Chapter 31 Ada
Ada
“Stop making a fuss, Inge. You’re coming to my premiere, and I won’t hear another word against it.” Ada cradles the telephone
receiver against her shoulder and refills her coffee cup. “I’ve already sent a dress to your hotel, and a tailor to ensure
it fits—and you are wearing it, so don’t tell me you’re not.”
“You know how I feel about you inviting Mother.”
“It’s my premiere. You don’t want to disappoint me on the biggest night of my life, do you?”
“Must you be so insufferable?” Ingrid huffs, though Ada hears the smile behind the words. “Of course I want to be there for
you.”
“Matters between you and Mother will never improve if you avoid her, and I can’t leave her out, certainly not when our theories
remain speculation. But I understand if it makes you too uncomfortable.” Silence while Ada sips the fresh coffee. “Please?
It won’t feel right without you there.”
Ingrid sighs. “Fine.” Then her voice softens. “And I am terribly proud of you.”
Ada smiles, then bids her goodbye. Nearly time to get ready. A shiver of excitement collides with the warmth of the coffee spreading through her insides. Her premiere, watching Lady Bella Donna on the silver screen, seeing herself in the lead.
Attending the event on Vince’s arm.
The thought overtakes her before she can subdue it. They will be expected to pose for pictures, to sit together throughout
the film. Then he will come to her party tonight. Even though his name will appear above hers in the billing, since he is
more successful, tonight is about what they have achieved together. The hearings at the Biltmore are over, and they can focus
on the film industry, not political disputes.
She draws a breath. She will not think about this eager flutter in her stomach. About kissing Vince in this very house not
so long ago. Otherwise, at tonight’s premiere, she might be unable to stop herself from bringing her lips to his just to feel
that way again.
The press would certainly delight in that.
When the limousine reaches Grauman’s Chinese Theater, Ada checks her reflection in a compact mirror one last time. Outside,
she can already hear voices clamoring and glimpse flashing bulbs.
They are waiting for her film. For her.
With trembling hands, she tucks her lipstick into her clutch and glances at Gordon beside her. He smooths his waxed mustache,
adjusts his bow tie, tugs on his tuxedo jacket.
“Are you this fidgety at all premieres?” she asks with a chuckle.
He flushes, then clears his throat. “No, no, I’m fine, it’s nothing. Nerves mean you care,” he adds with a wink.
Something in his tone makes Ada feel as if he’s not being entirely forthright.
Then again, she’s never been with him at a premiere of this magnitude before.
Now is not the time to question him, only to thank him for taking a chance on a young Broadway dancer.
For his unshakable faith in her. For his unwavering kindness.
She kisses his cheek; it’s all she wants to say and more.
Gordon places a hand over hers. “Enjoy it, kid. Every minute of it.” Warmth and pride fill his gaze before he nods to the
waiting press. “Now get out there.”
When the chauffeur opens her door, the pulse of energy on the other side practically pulls her from the car and onto the red
carpet.
Amid the shouts and flashes, Ada poses for photographs and looks across the crowd, glimpsing red hair. Too many people to
confirm the face. Still, the thought of Ingrid out there somewhere settles her pounding heartbeat.
Gordon poses with her, then they make their way toward the theater. Before going inside, Ada pauses.
The marquee. She hasn’t even looked at it yet. Suddenly she can’t lift her eyes; doing so might prove none of this is real,
that she is still a girl fighting for a position she will never achieve. For tonight, however, she must give that girl permission
to be proud of herself.
With her heart pounding and her breaths sharp, Ada looks up.
Lady Bella Donna, Starring Ada Worthington-Fox and Vince Hart.
Her name is listed first. Above his.
Someone will be in quite a bit of trouble for that mistake. By this time tomorrow, it will likely be remedied. Until then,
it’s as if no one else is on this carpet. No one around her, no one clamoring for her photograph, no one cheering, simply
Ada and her own name in lights. A moment that is hers and hers alone.
“This would be quite the opening scene for a film, wouldn’t it? A gorgeous actress arriving at her premiere.”
The familiar voice brings an immediate smile to Ada’s face as she looks at him.
Another sight that nearly takes her breath away.
His tailored tuxedo, his hair neatly combed and styled, his bright blue eyes absorbing every inch of her—from her elegant updo to her dove-gray satin gown with its full skirt, then to her eyes.
Vince offers her a hand, so she takes it. He spins her around slowly, much to the delight of their onlookers, then wraps his
arm around her waist and kisses her cheek.
“You always draw every eye in the room,” he murmurs, the words low, meant for her alone.
“You never have much difficulty doing so yourself.” She kisses his cheek in return—again, to the delight of the photographers—before
he releases her and steps to Mr. Sternberg’s side, allowing the press to photograph her individually.
In these careers that demand certain amounts of selfishness, of attention-seeking, of competition, he has forfeited the attention
to her. A gesture that leaves Ada staring after him a moment too long, hoping he will look back.
At last she urges Vince to join her, then they indulge the flashing cameras. Part of her expected this encounter to feel no
different than their encounters these last months. As if they remain trapped in a liminal space, one they can’t move beyond.
Instead, being here with him feels—well, like it did when they were together.
A thought that is, perhaps, not entirely disturbing.
Following the photographs, they proceed indoors to watch the film. Despite her fascination with watching herself on camera,
the opportunity has never presented itself in much capacity. A silent part in this film, a line or two of dialogue in that
one. This time, she’s in nearly every scene. An odd experience, yet somehow Ada separates herself from her character, watching
not as a critic but as a spectator.
Beside her, Vince is calm and attentive. Not betraying his aversion to seeing his own work. After the first few scenes, Ada gives his forearm a reassuring squeeze. He places a hand briefly over hers in gratitude before they release one another.
They make excellent scene partners. He is good, too good, as is she. As is their film. A fast-paced, powerful, moving film.
A good film.
When it ends, the theater erupts in applause. Ada stays seated, uncertain if she’s laughing or crying or simply numb, residing
in a moment she never wants to move beyond. To her right, Gordon dabs a handkerchief to his eyes and kisses her cheek. To
her left, she feels Vince’s touch on her shoulder before he stands and shakes Gordon’s hand.
After offering congratulations and accepting them in return, they exit the theater, where a flash of white and red catches
Ada’s eye. Vince moves in front of her while Gordon flanks her, both clearly attempting to block her view. Too late; she’s
already seen what they’re trying to hide.
A small group of men sends indiscernible shouts toward them while they hold up white posters bearing red messages. Boycott Sternberg and Hollywood Is Red and Get the Commies Out of America! Security ushers the protesters away while Ada pushes aside the ripple of tension in her stomach.
The display will not ruin this night. She will not allow it.
Still, Ada was a fool to believe the hearings that took place at the Biltmore would be the end. More likely, those hearings
were just the start.
Despite the protesters casting a pall over the premiere, the pall lifts the moment the party at Gordon’s begins. And the moment
Ada gets home, Ingrid is there, beaming with pride and pulling her into an embrace.
Ada’s eyes well with tears. For so long, every time she envisioned her career successes, this was what she saw.
Her sister. Except she’d thought her sister was gone, making the vision an impossibility.
Ada had accepted that nothing in her life would ever feel quite right again.
Now Ingrid is here and everything is right, will always be right.
“Absolutely brilliant!” Ingrid exclaims. “The film was spectacular, truly, and you were marvelous.”
“Speaking of marvelous . . .” Ada appraises Ingrid in the dress she selected—cobalt-blue taffeta with a fitted bodice and
ruffled straps. “You really must allow me to contribute to your wardrobe more often.”
“Enjoy it this once, because I nearly sent it right back to whatever designer it came from.” Ingrid shakes her head despite
a slight smile. “Utterly ridiculous.”
“Utterly gorgeous.” Ada grins as the door opens. When Vince steps inside, his brows lift, his eyes darting between the two
women. “Vince Hart, allow me to introduce my cousin, Ingrid van Essen.”
“Well, that explains the family resemblance.”
“Yes, we’re told we favor,” Ingrid says as they shake hands, though the sly smile she offers Ada nearly makes her laugh.
The door opens again, this time revealing Mother, wearing a simple yet elegant burgundy gown. She introduces herself to Vince
as Ingrid’s mother, and hers only. Prior to this evening, Mother agreed to keep her relation to Ada more distant, as Ingrid
is, so as not to encourage the press to pry should they find out about her.
Following introductions, Ada invites Mother to accompany her for a drink. As they go, a familiar urge wells inside her, a
longing to ask Mother’s opinion regarding the film. A need for the approval she always sought as a girl. Before she can decide
between voicing it or swallowing it down, Mother kisses her cheek.