The Slipper (57 page)

“He's your half brother in the film, right?”

“And Loni breaks up our affair and makes me get an abortion and the people in Jerico find out about it and I get a bad reputation and—and that's why the football players take me out to the woods. Phil beats the bejesus out of them in the school gym when he finds out about it and then goes out to the woodshed behind his house and—and today I found the body.”

“It's a crazy way to make a living,” Lund said.

Julie nodded and Lund ordered another glass of wine for her and then began to tell her about an amusing incident in the kitchen at Meadows Inn and she forgot the emotional stress of the scene and began to relax. This was so much better than taking pills and sinking into oblivion. What was she going to do when she no longer had him to help her through the strain? She didn't want to think about that. It would be over all too soon.

And on a morning in the second week of November she was in makeup and costume by eight and it was a brilliant sun-spangled day and they were in front of the castle perched on a hillside overlooking the town. A huge gray stone edifice with several turrets, it had been the home of an eccentric Hungarian countess for almost sixty years and had recently been purchased by two interior decorators from New York who planned to turn it into a hotel. It made the perfect Jerico's castle of the title. Julie smiled as Carolyn Jones joined her, looking very exotic and attractive in her severe black shift and multicolored costume jewelry. A brilliant, vibrant young actress many critics had compared to a young Bette Davis, Carolyn was playing the art teacher and doing it with consummate skill. This was the last scene to be shot on location and everyone was eager to get it over with as quickly as possible.

By nine-fifteen everything was ready. Julie crushed out her cigarette and she and Carolyn took their places. John gave them a few final instructions and moved away and they began filming a few minutes later and everything went beautifully. The two young women strolled up the slope and paused at the appointed spot and gazed up at the castle and Carolyn explained to Julie that it had been built by a famous nineteenth-century sculptress who had lived here with her female companion, the strong castle walls protecting their love from the eyes and the condemnation of those who might pry. Some love had to be protected by castle walls, she added. They exchanged a look and Julie nodded sadly and Carolyn took her hand and John yelled “Cut!” and it was over, they had done it in a single take and everyone was jubilant.

Hannah had already started packing when Julie got back to the inn at twelve o'clock. Lund picked her up at one and they had lunch at his house, neither of them wanting to be around other people on this, their last afternoon. Lund had prepared a salad and sliced cold turkey and ham and bought a bottle of fine white wine, but Julie merely toyed with her food and Lund gazed at her with sad resignation. There was to be a gala party at one of the restaurants that evening. Julie had to attend and she had asked him to come with her, but Lund had refused, knowing he would feel awkward and out of place. She was leaving early the next morning. This was the last time they would be together, and it wasn't working. Both of them were miserable and pretending not to be and it was a terrible strain. Julie finally said she really should get back to the inn to help Hannah with the packing and Lund nodded, actually relieved. He suggested they walk as it was only a short distance and such a lovely day.

The last leaves of autumn were falling as they moved slowly down the sidewalk. Lund told her that the first snow would be here soon and the skiing season would begin and South Medford would be transformed into a merry winter playground. Julie said she wished she could be here to see it. Lund said he would love to teach her how to ski. Julie said that would be great fun, and then she fell silent, afraid to say any more, afraid her voice would tremble and all the things she really wanted to say would come rushing out. They turned the corner and started up another street, gold and yellow leaves scuttling along the sidewalk before them.

“I suppose you'll be very busy once you get back,” he said.

“I will be. We'll be filming all the interiors. John hopes to finish by the tenth of December, but—you never can tell. It may take longer.”

“I'm going to miss you, Julie,” he said.

“I—I know. I'll miss you, too.”

“I love you,” he said.

“Lund—”

“I love you, and I want to marry you. I know I can't. I know it's out of the question, but—I'll always be here, Julie. I'll always love you. If ever you should need me, if ever—”

He broke off before he made a complete ass of himself. He didn't say anything else until they reached the inn. They stopped in front of the steps, and Lund thrust his hands into his pockets, rocked back on his heels and affected a casual air he was far from feeling. He was wearing his soft brown suede jacket and a dark-blond wave had tumbled over his brow.

“Look,” he said, “I—uh—I have a few errands to run in town. I'm not coming in with you. I guess this is it. No point in my seeing you off in the morning, things will be frantic enough as it is. Give Danny a hug for me, will you? I'm going to miss him, too. Take care, Julie. Please take care of yourself.”

“I will,” she promised. “Good-bye, Lund.”

“Good-bye,” he said.

“And—thank you,” she added. “Thank you so much for everything.”

Julie turned then and hurried on into the inn. She went to the party with John that night and forced herself to smile, forced herself to act festive, and the grief inside was like a living thing eating away at her. She drank far too much champagne and when she woke up at dawn she had a wretched hangover and the bustle and confusion of leaving was even worse than she had anticipated. Danny was impossible, he didn't want to leave, and Hannah was frantic over a suitcase she was convinced one of the bellboys had misplaced. At seven-thirty they were climbing into the car that would take them to the airport and she hoped against hope that he had changed his mind, that he would show up at the last moment and see them off. He didn't. Danny was crying as they drove out of town and Julie held him in her arms, held him tightly, fighting to hold back tears of her own. It was over now. She would never see him again. She would just have to forget Lund Jensen, put him out of her mind completely. It was the sensible thing to do.

16

Accustomed to the damp, drizzle and cold of Paris in winter, Carol was amazed that it could be so lovely here in California in mid-January. Silvery-blond hair pulled back in a neat bun, dark glasses hiding her eyes, she was wearing a pale apricot wool shift and a matching apricot coat belted at the waist, an elegant ensemble created for her by Chanel, and it was really a bit too warm. Brilliant sunlight spilled down from a clear blue-white sky this Saturday afternoon. Most of the people strolling on Hollywood Boulevard wore no coats at all. Several of them recognized her. Carol could see their reactions, first surprise, then doubt, then certainty followed by staring. A plump matron in stretch pants and a flowered overblouse nudged her even plumper companion and pointed.

“It
is
her! I told-ja, Mabel.”

“She's gorgeous!” Mabel exclaimed.

“And walkin' down Hollywood Boulevard just like a normal person. People back in Sioux City aren't gonna believe it when I tell 'em.”

Carol repressed a smile. She was walking down Hollywood Boulevard just like a normal person because there were no parking places anywhere near Pickwick's and she had had to park in a lot four blocks away. There were several nice bookstores in Beverly Hills, but Pickwick's, here in
the
heart of Hollywood proper, had the best and largest selection. Carol walked inside and removed her dark glasses pausing to examine the new releases stacked up on one of the front tables.
Assembly
, a collection of short stories by John O'Hara. She would have to buy that one, and
The Prize
, a new novel by Irving Wallace. She had met Wallace and his lovely wife, Sylvia, at a party last month and both had exuded genial charm. She and Sylvia had had a fascinating conversation, Mrs. Wallace holding her spellbound with tales about her days as the youngest fan magazine editor in Hollywood.

Carol picked up three more new books and carried them to the counter and asked the clerk if he would hold them while she browsed some more. The clerk did a double take when he recognized her, said he'd be glad to and watched as she went over to the children's section to select some picture books for Danny. That was the reason she had come, but Carol could never go into a bookstore without buying half a dozen things for herself. She picked out several colorful, amusing books she thought Danny would like and carried them back to the counter.

“Shall I ship these for you, Miss Martin?” the clerk asked as she handed him a check.

“I'll take them with me,” she replied.

“You'll enjoy the new Wallace. It's his best yet. We can hardly keep it in the store.”

“I enjoy all his books. His first,
The Fabulous Originals
, is one of my all-time favorites.”

“Miss Martin?”

The voice was soft and husky. Carol turned, surprised. The man had silver hair and warm blue eyes and a pleasant smile. He was quite distinguished-looking and impeccably groomed in a gray suit and a subdued wine-colored tie. He was lean and extremely tall, so tall she had to tilt her head back slightly to look into his eyes.

“I thought it was you,” he said.

“Mr. Dougherty. How nice to see you again.”

The clerk handed Carol her package of books. Blake Dougherty handed him a copy of
Flowering Judas
by Katherine Anne Porter, and the clerk rang it up on the cash register.

“Do you read a great deal?” Dougherty inquired.

“As much as I can,” Carol said. “I love Katherine Anne Porter, by the way.”

He smiled, handing the clerk a bill. “You have exquisite taste. I wanted to reread these stories. It's been ages, and I couldn't find my copy. I fear it's been boxed up and stored away along with thousands of other books I no longer have room for in the house. I hope it isn't lost. It's a signed first edition. Katherine Anne wrote a special inscription.”

“You knew her?”

“Many, many years ago, when both of us were considerably younger, when I fancied myself a writer, too.”

Dougherty took his change and the book from the clerk, and the two of them walked out of the store together.

“I didn't know you wrote,” Carol said.

“It's a deep, dark secret,” he told her, “and it was a long time ago. Katherine Anne was the worldly, experienced older woman every young man should be fortunate enough to know. She gave me a lot of encouragement, but the results were hardly earth-shaking. One small book of short stories, published, I daresay, before you were born.”

“I would love to read them one day.”

“Perhaps I'll send you a copy. Are you in a hurry, Miss Martin?”

“Not particularly.”

“I wonder if you'd like a cup of coffee. C. C. Brown's is just down the street.”

“I'd love a cup of coffee.”

“Let me carry that package for you. It looks heavy.”

C. C. Brown's had the best ice cream in town and their hot fudge sundaes were famous, each served with a separate pitcher of hot fudge on the side, to pour on yourself. Although temptation was immense, Dougherty and Carol settled for coffee. Carol watched with envy as a waitress carried a tray of sundaes over to a group of young people in one of the booths.

“Sure you don't want one?” Dougherty asked.

“I'd love one but, unfortunately, I'm working right now and, as I'm sure you know, the cameras add a good ten to fifteen pounds. If someone wanted to do something really worthwhile they would invent a lens that made us actresses look
thinner
. We're all starving to death.”

Blake Dougherty smiled and stirred sugar into his coffee. Carol had been impressed with him when she met him at the party at Romanoff's after the premiere of
The Slipper
, but she hadn't realized just how good-looking he really was. He had lean patrician features and a deeply tanned complexion that made his thick silver hair all the more striking in contrast. His mouth was full and firm and beautifully shaped, and his blue eyes were warm and intelligent, sad as well. Carol knew his wife was suffering from an extremely rare blood disease and was now being cared for in a private clinic. She wondered if she should inquire about her condition but finally decided against it. Lolly and Blake Dougherty had been one of Hollywood's most admired couples for over twenty years, he a dynamic and innovative producer, she a renowned hostess. They were at the top of the “A” list in Hollywood society, their annual parties rivaling those of Basil and Ouida Rathbone in elegance. He was a gentleman in a town where gentlemen were scarce, but there was nothing soft about him. He exuded power and confidence and that, of course, made him all the more attractive.

“So how are they treating you at Universal?” he asked.

“They're treating me like royalty,” she confessed. “I have my own bungalow, complete with kitchen, bath and sitting room—I think it belonged to Yvonne DeCarlo when she was queen of the lot. They completely redecorated it for me in my favorite colors and fabrics, and I also have a luxurious trailer on the set itself. It's a far cry from making films in France, I can assure you.”

“How is the filming going?”

“Marvelously well. Edith Head has designed a fabulous wardrobe, I drip furs in every scene, it seems, and Ross is letting me keep the clothes. David Miller is directing—he's a dream to work with—and Sean Garrison is my leading man. He's wonderfully handsome and a very good actor. Faye Holden plays his mother and—and that worries me a little.”

“Is Faye giving you a hard time?”