“Neither,” the man said, reaching his outstretched fingers toward my exposed thigh. His gold rings glinted in the light. “Like I said, I want a piece of you.”
“I’m not for sale!” I spat. Then I turned on my heel and marched toward the back room. A wave of nausea rolled through me, and I took a deep breath in through my nose. Pushing back the curtain to the dressing room, I braced myself against the mirrored wall. Heaven help me. How had I gotten myself in such a predicament?
It all made sense—my heightened sensitivity to smell, my sore breasts, the ever-present feeling of sickness. My lip trembled. But I couldn’t be pregnant. Because if I were, then what? My dreams of becoming an actress would come crashing down around me. And I was so very, frighteningly alone.
Roxy pushed the curtain aside. “What has gotten into you? Do you want to get canned? I’ll tell Tommy that you’re having an off day, but—”
“Why didn’t you warn me about Benny?” Anger rushed through me. “Do you know what he tried to do to me?”
She pursed her red lips. Standing close to her, I could see the tiny wrinkles around her eyes and the parentheses framing her mouth. She looked tired and worn.
“You needed a meal ticket. Benny Bronstein is young and easy on the eyes. I could have set you up with someone much worse.”
I scoffed. “A meal ticket? How dare you assume I would want anything of the sort! I am perfectly capable of earning my own money.”
Roxy’s gaze hardened. “Are you? Because you only have one dress and I’m tired of you borrowing my clothes. You ain’t got two pennies to rub together.”
“I told you, I left my bag in—”
“Oh, stop with the baloney!” Roxy yelled. “You’re hiding something and don’t think I don’t know it. What are you, a runaway? Papa didn’t love you?”
“Don’t talk about my family or I’ll—”
I balled my hands into fists. My heart ached for my mother and father, for Evie, for Charles. Why had I left behind my life in Santa Cruz? The people who loved me? I’d made a horrible mistake in coming here.
“Or what?” Roxy said, taking a step closer.
I tensed in readiness.
“Hey, what’sa commotion in here?” Tommy stepped out of his office, his black hair shiny with pomade. “This isn’t a goddamn zoo. The two of you are screeching like animals.”
Roxy cocked her hip. “Violet here gave lip to one of our best customers. Salvatore tried to order a pack of cigarettes, and she stormed off without so much as a smile.”
Tommy turned to me, his thick eyebrows drawn together like two caterpillars. “You was rude to Sal?”
I thought of the fat man with the thick fingers covered in gold rings. “He told me he wanted a slice of me. I told him I wasn’t for sale.”
Tommy’s dark eyes flashed with anger. “In my club, show a little respect. That’s Salvatore Corlatone. Do you even know who he is? When Sal asks for something, you smile, and then you give him what he wants. Capisce?”
My lip trembled. “I don’t care if he’s the head of the mob. I’m not serving him.”
“Then you’re finished,” Tommy said, curling his lip. “Take off that uniform and get outta my club.”
“Gladly,” I said, tears stinging my eyes.
Once Tommy left the room, I tugged at the zipper of my tight one-piece. I turned away from Roxy, shimmying out of the black strapless number. I’d only missed one period, which meant I couldn’t be more than six or seven weeks along. Still too early to show, though I felt bloated bigger than a blimp.
“You’re making a mistake,” Roxy said, the fire gone from her voice. “I was only trying to look out for you. Now what are you gonna do?”
“I’ll figure it out,” I hissed, throwing the uniform on a clothes hanger.
“Suit yourself,” she said. “I’ve gotta get back out there.” She pushed the velvet curtain aside and made her way toward the crowded floor of the club.
I blinked rapidly to keep the tears at bay. Had Roxy really thought I would sleep with strange men for a foot in the door? Placing a hand protectively over my belly, I shut my eyes. My baby likely wasn’t any bigger than an olive, but already I felt a mother’s love. And I was frightened for both of us.
WALKING THROUGH THE gateway of Paramount Pictures, I took a deep breath for luck. I’d hardly slept a wink the night before, tossing and turning in the dark motel room. Roxy and I hadn’t spoken since our fight, and I didn’t know if I could forgive her for the way she’d treated me.
I had a feeling she would find another roommate, and I would be out of a job and a place to stay. Her words rang in my ears: You ain’t got two pennies to rub together. A woman in sunglasses and a white head scarf rode past me in a mint-green golf cart. I craned my neck, trying to figure out who she was.
My shoulders tensed. I longed to be an actress transported from set to studio, dancing to the tune of whimsical musicals, or crying tears on command. The tears that threatened to come now were those of desperation. I had a few months, perhaps three or four, before I would no longer be able to conceal my growing belly. I had to land a part—immediately—or my dream would vanish before my eyes.
Standing with the other girls in the waiting area, I looked around for a friendly face. Everyone buried their noses in their scripts, and a few gals shot me suspicious looks. I’d curled my hair and put on an extra swipe of blush, but I felt less fresh-faced than some of the gals I saw in line, who couldn’t be more than teenagers. In no time I would be old news—my chance to become the next ingénue would pass.
I placed a hand protectively over my belly, and then remembered I oughtn’t do that in public. I dropped it to my side. Taking a deep breath, I let it out in a shudder. I had to nail this reading. I had to.
“Violet! Is that you?”
I spun on my heel to see Harry Goodman strolling toward me. At the sight of his familiar jolly face, the tension between my shoulders eased. I wanted to embrace him.
“Oh Harry, what are you doing here?”
“I’m here for an audition. My agent sent me. How’ve you been?”
“Wonderful,” I lied, wondering if he could see the sadness in my eyes. “How about you?”
“Couldn’t be better,” he said, reaching into his shirt pocket. “I got a telegram for you at the Pink Flamingo. It must’ve arrived before you gave your husband your new address. I’ve been carrying it around in case I ran into you.”
My heart dropped into my stomach. “Charles sent me a telegram?”
“Sure did,” Harry said, handing me the folded pink slip of paper. “He misses you.” He looked sheepish. “Sorry, couldn’t stop myself from peeking.”
With trembling fingers, I opened the message.
Santa Cruz, CA August 15 1940
Violet I miss you dearly. Everything will be different. I promise. I love you. Please allow me to take you home. I can be there tomorrow if you ask me to.
My eyes welled with tears. I thought of my beach bungalow overlooking the Pacific Ocean, the path bursting with wildflowers, poppies and purple ice plant. I thought of Evie, wrapping me in a hug, congratulating me on becoming a mother, and telling me everything would be all right. Perhaps this baby would change things—perhaps this baby was what Charles and I needed to become a loving husband and wife again.
“You miss him,” Harry said.
I nodded, my lip trembling. “A great deal.”
Harry placed a comforting arm on my shoulder. “There’s no shame in returning home, Violet.”
I nodded, feeling as though I were in a dream. Looking around at the studio hands, golf carts and strangers with scripts, it was as if I didn’t belong here at all. Like Alice, I had tumbled down a rabbit hole to find myself in unfamiliar surroundings.
“Everyone here to read for John Huston’s film, follow me to soundstage five.”
I startled, turning to see the man who’d announced the casting call.
“Good luck,” Harry said, giving me
an apologetic smile. “I’m in room 305 at the Pink Flamingo. If you need me, you know where to find me.”
“Thank you,” I replied. “I will.”
“Oh,” Harry called after me. “Where are you staying? You forgot to mention it.”
“Did I?” Watching the other girls queue up for the audition, no lie came to mind in time, and Harry waited for an answer.
“At the Tropicana,” I said, turning to follow the girls to the soundstage.
“At the other end of Hollywood Boulevard?”
“That’s the one.”
As I walked a few paces behind the gaggle of women across the Paramount lot, I clutched the telegram from Charles with both hands.
I miss you dearly.
I love you.
Everything will be different.
His words touched my heart as only a husband’s could. Suddenly his absence ached like an open wound. I longed for his reassuring embrace, his warm brown eyes, and the familiar scent of his cologne. He could take me home. He’d seen my note requesting a divorce, but he’d forgiven me.
And my child, my little olive—already I’d come to think of her as a little girl. She needed a father. We could be a family again.
Chapter 18
Marisol Cruz
2007
You know,” Jason said, looking around at the giggling kids in Marini’s soda fountain. “Santa Cruz is the perfect place to raise a family.”
Mari smiled, watching the little girls put quarters in the gumball machine. She’d come to this ice cream shop with her abuelo and abuela during her childhood, and loved that the family business was still thriving. The mint chip ice cream still tasted exactly the same, the best she’d ever had.
“It really is. I feel so fortunate to have grown up here, and to be able to raise Lily here. There’s no more beautiful place in the world.”
Jason’s brown eyes twinkled. “I really like you,” he said, twirling the stem of his maraschino cherry. “I hope you don’t think I’m too old-fashioned, but honestly, I’m almost thirty, and I’m ready to settle down.”
Mari’s heart skipped a beat. “Jason, I really like you too, but we’ve only been on one date . . .”
He laughed, looking adorable as he grinned at her. “Don’t worry, I’m not popping the question. Though I could get down on one knee right now to embarrass you.”
“Please don’t.”
“Then listen. What I want to say is, I’m totally over game playing. I want someone I can be honest with. And I feel like I can be honest with you. I don’t want to date anyone else. And I’m hoping that you don’t either . . .”
“Oh, so you don’t know about my other boyfriend, Tyrell?”
“Shut up.”
Mari smiled. “You’re cool and all, but Tyrell lets me ride his motorcycle. He’s got this bad-boy thing going on, and it’s really sexy.”
Before she could continue, he’d placed his lips on hers. The kiss was soft, yet passionate. Mari closed her eyes and the soda fountain faded away. Jason smelled like the forest, like summer. She could kiss him over and over again.
“I could get used to that.”
“Good,” Jason said. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”
Mari took his hand in hers. “There’s something I want to tell you too.”
Jason raised an eyebrow. “Tell me.”
“I won the Swanson Grant.”
Jason’s mouth dropped open, then he broke out into a huge smile. “Are you kidding me? Mari, congratulations!”
He wrapped her in a bear hug, and then stood up, addressing the room full of children. “Everyone! You’re looking at the next Swanson Grant recipient right here. This is one very smart lady. Let’s give her a round of applause.”
Mari wanted to cover her face and she tugged at Jason’s hand, but the little girls smiled at her with missing teeth and clapped excitedly.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “You’re the worst.”
Jason sat down. “I’m sorry if I’m embarrassing, but I’m proud of you. This is exciting! See, I told you that you could do it. What happens next?”
“I got the idea to create a diorama of the gazebo—well, have artists create it, because I don’t have an artistic bone in my body. I want to record Santa Cruz senior citizens talking about their memories of the gazebo, and play the audio recording. It’ll be set up at the museum booth like an art installation.”
“That sounds cool,” Jason said, smiling.
“Thanks. If I can get the project finished in the next month or so, I’ll have time for it to be on display at the Centennial Celebration through August. This should help gain public interest in the gazebo and show its historic significance.”
Jason frowned. “I don’t mean to be a downer, but what if it gets demolished before you’re able to put the art installation on display?”
Mari tapped her bottom lip. “I have to officially oppose the condo development to stall them. I’m going to distribute flyers to the neighborhood, to everyone whose views would be obstructed by the tower. I’m going to rally as many people as I can to attend the next planning commission meeting. Can I count you in?”
“You bet. I’ll offer my photocopying services courtesy of the UC Santa Cruz English department to help you save some money.”
“Really? Thanks.”
“Do you think you’ll have a tough time getting people on board?”
Mari shook her head. “I think residents are ready to fight this. A tall glass building doesn’t conform to the character of a neighborhood with single-story homes.”
She sighed, her stomach sinking. “There’s just one problem.”
“What?”
“Travis Harcourt.” His name felt hard in her mouth. “I haven’t spoken to him since the summer of my college graduation. Unless you count the roughly one hundred unanswered emails I sent him with pictures of Lily.”
Jason rubbed Mari’s hand. “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how that must’ve felt. You have to be missing a soul to turn your back on your kid like that.”
“I’m going to have to confront him, talk with him face-to-face, and tell him that I’m opposing the development.” She swallowed, but her mouth felt dry. It was not an encounter she wanted to have. In fact, she was dreading it.
“You can do this,” Jason said, looking at her with such conviction that she felt a swell of confidence. “It won’t be comfortable, but you can. I have faith in you.”
“Thank you. It feels really nice to know someone has my back.”
“Always,” Jason said. “In fact, email me the flyer you want to distribute to the neighbors today. I’ll photocopy as many as you want.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Won’t the English department staff get suspicious if you’re abusing the copy machine?”
He shrugged. “I fix their computers. They let me do whatever I want.”
“Touché.”
“So, do you need to get going, or do you want to walk down Pacific Avenue with me? It’s a gorgeous day out, and I’d love to spend it with this gorgeous lady.”
Mari rolled her eyes. “If you stop being cheesy, I’d be happy to walk with you. I’ll even ride the bus with you up to campus, because I want to do some more research at McHenry Library.”
MARI SAT IN an overstuffed armchair, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the forest of majestic redwood trees. Though she’d come to the library to research zoning requirements to see if Travis Harcourt’s construction project was in violation of any city codes, Mari’s mind had wandered. To be honest, the material on city zoning laws was bone-dry. A little procrastination wouldn’t be horrible, would it?
Mari typed “Violet Harcourt” into her computer browser. It was a stretch, but if she could prove that Charles Harcourt had mishandled his business funds (or whatever it was he’d done that might’ve played a part in Violet’s suicide), she could smear Travis’s development campaign. The townspeople could see the mayor had taken office through inheri
ted power, and that Travis was nothing more than a trust fund brat.
She seethed with anger toward Travis. It was stupid, but finding something incriminating about his grandfather would give her a bit of satisfaction.
Searching Violet’s name, Mari came up with the one acting credit she’d seen on her previous search of Violet—a nonspeaking role in a John Huston film: “the vixen at the bar.”
The role wasn’t much, but it could have served as a stepping-stone to landing another part. Hadn’t Katharine Hepburn had her first scenes cut from the films she shot, but she was encouraged to continue? Eventually she’d attracted the interest of an assistant director and shot a test scene that was shown to a producer. Mari remembered that tidbit from a film class she’d taken in college, to fill an arts credit requirement.
So why did Violet return to Santa Cruz?
Mari typed “Violet Harcourt, Hollywood Actress 1940” into her browser, and waited for the results to load. A few photos appeared: Violet’s head shot; her California pageant photo, Violet wearing a retro one-piece swimsuit with a flared skirt. For a 1940s beauty queen she was slim—not quite the norm for an era when women were refreshingly curvy.
Scrolling through images of famous actresses of the 1940s, Mari saw Hedy Lamarr, Judy Garland, Lauren Bacall, Rita Hayworth and Ginger Rogers. They exuded timeless glamour, all red lips and sultry waves.
An image of an old Hollywood magazine caught her eye: Screen Secrets. The vintage copy of the magazine was for sale on Amazon, now forty dollars instead of twenty cents. Mari clicked on the link “Louella Parsons Blind Items.”
Someone had posted it to a chat board. “Does anyone recognize the 1940s actress in this blind item?”
Under “Best Answer” someone had replied. “It could be anyone, really. Every Miss so-and-so thought they had a chance of making it in Hollywood even if they only ended up working as a cocktail waitress. But it looks like Violet Harcourt, who was Miss California in 1940, and then withdrew because she was married. Other Miss California winners from that time period are Evelyn Hastings, Edie Smith and Bettie Watson. Good luck.
Mari tapped her mouth as Violet’s obituary came to mind.
Boardwalk Summer Page 14
