Chapter 19 Ada
Ada
Inviting Minnie Musgrave to snoop around Gordon’s house felt like a terrible idea, so Ada opted for conducting her interview
within the confines of Minnie Musgrave’s office, which felt only marginally better. Now that the day has come, she and Ingrid
proceed down the halls of an office building on Sunset Boulevard while Ada’s racing heart refuses to settle.
Is she really going to break her reputation for silence, go against Mr. Hendrix’s advice, trust a gossip columnist to keep
her word and not run the story until Ada finishes filming? Still, despite her concerns, a quiet certainty bolsters her forward.
She is using her voice. Whatever comes of it, she will not regret her decision.
When they reach the proper door, Ada draws a breath, so Ingrid finds her hand.
“You can do this,” she murmurs, to which Ada nods. Then she knocks on the door.
When a voice calls for them to enter, they step into a small office filled with cigarette smoke. Behind the desk sits the gossip columnist, nearly prompting Ada to reach for Ingrid’s steadying grasp again.
Ada has encountered Minnie Musgrave from a distance among members of the press, or for a moment of small talk at an event.
Environments in which Ada has always had a convenient excuse to get away, to avoid spending time with a woman so openly willing
to pry. This is entirely different. This is her domain, and Ada has entered of her own volition. Here, words flow freely and
time is of no consequence.
“Nowhere in our terms did I agree to an audience.” Mrs. Musgrave directs a pointed stare at Ingrid. “Run along, doll.”
Ingrid’s mouth forms a hard line, a visible effort to control her temper. Ada was counting on her sister’s presence to keep
her calm, settled, reassured. She could insist on having her remain, but most actresses would not allow their assistants to
linger. Even if they did, Mrs. Musgrave seems adamant.
Ada tells Ingrid to meet her at home, then Ingrid departs, despite her eyes igniting with the urge to protest. The door closes,
trapping Ada inside. Leaving her alone.
She endured years of Nazi occupation, resistance work, a Gestapo interrogation, a journey to America, and the creation of
a new identity. She can manage an interview.
“Ada Worthington-Fox, here in my office.” A slow grin spreads across Mrs. Musgrave’s features, as though she’s won first prize
and Ada is her trophy. “Have a seat, doll.”
Normally Ada would flash a winning smile, offer a clever quip, tease with a vague remark. This time, she does not.
“Before we begin, allow me to reiterate the terms of our written agreement. Under no circumstances is your exclusive to run until I finish filming. You will provide me with a copy of the draft, and I reserve the right to request edits. In exchange, I will not give this story to anyone else and will offer any future exclusives to you, and you may run teases ahead of the article’s printing.
If these terms are violated, the entire agreement is off. Do you understand?”
“I signed our agreement, and I will abide by the terms, so don’t ruin the fun part with business talk, or I can take away
the image you have spent so long crafting. And then Ada Worthington-Fox goes from beautiful, charming, elusive star to untalented
hopeful, to irritable brat, to jealous bitch, to whatever I want.” Mrs. Musgrave lights a cigarette and leans forward. “Trust
me, love, you want me on your side. Keep me happy, and I’ll keep you happy.”
Ada studies the elder woman with her overly painted face and large brown hat covered in netting, velvet ribbons, and multicolored
jewels. Threats will not daunt her into silence. And she will not allow Mrs. Musgrave to turn this exclusive into frivolous
gossip. Her serious pieces might be rare, but this must be one of them if Ada’s words are to be accepted.
“I am under no illusions regarding our positions in this industry, Mrs. Musgrave. This statement is important to me, so if
we can respect the terms we defined, I see no reason for this to go poorly for either of us.” At last, Ada sits. “Shall we
begin?”
“I’ll ask the questions.” Mrs. Musgrave offers Ada a cigarette, which she accepts. “Everyone shows the world a version of
themselves. This form or that one, never the full picture. Especially you Hollywood types. For the purposes of this piece,
I can maintain enough of your image while also convincing readers they’re getting the real woman. To do so, I need you. The
real you.”
Ada lights her cigarette and inhales, although it does little to calm her pounding heart.
“My ex-husband divorced me because he wanted me to be a serious journalist, and I wanted to have fun. To let people escape from their dull lives into a world of glamour and scandal. When I found a press willing to take a chance on me, a woman with nothing beyond the idea for The Dish, my husband was so embarrassed, told me it would never amount to anything . . . God, I wish I could see that bastard’s face
now.” She winks. “And I won’t be ashamed of embellishing stories or using people like you to bring satisfaction to ordinary
people, because that’s what you agreed to do when you stepped into this industry, isn’t it? To entertain.”
Mrs. Musgrave has certainly done well for herself, and Ada can’t help being impressed by her determination. Even if her justification
of her methods leaves Ada shifting in her seat.
“Your turn: Why did you become an actress? The real answer, not some standard one about childhood dreams or discovering potential.
Off the record.”
If the answer is off the record and won’t be included in the article, Ada could tell her about how ballet made her think of
Arnhem, so she couldn’t do it anymore, nor could she bear to give up performing entirely, so she turned to acting and other
styles of dance. But the purpose of this exclusive is not to share everything, only the important things. To give enough of
herself to reveal the woman behind the image.
“Why did I become an actress?” she repeats slowly. “To hide. To escape. To become anyone other than the girl I was, because
I was too ashamed to be her anymore.”
She has never admitted as much aloud. It’s disconcerting but, in an odd way, also rather a relief, even as the hand holding
her cigarette maintains a slight tremor.
“There, not so hard, is it?” Mrs. Musgrave situates a fresh sheet of paper into her typewriter. “Let’s begin.”
Not so hard, if only she can get through it. And she will, because she must.
When Ada returns home, she follows the sound of a faintly crackling radio program, which leads her to the living room.
There she finds Ingrid lying on the sofa, eyes closed, methodically stroking Sowerby’s ears while the little dog sleeps beside her.
When Ada sits near Ingrid’s feet and the cushion settles beneath her weight, her sister’s eyes flutter open.
She sits up while Sowerby crawls into Ada’s lap.
“All right, then?” Ingrid asks softly.
Theirs had been a more open, honest conversation than any of Ada’s previous interviews. As for how Mrs. Musgrave will alter
the piece for her readers, she will soon find out, but it’s done.
She pulls a document from her handbag and hands it to Ingrid—a copy of the first teaser, which will publish soon within an
article yet to be determined. Ingrid accepts the paper, and Ada reads over her shoulder.
Now for the juiciest tidbit of all: a special message from Hollywood’s Vixen.
“Hello there, readers. I’m Ada Worthington-Fox, Abe Sternberg’s leading lady, and if there’s one thing you know about me—well,
it’s that you don’t know much about me at all, do you? Shall we change that sometime soon? I have a few things I’d like to
share—and trust me, darlings, you’ll want to hear this.”
Pick up your jaws off the floor, dolls. A possible glimpse into Ada Worthington-Fox’s personal life? If the most private woman
in Hollywood spills her secrets, I’m buying each of you lovely readers a drink at The Frolic Room.