Chapter Six #2
“The things we take for granted,” I say.
Violet raises her glass. “Cheers to that.”
She drifts through the open space with enviable grace, looking unbothered by the darkness, the dress, or the heat. There’s nary a drop of perspiration on her face, whereas I’m glistening with sweat. Feeling inferior, I take another gulp of the martini.
“These cottages are lovely,” Violet says before pausing next to the bed. “May I sit?”
“Of course. But be warned. It’s as comfortable as a stack of cardboard.”
“I’m sure it’s fine.”
Violet gingerly sits and pats the mattress beside her.
I approach the bed, cautious, as if there’s a movie star police force that will arrest me if I get too close.
Then I’m sitting. Right next to her. So close I can see how the locket around her neck is cracked open, as if Violet had been looking at it seconds before knocking on my door.
“Pretty necklace,” I say.
Violet fingers the locket. “A gift. From my daughter.”
She opens it shyly, offering me a glimpse of the photograph inside.
Violet and a young woman, blond and beautiful, smiling for the camera.
Even if Violet hadn’t said anything, the two are obviously related.
They have the same sparkling eyes, thin nose, sharp chin.
In the photo, Violet and the girl huddle on a beach, their hair tousled by the breeze, their smiles Cover Girl ready.
There’s a photograph, taken by my mother, of me and my father on my sixth birthday.
There was no party. Not then and not ever when I lived in that house.
It was the same for my parents, as if they had decided that since Molly could no longer celebrate her birthday, then no one could.
The most we got was cake, which is in the picture my mother took when I turned six.
Me, sitting next to my father, blowing out candles.
My father must not have been aware his picture was being taken.
Or maybe he knew and just didn’t care. Because in that moment, the expression on his face is nothing but pure sorrow and abject disappointment.
I’ve looked at that photo a thousand times now, and each time, I can only focus on how obvious it is that my father thought the wrong daughter had died.
Now I stare with envy at the photo of Violet and her daughter. There’s no sadness there. No regret. Only joy and deep, abiding love between parent and child.
“She’s a lucky girl,” I say.
Violet snaps the locket shut, tips back her glass, and takes a long sip. “That’s enough about boring old me. Let’s talk about you. Where did you come from, Marin Keane?”
“Pennsylvania.”
She lets out one of her world-famous laughs, and for a moment, I feel like I’m in one of her movies. Some family dramedy in which Violet plays my free-spirited aunt.
“I meant your career,” she says. “What led you to this?”
“Other than one humiliating commercial and a few off-off-off-Broadway plays, nothing.”
“Incredible,” Violet says.
“Not according to Susie,” I say, even though it’s the gin clearly talking. I’m already buzzed after half a martini. “I overheard her talking to Heather. She assumes I got the part because I slept with Ronan.”
Violet looks right at me, her gaze as bright and hot as a spotlight. “Did you?”
“No,” I say, insulted—and, yes, hurt—that she would even ask me that.
“Forgive me.” Violet raises her hands in innocence. “I didn’t mean any harm. Nor was I judging. It’s not like it doesn’t happen. All the damn time.”
“Not to me.”
“I understand,” Violet says. “And for the record, the next time you get asked something tawdry and inappropriate, the proper response is to smile coyly and say, ‘No comment.’ You always want to keep them guessing.”
“Have you ever slept with a director?”
“To get a part?” Violet’s face hardens in shock, making it clear I’ve offended her.
I immediately attempt to apologize, because of course she hasn’t slept with a director.
She’s Violet fucking Wright. One of the greatest actresses to ever live.
There was no need for that. But before I can open my mouth to speak, her stern look melts into a sly grin as mischief glimmers in her eyes.
“No comment,” she says before letting loose with another laugh.
“Also, forget Susie. She’s just jealous of your talent.
I should have told you at the time, but you were wonderful at the table read.
Truly. You brought such depth to Daisy that I couldn’t believe you were reading the script for the first time. ”
I smile through another sip of martini, my head swimming from both the gin and Violet’s compliment. “Thank you,” I say, speaking into the glass because it feels even weirder to thank her face-to-face. “But that was all Ronan’s doing. He wrote the amazing script. I just read it.”
“Nonsense,” Violet says. “You brought your heart and soul to it, turning a good role into a great one.”
“I kind of wish it was…less great. Having such a huge part for my first movie is overwhelming.”
“Then why did you audition?”
That question again. When Ronan asked it, I told him it’s because I didn’t think I’d get the part. Since that’s too humiliating to admit to Violet, I settle for “Because I didn’t think it was for the co-lead.”
Violet tilts her head, curious. “Isn’t that what you want?”
“I don’t know what I want.”
“Well, you better figure that out soon,” Violet says.
“Because if this movie is even half as good as that script—and I’m rarely wrong about these things—then your career is about to explode.
What happens after that is all up to you.
Those with a plan grab that brass ring and refuse to let go.
Those without one usually drop it and never get another chance. ”
Violet had a plan, I’m certain of it. Yes, she’s talented, but that only gets you so far. The rest of her success was the result of smarts, luck, tenacity, and decades of hard work.
“Can I ask you a personal question?”
She rests her head in her hand. “Not too personal, I hope.”
“No,” I say. “I’ve just been wondering why you agreed to do this movie. Because you’re—”
“A legend?” Violet says with mock grandeur.
“I was going to say picky,” I reply, which makes her laugh again. I have to admit, I’m getting addicted to the sound. Even more, I’m getting addicted to being the person who causes it.
“I am picky,” she says dreamily, as if this is the first time she’s ever thought about it.
“But you have to be in this business. You really do. If you agree to every piece of shit the studios throw your way, eventually that’s all you’ll be making.
You need to be discerning. You need to turn things down, just for the simple reason that it makes producers want you even more. ”
That’s easy for someone like her who is, yes, a legend. Not so much for someone like me. After this, I have no idea how long it’ll be before I get cast in another movie. Violet’s right. There’s a very good chance this might never happen again.
“What if you’re just starting out, though?” I say, pretending I’m not the person in this hypothetical scenario.
Violet reaches out and pats my hand. “It’s hard, I know.
And exciting and scary and exhilarating.
I remember my first movie. I was utterly terrified I’d make the wrong decision.
And I did. Many times. But they were learning experiences.
All of them. And eventually I learned to just trust my gut and my heart. ”
“So your gut and heart told you to do a horror movie?”
“This one, yes,” Violet says. “Although my agent still hates the idea. He’s afraid I’ll become like Bette Davis or Joan Crawford, doing dreadful slasher flicks until the end of my career. Whatever Happened to Baby Jane, Part 2. Can you imagine?”
“Why this movie, then?”
“Well, first and foremost, I wanted to work with Ronan.” Violet stands and checks the thermos for more gin.
Finding some, she pours half into her glass, the rest in mine.
“He’s a true talent, and those don’t come along every day.
So I was curious to see how he’d handle the material. Also, my sister wanted me to do it.”
I perk up at this scrap of personal information. “Your sister?”
“Yes, Loretta,” Violet says. “I thought you knew.”
“No,” I say, suddenly picturing the two of them doing all the things my sister and I were never able to. Fighting in the back seat and braiding each other’s hair and calming pre-wedding jitters, one of them the maid of honor, the other the bride.
“Not bad for two girls from Vermont, right?” Violet says. “Although neither one of us makes it a thing. Both of us have succeeded on our own merits, but when she told me about this project, I begged her to be a part of it.”
“So you also knew about the women of New Avalon?”
“Knew about them? I was obsessed growing up. Loretta and I both were.”
I look across the room to where the transcript of Daisy’s diary sits. I suspect Violet has also read it. And that, much like Pete, she has opinions on the matter.
“What do you think happened here?”
“I don’t think we’ll ever know. Personally, while I’m sure there’s more to the story, I suspect that a lot of what Daisy wrote in her diary was true.”
“You really think it was supernatural?”