From Hollywood, an Associated Press report has been filed from Metro Goldwyn Mayer studios; Jean Harlow collapsed in the arms of Clark Gable on the set of Saratoga earlier this morning. No word on Harlow’s condition.
Mother Superior, who knew Judy’s history, placed her hand on the document. “Would you like to take a moment, Loretta?”
“No, I’m fine,” she said as she signed the paper. “Pray for Jean, will you, Sister?”
Alda was waiting at Sunset House when Loretta, Gladys, and Judy arrived home. Judy was fast asleep in Loretta’s arms as Alda followed them up the stairs to the new nursery.
Gladys had set up a room for Judy, decorated with wallpaper that featured dancing elephants, leaping zebras, and acrobats. She’d had a cheerful bright yellow satin coverlet made for the bed. There were books and toys on the shelves, and, in the window, a collection of small clay pots with green sprouts.
“Might as well get used to the Hollywood circus right away,” Loretta said as she tucked the blankets around her sleeping daughter.
“It’s a high-wire act,” Alda agreed.
Alda followed Loretta down to the kitchen. As soon as they were out of earshot of the baby’s room, Alda confided, “I spoke with Mr. Gable.”
“And what did he have to say?”
“He said he’d come and see Judy here at home.”
“Well, he hasn’t honored any of his previous promises, so let’s not count on this one.”
“I thought for sure he’d make the drive up to San Francisco. I’m sorry.”
“Alda, it isn’t you. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“I wanted to talk to you about that. Now that Judy is home, I think it’s time for me to move on.”
“Oh, Alda, you can’t.” Loretta began to cry. “I’m sorry, of course you can. It’s your decision. I just don’t know what I would do. You save my life every day in a hundred little ways.”
“And you took me on, out of the convent. I didn’t even own a pair of decent shoes. You have provided a life for me that was beyond my imagination. I met Luca through you—had I not been on that train, I doubt I would have ever met him and fallen in love with the finest man I know. I owe you everything. But it’s a heavy load to carry a secret. I worry for Judy’s future, and yours.”
“You’ve been through so much, Alda. If this is hard for you, to be around Judy, I understand.” Loretta was sensitive to the fact that Alda couldn’t have children of her own.
“It’s not that. I love her. All the trips, watching her grow. I would miss her terribly.”
“Then stay. Is there some way I could make the job better for you? Thanks to you, Judy was safe for a very long time. And now she’s home. Now we can plan the rest of our lives—and you can plan yours. The gossip has died down. There are always rumors in Hollywood, and a new scandal is right around the corner. We won’t be bothered, I promise you. I want you to travel home to Italy again—to do things you want to do. But I’m also selfish—I don’t want to lose you. How about we trade more time off for you to stay? And a raise too!”
Alda laughed. “I’m well paid.”
“Not enough. I don’t want you to be tempted by anyone else stealing you away.”
As Alda got into her car that night to make the drive over the mountain, home to Luca, she thought about her conversation with Loretta, the raise and the time off. It would go a long way to give her the new perspective she needed in her life. She and Luca had put off making a decision about adopting children of their own. He had immersed himself in projects at the studio, and she was busy with Loretta’s obligations. Alda would always have to work; why not stay with people she cared about?
Loretta didn’t want anyone to steal Alda away, Alda thought, the way Gable had been stolen away by Lombard. It was so odd how their lives intersected, with neither Alda or Loretta getting exactly what they hoped for, and yet they had everything because they trusted each other.
Loretta tiptoed into Judy’s room and kissed her. She placed her hand on Judy’s heart and said a Hail Mary. After months of heartache, Loretta felt redeemed. She had her baby home.
In her room, Loretta opened the French doors and the windows. She drew a bath, and was about to sink into the bubbles when the phone rang.
“Can you come to Good Samaritan?”
“Myrna?”
“Loretta, can you come to the hospital?” Myrna Loy was a sensible woman. She delivered the best of news and the worst with the same solid midwestern cadence.
“What’s wrong? Are you all right?”
“Not me, hon. Jean Harlow is gone.”
“What do you mean?”
“She died tonight.”
“Poor Jean.”
“They didn’t see it coming. It was a bad infection. It took her.”
“Myrna, is Clark there?”
“He’s a mess. That’s why I called. He could use a friend. Hurry.”
Loretta pulled on a skirt, sweater, and loafers. Clark Gable had confided his feelings about Loretta to Myrna, who had always been a good friend. Myrna let Loretta know Clark’s feelings, and without prying, let Loretta know that she was always available to talk. Loretta believed that Myrna was her most trustworthy friend. Myrna knew about Judy, and never engaged in any gossip about her. She kept an eye on Gable for Loretta, because she believed they belonged together.
“Mama, I’m going to the hospital. Will you look in on Judy?”
“What happened?”
“Jean Harlow died.”
Jean Harlow was only a few years older than Loretta, at twenty-six—too young to die. On the way to the hospital, scenarios ran through Loretta’s head, but mostly she was worried about Gable. He’d been with Jean when she collapsed; he had to be devastated. All of Loretta’s thoughts went to Gable—how she would comfort him through this terrible time.
Loretta pushed through the doors of Good Samaritan Hospital. She never used her name to get results, but tonight was different. She knew there would be security around Jean’s room, so she marched up and told them that Myrna Loy was expecting her. A security guard escorted her to the fourth floor. When they got off the elevator, Loretta could see a crowd outside Jean’s room. She broke into a run when she saw the back of Gable’s head. When she got closer, she stopped.
Gable was holding Carole Lombard, who was weeping. The sight of him comforting her made her stomach turn. Where had he been in her dark hours of despair? Where was his heart when his daughter was in the convent in San Francisco, hidden away because he wouldn’t get a divorce? Loretta felt rage rise within her. It wasn’t that Gable had chosen another; it was that he refused to acknowledge that he had chosen at all.
Loretta found herself turning so that Gable would not catch a glimpse of her. She pushed through the door and ran down the stairs and back out to her car. She would call Myrna and apologize in the morning, but she couldn’t face Gable that night. She saw with her own eyes that Gable had moved on. The days of deluding herself that he loved her were over. Carole Lombard was going to be the next Mrs. Gable, and Loretta wouldn’t have to read it in Photoplay to believe it.
Luca threw his car keys down on the kitchen table. Alda was stirring sauce on the stove, waiting for the pot of water to boil to make her husband his favorite spaghetti. Luca put his arms around his wife.
“I called the studio—they said you had to drive for supplies.”
“I feel like a traitor,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because of you.”
“What did I do?”
“Nothing, honey. It’s about your boss. I didn’t drive to Arizona for paint. I drove Clark and Carole to get married. It was Otto Winkler’s car, so no one would recognize them.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want you to be compromised. It’ll be in the papers tonight. All over the radio by morning. They had Gable’s houseman drive his Packard out there, and I turned around and came home. Can you forgive me?”
“Clark is your friend—you did him a favor.”
“But I didn’t tell you about it.”
The lies, half truths, and stories that had formed a wall between Loretta and Clark had not only shut them out of each other’s lives but compromised their relationships with their family and friends. Alda and Luca were part of their world, and had accommodated their view of it since Mount Baker. Alda was still surprised how easily they manufactured alibis and stories for their friends in the movie business.
“How about this? I forgive you.”
“I’d feel better if you yelled at me.”
“I don’t want to yell. I love you.”
Luca took his wife in his arms and kissed her.
Alda pulled out a chair and invited her husband to sit as she finished preparing their dinner. “The code we live by cannot be found in Hollywood.” Alda stirred the sauce on the stove. “As long as we know this, and we live our lives truthfully, we’ll be all right. The minute we start to think anything that happens on the other side of this mountain is acceptable, we’re over.”
“I don’t want to be over. Not ever.”
“You know, all of us that work on the crews, in the offices, deliver the mail, sew the costumes, and paint the sets, we all work for our families. We take care of each other. The stars are different. Do you ever notice how strange nice, decent people act when they meet a movie star? They act like some deity came off the mountaintop to greet them. The stars are separate from us. And maybe that’s why people pay to see them. They know there’s something about them that they can never be.”
“Or maybe,” Luca ventured, “they make them feel something.”
“Tell me about the wedding.”
“We got to Kingman, and everything was arranged. They had a justice of the peace. There was a lawyer there with all the paperwork. By the time they were married, the press had figured it out, so some local stringers showed up. They take a couple of snaps, and pretty soon, the news is on the radio.”
“What’s she like?”
“Carole Lombard? She’s silly. She’s a nice enough girl, and she’s lots of fun, but she tries too hard with him. She tries to make him laugh all the time. It’s too much. You know, when we were in Seattle, I was so happy for Clark. He told me when he met Gretchen, he’d finally found a girl he could talk to—this one, I don’t know. She doesn’t take anything seriously.”
“Not even the wedding vows?”
“Giggled through the whole thing.”
“And what did Clark do?”
“He went along with it. It’s as if he lets the woman lead on the dance floor, you know?”
Myrna Loy had been called to sound stage A on the MGM lot. As she turned the corner to enter, she ran into Clark Gable.
“This is all Spencer Tracy’s fault,” Gable grumbled.
“Be a good sport,” Myrna chided him.
Ed Sullivan, a young reporter from the Associated Press, had set up a table for a press conference. A scrum of photographers and reporters stood behind a red rope, which was suspended in front of them mainly for looks. As Gable and Loy joined Ed Sullivan, the photographers began to snap photos.
“We’re here today to crown the king and queen of Hollywood,” Ed began. “Miss Loy, we have a crown for you, and one for you, Mr. Gable. Would you like to say anything to the fans?”
“Thank you. It’s a big honor.”
“I feel the same as Mr. Gable—it’s a big honor, and we hope we live up to your high expectations.”
“Congratulations, Queen Myrna and King Clark!”
Gable took Myrna’s arm and led her off the sound stage. “Did you ever?” Gable laughed. “Humiliating,” he said.
“Horrifying! They should’ve given it to someone who wants a crown, like, say, Norma Shearer.”
“Myrna, they picked you because you’re down-to-earth.”
“And you?”
“I’m going to kill Spence. That’s all there is to it. He started this king stuff, and he’s going to end it.”
“Before you do, can we finish the picture?”
“Sure, sure.”
“I like this one. You made an honest woman out of me.”
“It’s about time,” Gable joked.
“How’s it going with you and your new bride?”
“We’re very happy.”
“Now you have everything a man needs. A good wife, a big career, and a crown. You’re the king of Hollywood. “
“The crown is made of paper, Myrna. Trust me. I get too close to a lit match, and I’m John Gilbert.”
Loretta slipped into the nursery at Sunset House and tucked the blanket around Judy. Moonlight shimmered through the trees. Loretta kissed her daughter and went outside.
Hiking up her skirt, she sat and lowered her legs into the pool. The cool water sent a chill through her. The cold moonlight made her shiver.
Judy was beginning to ask questions about her daddy, and there was a sadness in the four-year-old when fathers showed up at school and carried their children home on their shoulders. Now that Gable had married Lombard, Judy wouldn’t have those ordinary moments with her birth father.
Loretta remembered filming The Primrose Ring, almost every detail of it. Going forward, Judy would remember everything that happened to her, and she would believe everything Loretta told her. Loretta still could not come to terms with how to tell her about her father. Worse than that, she didn’t know how to tell the child that she was her real mother; inevitably, the questions would lead back to the identity of her father.
Carole issued a statement that said she wanted ten children with Gable, and that their ranch in Encino could grow with as many rooms as she could fill. Loretta felt as if the message was directed at her—Judy, just one child, wouldn’t matter as much as a baseball team of them.
Loretta decided to stop pining for Gable. She knew it would take work, but discipline and focus were her best attributes. It was time for Loretta to get serious about creating a home with a proper husband for her daughter. No more dinner dates set up by the studio; no more favors to moguls or photo opportunities with available young male stars to promote movies. She would find a way to give Judy a father—but this time, it had to be a man who would stay.
Darryl Zanuck loved a historical epic. He had a crazy idea to put the Young sisters and Georgiana in a movie together, playing sisters. Zanuck remembered that Loretta enjoyed working with Don Ameche, so he cast him as the lead in The Alexander Graham Bell Story.
Polly and Sally had decided that this movie would be the end of their movie careers. They’d never had much interest in acting, and now that they were young mothers, their ambition lay elsewhere. For Loretta, the Bell story would be a farewell too; she wanted to leave Darryl Zanuck for good. She was burning up the last weeks of her contract so she could leave Twentieth Century-Fox, a free agent again.
Loretta stepped into her gown as the costumer fastened the buttons up the back.
“Stay still, Miss Young,” the costumer warned.
“I swear Mr. Zanuck chose this time period just so I’d be tortured with buttons and bustles.”
The costumer shrugged. “He likes historical accuracy.”
Myron Selznick pushed the door open. “Loretta, I got someone here for you to meet.”
“I have to get Miss Young to the set,” the costumer groused.
“This will take a second,” Myron promised.
“Keep buttoning,” Loretta joked. “The buttons buy you time.”
Tom Lewis appeared in the doorway. He had a thick head of hair and a big smile. He also towered over Loretta, who hadn’t put on her shoes. “Hi, I’m Tom Lewis from New York.”
“I’m Loretta Young.”
“I know. I’m here because I have a part for you.”
“What sort of part?” Loretta was intrigued.
“On the radio. We’re going to do a show for the Motion Picture Relief Fund. Jack Benny and Judy Garland did the last one, and w
e’d love to have you on our next show.”
“Yes, I’ll do it.”
“Tom, I’m taking you everywhere I go from now on.” Myron turned to Loretta. “What gives? You haven’t said yes that quickly in all the time we’ve been working together.”
Loretta smiled at Tom. “That’s because he’s the one asking.”
Tom Lewis laughed. “I’ll get you the script.”
“You do that.” Loretta slipped into her shoes.
Myron waited until Tom Lewis was out of earshot. “He’s Catholic.”
“He’s also tall,” Loretta observed.
“And he’s very very single. Now, which of those attributes is the most important to you?”
“The height,” Loretta joked. “I like to wear a heel instead of date one.”
“I’ll make the deal,” Myron promised.
“Please don’t call it a deal. I’m a romantic, remember?”
Tom Lewis had a different energy from the men Loretta had met since Judy was born. He was a businessman, there was none of the Hollywood spit shine on him. She didn’t feel manipulated by his charm, but energized by it. It was a brief introduction, but Loretta had seen all she needed to see, and was intrigued to find out more. Perhaps it was time to stop looking for a fellow actor, or anyone in her line of work, to get serious about. Maybe it was time for a more traditional fellow, a man who could be the head of a household, a good father and mate. Loretta craved stability and security in a man, and she had yet to find it. Perhaps that man had just walked through her door, just as everything was changing in her life for the better.
Judy was about to turn five when her play pal Cammie King invited her to her fifth birthday party.
The Kings lived in the flats of Beverly Hills, wide, winding streets dotted with a mix of architectural styles—Tudor, Cape Cod, Georgian. Somehow, just like the back lots, where Western saloons were built next to a replica of the Parthenon, the crazy quilt of mixed styles worked.