Meet Me at the Starlight

Chapter 27

HARLOW

“You told me you lost your senior yearbook.” Harlow handed the yellow-and-black book to Mom, who dropped it to her desk without a second glance.

“I did. For a while. Now it’s found. I don’t understand what you’re doing in here, Harlow.”

“Snooping, Mom. Like all good daughters do. You’re supposed to be golfing.”

“Marge hurt her back, so Wayne took her home. Then it looked like it might rain, so we thought we’d have a nice brunch with you.”

Harlow picked up the yearbook and flipped to Mom’s senior ambition page. “‘I’m going to be a famous model and actress.’”

“I had to write something.” Mom pressed one hand to her forehead and anchored the other on her hip. “Everyone knows those things are all hype.”

“What about these?” Harlow held up the black-and-whites. “These are professional photos, Mom. This is a headshot. This is a stroll down Madison Avenue with Sunny Harnett and Winnie Hart.”

“I know who they are, Harlow.”

“Me too. You made sure of it. What I don’t know is why you’re with them or why you didn’t tell me any of this. You were Miss Georgia runner-up? A model?”

“It didn’t seem important. I was focused on you.”

“Our trips to New York, the networking, the pushing and shoving is finally making sense. You knew all the right people, didn’t you?” Harlow held up the picture of Mom sitting in the office. “But here’s my real question. What are you doing with Devier Cole, now one of the most powerful men in Hollywood and the uncle of my former fiancé?”

“Anne, Harlow?” Dad appeared at the door. “What’s going on?”

“Harlow snooped through my things.” Mom shot Dad a pointed look.

He glanced down at the photos and yearbook. “She found your trunk.”

“I asked you to throw it out,” Mom said. “But you insisted on keeping it.”

“I thought you might want the contents someday.”

“I don’t, and now Harlow is in my business.”

“Mom, why the big secret? So you modeled. Why didn’t you tell me? It would’ve helped me make sense of my life. Dad, what’s your part in all of this?”

“You.”

“Me? What do you—” Harlow fell against the desk with a glance at her mother. “You got pregnant with me.” More shadows peeled away.

“Well, now she knows, Cookie. All the years of hiding it were for nothing.”

“I never wanted to hide it, Anne.”

“Oh my gosh . . . wait. I don’t understand. I thought you married right after college. Mom, what’s the look you’re giving Devier?” Harlow examined the photo again. “Were you in love with him?”

“Very much, but he wasn’t in love with me.” Mom tugged off her golf gloves. “Fell for him the moment I met him. Sort of like you did Xander. But it wasn’t two-sided. After my year as a Miss Georgia runner-up ended, I took a semester off, went to New York, and signed with Icon. Annis wanted me to meet him. Dev was older, charming, and the most marvelous man I’d ever seen. We had a few dates—probably for publicity’s sake—but there was no spark for him. He left for Hollywood right after that picture was taken. I came home to finish school the fall of ’57. I ran into your dad at a football game and—”

“Eventually made me,” Harlow said. “You wanted a career in modeling and acting, but you got me instead. Which you didn’t want. So I became your puppet, the kid who fulfilled your lost dream. Do you know when I was seven, I sat on the stairs one night, listening to you cry, telling Dad how you grew up poor and never had anything of your own. How you just wanted a chance. You were crying so much it scared me. Mom, I thought something had happened to you, or that Grandma pulled her tricks again. Little did I know it was because of me. From that moment on, all I ever wanted was for you not to be sad.”

“That’s ridiculous. Why didn’t you say something?”

“I was seven. I didn’t know to say anything.”

“So because you eavesdropped, misunderstood a complicated conversation, and made some childish assumptions, I’m the bad guy here?”

“No, Mom, that’s not—I mean . . . From that day on, I made a promise to myself to make you happy. Didn’t it seem weird to you I never rebelled, never said no, loved everything you loved?”

“I just thought—”

“Did it ever occur to you to ask me what I wanted? Man, it all makes sense now. I grow up with an ambition to make you happy, but you had no intention of making me happy.”

“Harlow, that’s not fair,” Dad said. “Your mother loves you. She—”

“Saw an opportunity with her above-average-looking little girl? Made some calls to all the right people? Entered me in fashion shows here and there? Enrolled me in charm school.” Harlow tucked the photos in the envelope and returned them to the yearbook. “I was with Xander for two years and you never once told me about Devier. Is he the reason I got the part in Talk to Me Sweetly? He is the studio head.”

“Your mom was only trying to help you get into acting.”

“Did I want to be in acting? Not really. But, Mom, you did, didn’t you? Star of the school play.”

“Harlow, I understand you are angry,” Dad said. “But watch your tone.”

“You’re darn right I am angry. Why didn’t you stick up for me, Dad? Why did you let her do it? You say I have a head for business, but you never stepped in, never let me work at the cookie plant.”

“Your mom didn’t want you around all the cookies.”

“Afraid I’d be a chip off the old Cookie Monster block? That I’d like Dad’s world more than yours? That I’d turn into who—what—I am now?”

“Harlow, that’s enough,” Mom said. “Neither one of us deserves your attitude.”

“Don’t you? I’ve felt unwanted and empty before, but I really feel it now. I didn’t think anything could top Xander locking me out of the penthouse and not speaking to me for months. Or Matt blabbing my private life on Letterman. But this?” She held up the yearbook. “Tops the two worst days of my life.”

“I find that harsh.” Mom squared up, chin raised, eyes narrowed. “I never imagined you’d be so ungrateful. I steer you toward untold opportunities and fame, and what do I get in return? Lip. Sour grapes. I’m hurt, Harlow. I’ll not deny it.” She sniffed and wiped under her eyes.

For the first time in her life, Mom’s tears did not move Harlow. “That makes two of us. You weren’t helping me find opportunities and fame—you were helping yourself. I finished your dream because I was the one who interrupted it.”

“That’s nonsense. Your gain does not return my loss.”

“Do you hear yourself? You count me as a loss. Not that you gained a child, or built on the Hayes family legacy, but an interruption to your ambitions. Do you two even love each other?”

“Of course we do.” Mom paced the office, one hand on her back, one on her forehead. “Is this Dr. Tagg’s wisdom? Some psychobabble? Blame all your woes on your parents?”

“No, Mom, this is my wisdom. Believe it or not, I can think for myself. I have ideas about who Harlow Hayes wants—no, no more referring to myself in third person. Who I want to be.”

Mom huffed and faced the window, arms folded tight. “So sue me, I made a few calls. Isn’t it enough that I could see you were something special?”

“I wish it was but, Mom, I felt more like your project than your daughter.”

Mom turned from the window as Harlow picked up the yearbook and headed out of the office. “Where are you going?” Mom followed her. “Bring that back.”

“I’m going home, and this is coming with me.” Tasting freedom trumped all the junk food she’d ever consumed. Including Tony’s pizza and a potato-chip spoon dipped in ice cream.

“Home? You are home. Harlow?”

TUESDAY

OCTOBER 1940

Fall, such as it was in the Florida Panhandle, descended on Sea Blue Beach. The humidity thinned, making an eighty-degree day almost cool.

Hauling a small load of laundry from her new Maytag wringer washer, Tuesday made her way through the morning sun to the clothesline, pausing to look up at the sound of an airplane engine.

Some of the boys at Eglin had taken to waving a wing as they flew over the Starlight and the house on their way to maneuvers. She’d lift her hand and wave, hoping some British mother did the same for her son, if perhaps he flew over her yard while she hung the family laundry.

She clipped the towels and sheets to the line, humming to herself. Imagine, men flying like birds. When she was born in 1900, no one had ever flown anything motorized. She’d seen an air balloon at a fair when she was ten, but those pilots had little control. They could never outrun a hail of enemy bullets.

She tried to enjoy the beautiful morning, but she worried. The last letter she’d received from LJ was the day she went to the movies with Leroy. They sat through Colorado twice, hoping for a glance of their son in the newsreel, but no such luck.

She also had a list of chores on her mind. The staff was giving the Starlight a good cleaning, and Walt Marrs was mending the wood floor damaged by a skater who strapped on a pair of metal street skates. The accounts needed to be updated and the staff scheduled for the Halloween All Night Skate.

While President Roosevelt’s fireside chats continued to assure Americans he “hoped the United States will keep out of this war,” more and more flyboys showed up at the Starlight on the weekends, which was where LJ should be. But why dredge it all up again? Just be proud of him.

Leroy was away at boot camp. In his last letter, he said he’d be home in mid to late October.

We’ve a lot of work to do if we want to be ready to fight. The president is being political, Tooz, but we’re going in one way or another. I know this means I’m away from you again, but it feels right to be here and take a stand for something good and decent. Believe it or not, I’m doing it for you.

This time, she believed him.

Dupree remained at his job and excelled. In the evening, he was glued to the radio for war news, bragging what he’d do when called up and shipped “over there.”

Tuesday prayed every night the call would never come.

She’d hung the last of the washing on the line when she saw Doc’s car turning down the drive. A splinter of dread stuck in her craw. While she counted him a trusted friend, he was so often the bearer of bad news.

He parked his Deuce under a shade tree trying to turn green into gold.

“Just in time for some breakfast.” Tuesday met him in the yard, the empty basket resting against her hip. “Coffee’s still hot.”

“Here, let me.” He took the basket, set it on the back porch by the washer, and followed her inside. “Lee said he’d done some sprucing up.”

“You’ve talked to Leroy?” She settled the iron skillet on the stove, added wood to the fire, and reached for the can of bacon grease. “Prop that door open, will you?” Her ol’ wood-burning stove still turned the kitchen into a furnace.

“He’s doing well.” Doc set his hat on the hook, then did as she asked. “He’s a soldier. I think that’s why and how he ended up with the Memphis mob. He needed a cause.” There was sympathy in his eyes as he took a seat at the table. “All your boys will be in Europe before it’s said and done. Best prepare yourself.”

“Then I’ll keep the Starlight shining.”

He smiled softly. “Tuesday, leave that and sit down with me.”

“W-why?” Her legs weakened as she moved to the nearest chair. “You’re scaring me.”

He reached into his shirt pocket and produced a telegram. “I got this the other day. LJ put me down as his next of kin.”

“No.” He pressed it into her trembling hand, but she stood, jerking away. “Do not come in here again as the Doctor of Doom. I won’t have it. Whatever that telegram says, it’s a lie.”

She slammed the skillet on top of the stove, then flung it against the wall. Melting grease puddled on the floor, and the hot handle had marked her palm. “This is your fault. You let him go. You gave into his wild ideas. You fixed it with your old commander or your wife’s family.” She ran her hand under cool water, sobbing. “Noooooo! No, no, no!”

Doc took her into his arms. “At some point, every boy becoming a man must test himself. Am I brave enough? Am I strong enough? Am I honorable enough? He must find something to believe in that’s bigger than himself. God. Country. Family. A war against evil. He died a hero, Tooz. He’d want you to be proud. He shot—”

“I don’t want to hear it. I. Don’t. Want. To. Hear. It.”

“—down a Junker headed for London. But when he dove away, he crashed into a Messerschmitt. They both went down.”

She slumped into him with one hammer of her fist against his chest. He braced her with his hand around her waist, but after a moment, they sank to the floor together.

“I want ... I want ... him ... I want him back, Doc.” Shaking, she washed his shirt with her tears. “Get him back!”

“I wish I could, Tooz.”

The fire blazed in the stove while the kitchen turned dark and cold as she wept and remembered.

The sweet, dimply, curly-headed baby with the roly-poly thighs. The toddler trying to run before he could walk, banging into furniture, falling down and getting up again. The six-year-old determined to do it all by himself. The ten-year-old who shot up four inches in one year. The big brother who wrestled in the yard with Dupree, laughing. The teenager who kicked a can down the street as he walked to school with his buddies, his books slung over his shoulder, bundled by a leather strap. The boy who became a man and said to her, “I want to fly, Ma. I want to fly.”

“Doc.” Tuesday dried her face with the hem of her apron. “It was me. I’m the one who told him to go.” She pushed to her feet and walked out to the porch, faced the Starlight, and dried her cheeks. “He said to me, ‘I want to fly, Ma.’ And I told him, ‘Then go fly.’”

“That’s the best thing you could’ve ever done for him.” Doc stood beside her. “We’re going to need an army of LJs in the days ahead.”

“They have Lee. He’s worth ten men.”

“True enough, from what I’ve observed.” Doc glanced down at her. “You’re worth a thousand women, Tuesday.”

She brushed his shirt where her tears had left a stain. “You’re worth quite a bit yourself, but you absolutely must stop delivering bad news.” The wind snapped the clothes on the line. She’d forgotten all about the laundry or the chores needing to be done. “What happens now?”

“He’ll receive the Distinguished Flying Cross, I’m sure, possibly other medals as well, and the heartfelt thanks of the British people.”

“His body?”

“The bottom of the Channel.”

She swiped away fresh tears. “He loved the water as much as the air, so rest in peace, Leroy Jr.” She wondered if she’d break again, rattled by tears and grief, but the view of the Starlight anchored her.

Life and death were assured, but the Starlight would remain because Immanuel watched over it. He watched over them all.

“Does Lee know?”

A car stopped at the end of the drive, and a man in uniform stepped out.

“He knows,” Doc said.

Tuesday ran down the slippery sand-and-shell driveway and launched into her husband’s arms. “He’s gone, Lee. He’s gone.”

“I know, baby, but I’m here now. I’m here.”

TUESDAY

MAY 1987

She’d heard it said, “You can’t fight city hall.” Well, you can’t rush them either. Which was exactly what she told Matt when he called for the umpteenth time.

“Nothing yet, Matty. I’ve lived in Sea Blue Beach for eighty-seven years, and no one has ever rushed the council.”

The petition-gathering window had closed two weeks ago. The supervisor of elections had the lists and was verifying that every signature belonged to a Sea Blue Beach registered voter. After Matt’s stint on Letterman and his second appearance on Rollo on the Radio, they’d collected almost four hundred names. Fifty more than needed.

Well done, Sea Blue Beach. Tuesday suspected Immanuel’s hand in it as well.

“I’m calling Harry,” Matt said. “They don’t need two weeks to verify the signatures, Granny.”

“Let this matter play out. City hall can’t defeat the Starlight. I’m declaring it now. She’s built on the rock.” Her voice rose with a preacher vibe. “Let the waves roll. Either Immanuel’s got this or he doesn’t.”

“Granny, Immanuel is a painted man on a Starlight mural.”

“He’s God with us, and whether you like it or not, He’s all we got, Matt. We’ve seen what man can do, now let’s see what God can do. How’s the movie business?”

“Great. We’re rehearsing the rom-com. Filming starts in June. Last night Cosmo told me I landed the role of Luke Orman in a spy-thriller called Cloak of Darkness. It’s not big money up front, but if the film does what they expect, it’ll be my biggest role and paycheck ever.”

“Money doesn’t buy happiness, Matty. In fact, in my life, money—or the quest for it—only brought pain.”

Simon entered with a pair of brownies that had seen better days and added them to the donation box. Recently, a man in Pensacola had contacted her about restoring old skates. He fixed them up with outdoor wheels and donated them to city kids.

In moments like these, it seemed the Starlight would go on forever and ever. It must. Surely the prince and Immanuel worked something out all those years ago.

“Granny, did you hear me?”

“Sorry, Simon came in the office. What did you say?”

“Have you heard from Harlow? I thought she’d keep in touch with you, but—”

“Why would she, Matty? She’s off living her life, just like you. As all kids should. Pretty soon things will get back to normal around here, and all this talk of destroying the Starlight will be put to bed and we’ll chug along like always.”

“I miss her, Granny,” Matt said.

“Then go after her.”

“She made her feelings known. Called it a day. I hurt her like I did Booker. She forgave me, but...” Matt’s hesitation told her he wasn’t convinced. “I think she’ll go back to Cole. Why not? Handsome. Rich. The Beauty and the Billionaire.”

“Poppycock, Matt. Harlow may have a wounded wing, but that billionaire isn’t the one to mend it. With all his money and privilege, he lacks one thing.”

“What? A royal title?”

“Wits. He don’t have your wits. And I’ll tell you something else, you see Harlow in a way no one else does. I’ve seen the way you two interact. Peas in a pod.”

“I don’t think so, Granny. Besides, you’re biased. Judging by Harlow’s reaction to Xander’s visit, she still has feelings for him.”

“You never knew your Grandpa Lee, but even with all of his shenanigans, we were connected in a way words couldn’t explain. I guess you’d say soulmates these days. That’s what you and Harlow are, Matty. Soulmates.” Truth timely spoken felt like gold to her. Honestly, people should try it.

He laughed. “Granny, you old romantic.”

“Matt, you have some regrets. We all do. Don’t let Harlow be one.”

Tuesday felt a twinge of regret not telling him Harlow was right here, at the Starlight, but it was at her request. “I got some things to figure out. So I’ll just be a regular gal around Sea Blue Beach and the Starlight.” Though with the supermodel back at the rink, Matt would find out soon enough.

The beauty returned almost two weeks ago. Came asking for her job on a Tuesday morning and started that afternoon. She looked softer than before, as if something transpired to let the light inside out, though a shadow or two still flickered through her famous blue eyes from time to time.

“What do you hear from Bodie on your case?” Tuesday said.

“The State Attorney’s office asked for an extension. Bodie is sure they don’t have enough to prosecute. Dale’s probably trying to pressure them. He thinks he has more clout than he does.”

“I hope you’ve learned a thing or two in this process, Matt. Like your dad says, figure out what’s eating you.” Tuesday sensed a presence at the office door. Harry. “Matty, let me call you back. The mayor is here.”

“Great, put me on speaker—”

She pressed the end button on the portable phone. “Harry, what brings you around to the Starlight?”