Chapter 31
Chapter 31
Lena woke at 4:00 a.m., unable to get back to sleep. While Paul slept, she made coffee, and pulled out the list of changes that Connie had so helpfully compiled for her. She looked them over while the coffee percolated, but really all she could think about was Julia, and everything Julia had said. Julia being in prison and the CIA agents and she and Lena being targeted and how they’d go after Paul next. Was it true? Any of it? Julia had used her in Rome, was she doing it again? What she said about saving Lena’s life—had that really been the way it was? So much of it was hazy with the passage of time. What remained was Lena’s fear of those men, and the words “You’re part of it. You can’t escape.”
No, those words she could not forget. And while Julia had dodged Lena’s questions in the past and wasn’t answering them now, Lena knew she hadn’t misread the fear she’d seen in Julia today.
Lena drank the coffee bitter and black because Paul was out of sugar, and tried to focus on the costume changes for Medusa . When dawn peeked through the edges of the curtains, she’d managed two sketches, but they were uninspired and she knew it. If she hadn’t let Julia take her car, Lena would have left by now, gone to her office where she could surround herself with work and better concentrate, but she was stuck until Paul was up and ready to go and by then she was so tense she was surprised he didn’t notice.
But he didn’t seem to, and she realized he was consumed with his own issues—most of them being the changes Runyon asked for. A kiss goodbye, and he was on his way to meet Runyon at the soundstage and she went to look for her car in the parking lot—not there yet—and tried to forget Julia for long enough to get something done.
Except that she’d forgotten about Claudia Mazur.
“Higgy wants to see you the minute you come in,” Shirley informed her as Lena stepped through the door. Her secretary’s expression was commiserating.
Lena sighed, but Higgy had eyes everywhere, and he’d know if she didn’t do his bidding, and so she made her way to the administration building and his office.
Adele said, “Twice in one week. I think that’s a record.”
Lena winced. “Is he waiting for me?”
The secretary waved her in.
She knocked. At Higgy’s brusque “You’d better be Lena Taylor,” she stepped inside.
Lena spoke before she cleared the door. “I’m so sorry, Higgy. It couldn’t be helped. I was delayed coming back from an estate sale. If she had waited twenty-five minutes—”
“She came to see me.” Higgy leaned back in his chair, steepling his hands before him.
“Again, I’m sorry.”
He swiveled to look at her. His brown eyes, magnified through the round lenses of his glasses, were cold and impersonal, which was not a good sign. “What do I like to say about actresses?”
“The only time you want to see them is in a movie, a gala, or your bed.”
“That’s right. So you can imagine what I thought about her showing up in my office.”
“It won’t happen again.”
“I can’t think what could possibly have been more important than showing up for a fitting. Isn’t that what I pay you for?”
“Yes.”
“It reminds me of something ... What is it?” Higgy tapped his pencil against his temple. “Ah yes, I remember now. Your previous boss. I don’t suppose you’d like to be the previous head costumer for Lux Pictures, would you?”
“No, I wouldn’t.” Lena swallowed hard. “Not at all.”
“Then make it right. Today.”
“I will. Absolutely. I’m sorry, Higgy.” She turned to go.
“Oh, and Lena ...” Higgy’s voice stopped her. She turned back. “I hear your screenwriter is causing some problems for the production censor on Medusa , and that the costume department isn’t keeping up. The film is important to the studio, do you understand? Runyon has my blessing, and Gardner is on board. Keep things on track, will you? I don’t have time for all this trouble. Any more of it and I’ll have to make some changes.”
It was those words, more than the issue with Claudia Mazur, that unsettled Lena as she left Higgy’s office and returned to her own. She followed Flavio’s standard protocol and asked Shirley to send a dozen of Claudia’s favorite flowers with an apologetic note and let Lena know when they were delivered. She would call then and offer a heartfelt apology and do what she could to soothe Claudia’s feelings.
In the meantime, she had the sketches for Medusa and the morning to make up for the time she’d lost yesterday with Julia, not to mention the little matter of when Julia might show up with the car or what Julia might expect from Lena today and how that would throw a wrench into everything. So many complications. Better to just concentrate on what she could accomplish.
She got more coffee and settled down to work.
“Jonathan Martin is calling,” Shirley announced. “He says it’s very important.”
Jonathan Martin was Charlie’s alias. They insisted on using pseudonyms to prevent Lena from being associated with known communists and homosexuals. Neither he nor Harvey ever called unless it was from a pay phone. That Charlie had called meant that it was something important.
Lena was immediately worried. She looked to her door to make sure it was closed, and turned on the fan to keep anyone in the anteroom from overhearing. She picked up the phone. “Please tell me this isn’t bad news. And this is very strange. How did you know I needed to talk to you?”
“You’re all over the newspaper. We’ve been concerned.”
“Oh, that. You shouldn’t pay attention to gossips—”
“Not gossips. The LAPD. Walter .”
She’d forgotten that of course they must have seen the article about Walter’s death and her questioning, that of course they would worry. She should have called them. “I’m so sorry. It’s fine. I should have let you know. I’m fine. I had nothing to do with it.”
“Of course you didn’t. But you saw him.”
“He decided to pay me a visit and ask for money.”
“I always knew he was a bad sort.”
“Yes, well ...” She let the words trail off, knowing that he’d hear what she wasn’t saying, that Walter’s death solved her marriage problem.
“There’s nothing to it? Nothing at all? You’ll let us know if you need us?”
“I’m not dragging you into this.”
“But you will , yes? If you need to?” She heard the warning in his voice.
“I won’t need to, I promise. But there’s something else.”
“The reason you’ve been thinking about us?”
“Julia’s back.” She lowered her voice even more.
Charlie went quiet. “ Julia Julia? From . . . ?”
“Yes.”
“She’s not dead?”
“Apparently not.”
“Does Paul . . . ?”
“No. I’m trying to keep it that way.”
“Listen, this sounds serious. We should meet with you—”
“ No! Absolutely not. She’s ... I’ll tell you later, but you should stay far away from me right now. Promise me.”
Solemnly, Charlie said, “I can’t promise that.”
“It’s too dangerous. I mean it. Remember that old record I had? That Duke Ellington record?”
“That scratchy thing?”
“Do you still have it?”
She heard the sound of a car honking, some kid laughing in the background. “Um ... I don’t think so. No, that’s right—it was given to Larry, in fact. Some time ago.”
“Why?”
“Who knows? I guess he thought Larry would find it interesting.”
Lena took a deep breath. “Okay. Well that’s one good thing at least.”
“What’s that?”
“You won’t have to meet Julia.”
“Honestly, I’d like to have a word with her. I have some things to say to her about what she got you involved with in Rome. Just tell me you’re safe. And in no danger of being arrested for murder.”
“I’m safe,” she lied. “And in no danger of being arrested for murder.”
“I don’t like the sound of your voice.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Martin,” she said with a laugh. “If I need you, I’ll call for an appointment.”
“You promise?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll never forgive you otherwise. Neither of us will.”
“Don’t I know it.”
The phone went dead on his end, and Lena hung up, both reassured and troubled. The record was no longer in Harvey and Charlie’s possession, which was good—it kept them out of this. But Larry Lipton ... how to finesse that? She wasn’t sanguine about leading Julia, or CIA agents, right to Larry, where subversives gathered every Sunday—even if most of them were harmless—and where she and Paul together had a history. And if Paul found out she’d made a visit there ...
Her head began to pound. What she needed was a break and something to eat.
“I’m going to the commissary,” she told Shirley. “Can I bring you anything?”
Shirley shook her head and tapped the Family Circle’s Reducing Diet Guide on her desk. “I’m skipping lunch today.”
Lena rolled her eyes—Shirley had a Marilyn Monroe figure and there wasn’t a man on the lot who didn’t look at her longingly—and went to the commissary. It was crowded, which didn’t help Lena’s headache or her impatience. Neither did the sight of Michael Runyon and George Gardner sitting at one of the tables, or the fact that the special was a hot chicken liver sandwich on toast, and the smell was faintly nauseating.
She stood in line to order. Just then, Paul came from the line bearing a tray of food, caught sight of her, and waved her over to the table with Runyon and George. Paul didn’t look especially happy to see her, she noted. More ... troubled, and she remembered what Higgy had said this morning and toyed with the idea of grabbing her pimento cheese sandwich and hurrying back to her office with it, but then ... Higgy’s demand that she “keep things on track” echoed in her head and she knew she couldn’t retreat.
With a sandwich in hand, along with a Coca-Cola, she went to the table. They were in the midst of a conversation, George saying, “... what women in this country really want.”
She tendered a thin smile for all of them. “Hello there. How intriguing that sounds. What is it we want?”
They all rose. Paul kissed her cheek. She placed her tray on the table and sat down. “Please sit. I’m dying to know. What do women in this country want and why are you asking?”
George glanced at Runyon. “We’re just talking about the movie. About the message.”
“Mmm.” She took a long sip of the Coke. “Well I’m here to help. Given that I’m the only woman at the table, you can all pick my brain.”
They looked uncomfortably at one another.
“What is it?” she asked. “Let me guess what you’re thinking: women want diamond rings, nights on the town, fine restaurants, great shoes.”
“At first. Of course women want a little fun at the start.” Michael Runyon picked up a french fry and dunked it in ketchup.
George nodded. “But women aren’t like men, are they? They’re much smarter than we are. They get bored with fun all the time.”
“Do tell.” Lena picked up her sandwich. Paul looked uncomfortable.
“They like more serious things. Love. Marriage. Children. Family.” George stirred his coffee thoughtfully.
“Men don’t want those things?” Lena asked.
“Sure. Sort of. I mean, in general. But men get bored easily, and they don’t know what’s good for them.” Runyon chomped on a fry. “But we do know how to keep women safe. Once a man has a family, he knows what’s important.”
“Still, he wants to have fun,” Lena said.
Paul gave her a sharp look; she wasn’t sure why. Lena bit into her sandwich.
Runyon nodded. “Why shouldn’t he? After working all day, taking care of a family ... a man should be able to let off a little steam.”
“Is this all something to do with Medusa ?” she asked.
“It’s about how many of the women should have a happy ending,” Paul said.
She couldn’t read his tone. “A happy ending how?”
Paul very carefully did not look at her.
“That’s what we’re discussing,” George said.
“How many women are in the movie now?” she asked.
“Three. Helen, Jess, and Hannah.”
Lena frowned. “Hannah? Who’s Hannah?”
“A new character.” Runyon poured more ketchup onto his plate. “A Soviet spy.”
She gave Paul a questioning look.
“It turned out to be a good idea,” he said defensively, though the shift of his gaze told her he wasn’t sincere.
“It does two things,” Runyon said. “Hannah will of course realize that the American system is better suited to what women do best: raise strong families and support their husbands, and it also alerts moviegoers to the fact that the Soviets are infiltrating us in the very heart of our most treasured pastimes: jazz clubs, restaurants, Hollywood ... you name it.”
Lena said, “Why, Mr. Runyon, you sound like a member of the MPA. You see enemies everywhere.”
“Enemies are everywhere, Miss Taylor.” Runyon turned to her with his piercing blue eyes. “In places we least expect it. Your butcher, your neighbor. Friends.”
Was it her imagination, or did he emphasize the last? She thought of Julia, who was the last person she wanted to be thinking about, and she remembered what Paul said last night, about Runyon’s comment on her friends and family and the Midwest.
“How exhausting to be so suspicious.” She took a sip of her Coke and changed the subject. “Who are you thinking of casting for this spy, anyway?”
“I thought Debbie Reynolds,” Runyon said. “Gardner isn’t sure.”
Lena laughed. “Debbie Reynolds?”
“I hear she’s looking for meatier roles ...,” George said doubtfully.
“Not as a Soviet spy. America’s sweetheart? She’ll never do it. I can tell you now, put her out of your mind.” Lena shook her head. “By the way, I’ll have some new sketches for you tomorrow morning—but of course I’ll need casting and script pages for Hannah the spy.”
“I’m gratified. I’d rather thought you’d be running behind,” Runyon said. “Given what happened yesterday.”
Again, Paul looked troubled. So, in fact, did George.
Runyon kept talking. “The whole lot’s talking about Claudia Mazur’s temper tantrum. Braxton was furious.”
Lena lost her appetite.
Runyon went on, “I’ve always heard good things about you, Miss Taylor. How professional you are for a woman. I admit it came as a surprise to me to hear how you misstepped on this one.”
“Sometimes you have to give women an accommodation, Runyon,” George said awkwardly, with a knowing smile for Lena. “They have ... things ... sometimes.”
Things. Women’s problems that men would never refer to by name—so embarrassing, a terrible weakness in the second sex. Periods and cramps and weird ailments connected to lady parts and all that. Lena had worked so hard to never let those things interfere with her job. They never had, that she could remember, and yet here she was, so casually being cast into that same lot, so carelessly assumed to need an accommodation .
“I’m sure Lena has a good excuse,” Paul put in, his voice mild, very smooth. This, then, was the cause of the troubled expression she’d seen on him earlier. She’d said nothing to him yesterday of missing Claudia’s fitting, and he must be wondering why she hadn’t mentioned it.
“I got caught at an estate sale,” she said. “They had some excellent fabrics and I hoped to buy some. There was a sateen that would have been perfect for the character of Jess. I was twenty minutes late, but Claudia didn’t want to wait.”
Michael Runyon stared at her for a moment as if he thought he’d spotted some dishonesty in her eyes—as if it could possibly matter to him whether she was lying or not. George only shrugged and said, “Did you get it? The fabric?”
Lena shook her head. “It was a waste, I’m afraid. Everything sold for far over my budget.”
“Too bad.” George took the last bite of his chicken salad and wiped his hands on a napkin. “We’d best be getting back to work. What do you say? Carbone? Runyon?”
Runyon nodded. He and George rose, and Paul got to his feet as well, but as the two others started to the door, Paul bent and put his hand on Lena’s arm. “When George brought my car this morning he said something about you showing up yesterday afternoon,” he said quietly. “You weren’t really at an estate sale. Why were you at my apartment?”
Her heart sank, but she met his gaze. “I’ll tell you all about it later.”
He hesitated. He searched her face, and then he released her arm. His mouth tightened. He followed the other men, leaving her without a kiss, without a goodbye, and she watched him as he went to the door, that pounding in her head growing ever louder as he held it open for a woman to come inside.
Julia.
He passed her without a word and went out to join the others.