All the Stars in the Heavens (23 page)

This would be Luca and Alda's first and last argument. Loretta had been right.
If you want to keep a man, tell him little of your past and keep your feelings to yourself.

If Luca Chetta thought he was better than Alda Ducci, it would be her pleasure to spend the duration of the filming of
The Call of the Wild
proving him wrong.

G
ladys Belzer had placed antique Tuscan urns spilling over with bright red beach roses on either side of the entrance of Sunset House. The January sun flickered overhead as warm breezes floated through Bel Air.

Gladys had opened the windows, letting in the fresh air, as she repainted Loretta's room and wallpapered her bathroom while she was off on location. The scents of fresh paint and glue were all but gone from Loretta's suite; gone too was the color scheme of pale pink and cream, replaced with soft green and a wallpaper of periwinkle-and-gray toile.

Ria Gable drove up to the entrance of Sunset House unannounced. She got out of her ice-blue Ford coupe and surveyed the exterior of the house and the view, deciding it was a better setting than her own on the other side of Doheny. Mrs. Gable's hair was done in black marcel waves, cropped to a lacquered bob. She wore a trim navy blue suit with a foxtail fur slung over her shoulder. Her kelly-green leather pocketbook matched her pumps, all custom-made.

“Mrs. Gable.” Gladys smiled warmly and came from behind her desk. “What a lovely surprise.” Gladys occasionally ran into Mrs. Gable at the fine design houses in Los Angeles, where they could both be found poring over large sample books of wallpaper, fabric swatches, and paint colors.

“Mrs. Belzer.” Ria forced a smile as she removed her gloves and took a seat. While Mrs. Gable was not a beauty, she made up for it in sartorial splendor. She dressed in couture clothing, topped with unique hats, courant accessories, and expensive jewelry. Ria looked as good as she possibly could for a woman seventeen years her husband's senior.

“Would you care for tea?” Gladys offered.

“No, thank you,” Ria said. “I hear an accent. I hadn't noticed it before. I didn't know you were from the South.”

“My mother was a native of North Carolina.”

“To a Texas lady, the Carolinas might as well be Canada.”

“Oh no, it's still the South. If you need proof, I can make you a pot of soup beans and a pan of cornbread.”

“That won't be necessary.” Ria smiled, but it was more of a polite clench. “I don't usually intrude without an invitation, but I was driving by, and I thought we should have a talk.”

Gladys had figured out as soon as Ria walked in why she might have dropped by, but she was going to make Mrs. Gable work for the pleasure of confronting her. “I understand that you do your own decorating, and admirably, so I don't believe you're here to talk draperies and rugs.”

“I'm here about your daughter.”

“Which one?” Gladys asked innocently. “I have four.”

“I'm here about Loretta.”

“She's on Mount Baker, shooting a picture for Bill Wellman.”

“With my husband. I wish you had accompanied your daughter to Bellingham.”

“I didn't have to—she's with her secretary, Alda Ducci, who is a former novice from the convent at Saint Elizabeth's.”

“She's with a nun?”

“A splendid chaperone, don't you agree?”

“Perhaps the nun has her head in a prayer book. From all reports, she's not keeping an eye on your daughter.”

“I'm not aware of any reports.”

“Your daughter is making a play for my husband.”

“That couldn't possibly be true.”

“And why not?”

“She's not interested in him.”

“Every woman in the world wants Clark Gable.” Ria removed a tiny shred of lint from her skirt.

“That puts you in a terrible position.” Gladys could see that Ria was desperate. She could empathize with her pain, having survived two unfaithful husbands.

“I want you to talk to your daughter and tell her hands off Mr. Gable.”

“I won't do that,” Gladys said politely.

“I should have known you have no control over her. I suppose it's fine with you that she seduced Spencer Tracy, also a married man, and has now moved on to my husband?”

“It's none of your business who Loretta spends time with, and you don't have your facts straight about Mr. Tracy, who happens to be a good friend of our family.”

“I think I do. I have eyes. I read. Your daughter falls in love with all her leading men. She's known for it. She admits it herself! Her reputation precedes her.”

“As does yours. And mine. And whomever else you want to gossip about.”

“I don't believe this is gossip.”

“Ah. So it's gospel truth. Look, Mrs. Gable. It must be difficult for you. You are relatively new to Hollywood, and you don't have the benefit of my years of experience in and around show business.”

“Why should that matter? Whether Beverly Hills or Dadgum Holler, marriage vows should be respected. This isn't a matter of experience.”

“But it
is
. The story of the starlet and the leading man is as old as the urns on my front porch. It's an easy story to repeat because it's tantalizing, mostly because it brings about the ruination of the young lady, who hasn't the fortitude or sophistication to fight the lies and correct the facts. The leading man, on the other hand, comes off looking virile and desirable, both bankable commodities at the studio. Surely you know that a man's sex appeal has a direct effect on his salary negotiations.”

“I'm aware of my husband's allure.”

“Then let me make you aware of my daughter's. She has to get by on talent. While your husband might benefit from an affair with a starlet, the same affair would lead to her professional demise. Do you think that my daughter, a hardworking veteran of fifty films, would squander her good name on a fling? If you do, you don't know Loretta Young.”

“I have a daughter too, Mrs. Belzer. And I would defend her to the death.”

“Then you must understand how I feel when lies are spread about my daughter.”

“I was hoping you would take control of the situation.”

“I understand your exasperation. You and I are of the same generation. We're also mothers. So, I'd ask you to give Loretta the benefit of the doubt. She's intelligent.”

“Which can also mean that she is cunning.”

“Loretta is also a devout young woman.”

“That hardly has anything to do with her sex drive.”

“Oh no, it has everything to do with every drive. She considers the feelings of others. She is compassionate. She would go as far to forgive you for your rude assumptions and advise your husband to go home to discuss your concerns with you.”

“My husband and I discuss everything.”

“That's why you chase down rumors in fan magazines—because you trust him. Ria, I know all about you. I know you grew up poor and hungry. I know about the three husbands before Mr. Gable, each one a little higher up the financial ladder than the last one. I know you're a hard worker who took a position in a jewelry shop because the high-end clientele would be better catches than the men on the oil rigs. You are ambitious, and there is nothing wrong with that. But don't accuse my daughter of the things you have been guilty of—I won't have it.”

“You're out of line, Mrs. Belzer.” Ria stood. “You don't have your facts straight.”

“It's not easy to track down the truth when one has had so many surnames. Mrs. Gable, let me make something very clear. No one
comes between me and my daughter, or me and any of my children. We are a team. Our family has built a life with hard work, fair play, and good morals. For you to assume that my daughter is anything less than the gracious, talented, and kind-hearted young woman she is, is an insult to my entire family.”

“I'm not wrong about Loretta Young.”

“Then prove it. Trade in the Schiaparelli suit for a pair of dungarees and waders and hire a dogsled. Climb Mount Baker to see with your own eyes what is going on up there. Knowing my daughter, you'll find her turning in a great performance, minus any monkey business. However, I can't vouch for your husband.”

Gladys waited to hear the engine turn in Ria's car before she jumped on the phone.

“Room fourteen, please. Alda? What the hell is going on up there?”

“We were hit with another snowstorm. Production is delayed again. This one could take a few days to clear.”

“I'm not interested in the weather. Is Gretchen carrying on with Mr. Gable?”

“They're good friends.”

“Is it a romance?”

“Loretta is steering clear because he's married.”

Gladys heaved a sigh of relief. “Why the rumors?”

“There are only three women on this mountain—four, if you count the cook.”

“So the gossip is just that.”

“Yes, Mrs. Belzer.”

“Mrs. Gable just left, and she's hearing things. I'm not so worried about Gretchen, but Gable is another story. Don't let my daughter out of your sight.”

Alda wanted to share that it was not Loretta but
she
that had fallen in love on Mount Baker, and had a nasty breakup, and perhaps therein lay the confusion. Evidently the facts had been twisted as they snowballed down the mountain in a typical
Modern Screen
fashion. Alda hoped she had reassured the woman who brought her to Hollywood that her mind was solely on the business of Loretta Young.

The cabin fever was so intense at the Mount Baker Inn that the company of
The Call of the Wild
would do anything to break it. Bill Wellman had called off filming exteriors when a powerful blizzard made it impossible to navigate the roads the studio had carved out in the snow. It was so cold the cameras froze.

After the storm had passed, the mountain was theirs once more. The company huddled together and thought of new ways to entertain themselves. The crew, headed by Luca, took a day to build a fire pit in the field between the inn and the barn, with a circular bench made of packed snow and ice, igloo style, around it. Gable helped chop wood to make the outdoor fire, relieved to do something, anything physical after being cooped up.

In the kitchen, Elvira was forced to be creative; staples were running low for the hungry company. Elvira operated the waffle iron as Alda and Loretta made a third batch of batter. Fresh, delicate, buttery waffles were stacked on trays all around them.

“Almost ready for the snow,” Elvira said.

“I'll get Mr. Gable,” Loretta volunteered.

“I need about six gallons—so tell him to fill the silver tub on the porch. I need icy snow—not top layer, but white ice below the surface.”

“Got it.”

Alda hadn't spoken to Loretta about her mother's call, but she had been diligent about being present whenever the costars were together. There seemed to be nothing between them deeper than on-set flirting. They had long conversations and took their meals together, but Alda had seen the same behavior with Loretta's costars on other movies. But to be safe, and mind Gladys Belzer's request, Alda asked, “Do you want me to go with you?”

“Nope, finish the waffles.”

Loretta pulled on her coat, hat, and gloves. The kitchen was hot, and the cold night air felt good against her face as she pushed the door open. The crew was gathered around the fire, laughing, talking, and smoking. As Loretta passed, a grip offered her a cigarette, which she happily accepted.

“Where's Gable?” she asked, puffing the cigarette.

“Gathering wood,” the grip said.

Loretta trudged to the woodpile behind the inn. She found Gable, in his full-length lynx fur coat, picking up logs to bring to the fire.

“Need your help, Clark. Elvira's ready to make the snow cream.”

“Here.” Gable handed her logs, then picked up more on his own. Loretta dropped the cigarette in the snow and followed him to the pit. The crew cheered as they dumped the wood into the fire, which roared to a mighty blaze.

“Come on, sis,” Gable said to Loretta.

He took her arm as they hiked across the field to the barn. On the porch, he grabbed a saw from a hook, a flashlight, and the silver tub Elvira had washed and prepared for the blocks of snow.

Gable flipped on the flashlight to guide their way. The beam danced on the snow, making the surface sparkle like diamonds in a store window at high noon.

Loretta followed Gable over the hill to the middle of a pristine field that rolled out before them like an expanse of white velvet. The sky overhead was a clear midnight blue, speckled with tiny pink stars.

“Heavenly,” she said, taking in the view.

“You can think in a place like this,” Gable said as he set up the tub and saw. “Away from the world and all its problems. I'm going to have this someday, kid.”

The laughter of the crew traveled across the snowy fields like music as Gable knelt down and sawed a block of snow from the drifts. Loretta helped him lift the solid block into the tub.

“May I try?” she asked. “Looks like fun.”

Gable handed her the saw.

Loretta plunged the saw into the snow. She couldn't get the blade to budge. “What am I doing wrong?”