All the Stars in the Heavens (5 page)

“How long have you been working in pictures?”

“Longer than I've been smoking.” Loretta sat down and showed Alda a chair. “This little table is where I do all the heavy lifting before I go to the studio. I learn my lines and I make notes.”

“How can I help?”

“We'll have to figure it out as we go along. Is that all right with you?”

Alda nodded.

“Now, you've had a long trip, and I bet you could use a good soak and a nap.”

“I'm not tired.”

“I insist. I'll get you up in time for dinner. It ought to be good. I saw Ruby making dumplings.”

“How many more people live here?”

Loretta laughed. “You've met everyone but the baby. She's in school. Her name is Georgie.”

“So there aren't as many children as there are doors?”

“My brother Jackie is in law school. When he comes home for breaks, he stays with another family.”

“Why?”

Loretta shrugged. “He likes them. I used to play at Mae Murray's house. Met her on a set. She was a big star in the silents. She didn't have children of her own, so Mama loaned us out. My cousin Carlene and I loved it. We took dance classes, went to parties. We played in Mae's closet. Our house is nothing compared to Mae Murray's.”

“How is that possible?” Alda wondered.

“I became a serious actress because of Mae. You see, I wanted her closet. Mae's big life stoked my ambition. I've yammered on enough. You need to unpack. If you need anything, just knock on my door.” Loretta smiled.

Alda sat in the rocking chair in her new room. She had been anxious on the train, and now she was plain worried. Alda had nothing in common with these girls. She had no idea how to be a secretary, and it seemed as though Loretta knew even less. Alda was frustrated that Mother Superior had dismissed her so casually. How dare the Mother Superior pawn her off on a family she didn't know, in a city she had never seen, in a country she had not yet claimed as home?

When Alda entered the convent, she had offered up her long hours at work and her homesickness for Italy to God, but here in Beverly Hills, where the Young sisters lived in luxury, she felt disconnected from the world she knew and the life she had built. Her faith did her little good in this moment; in fact, she questioned how she had ended up here, when all she ever wanted to do was serve her church, her God, and the unwed mothers of Saint Elizabeth's. If this was her fate, and it surely seemed to be, she wondered if she would ever find
any meaning in it. What kind of a woman was she supposed to be in this castle, where every object, piece of furniture, and inhabitant was dazzling beyond measure?

Alda decided she must return home to Italy. It seemed like the only option. She had to start over and figure out a way to go back to the beginning. She had no idea how much the ticket cost, or how she would get to New York City to board a transatlantic liner. Perhaps she could convince Mrs. Belzer to loan her the money for a return passage. The thought of asking such a thing of someone who before a few hours ago had been a stranger made her feel helpless. Alda began to cry, and soon she was sobbing.

A girl of nine with a high ponytail and wide-set hazel eyes, wearing coveralls, pushed the door open. She observed Alda in tears. “Don't you like your room?”

Alda sat up straight and dried her tears. “No, it's very nice.”

“I'm Georgiana.”

“I'm Alda.”

“Where are you from?”

“San Francisco.”

“Why do you sound like Dolores del Río?”

“Who's that?”

“She has an accent like you.”

“I'm Italian.”

“I don't know where Dolores is from. She's in pictures.”

“Is everybody in Los Angeles in pictures?”

“Practically all.”

“You too?”

“Yep.”

“Do you like it?”

“Somebody brings you lunch. And you get to play on the grid.”

“What's a grid?”

“It's on the ceiling. Some people call it a catwalk. But I never saw a cat up there. That's where the wires are for the electricity.”

“That doesn't sound safe.”

“It isn't. If you get caught, they call your mother.”

“So why do you do it?”

“Because it's fun.”

“Well, I guess that's as good a reason as any.”

“Are you going to stay here forever?”

“I don't know.”

“You should. Mama has a good cook. Her name is Ruby.”

“I heard.”

“And we have a big yard. Did you see the pool?”

“It's very nice.”

“Do you know how to swim?”

“Oh yes, I used to swim when I was a girl.”

“So put your suit on and we'll go swimming.”

“I don't have a suit.”

“Borrow one from Gretchen. Everybody else does.”

Alda dove into the swimming pool. The warm water enveloped her, clear and blue, reminding her of the water of the Adriatic off the coast of Rimini, where her parents took the family to visit their cousins every summer.

Georgie jumped in and swam over to her. “Nobody ever swims with me.”

“Why not?”

“Gretchen hates the pool. She likes to look at it, but she doesn't want to get in it. Polly and Sally never want to ruin their hair. They're busy trying to get boyfriends.”

“How do you know?”

“The guys come over here. Sometimes they stay for supper. I hate it. Mama makes them come to dinner so she can give them the once-over.”

“How does your father feel about that?”

A look of pain flashed across Georgie's face. She dove underwater and swam to the end of the pool. She surfaced and gripped the wall, her back to Alda.

Alda swam to her. “Georgiana. Did I say something wrong?”

“You're mean.”

“I am?”

“My dad left us. He doesn't live here anymore.”

“I'm sorry.”

“He doesn't like the movies. Says that Hollywood ruined his life. He doesn't like me.”

“That's not true.”

“How do you know?”

“Because every father loves his daughter. How could he not? You're so much fun.”

“I know.”

“And you're a good swimmer.”

“I'm the best swimmer in the family.”

“I'm sure your father knows that.”

“He taught me how to swim.”

Georgie demonstrated her backstroke all the way to the deep end. Alda followed her, extending her arms over her head.

“You're too slow!” Georgie laughed.

“I'm rusty!” Alda called back to her. As Alda floated on the surface, the sky overhead reminded her of the deep blue the artist Giotto used on the ceiling of the Scrovegni Chapel in Padua. Staying with a family in their home reminded her of her own, whom she missed terribly.

Loretta and Polly watched Alda swim with Georgie from the balcony off Loretta's bedroom.

“What do you think of her?” Loretta asked.

“I'm not sure. What do you think?” Polly sat on the window seat.

“Alda got baby sister off our backs, so that's already a plus.”

“Don't you wonder why she got kicked out?”

“She didn't fit in. That's what Father McNally told Ma.” Loretta sat next to her sister, pulling her knees close to her chest.

“But why? What did she do?”

“I've been fired from jobs. They never really tell you.”

“That's true,” Polly reasoned. “But why did she leave Italy in the first place?”

“Who knows?”

“Shouldn't you ask her?”

“Why do people ever leave home? They have to. Come on. She seems nice. So she's timid. It's her first day,” Loretta reasoned.

“She's awfully backward. How is she going to survive at the studio?”

“She's smart. Evidently. She worked in a hospital.”

“She only has one dress.”

“How do you know?” Loretta asked.

“I looked in her closet.”

“Polly!”

“I know. Terrible of me.”

Loretta watched as Alda swam the length of the pool at a clip as she raced Georgie. “She can swim like a fish.”

“Yeah, but we're in show business. Not the Olympics. We're going to have to help her, you know.”

“I know.” Loretta went to her closet, opening both doors. She surveyed the contents like a librarian looking through the stacks.

“This is what you get when you go through the church instead of an employment agency.” Polly sighed. “Can you send her back if it doesn't work out?”

“I don't think so.” Loretta emerged from her closet carrying three dresses, a pair of shoes, and a set of pajamas. “Father McNally sent her. When has he ever steered us wrong?”

“Priests don't know everything.”

Loretta went down the hallway to Alda's room. She wasn't about to get in an argument with Polly. Loretta was a lot like Gladys Belzer in that way; she did not like to fight. Gladys never raised her voice, and Loretta didn't either.

“Where are you going?” Polly followed her sister down the hallway into Alda's room. Loretta opened Alda's closet door.

“Alda needs clothes. What have you got?”

“Don't drag me into your charity projects.”

“And don't give me any guff. Go and see what you have, and check Sally's closet too. I've loaned her enough clothes; she can give something to Alda.”

Loretta hung the dresses in Alda's closet neatly, put the shoes on the shelf, and lay the pajamas on the bed. Polly came in with new stockings in a box, and a linen bag of new underpants.

Loretta looked in the bag. “I gave you these for your birthday.”

“I didn't like them.”

“Good to know.”

“At least they're new.”

“When you give, it's supposed to hurt.” Loretta placed Polly's donations in the dresser drawer. “When you give something you didn't want anyway, it doesn't count.”

“Nobody likes a martyr, Gretch.”