All the Stars in the Heavens Page 16

  The stretch of the Bellingham River that Wellman had scouted the previous spring appeared safe, meandering through the foothills of Mount Baker in ruffles of clear blue. At some points the water was shallow enough to cross, yet in a turn it widened, veins of small streams feeding the river. The water was deceptive; it looked deep but was actually shallow. The swift movement of the waves gave the illusion of a raging river, with plumes of white water rushing over rock formations before pouring into the rapids before a waterfall.

  Gable, Jack Oakie, and Loretta had rehearsed the raft scene on dry land. There was a good stretch of witty dialogue, and the words were important to the story. Wellman needed the trio to master the raft, navigating it down a cleft of the river. He blocked the scene so the actors’ backs were to the camera; this way, he could artfully cut in any dialogue he chose later. Wellman often made story points in voice-over, over the shoulders of actors. It was a trick he employed because he was more interested in getting the visual right. He wanted as much wild as he could get in The Call of the Wild.

  Loretta was wearing a layer of long thermal underwear and a flannel shirt tucked into work jeans trimmed in sturdy oilcloth. The high-waisted pant had a thick belt upon which she had hung hooks, a circle of rope, and a small hammer. Her workboots were laced to the knee. For authenticity’s sake, she tucked a small prop pistol loaded with blanks under the belt on her hip. Her character Claire was savvy, brave, and an equal partner to her missing husband, an explorer in the wild. She was wigged in a low chignon with curly bangs. Alda had artfully sewn lace on the collar of the flannel shirt; Loretta was certain that without a feminine touch, the camera would mistake her for a man in the wide shots.

  “Come on, Gretchen,” Gable teased Loretta, who surveyed the bank of the river carefully.

  Gable had boarded the raft, and dug a guide stick into the river.

  Loretta gripped the safety line and stepped into the shallow water before pulling herself up onto the raft. Gable was there to lift her. Oakie trudged through the shallow water and sat on the edge of the raft, nearly tipping it over. Loretta and Gable hollered and hung on as he threw his legs out of the water and onto the raft, then crawled to standing position. From the shore Wellman cursed Oakie, who pretended he couldn’t hear the director.

  “You’ve really done it this time, Oakie,” Gable chided him.

  “The minute this stops being a goof, I quit.”

  “Have all the fun you want on dry land, but not on the water. I don’t want to freeze to death out here,” Loretta told him.

  “That water’s as cold as a sloe gin fizz.” Oakie chuckled.

  Wellman picked up a bullhorn. “Stay on the raft. We have a problem with the camera.”

  “How long, Captain?” Gable shouted.

  “Don’t know. Just stay put!” Wellman hollered back.

  “Listen kids, I got a plan.” Oakie rubbed his hands together.

  “Don’t ad lib. You’re killing us,” Loretta told him.

  “I’m not talking about the movie. I think I can get us a car.”

  “For what?”

  “We can get out of here on the weekend.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Seattle.”

  “Count me in,” Gable said. Gable was not a man who liked being cooped up, and this movie was beginning to feel like a stint in beggar’s prison.

  “Count me out,” Loretta said.

  “If you go, he”—Oakie pointed to Wellman—“won’t get mad.”

  “Come on, Gretch,” Gable implored.

  “You too?”

  “Yes, I’m begging,” Gable flirted.

  The flirting didn’t sway Loretta; she’d seen him use his wiles on everyone, including Buck the dog.

  “It won’t be any fun without you,” Gable insisted.

  “You’ll do all right. You two on the town, with your fat wallets, liquored up like a couple of bums, and looking for love when you’re not looking for a couple of suckers to take in a card game. No, thank you.”

  Oakie and Gable laughed.

  “This isn’t my first river raft,” she assured them.

  “Gretch, wouldn’t you love a juicy steak and a baked potato? How about a cream puff? A hotel room with fluffy goose-down blankets and soft pillows and heat from a coal furnace, not a fireplace? Think about it. You could put on a pretty dress for a change. And shoes that don’t have laces,” Gable promised.

  “We’d treat you good,” Oakie added.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Loretta hadn’t told anyone that this was her twenty-second birthday. Her sisters had written to her and asked her what she wanted, and she wrote back with a single request: wool socks.

  “Okay, we’re gonna go, kids,” Wellman shouted from his bullhorn. “Set dec is gonna let the raft loose. Clark, take it as far as the turn.”

  Gable waved that he understood.

  Wellman continued, “The guys are below, ready to pull you in—just anchor the raft with your guide stick when you get there.”

  Gable waved again. He said to Oakie, “You must be worth more at the box office than I thought.”

  “I’m gold. Comic relief. You can’t put a price on funny.”

  “Mr. Zanuck puts a price on everything,” Loretta commented. “I’m sure he told you what you were worth with your last paycheck.”

  “You know, Loretta, you piss on the fire with the best of them.”

  Gable navigated the raft to the center of the river, the undertow tugging the raft down the river toward the cleft. It picked up speed and hit a rock. Loretta lurched toward the side; Gable grabbed her by the waist, keeping hold of the stick.

  “I got it!” Oakie grabbed the guide stick. He moved it to stop the raft in the rush of the water, but instead of hitting river bottom, the stick went deep into a pocket of sand in the riverbed, pulling the stick into the water. Oakie got down on his stomach and reached for it. The raft rocked to and fro. The assistant director hollered from the banks as the raft slipped past the point of anchor.

  Wellman and his team ran along the riverbank to meet the team at the cleft.

  “Keep rolling,” he shouted as he ran.

  Gable kneeled in the center of the raft, telling Loretta to lie down in the center to stabilize the raft. Oakie was hanging on, but he’d taken in the waves, and they rushed over the side of the raft. Gable scooped up the lifeline rope, stood, and with the raft moving down river, threw it back to Wellman, who waded into the river and grabbed it. Soon the entire crew was in the water, pulling the raft back toward shore.

  Loretta could feel the undertow of the river pulling them forward. She thought about jumping off and swimming, but worried about the black pockets in the river bottom. They could pull her in, and she’d drown. Gable was cursing, using words she had never heard before. He was angry at the raft, the river, and Wellman.

  Oakie stayed on his stomach, trying to ride the torrents and stay on the raft. Loretta reached for him.

  The raft tipped, and Oakie fell into the rushing water like a stone. Loretta slid to the edge, reaching for him. Oakie surfaced and bobbed in the water like a hunk of driftwood. He went under, and the crew shouted from the shore.

  Gable pulled Loretta back to the center by her feet. “Don’t move!” he shouted.

  Gable lay down, balancing his body on the edge of the raft as he reached for Oakie. He grabbed Oakie’s forearm before he went under again. Oakie sputtered and cursed as Gable pulled him to the raft, now stationary in the middle of the river, thanks to the lifeline rope. He pulled Oakie onto the raft.

  Oakie began to shiver from head to toe. “It felt so warm in the water,” he whispered.

  Gable looked at Loretta as she prayed silently to herself. Oakie could’ve died in the accident, and he almost had—but Gable had saved him. Loretta had never witnessed that kind of courage. She was more than impressed, she was in awe.

  Wellman shouted from the shore, “We’re pulling you in!”

 
Loretta sat up to help Oakie.

  “Stay down, Gretchen,” Gable hollered.

  “Don’t yell at her, it’s my fault,” Oakie said.

  The raft inched toward the shore. A dozen men, with all their strength, water to their waists, pulled the raft against the mighty flow of the river. The raft creaked and rocked. Loretta closed her eyes. She could hear the water rushing under the raft with such force, she wondered if twelve men were enough to pull them safely to shore.

  Gable reached across the raft and put his hand on Loretta’s. It was the only warmth she felt as the crew towed the actors in. As the raft bumped up onto snowy banks, the crew reached for the actors.

  “You’re buying dinner in Seattle, bud,” Gable said to Oakie.

  “I’ll buy the entire town dinner, and French whores for everybody! Sorry, Loretta. I’ll get you a Russian prince.”

  “No, thanks. You can keep him, Jack.”

  Loretta looked at Gable, who kept his eyes on Oakie. She lay still as the crew pulled them to the shore.

  “Secure the raft!” Wellman shouted.

  Loretta looked over at Wellman, who seemed as concerned about the raft as he was about his actors.

  Wellman believed Gable didn’t take his acting work seriously enough, but Loretta did not share that opinion. She had come to appreciate the way her costar approached his work. Gable was all in, for anything that might happen. He was present in the moment, alert and intent when the cameras were rolling. It might not be Wellman’s idea of great acting or technique, but as far as Loretta was concerned, it was as fine a method as any she had seen.

  The crew helped Loretta off the raft. Sitting down on a snowbank, she took deep breaths to steady her heart. The costume crew draped Oakie in blankets to take him back to the hotel. Gable came off the raft, and in a few feet of water, helped secure it to the shore. He trudged out of the frigid water.

  “Reset, Mr. Rosher?” Gable said to the director of photography.

  “Hell, no. Got the whole debacle.”

  “Print?” Gable asked.

  “Oh, yeah, we got it,” Wellman said.

  Loretta wearily climbed the steps to her hotel room. She pushed the door open, closed it behind her, and immediately began to undress, laying her wet costume pieces on the bathroom floor. She pulled on a warm chenille robe.

  When she returned from the bathroom, she saw a large box at the foot of her bed. She was elated to see the return address: Sunset House in Bel Air.

  Loretta removed a hairpin from her chignon and ripped into the package. There was a frilly birthday card signed by her mother, her sisters, and Ruby. Polly wrote a newsy note about her new beau Carter Hermann (Gladys-approved). Sally was out on the town with director Norman Foster (Gladys-approved). Life was going on without Loretta in Los Angeles. She was happy for her sisters but painfully aware that she was alone. Her sisters tried to make Loretta’s birthday a happy one. The wool socks she had requested were tied with string, a lollipop anchored in each sock.

  A stack of fan magazines was tied with a ribbon. Loretta quickly shuffled through them, finding Joan Crawford, Janet Gaynor, and Myrna Loy on the covers. The sight of them in their furs and finery made her long for home. She set them aside and dug into the contents.

  The box was filled with glorious food: cellophane packages of noodles, German cured sausages, wedges of hard cheese, a bottle of olive oil, and a jar of Greek olives. Ruby had mixed dry biscuit ingredients in a mason jar, with instructions to add eggs and bake. Another jar held the dry ingredients for chocolate cake. There was a box of See’s Candy, Loretta’s secret vice. A large square baker’s box was nestled in the center; she lifted it out carefully and opened it. As soon as she did, the room filled with the scent of lemon, rum, and butter. Her mother had made her favorite cake for her birthday, wrapped in layers of tinfoil: a southern rum cake, an old recipe handed down from her great-grandmother in North Carolina.

  The first person Loretta thought to share this bounty with was Clark Gable.

  She knelt next to the box in her robe and began to cry. She tried to understand her tears, to put her feelings in some rational context, but she couldn’t. Maybe it was being so far from home on her birthday, or perhaps it was where she was, frozen on a mountaintop in the bitter cold, adjusting to the short days and long nights, that made her miserable.

  Or was this wave of sadness about the abrupt end of her friendship with Spencer? She missed their conversations, his view of the world, his take on things. He could talk for hours about anything—acting, baseball, or spiritual matters. He had common sense. He taught her about polo, which on the surface of things bored her, but when he was describing the sport, she was riveted.

  Loretta missed those talks, and she missed him. She wondered who she was alone, without someone to love, and the mirror reflection of someone loving her. She pondered her worth. Good actresses were like the oranges in the groves in California, plentiful, shiny, and sweet, an endless bounty that seemed to multiply in the heat of the California sun.

  Now that movies were available in every small town across the country, the dream of acting in them was available to every girl who had the beauty, youth, and moxie to give Hollywood a try. Loretta had seen every variation of the story, but believed if she worked harder than the rest, she would continue her ascent, to earn roles in scripts worthy of talents like Jean Arthur and Bette Davis. But here, far away from her studio routine and all she knew, she questioned the talent she had worked so hard to nurture. Was she really strong? Had she been afraid on the raft that afternoon? Had she been brave, or was she simply acting? Was she good enough? Did she have the stamina to endure a career that would take her away from family and friends? What kind of life was this for a young woman who hoped to marry and have children of her own someday?

  There was a knock at the door. She dried her tears and went to answer it.

  Alda looked at Loretta and knew something was terribly wrong. “I heard all about what happened on the river. How can I help?”

  “I’m all right,” Loretta assured her.

  “Have you been crying?”

  “A little.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m tired,” Loretta said. “I’ll tell you what. I want you to help me make dinner tonight. I can’t bear that bad food any longer. Mama sent a box of great stuff.”

  “I know. I didn’t want to open it.” Alda looked through the box. “Spaghetti!”

  “When the crew has eaten and Elvira is done with work for the night, ask her if I can borrow the kitchen. Invite Luca. I’m going to invite Mr. Gable. We’ll have a good time, just the four of us.”

  “Should I extend the invitation to Mr. Gable?”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  Alda left to make the arrangements in the kitchen.

  Loretta sat down at her desk. She drafted a short letter. She corrected her grammar and spelling, then wrote it out slowly and perfectly for delivery.

  Dear Mr. Gable,

  An astonishing stroke of luck has occurred that does not involve wild river rapids. I have received reinforcements from Hollywood (the food kind, not the chorus girl variety) and would like to invite you to dinner this evening at eight o’clock in the dining hall kitchen. Dress casual.

  Your friend,

  Gretchen Young

  Loretta threw her fur coat over the robe and snuck down the hallway to deliver the invitation. As she approached Gable’s room, the last room at the end of the hallway, she followed the scent of sweet tobacco and heard him talking on the phone. “Minna, I’m telling you, it was unbelievable! Bill said he never saw anything like it.”

  Loretta slipped the invitation under the door and heard Gable’s heavy footsteps coming toward her. She ran down the hallway and into her room, closing the door behind her.

  Minna Wallis was Gable’s agent. Loretta would never think to call her agent from a location, but that was the difference between them. He was busy acting in one picture while he was planning the
next. Only a star connects one role to the next like glistening pop beads. Box office popularity could only be sustained by a star’s constant presence in the local movie house, and that meant cultivating the next role while acting in the current one.

  Loretta ran a bath. She placed the kettle on the hearth to make a cup of tea. She bathed quickly; the last thing she wanted to do after the raft scene was soak in water. She pulled on the robe and slippers and curled up on the bed with the fan magazines, the box of See’s Candy, and a cup of fragrant Earl Grey. She opened Photoplay. In it was a full-page article about Gable and his wife, Ria. She sat up and read it carefully.

  Under a photo of Gable wearing black tie and tails and his wife in a slim white gown, was the subhead RAISE FOR GABLE. Loretta read that Gable was earning $3,000 a week. She whistled softly at the sum. He was quoted: “I do all right in pictures. My wife, no matter my salary, feast or famine or suspension by choice, always finds ways to spend what I earn on draperies and furniture.”

  Loretta shook her head. That quote didn’t sound like a man who was separated; it sounded like one who was very married. But the article went on.

  Clark Gable is at the precipice of greatness. Box office gold, they call him. And while Mrs. Gable is busy decorating their mansion, Gable has an open lease on a bungalow at the Beverly Wilshire, where he lives most days and nights, fueling rumors of divorce. His complaints about his wife’s spending habits cannot help the situation. Time will tell.

  Loretta stretched out on the bed, recalling the scene at the train station. Mrs. Gable had kissed her husband good-bye as if she were his aunt, not his wife. Loretta could not reconcile the Gable she was beginning to know with the wife he had chosen. There must be something more to it, but she couldn’t imagine what that could be.

  Loretta heard the soft brush of paper under her door. She lay still, lest the squeak of a bedspring or the creak of a wood slat reveal her. Only when she heard footsteps walk away from her door and down the hallway did she dare to slide off the bed and creep over to read the note. It read:

  I’d be delighted. See you at 8.