All the Stars in the Heavens Page 4

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “And everything in between. Not to worry, we have some prints here—you can catch up. It’ll be fun.”

  Alda followed Loretta down a long hallway on the second floor, contemplating a family that could show movies in the same place they lived. Everything about this house and the people in it was fascinating. They lived like royalty, and unlike the entitled, they had worked for it. This scale of opulence earned and shared could only happen in America. Every aspect of the decor was bold. The wallpaper was a print of large white hydrangea blossoms. The doors to the rooms were each painted a variation of green. The rugs were soft and thick like grass, the furniture covered in feminine watermarked silks. This was a house full of women. If it wasn’t apparent in the decor, it was obvious in the scent of rose and vanilla that filled the air.

  “Why did you change your name?”

  “Colleen Moore didn’t like it. She was an actress I worked with,” Loretta said as she stopped in the doorway of her sister’s room.

  “We call her Gretch the Wretch. When she acts like one.” Polly Ann smiled.

  “This is Polly. She’s the oldest.”

  “And the wisest,” Polly said.

  “And the shortest,” Loretta joked.

  Polly had the coloring of a mink, dark brown eyes and black hair. She too was a beauty. Alda wondered where they kept the sisters who weren’t.

  “If you need anything, just knock on my door. My sister isn’t the most organized person you’ll ever meet,” Polly teased.

  “Don’t scare my new secretary.”

  “She’s never had a secretary.” Polly winked at Alda.

  “And I’ve never been one,” Alda admitted.

  “Great. We’re all even.” Alda followed Loretta down the hall to her new room. Alda had never seen such a lovely room. It was painted lilac with gray trim. There was a twin bed with a satin coverlet, a rocking chair, a dresser and vanity. A set of French doors led to a small balcony. The doors were open, and a gentle breeze fluttered the sheers.

  “It’s small,” Loretta apologized.

  “I’m afraid it’s too much.” Alda looked around.

  Loretta placed Alda’s satchel in the closet and closed the door.

  “What kind of room did you have at Saint Elizabeth’s?”

  “It was a cell. Just a bed and a washbasin. If you don’t mind, where is the washbasin?”

  “You don’t have one.” Loretta pushed a door open to a small bathroom with an enamel tub on four legs. “You have a sink. This is your bathroom.”

  “Mine alone?”

  “Yes. Every bedroom has a bathroom. This tub is special; it’s the only thing Mama brought from the Green Street boardinghouse. Come on. I’ll show you my room. Do you get up early?”

  “I used to be up before dawn.”

  “I’d like you to come with me to the studio every morning. I leave here at four a.m. Sharp. I drive myself.”

  “Is the studio far?”

  “We could walk it, but why would we?” Loretta led Alda down the hall into her own room, a grand suite that extended across the back of the house. The room was light and airy, and gave Alda the feeling of being in a treehouse.

  A series of windows opened out over the garden, with a view of the swimming pool. The long rectangle was filled with turquoise water, which was replenished by a fountain shaped like a Greek urn. Alda had never seen anything so lovely.

  Loretta’s room was decorated in shades of palest pink. Her four-poster double bed, dressed with organdy satin ruffles, was in an alcove. There was a fireplace with a crystal vase of peonies spilling over the white marble mantel. A sofa and two comfortable reading chairs were covered in flowery chintz. A coffee table was stacked neatly with scripts bound in leather. Loretta used ashtrays for paperweights. A ceramic cup, shaped like a palm tree, was full of sharpened pencils.

  “I’m a lucky girl,” Loretta admitted, seeing her room through Alda’s eyes.

  “And I’m Sally.” Loretta’s sister stood in the doorway with her arms folded. Sally, another Young sister, had light blond hair, brown eyes, a trim figure, and an attitude.

  “Sally was in The Sheik.”

  “I don’t remember it.” Sally shrugged. “Gretch, can I borrow your gold lace dress tonight?”

  “No, you may not. Beat it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m wearing it.”

  “Mama said you were staying in.”

  “I’m wearing it in.”

  “Ugh. What else have you got?”

  “There’s a blue velvet in there.”

  “I don’t feel blue.”

  “That’s all you’re getting. Either borrow that one or wear your old chiffon.”

  Sally went to the closet and opened it.

  “The shoes?”

  “Take them.” Loretta sighed. “I have work to do.”

  “You sure about the gold dress?”

  Loretta surrendered. “Just take it, Sal.”

  “And the gold shoes?”

  “You can’t very well wear blue shoes with a gold dress.”

  “Thank you!” Sally left with the gold ensemble.

  Loretta offered Alda a cigarette. “Sorry. Nuns don’t smoke.”

  “I didn’t take my final vows. I only made it as far as novice. But my Mother Superior smoked. When I’d catch her smoking in the kitchen, she had an expression of pure bliss on her face.”

  “I’m with Sister.” Loretta lit her cigarette.

  “Told me she’d have to answer to God someday for her vice.”

  Loretta looked at Alda.

  Alda blushed. “I don’t mean you. You can do whatever you wish.”

  “I’ve been smoking since I was nine years old. Mama caught me at thirteen. But I was on a movie set. I wanted to look older. And it helped my voice. I used to squeak—this gave me some timber.”

  “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.”

  Alda turned the spigot on the tub and placed the stopper in the drain. She turned and looked at herself in the mirror. Polly’s wool bathing suit, a black tank, hung loose against her frame. Perhaps Georgie was right; one of Loretta’s might have fit better.

  As Alda slipped out of the fabric, she thought about the warm water in the lake in Padua, and how she would lead her brothers there on hot summer days. The lake was Alda’s refuge; whenever she had time, she went there to swim, or sit on the banks and dream. It was there that she met Enrico, who had come from Trieste to work for his uncle’s farm one summer. She had fallen in love with him, and he with her. Her family approved of him. She was eighteen, old enough to marry. Perhaps he would ask her; she certainly had hoped he would.

  On the shelf over the vanity was a series of crystal decanters filled with bubble bath, lavender, orange blossom, and verbena. She drizzled verbena into the bath, and soon the room had the scent of a lemon grove in full bloom. As she slipped into the bubbles, she let go, the muscles in her body relaxing. She floated in the grand tub, almost on the surface, like a gardenia in the shell of a fountain. She had not soaked in a bathtub since she left Italy.

  The nuns made their own soap, thick lard-based blocks sweetened with leaves of juniper, but not much else. Bathing had been perfunctory. Alda would scrub hard, rinse with the hottest water she could stand, and quickly dry herself to get into her habit and back to work. Bathing in the convent was about cleanliness, not indulgence. For seven years, Alda had almost forgotten she had a body. Only when it ached was she reminded of its existence.

  As Alda emerged from the bath, she reached for the towel on the rack next to the tub. The towel unfurled, she dried herself with the luscious thick cotton. She inhaled its scent—it reminded her of a newborn’s skin. Alda wrapped the towel around her.

  She went into the bedroom and opened her closet to put on her blue dress. It was gone; instead she found new clothes. There were dresses. A navy blue coat. Two pairs of shoes. She opened the drawers of the dresser. Cotton undergarments, new. Underpants with tiny pin bows at the waist. Simple matching brassieres with matching pink satin bows at the base of the straps. Alda began to feel dizzy. She sat down at the foot of the bed, confused by the array of clothing, by the variety and by their beauty.