completely opposite of what my father and Will had been. I was completely careless about anyone but myself.”

  Eliza glanced at him.

  John looked away. “There was a young starlet in 1940—Jeanette Lovell. She was pretty, eager, full of life and raw talent, but she was green. She had no insider savvy. I …” He crossed the room and stood at the window, leaning hard on his cane as if braced for whatever he was about to say. “It should have mattered that she was a newlywed, married to her high school sweetheart. It would have mattered to any kind of real man, but …”

  Her eyes were clamped shut, perhaps in some childish attempt to block out what was coming next.

  “Dear God,” he whispered. “I can’t do this.”

  Eliza opened her eyes as John left the library, his awkward gait more pronounced in his hurry. He headed through the sitting room and disappeared.

  There will be some consequence, some price yet to pay for my sins. I just don’t know if I’ll be able to pay when the bill comes due.

  ~The Devine Truth: A Memoir

  11

  Eliza watched him leave, thoughts whirling. What else did John have to confess? And how much more would she have to hear?

  Millie stepped into the library from the kitchen, drying her hands on an embroidered tea towel. “Miz Eliza? I got a small favor to ask. Might you step in the kitchen a minute?”

  “Of course.” Eliza followed Millie.

  At the stove, Millie picked up a dish containing a golden, round pastry oozing with sticky syrup and topped with sparkling sugar. A half dozen more sat in a pan on the stove. The scent of cinnamon filled the room.

  “Somethin’ funny with this batch. Could you taste it?” Millie nudged the dish into Eliza’s hands.

  Eliza took a spoonful of the pastry, tasted it, and closed her eyes to savor the tangy blend of spiced, sweet fruit and flaky pastry shell. “Millie, this is marvelous. There’s nothing wrong with it.” She cut another spoonful and popped it in her mouth, eyeing the old woman. “What are you trying to pull?”

  Millie shrugged. “Just needed a woman’s opinion, that’s all.”

  “Mm-hmm,” Eliza said, chewing. “You know what they say about lies coming back to get you later, don’t you?” She licked her spoon and scooped another bite.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “So you’re trying to tell me you honestly think there’s something wrong with this—what is it, by the way?”

  “Apple dumplin’. All right. Truth is, this here my grandmama’s recipe, and it won more blue ribbons than you can shake a stick at.”

  Eliza’s brows rose. “Impressive. I can’t even peel an apple without destroying it.” She chuckled and took another bite.

  “Oh, I ’spect you can, ma’am. You just need to stop listenin’ to voices sayin’ you can’t.”

  Eliza swallowed hard and studied the woman who only looked frail, because anyone who knew Millie knew better. “What do you mean?”

  Millie nodded at the television at the other end of the counter.

  Harriet Nelson was taking a full plate of food away from Ozzie. The audience roared.

  “Do you like that Ozzie and Harriet program, Miz Eliza?”

  Eliza shook her head. “Not especially. I mean, I’m sure it’s entertaining, but I’m afraid it encourages women to believe that they are of lesser value to society just because they’re women. So many forms of oppression are not only accepted in this country, they’re encouraged.” She took another small bite, pondering. “I’ve been trying to get people to recognize the injustice of racial and gender inequality, and to show the need for change by writing about them. I don’t know if I’m doing any good, but I have to do something.”

  “Ah.” Millie nodded at the television. “But what if a nice home and all the latest things is all Miz Harriet wants?”

  Eliza hesitated. Had Millie never dared to want more for herself? “But there is more to life, don’t you think, Millie? Surely a nice home and fancy appliances isn’t all a woman—if she’s honest with herself—wants out of life?”

  Millie peered into Eliza’s eyes. “They’s plenty worse things, ma’am.”

  The ridiculous irony of their conversation suddenly struck Eliza, igniting heat in her cheeks. “Millie, you don’t have to call me ma’am.”

  Millie lifted another apple dumpling from the pan and placed it in a bowl, then added a spoon. “Maybe you not offended when a colored woman neglect to address you as ma’am, but the next white woman I meet just might be. I appreciate you want to see change. And I believe change is comin’. But it gonna take prayer and lots of grace for those folks not mature enough to accept the kind of change you want. The Bible say we not to flaunt our freedom in front of those who are weak and who may stumble and have a guilty conscience on account of what we do.” Millie set the bowl on a serving tray.

  Stunned, Eliza set her bowl on the counter. “Are you saying … the Bible tells you to be submissive to people who are too selfish or ignorant to know how wrong it is?”

  “The Bible tell me many things, Miz Eliza. It tell me to be like Christ, be His aroma. Some folks find Jesus a lovely, sweet fragrance. Others run from Him like He a terrible stench. Not up to me to change folks, that the good Lord’s job. The Bible also tell me ‘the Lord is the portion of mine inheritance and of my cup, Thou maintainest my lot. The lines are fallen unto me in pleasant places; yea, I have a goodly heritage.’”

  “If you don’t mind my saying,
Millie, I don’t see how you can say your lot has been all that pleasant. You’ve suffered more than your share, I think.”

  Millie took a cup from the dish drainer and poured a coffee. She handed it to Eliza. “Well, if you don’t mind my sayin’, I ’spect your lot ain’t been all that pleasant either. Cheatin’ husband a hard thing to forgive.”

  Eliza opened her mouth but nothing would come. Forgive? How could she ever forgive all the lies, the cruel put-downs, the shame? Not only had Ralph humiliated her by taking up with other women, he’d fathered a child with someone else. The child that Eliza was supposed to have. What could be more painfully unjust? And to top it off, his infidelity had left Eliza penniless. Who could forgive that?

  “Miz Eliza, many things in life gonna be hard to forgive, but the only thing unforgiveness give you is a burden too heavy to bear. The burden of other folks’ sins and ours. Too many folks carryin’ a load they need to get free of but can’t.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  Millie tilted her head for a closer look. “Do you?”

  Eliza nodded, nerves crackling at the thought of actually saying aloud the things she’d never spoken of. Living in the shadow of Ralph’s cruelty had changed her, made her question herself. What was worse, he’d made her hate, and that hate had done something to her. Feeling only relief when he died wasn’t the worst of it. A horrible, recurring dream had burrowed in and drove its black truth into her heart: she’d wished him dead. When she first heard he had died, guilt seared her at once and left a mark on her conscience like a branding iron. Yes, she had become a different person, or perhaps the truth was she had lost the better part of herself. She’d become a shell of the good person her parents had raised. “I can’t forget about … something I’m ashamed of, and it weighs on me. Gives me nightmares sometimes.”

  “Precious child,” Millie said softly, “you can always tell it to Jesus.”

  Eliza shook her head. “Oh, no. I can’t even say it to myself.”

  Shaking her head slowly, Millie poured a second cup of coffee and set it on the tray beside the dumpling.

  “Thank you for the dumpling,” Eliza said. “I’d better get back to work. I’m sure he’s wondering where I’ve gone.”

  Millie turned and laid a crinkly hand on Eliza’s arm. “That shame you carryin’? I ’spect it too heavy for me, so I know it too heavy for a slip of a girl like you. The only thing strong enough to bear the weight of all we done wrong is a cross on a hill at Calvary. And not just yours and mine. Every shameful thing done by every soul that ever lived can be placed on Jesus. And He took it willingly, so you could be free, because of His great love for you, child.”

  Tears stung Eliza’s eyes. It was an appealing idea, being loved and accepted for who she was, not if she improved, not if she became something more. But it didn’t make sense. Especially when she thought about John and his story. “But if John is a Christian,” Eliza said, “and he believes God has forgiven him for the things he’s done, and if God takes away shame, then why does John still carry it around?”

  Millie’s lips pursed. She turned and placed a napkin between the dumpling and coffee cup, then picked up the tray and faced Eliza. “Couldn’t say, ma’am. I ’spect he got the idea he need to punish hisself a while yet.”

  Over the weekend, Eliza took in a Barbara Stanwyck picture, Christmas in Connecticut, thankful the Laurel wasn’t showing one of John’s pictures this time. Then she spent most of Sunday trying to decide what to wear to her upcoming lunch meeting with John’s editor. Though she was fond of red, it probably wasn’t a good choice for a business meeting. She decided to press her navy suit and hang it in a bag with a few gardenia sachets—one of Betty’s tips. She could always count on her sister to be the voice of etiquette in her head.

  Thinking of Betty reminded Eliza she still needed to give her sister an answer to her Thanksgiving invitation. She’d been stalling, which was silly. It wasn’t as if she had many options. Getting takeout from Lucky’s for herself and Mr. Darcy was the alternative. But Sue Ellen and Eddie Jr. had asked if Auntie Liza would be coming, so that settled it.

  Monday morning, a November chill sent Eliza back inside her apartment for a longer coat. As she walked to the bus stop, she smiled, remembering walks to school in winter with her sister. Betty had always been the first to don a longer coat and would tell Eliza to go back and get hers. To which Eliza always responded by ignoring Betty and suffering the chill all the way to school. Even then, Eliza had wanted to prove she didn’t need anyone making up her mind for her.

  The willows in front of John’s house had turned a soft, creamy orange and were thinning, the flowing branches swaying softly like an island girl’s grass skirt.

  John was seated at his spot by the fireplace when she entered the library, a small book in his hand. He began speaking of the many fleeting things in life that promise heaven but don’t deliver.

  Eliza scrambled to put down her handbag, then picked up her notepad and wrote quickly.

  “Oh, sorry, I wasn’t dictating,” John said. “I was just reading C.S. Lewis. Have you read him? This is his latest book.” John held up the thin volume entitled Mere Christianity.

  “I have read his novel The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe several times, but no, I have not read his religious works.”

  John rose with his cane and strolled toward the hall. “Vacancy longs to be filled. It doesn’t matter who you are or how full you think your life is. We all have vacancy of some kind.” He glanced over his shoulder at her.

  “Oh—I’m sorry, is that you now?”

  A half-smile softened his face. “Yes, but you don’t have to write that—I was just musing. Happens whenever I read Lewis. He has a great deal to say about life and death, the pursuit of God. Forgiveness.”

  Had he been talking to Millie? Eliza sat taller and readied her pencil.

  With a sigh, John returned to his chair. “All right. Where were we?”

  Since their last dictation session had ended so abruptly, it hadn’t taken Eliza long to type what little they’d composed. And since John had never returned for the rest of the day, she’d gone back over the manuscript and made notes for building the direction of the memoir, though the details that remained were still a mystery to her.

  “When we left off, you were talking about your past relationships. Particularly …” Eliza looked at the last page, although she didn’t need to. “Jeanette Lovell.”

  John lowered his gaze to the Oriental rug. His expression hardened. “Perhaps we can come back to that another time. I … some things are … difficult.”

  When he didn’t finish, Eliza nodded. “I understand. If you want to go back and insert things later, we can simply revise.”

  “Revise my life.” John huffed. “Wouldn’t that be a swell trick? If only we could.” He shook his head and glanced at her. “What would you revise about your life, if you could?”

  Eliza put her pencil down. “I can think of only one thing.”

  “Let me guess,” he said. “Marrying Ralph.”

  “No.” She shook her head and met his eye. “I wouldn’t let my parents get on that train.”

  John numbed her with that look of his.

  “That’s all,” she said lightly. “From then on, everything else would have turned out differently. I’d just let the rest of my life rewrite itself. Maybe even get a happily-ever-after out of it.”

  John’s dark eyes pierced her with an intensity that made her forget how to breathe. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  Swallowing the ache in her throat, she picked up her pencil.

  Leaning an elbow on his knee, John rested his chin in his hand. “I suppose everyone has regrets. This book is forcing me to remember every last one of mine. I have to remind myself that God has both forgiven and forgotten them all. Trouble is, people don’t forget. Why is it easier to remember the bad things than it is to forget them? I wonder if it’s because absolute forgiveness—all records erased—is so foreign
to our nature. It’s still hard for me, especially now that I’m reliving the past. I have to remind myself of all the ways God has helped me, changed me, shown me grace even though I don’t deserve it. But then, no one does.”

  “No one? But surely there must be some who are deserving,” Eliza said. “What about people who lived good lives? My parents were the kindest and most morally upright people I’ve ever known. Surely God values that.” Her voice had risen slightly.

  Millie’s head popped around the doorway, probably over the pitch of Eliza’s tone.

  John studied her as he formed his words. “Knowing you, it’s clear that your parents were very good, kind people. But no one is sinless. And God is holy. Holiness and sin can’t coexist, and that creates a chasm between God and us. He is a just Judge. Yet He is also a loving Father who wants us to enjoy eternity with Him in heaven. So He made a way to for us. By trusting in Christ, we receive God’s full pardon.”

  “Trusting in Christ?” Eliza’s heart thumped. “So … what you’re saying is that someone like you will be in heaven one day, but my good, honorable parents won’t?”

  Grimacing, John transferred his gaze to the handle of his cane, jaw muscles tensing. She’d just insulted him, but in that moment, she didn’t care. If there was a heaven, her parents had more right to be there than anyone.

  “We don’t know what happens in a person's life during their final moments,” he said, voice quiet. “None of us knows if a person is in heaven or not. But God is merciful and gives us every possible chance to surrender our lives to Him.”

  “Surrender?”

  Surely her parents wouldn’t have known about the need for that.

  She fought to keep angry tears from forming. She couldn’t let a man see that his words had any power over her. She’d developed superb control when Ralph was alive. Yet the tears continued to pool and now threatened to spill. In a panic, she stood and looked around the room for escape.