All the Stars in the Heavens Page 12

  As secretary to the costar of the movie, Alda held a prestigious position. Finally she was no longer a nun pretending to be a secretary but a full person in her own right, earning her keep by hours on the job. She sat up a little higher in the booth, knowing her value.

  “Where are you from, Luca?” Alda asked him.

  “Brooklyn.”

  “Before Brooklyn.” She smiled.

  “His people were on a boat,” Oakie joked.

  The crew roared with laughter.

  “So was I.” Alda gave Oakie a look.

  “I am Neapolitan,” Luca began. “My parents came from Naples and settled in New York. I was born here. I’m as all-American as a hamburger and a glass of cold beer.”

  “I’m from Padua,” Alda offered.

  “The home of Saint Anthony,” Luca said.

  “It means I never get lost. And when I lose something, I find it.”

  Noticing the spark between Alda and Luca, Loretta kept her eyes on her menu.

  “Get the ladies some breakfast,” Jack Oakie called to the porter. “Hot coffee to start. Cream?”

  “Yes, please,” Loretta said.

  “That’s where that peaches complexion comes from.”

  “Stop flirting with Loretta, Jack.” Bill Wellman looked up from his newspaper.

  “You call that flirting? I will have you know that line isn’t even circling. It’s not even for starters,” Oakie protested.

  “That’s a good thing, Jack. Because it will get you nowhere,” Loretta promised.

  The train car erupted in laughter, including a chuckle from Clark Gable.

  “I better get tight with Buck the dog,” Oakie joked.

  The porters had turned down Loretta’s berth. The satin comforter was folded back and the pillows fluffed. There was a pot of hot tea on the table, two sugar cookies beside it. Loretta studied her script on the coffee table, puffing on a cigarette without taking her eyes off the words. Wellman had given her two new scenes. She had marked them with her symbols, and was learning her lines.

  As the train snaked up the coastline, the wheels settled into a soothing rhythm. Loretta raised her shade, turned off her lamp, and looked out. The ocean rolled out before her like a bolt of black velvet, while the stars overhead were fixed like silver sequins. The night sky was so clear it seemed that Loretta could see all the stars in the heavens.

  She closed the window and was turning back to the script when she saw a shadow pass by her door. Loretta waited a bit, and then slowly rolled open the door to peek out. Looking down the hallway, she saw Alda entering the club car. On this train, with this clientele, Loretta figured she would be safe.

  Loretta closed the door and went back to her script.

  As the distance from Los Angeles grew, so did the distance between Loretta and Spencer Tracy. She began to feel free of her problems and more like herself again. Father McNally had promised that the pain from her broken heart would lessen with each passing day. Maybe he was right. It helped that she had seen Spencer and his wife at midnight mass at Good Shepherd. While her heart was full of love for him, she felt relief from the guilt that had weighed on her for so long. She hoped Spencer was free of it, too.

  Loretta had gone for counseling every Friday evening since she was denied absolution, and it had helped. She had gone to see Father McNally before the trip so he could give her a special blessing. He had given her a book of prayers to read on Sundays, since in the remote area there was no way she could make it to mass. Father had helped in other ways as well.

  Loretta learned that she had to be specific when she asked God for something; she had to trust that He would come through for her in His fashion, in His time. Loretta prayed for wisdom, and that night she also prayed for stamina. Once they reached Bellingham, she had to match these men, task by task and scene by scene, in treacherous conditions. That night she prayed for strength. She figured God would take care of the rest.

  When Alda pushed the door open on the club car, the first thing she saw was the back of Luca’s head, a storm cloud of black curls. She pressed her lips together, having just reapplied her lipstick. She tucked her hair behind her ear and joined him. Luca sat up in his chair and smiled, happy to see her.

  “Parla Italiano?” she asked.

  “Poco,” he replied. “You’ll have to teach me.” He grinned.

  “Didn’t your parents speak Italian?”

  “They spoke it to each other, but didn’t teach us.”

  “Why not?”

  “We’re Americans.”

  “But they named you Luca.”

  “My father’s name. There are eight kids in my family. We all have Italian names, except the baby. She’s eleven.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Nancy.”

  “Now that’s American.”

  “No kidding.”

  “Mr. Gable calls you Chet.”

  “He gave me my nickname. I’ve known him since Manhattan Melodrama.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I’m a scene painter. What did you think I did for a living?”

  “I wasn’t sure. I haven’t learned all the jobs on a film set. I’ve only been with Miss Young for a few months, and most of the time I’m in a storage room answering fan mail.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “She’s been very kind to me.”

  “People say she’s nice. Had a big bust-up with Spencer Tracy.”

  Alda blushed. “I wouldn’t know about that.”

  “That’s very politic of you.”

  “Tell me more about your work.”

  “I paint whatever they need. I spent the last month painting the interior of the mansion in It Happened One Night. I made plywood look like Italian marble. I go from one picture to the next.”

  “Like the actors.”

  “Just like the actors. We finish one job and start a new one.”

  “How did you get into pictures?”

  “I went to art school in New York, and one of my professors thought I could handle this kind of work. So I came out to California with a letter of recommendation from him, and they put me on a crew at MGM that same day. I learned about white paint. When you work for Cedric Gibbons, you realize how many shades of white there can be. How did you get your job?”

  “I was in the convent.”

  Luca Chetta turned pale. “You’re a nun?” Every impure thought that Luca had about Alda rose to the surface of his skin like a case of measles. “I’m sorry, Sister.”

  “No, no, I’m not a nun. I didn’t make it.”

  “Whew.” Luca exhaled. “Why were you in the convent?”

  “Most people would wonder why they let me go.”

  “I can see why they let you go. You don’t look like a nun.”

  “I can thank the Young sisters for that.”

  “Maybe I should thank them.” Luca leaned in close to her.

  “If you want to thank anyone, you might want to thank my Mother Superior. She’s the one who dismissed me and sent me to Los Angeles.”

  “I’ll send her a box of chocolates parcel post the minute we hit Seattle.” Luca took her hand.

  “Mr. Chetta.”

  “Yes, bella?”

  “There are two women on this train. One is the star of the movie, and the other is me.”

  “And there’s a cook, Elvira.”

  “I haven’t met her yet. My point is, I might be pretty to you because I have no competition.”

  “Not true.”

  “You don’t have a lot of choice here.”

  “But you do.”

  “But you don’t.”

  “Are you saying that I’m not picky?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  “Alda, I’m thirty-four years old, and I’m not married. I’m past picky. I’m on my way to old bachelorhood.” He took Alda’s hands in his.

  “You move too fast, Luca.” Alda pulled her hands away.

  “No such t
hing.”

  “Yes, there is such a thing! I met you at breakfast.”

  “Nope. Time is a tool to use however you wish. You never know anything about anything. That’s why you have to grip the rope and climb it. Right now. Right here. In this moment. This could be it for us. There could be an avalanche in Bellingham. This train could take the wrong turn, and we’re at the bottom of the ocean. We could get to Mount Baker and be eaten by wolves.”

  “Or not.”

  “Oh, Alda. Take it easy. I’m already crazy about you.”

  “But you don’t know me.”

  “I don’t? How about this? You got a big, sad heart. And big opera eyes. I want to understand why you’re sad. And I want to look into those eyes of yours forever.”

  “You sound like a movie script.”

  “A good one, I hope!”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “I am. I can see everything. You’ve been alone so long, you don’t even know what to look for in a man, but I’m telling you, I promise you—you don’t have to look. I’m right here. I’m all you need.”

  “I should go.” Alda stood.

  The train took a turn, and she tumbled back into the seat. Luca jumped out of his and helped her up.

  “We aren’t going into the ocean, are we?”

  “No, that was a glitch. Probably some kids put a penny on the track. That’s all it takes for a bump.”

  “I think I should go back to my berth now.”

  “I’ll take you.”

  “I know my way.” Alda stood, but her knees were buckling. She wondered if it was the train, or the things that Luca Chetta had said to her.

  “Outside the convent, a man walks a woman home.”

  Luca pushed the button on the door. He took Alda’s hand and helped her jump from one car to the other. He pushed open the door to the sleeper car and walked her back to her berth.

  “Good night, Mr. Chetta.”

  He placed his hand over hers as she attempted to unlatch the door quickly.

  “Alda?”

  She turned to him. “Yes, Luca?”

  Luca took her in his arms and kissed her.

  “Good night, Miss Ducci.” He bowed ever so slightly to her.

  She went inside her berth and shut the door behind her. She went to the window, rolled up the shade, and opened it. It seemed she had forgotten how to breathe. She leaned out of the window and gulped in the fresh air, taking in the black night, the silver stars, and the scent of night-blooming jasmine.

  Alda tried to imagine where she would be had Gladys Belzer never sent the letter to Father McNally, who had contacted the Mother Superior. Alda might have taken her final vows, worked in the convent orphanage, or discovered meaning anew in a prayer recited at vespers: just another day in the life of a nun. Instead she was on this train, off for an adventure.

  Alda’s world had opened up like a night sky in full moonlight. Without ever having dreamed of it, she was working in Hollywood in the movies. She bore witness to the creativity and ideas, arguments, and struggles that went into making pictures. She saw a costume designer agonize over fabric swatches, a makeup artist take a few minutes to attach a single eyelash to a leading lady’s eyelid, and a cameraman invent a new angle on the fly just moments before a producer exercised his ultimate power by actually turning off the electricity when a director went into overtime after promising he would not.

  Alda owed all these experiences to Loretta, who included her in her life at home and at the studio. Loretta never made Alda feel backward, even though she could be. Loretta was incapable of being dismissive, and she was strong, which some took as a star turn or less than feminine. Alda appreciated Loretta’s honesty, though, and looked to her as an example of how to be a modern woman and conduct herself professionally.

  All around the movie studio, Alda observed working women—actresses, artisans, writers, costumers, musicians, and secretaries. Some had families, others longed for them, but they were all hardworking and, no matter their level of education, eager to learn and advance in their departments.

  Alda had come to appreciate the chorines, who by reputation were considered flip and silly. Rumors of their brief yet numerous love affairs scandalized the lot, but when it came to their work, they were complete professionals. They danced in multiple movies, shooting several at a time on the lot. They went from set to set in their rehearsal clothes, took a quick look at a dance notator’s grid and would, in one run-through, master a difficult routine. They were the athletes of the studio system.

  Whether the young women employed at the studio were living in the frivolous years of youth or had mouths to feed at home, they threw themselves into the industry of making movies, grateful for jobs that paid decently. They didn’t think much about artistry because they were there to please the director.

  Everyone lived in fear of the director and the clock.

  Alda was already plenty scared of Bill Wellman. She had no idea what lay ahead on the mountain. For the rest of her life Alda would remember her feelings on this black night—the sweet scent of the jasmine, the kiss she hadn’t agreed to but liked—and it would pull her back to this moment, when she was free. Alda had finally let go of the past in Italy and her years in the convent, determined to live in the world on her own terms. Alda felt the train move beneath her as it picked up speed, charging through the dark, taking her out of her old life and into a new one.

  Loretta rolled up the shade on her window as the sun came up, and looked out over the mountains of northern California. The sky was gray except for a stripe of orange on the horizon.

  An early riser by habit, Loretta was dressed for the day and hungry. She grabbed her script and went to the dining car, pushing the button that opened the glass doors. Stale smoke and the scent of good bourbon hung in the air from the all-night party that had ended a couple hours earlier. The dining car was empty except for Clark Gable, who was sitting in the same booth in the same clothes he had worn the day before.

  “Good morning, Mr. Gable,” Loretta said, taking a seat at the booth farthest from him.

  “Miss Young.” He nodded.

  Loretta wore a red corduroy skirt and matching sweater. Her lips were as ruby red as the cashmere. She placed her script on the table and studied the menu.

  “Would you like to sit with me?” Gable said softly.

  Gable’s sweet humility moved her. She smiled. “Would you like me to?”

  “Please.”

  Loretta got up and joined him in his booth.

  “Did you get much sleep?” Taking a good look at him up close, Loretta could see that he hadn’t.

  “A little.”

  “Do you always celebrate before you work?”

  “Not always. Do you always go to bed at nine?”

  “Not always.” She smiled. “I need my beauty sleep.”

  “I don’t think so. I don’t think you need anything.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “Would I?”

  “I’m not even the looker in my family. My sister Sally is a blonde, and she has a wicked crush on you.”

  “She does?”

  “Has since Night Nurse.”

  “I was lousy in it.”

  “I thought so too.”

  Gable threw his head back and laughed. “You mean it?”

  “Of course I mean it. I only signed on to this ship of fools because I saw It Happened One Night. You’re really good in that.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Now you’re supposed to return the compliment. Have you seen any of my pictures?”

  “Here and there.”

  “And what did you think of my work?” she asked.

  “Would we be on this train together if I wasn’t keen on you?”

  “I guess not. You just worked with Robert Leonard. He was my first director. In 1917.”

  “Were you even born then?”

  “I was four years old. Played a fairy.”

  “How did you do?�
�

  “I flew. And I liked it. Did you ever fly?”

  “In Hell Divers.”

  “Not at work, not in an airplane. In your dreams. I get those flying dreams before I start a picture. How about you?”

  “No dreams. Just garden-variety anxiety. I mostly worry if I’m going to look an idiot.”

  “That’s why you stayed up all night. If you stay awake, the fear won’t get you.”

  “Oh, it’ll get me regardless.”

  “I wouldn’t worry. As long as you’re acting with me, we’ll get it right.”

  “How big of you to give me a chance after Night Nurse.”

  “Why wouldn’t I? Every actor I know has one or two pictures they’d like to bury in the desert.”

  “What would you bury?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Loretta thought it over. “I’ve made around fifty, so I’d say forty-nine of them.”

  The porter brought the newspaper to Gable. “We stopped in Big Bear last night. Got the latest for you, sir.”

  “Thank you.”

  Gable opened the newspaper and scanned it.

  “Anything interesting?”

  “Just checking if my buddy Niven is in prison yet.”

  Loretta grabbed the newspaper. “Oh, no!” She scanned the paper quickly for his name, but couldn’t find it.

  “I was teasing.” Gable laughed.

  “Thank goodness.”

  “Had to get you back for your bad review of my work.”

  “That wasn’t David Niven’s fault.”

  Gable tried not to smile. “You like Niven?”

  “He’s a good and loyal friend.”

  “If you have one of those in Hollywood, you’re lucky.”

  “It sounds like we both do.”

  Loretta opened her script and started to read the new scenes.

  Gable took note of her focus and concentration. He ordered a pot of black coffee. Loretta wasn’t just any starlet, she wasn’t just any girl—she was something entirely new, and Gable knew he’d have to be stone cold sober to keep up with her.

  6

  As a general leads his soldiers into battle to win, the director leads his actors into a movie with high hopes to create a surefire hit. Bill Wellman led his cast and crew out of Los Angeles on a train, through two states, into Seattle and on to Bellingham, Washington, for a final trek across a snow-covered field to the Mount Baker Inn. Wellman had convinced the studio that the adventure story was best served on location, where dramatic vistas, painterly skylines, and snow were in abundance.