“I doubt that.”
“Do you know something?”
“Not really. But I ask you, woman to woman, would you ever give up Clark Gable’s baby?” Anita leaned on the desk.
“I guess I couldn’t.”
“There’s your answer. I couldn’t either. And I’m about as maternal as that ashtray.”
“So where is the baby?”
“I have no idea. Maybe one of her sisters is keeping it, or her mother.”
“Good point. But no matter who you are, it’s hard to hide a baby.”
“I haven’t kept up with the latest gossip. I’m up to my ears in San Francisco,” Anita admitted.
Koverman picked up her phone on the first ring. “Send him in.” She winked at Anita. “Mr. Gable is on his way.”
“Kismet.” Anita smiled.
“I left word for him to come over if he was on the lot.”
“Like I said, Kismet by Koverman.”
“Nice title.” Ida laughed.
Gable pushed through the door to Ida’s office. “My favorite writer,” he said to Loos, kissing her on the cheek.
“And you know you’re my favorite everything else, Mr. Gable,” Anita said, flirting. She was forever gulping air around Gable, like a fish he’d caught, as if there wasn’t enough oxygen to maintain a steady heart rate. Clark Gable was Anita’s idea of male perfection. He was funny. Well-read. Beyond the personality was the sex appeal. Those dimples. The shock of thick black hair. Those gray eyes. And he was tall. Anita liked tall men.
Gable grinned. “What have we got?”
Anita clapped her hands together to sell. “San Francisco earthquake, turn of this century. No ponytails. Keep your mustache. You wear a tuxedo through most of the movie. We want Tracy for your best friend the priest.”
“Nice. Who’s the girl?”
“We were thinking Harlow,” Anita said.
“No Harlow on this one.” Louis B. Mayer stood in his office doorway. “I like Jeanette MacDonald.”
“Not for me, L. B.,” Gable said.
“She’s pretty, and she can sing. And most importantly, she is box-office gold.”
“With Nelson Eddy,” Gable grumbled.
“They’re not paying to see him,” Mayer huffed. “Jeanette could sing with a moose, and they’d pay for the privilege.”
“Not to be a hat pin, but they have,” Anita joked. Gable laughed.
“Ganging up on me doesn’t work,” Mayer assured them.
“Come on, L.B. Spence and I are a pretty good bet on our own,” Gable reasoned.
“But you’re fighting over this lady in the story.”
“We’re always fighting over a woman. All I’m asking is, give me one I’d want to take a slug for.”
“Let me see what I can do. We have a few scripts for you to look at before this one. San Francisco is going to be a megillah in preproduction. Miss Loos brings the entire city down with an earthquake,” Mayer complained. “That’s going to cost.” He grabbed his hat and went out the door.
“Nice to know the San Francisco earthquake was my fault.” Anita buried her hands in her pockets.
“No Jeanette MacDonald,” Gable said to Anita. “Or I’ll take a loan-out to Warner’s and do a picture with Bette Davis.”
“Oh, no, you won’t,” Ida assured him.
“Then get me Harlow.” Gable kissed Ida’s hand. “That’s a girl that does it for me.” Gable tipped his hand to Anita and left.
“Good to know he chooses his roles based on the script.” Anita sighed.
Ida Koverman laughed. Anita Loos couldn’t.
“You okay over there?” Loretta asked Alda as she drove through the streets of Venice. The Pacific Ocean sparkled bright blue in the morning sun beyond the shoreline cluttered with cottages.
“Yep,” Alda said. There was no use explaining that she was depressed. The only reprieve she got from her pain was her work. Saint Patrick’s Day was the anniversary of the birth of baby Patricia at Saint Elizabeth’s, and every year since, Alda had thought about the baby’s mother. She wondered where she was, if she was all right, and how she was coping with the sadness of giving up her baby. She pictured the infant, who would be a toddler now. Thoughts of Patricia made her think of her own losses, of Michael and of the baby she miscarried and never named.
“I’m worried about you, Alda.”
“Please don’t.”
“But I do.”
“I’m getting better.”
“How’s Luca?”
“He can’t do enough for me.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” Loretta pulled into the carport and parked next to her mother’s car.
Gladys had arrived earlier that morning to relieve the babysitter. Judy was five months old now, her head covered in golden curls. She reached for her mother. Loretta took her daughter into her arms and covered her in kisses.
“Mama, why did you want to see us here?”
“I don’t trust the phones. Ria Gable is sparing no expense to find out about Judy.”
“She wants to ruin Mr. Gable,” Alda said.
“So we need to make some decisions. And fast. Louella Parsons called me. Ria Gable says she has proof that you and Clark had an affair, and she’s going public with it. She mentioned rumors of a baby too. She refuses to give Clark a divorce, and is blackmailing him with the baby.”
“Let her. I’m tired of all these games, Mama. All that matters is Judy.” Loretta fantasized about selling everything and getting out of Hollywood. She was tired of being emotionally blackmailed by the likes of Ria Gable.
“Gretchen, we have to do something.”
“Judy can stay with Sally for a while,” Loretta offered.
“She can’t stay with your sisters.”
“I’ll take her,” Alda said.
“You can’t. They know who you are and your relationship with Gretchen. They would find out everything. Ria Gable has detectives.”
“So, Mama, what can we do?”
“I don’t know.” Gladys became emotional.
“What about Saint Elizabeth’s?” Alda sat down and outlined a plan. “Mother Superior could take her. Judy would be loved and cared for—you could go up whenever you wished. And Judy would be safe.”
“Then how do I get her home?”
“Once Mr. Gable has his divorce, no one will notice,” Alda said.
“Oh, they’ll notice,” Gladys said glumly. “You’ll have to invent a story.”
“Sally is pregnant—the baby is due in June. Maybe we can bring Judy home when Sally brings home her baby.”
“You could pretend that you adopted Judy,” Gladys added. “Because you wanted to be a mother like your sister.”
“I don’t want to do this,” Loretta said.
“You have to,” Gladys insisted. “Ria Gable wants to blame someone for losing her husband, and she would be thrilled to use you as the excuse.”
“Tell our lawyer that Ria Gable’s accusations are nothing but petty gossip.”
“Gretchen, Clark is a bigger star than you. MGM has all the power in this situation. They’re going to protect him. Paramount will do nothing for you.”
Loretta turned to Alda. “Will you please call Mother Superior?”
“I’ll do whatever you need.”
“Are you sure it’s a nice place?” Loretta’s eyes filled with tears.
“The sisters are kind, and there’s a garden,” Alda reassured her.
“I trust you with my daughter, Alda,” Loretta said as she held Judy tightly.
The Pacific Ocean was silver that morning, the foamy crests of the waves gray under low clouds that speckled the sky in tufts of white. The train sped up the coast at a clickety clip, but not as fast as a story spreads in Hollywood. Alda believed they had gotten Judy out of Rindge House in the nick of time. Neighbors were becoming suspicious of the comings and goings at odd hours. The shades were drawn day and night, causing suspicion. Gladys worried that it wasn’t hea
lthy for a newborn to spend so much time indoors, in the dark. It was time to take Judy to a place where she could grow, in fresh air and sunshine, without the fear of being discovered.
Alda and Luca had been pulled into Loretta’s drama from the beginning. Luca showed patience with the situation because of his wife, but it had its limits. Alda had grown to love Loretta and the Young family, and felt useful in her work, but it caused her a great deal of anxiety. Luca could escape to the studio, diverted by long hours in production, but Alda was under pressure to guard Loretta’s secret daily. Sometimes Alda thought she would’ve been better off staying in the convent.
Alda nuzzled baby Judy, who’d slept for most of the trip in her arms. The infant had helped Alda in her own healing process. Alda drove to Venice daily to relieve the babysitter before Loretta arrived. Judy filled a desperate place in Alda’s heart now that she would never have children of her own. Alda savored her time with Judy and showered her with attention and love. Even though she knew it was for the best, Alda knew leaving Judy with the nuns would not be easy.
A car met them at the train station. As it careened through downtown San Francisco, Alda felt disconnected from the city where she had lived for seven years. She remembered little of the architecture, and had forgotten the streets. Memories came flooding back, though, as the car pulled up in front of the convent. This time Alda wasn’t asking a young mother to give up her baby, to let her leave Saint Elizabeth’s; she was bringing a baby to stay.
The entrance foyer had not changed. A bouquet of fresh red roses sat in the gold vase on the table, and the floor tiles gleamed, reminding Alda that life goes on, chores are done, and the nuns that perform those tasks are replaceable, just as she had been. When it comes to the operation of the Holy Roman Catholic Church, the only aspect that ever changes are the altar linens.
“Alda, is that you?” Mother Superior looked up from her desk. “You look terrific.”
Alda had changed since she left Saint Elizabeth’s. She had blossomed as a young wife, acquiring a simple and elegant style. The girl who had left in a dress from a charity bin had grown up.
Alda curtsied with the baby in her arms. “So do you, Mother.”
“Let me see this one. She’s precious.”
“A good baby too. Hardly cries.” Alda handed Judy to Mother Superior.
Mother sat down with the baby. “We’ll take good care of her.”
“Loretta wants to visit her every weekend.”
“She can come as often as she likes. We can put her up in the convent.”
“And she has sisters, and her mother Gladys.”
“They are all welcome to visit anytime they wish.”
“I will let them know.”
“Is there any hope the parents will marry?”
“It would be a blessing.” Alda held out hope for Loretta and Clark. She believed Gable was a good man, and she was certain that Loretta loved him.
“But it isn’t likely?” Mother Superior asked.
“No.”
“Tell me about your husband.”
“He’s a wonderful artist. A good man.”
“When will you start your own family?”
“It’s not meant to be, Mother.” Alda became emotional. She had stepped back into the past in her return to the convent, and while there were happy memories, there was also pain. Whenever Alda thought about the sisters of Saint Elizabeth’s, she remembered the son she lost, the loss that had forced her into the convent in the first place. “I can’t have children.”
“There are many ways to be a mother.”
“I tell myself that, but it only reminds me of the one way I can’t be.”
Alda carried baby Judy to the orphanage, to a separate floor that Mother Superior had made available as the Depression tore families apart, poverty fraying the ties that bonded parents to their children. When parents could no longer feed and clothe their children, they turned to the sisters. Mother Superior had taken in infants and toddlers up to the age of three, some of whom would return to their families; others who went unclaimed would be adopted.
Judy would be safe here. The sisters would take good care of her, and she would have an extended family of temporary siblings around her. Mother Superior had promised to keep an eye on her, and Alda felt confident that she would.
Still, Alda walked out of the convent with a heavy heart. She worried that this arrangement, though temporary, wasn’t good for Judy or Loretta. A mother should never be separated from her child. Alda knew all too much about that particular pain.
Loretta stood on her tiptoes to light the torches around the pool at Sunset House. Soon the wicks were blazing in thick orange flames, throwing light on the surface of the water. At night the water looked like blue marble streaked with silver veins. It reminded her of Italy.
The house was lonely now that Sally and Polly were married and Niv had moved out. When Sunset House was full, life had been a carnival; laughter and music poured out of the house, the radio played, and friends came and went. Now the house was quiet for the most part. The only light visible from the back of the house was from her mother’s bedroom lamp; the only sound, a distant car horn from Sunset. Georgie was still at home, but she often spent time at her father’s in Westwood. It seemed everyone had moved on and started new lives, while Loretta was still negotiating her way out of her old one.
Loretta snapped the chamber on the locket around her neck, which held a curl of Judy’s hair. When the enormity of the sacrifice she’d made to keep Judy safe at the convent got to her, Loretta would imagine her baby at home and in her arms. At work, Loretta navigated the guilt she felt about the baby with prayer, reminding herself that it was she alone who had to provide for Judy’s future, and that would lessen her anxiety at being away from her daughter.
Loretta lifted her cigarette from the ashtray and took a slow drag.
“May I bum a cigarette?” A man’s voice pierced the quiet.
Loretta sat up straight and peered into the darkness toward the house as Clark Gable stepped into the light under the portico. He wore an open-collared white shirt and faded dungarees with a deep fold at the hem. Gable smiled at her, pushing a shock of hair back off his face. Loretta didn’t want to be happy to see him, but she was—she always was. She looked down at her chenille robe. She was bare-legged, and her hair was down, a mass of curls. She let it dry naturally when she came out of the shower. Now, she was sorry.
“Who let you in?”
“Evidently Ruby is a Gable fan.”
“You’re a little late to that party. She’s also a David Niven fan.”
Gable joined her. “May I?” He gave her a kiss on the cheek and sat down next to her. “I went to the studio, and they said you’d gone home early. I parked in the back by the kitchen so no one will know I’m here. I don’t think anyone saw me. Okay, maybe Ria’s detectives.”
“That’s not funny.” Loretta handed Gable a cigarette, then her own to light it.
“I remember when everything I said made you laugh.”
“That wasn’t so long ago,” she admitted.
“It seems like yesterday.”
“I look like hell,” Loretta apologized.
“That’s not possible.”
“Has there ever been a woman in the history of the world that you didn’t find attractive?”
“Yeah.”
“I’d like to meet her.”
“You rejected me, you know.”
“I did, didn’t I?”
“Doesn’t happen very often.”
“Is that why you’re here? To make a point?”
Gable didn’t want to spar with Loretta. He’d hoped to find her happy to see him. “I wanted to see how our daughter is doing.”
“She’s still in the convent in San Francisco. I go up every weekend. I’ll stay when I have a few days off.”
“You could’ve asked me if I thought the convent was a good idea.”
“Do you?”
“I think you know what’s best. How is she doing?”
“She’s a beauty. She looks like you. Has your ears.”
“Oh joy.”
“Had to get those ears.” Loretta smiled.
“I hope she grows up to look just like you.”
“That’s very sweet of you.”
“I mean it.” Gable leaned toward Loretta as if he might kiss her.
“Are you with Carole now?”
“You just come right out with it.”
“It’s better that way. So are the rumors true?”
“I see her.”
“Are you in love with her?”
“I’m here with you. That should tell you.”
“How’s your divorce coming?”
“Slow.”
“Why?”
“She wants to bankrupt me.”
“Are you surprised?”
“Ria’s from Houston. Everything is bigger in Texas. So she wants a big payout.”
“You know, if you gave her everything, you’d be free. You could start over.”
“It doesn’t work like that. You remember John Gilbert?”
“Of course I do.”
“I was there when Gilbert, the biggest star in the world, was canned. They ordered him off the lot after he had made the studio millions. They blamed his voice, said that he couldn’t make the leap from the silents to the talkies. But that wasn’t it. His voice was all right. The studio bosses lied, made up an excuse to get rid of him. His popularity had begun to slip, and they were done with him.
“One day he was starring with Garbo, and the next he was at a bar in Topanga, wondering where it all went wrong. That’s me in a few years. When they’re done with me, and they will be, I’ll have nothing. Sure, things are going fine now, and I could give Ria everything, but I wouldn’t be able to make up for the years I’ve put in, unless there’s some giant blockbuster ahead for me. But I don’t want to count on a pipe dream in a business built on them. I’m nobody special, Gretchen. I do romance and adventure pictures. My future prospects are less than spectacular.”
“I think you’re doing just fine.”
“I could be better.”
“How so?”
“I’d rather be with you.”