Platinum Doll

“One battle at a time, Rosie, please.”

They walked together back into the dining room where Chuck was dealing the cards. “Five card draw?” he asked of which game they would play first. Ivor nodded in accord.

“So, you know how much I’ve been missing my mother since we’ve been out here,” Harlean began and, as she did, she felt her heart quicken.

She so desperately wanted this to go well and there were a dozen reasons that it wouldn’t.

“The mother you talk to on the phone every week?”

Everyone exchanged a glance before they picked up their cards.

“Sorry, doll, yes, I know how much,” he amended. “Why?”

“Well, she and Marino are coming out to California for a visit!” Harlean tried her best to make it sound like a wonderful announcement, but it took some effort with her heart racing as it was.

“Isn’t that great, Chuck?” Rosalie asked cheerfully before he had a chance to react. “After all, we girls are never too old to spend time with our mothers.”

“I’m really awfully happy about it,” Harlean added, her glance shifting from Rosalie back to Chuck.

In the silence that followed, she reached across the table and put her hand over his. She was relieved when he didn’t pull away, even though he kept looking at his cards. “If it’s what’ll make you happy, then I’ll welcome them to California,” he finally said. “How long are they staying?”

There was a note of humor in the way he had added the question, and how quickly. Or maybe it was just that the three of them were so relieved there wouldn’t be a scene that Ivor started to laugh. Then they all did. When he gave Chuck a light brotherly clip on the shoulder, Harlean felt herself finally exhale.

* * *

Jean Harlow Bello always entered a room as if she were driven inside by the force of a strong wind. There was a confidence and attitude that came with her as well as a mighty swirl of her favorite Shalimar perfume. Today was no different. Chuck held the front door open as his mother-in-law strode past him, swirling onto the scene in a smart burgundy traveling suit, with a fox-fur collar, pearl earrings, fashionable black turban and neat black gloves. Having been a teenage bride herself, and a mother at the age of nineteen, Harlean’s mother was still a beauty. But her overly strong personality made a far stronger impression.

Harlean watched Chuck roll his eyes as her mother was followed inside by her husband, Marino, with his oiled inky hair and waxed ebony mustache. He was wearing his customary tight-fitting pin-striped suit with white spats, and he was dutifully toting the luggage.

“Ahh, there’s my baby, at last!” Jean cried out as she drew Harlean to her chest and squeezed her. The gesture was theatrical, but she loved being caught up in her mother’s distinctive whirlwind embrace.

“Mommie is here now, Baby. All is right with the world when we Harlow women are back together.”

Harlean heard the subtle challenge to Chuck in that, as she knew he was meant to, but she refused to react, and she hoped he wouldn’t either to ruin their reunion. Besides, it had been cleverly worded as a compliment. Jean was an expert at that sort of thing. Harlean didn’t love facing that, and the sensation was unsettling, even mixed with the joy of being reunited.

“Hello there, Charles,” Jean said blandly as she tossed Chuck a cursory glance. “Provincial little place you’ve got here.”

It hadn’t been meant as a compliment but Chuck had been brought up well enough not to take the bait.

“Thank you, Mrs. Bello. We’re happy here.”

Harlean heard the unmistakable edge in his response. Jean had never forgiven Chuck for eloping with her precious only child and every look, every word, was meant to remind him of that. In particular, she had resisted inviting him to call her by her first name. But Harlean had gained such confidence these past months of their marriage, by taking chances and by watching Rosalie, that she had every intention now of finding clever ways to help the two of them reconcile their differences, and not allowing her mother to steamroller things this time.

If they spent enough time together, Jean would see what a wonderful young man she had chosen on her own. Going against her family to marry Chuck, when she knew that it was right for her, had only been a prelude to the bold choices she was beginning to make for her life, and she liked the way that felt. The independence she had begun to seek here in Hollywood was drawing her more strongly every day.

“Come on, Marino, let’s find the guest room. You do have one, don’t you?”

“Mommie, you and Marino take our room. It’s larger and much more comfortable.”

She didn’t have to look in order to see Chuck’s shocked stare. “You’re staying here? Harlean, why didn’t you tell me that?”

“Until we find our own place, where would you suggest your wife’s mother stay? In a hotel, Charles?”

Knowing how close she was to her mother, Harlean thought he would have assumed the Bellos would stay with them. It was what families did, after all, wasn’t it? But then again, as a young boy, before the death of his parents, perhaps they’d never had out-of-town family. How could she know that when he wouldn’t talk about any of it? Whatever the circumstances, there had to be a way to make everyone happy. If there was, Harlean was determined to find it. Family and loyalty, after all, meant everything to her.

* * *

As the Bellos were settling into the master bedroom, Chuck came to Harlean as she was making up the bed in the guest room.

“Listen, doll, I completely forgot a tennis date I agreed to at the country club in half an hour. I can’t miss it since I’m playing doubles. You understand, don’t you?”

“I just thought maybe we’d take my mother and Marino out to lunch?”

In response, he pressed a halfhearted kiss onto her cheek as he buttoned his tennis sweater. “Why don’t you give Rosy a call? She can probably finagle another table for you all at the Brown Derby. Who knows, that might actually impress your mother.”

Then, before she could object further, he chucked her under the chin and left the room.

When they heard his car engine begin to rumble out on the street, Jean came into the room, sank onto the edge of Harlean’s bed and held up a hand to her daughter.

“Come sit with Mommie and tell me absolutely everything. Have you been well? You look terribly pale and thin. Is he even feeding you?”

“I’d rather hear about Grandpa. How is he doing? I try to call him once a week but you know how he hates the telephone.”

Harlean sat down beside her, trying to press away her disappointment at Chuck’s sudden leaving, as they embraced again. Her mother always smelled like that powdery citrus fragrance and for Harlean it was a comforting scent. Despite the way she had phrased it, Harlean understood the comment. While she encouraged her daughter to keep her figure, Jean would probably always worry about her daughter’s health. The severe case of scarlet fever she’d endured as a girl had frightened them both. No one but the two of them truly understood how life-altering that episode had been. It was one of the many things that tightened the finely woven mother-daughter bond.

“Seriously, Baby, how are you?”

“I’m fit as a fiddle, I promise. And there really isn’t anything to tell. I registered with Central Casting. Rosalie, that’s the girl I was telling you about, didn’t believe I’d do it, so it was fun to see her face after I did it.”

“On the train here, after what you told me, I was thinking about getting you some elocution lessons, and a few ballet lessons couldn’t hurt with bearing before you get a call. Believe me, the cameras see everything. I could never quite make the camera see what others tell me they see of me in person. You know how people have always referred to me as a beauty. But you, you’re different, Baby.”

“Mommie, there were more than fifty girls there that day, lined up around the office, and one was prettier than the next.”

“The world is full of pretty girls, Harlean. You can’t let that deter you.”

“Deter me from what? It’s not like I’m actually going to get an audition. It was a dare I took. Now it’s over and done with.”

“We shall see, won’t we?”

Her mother smiled, and her flawless skin looked luminescent to Harlean in this light. She had always thought her mother was exquisitely beautiful, and she knew people thought they resembled one another. Harlean had always been so flattered by that, and she felt even more linked with her because of it.

“But in the meantime, it couldn’t hurt to be prepared. We will get you those lessons. So tell me, how did Charles take the news?”

Harlean grimaced. “Now, Mommie, you know perfectly well Chuck hates to be called Charles since that was his father’s name and it reminds him of his parents’ loss.”

“But Chuck just sounds so...pedestrian.”

“Well, I’m ordinary, too, you know.”

“There is nothing ordinary about you, Harlean Carpenter.”

Harlean sighed. “It’s McGrew now.”

Then it was Jean’s turn to roll her eyes. “Fine. What did your Chuck McGrew say about you going to Fox, then signing with Central Casting?”

“He doesn’t know, and he’s not going to right now, either, until I decide for myself what I think about it all. If he ever has to be told, I’ll be the one to do it. Can we talk about something more pleasant, like finding you and Marino a house to rent?”

Jean lifted a shapely blond eyebrow. “Baby, what in heaven’s name has gotten into you? This sort of contrary tone with me isn’t at all like you. On top of that we’ve only just arrived, and you’re putting us out?”

“I just thought you and Marino would want more privacy.”

“And you and Chuck?”

Harlean was eager to change the subject. “Well, I certainly am glad you warned me about sex, I’ll say that,” she said with girlish delight and, by it, sounding more like the teenager she was than a married woman. “I mean, you really kept nothing back when you explained.”

Jean put an arm around her daughter’s shoulder and drew her closer. “What would’ve been the point of anything else, hmm? I always told you, your body is nothing to be ashamed of, nor is sex. It’s actually quite splendid. Although I admit factoring you with Charles into that sentiment has somewhat dampened my zeal for it. And while we are on the subject of your husband, does he often go off like that so suddenly and just leave you alone?”

“He doesn’t leave me, Mommie. He’s making friends. It’s good for him.”

“Never entirely good to leave a beautiful young wife to her own devices.”

“I trust my husband and he trusts me.” She could hear a note of self-defense creeping into her own voice so she forced up a smile to mask it. But her heart was sinking further by the moment. It was certainly not how she had hoped this would go.

“Maybe he wouldn’t be so confident if he knew about the casting office.”

“I know you don’t like Chuck, but I love him, and if there is ever a reason to tell him I’ll do it in my own time and in my own way. You wouldn’t dare tell him about that!”

“Baby, it has nothing to do with liking him or not. You were too young and too impulsive when you married, and you have your whole life ahead of you.”

Harlean had longed for this reunion with her mother. For days she had excitedly imagined these first tender moments back together, where she would have a chance to share all that had been happening in her life more easily than on long-distance telephone calls. But this was not at all the encounter she had hoped for. It felt like her mother was attacking Chuck—and therefore attacking her, in that artfully passive way she had mastered—and Harlean could feel her defenses flare.

She was certainly hurt by it, even if she wasn’t ready to admit it to her mother. So far in her life, it had never been worth the price of Jean’s days-long, stormy tirades if she felt even the least bit confronted or questioned.

“You were young when you married my daddy.”

“And you see how that ended up.”

“Well, that won’t happen to us because we married for the right reasons.”

“Time will tell, I suppose.”

Anxious for a distraction, Harlean glanced down at her mother’s lovely silk-faille-covered shoes, ornamented with large square, silver buckles.

“Gee, those are awfully keen.”

She knew her mother well enough—better really than anyone else did—to know that this was the best way to divert a scene or end a problem. It was also far more clever than initiating a full-scale tirade so soon after her mother’s arrival. Harlean might not always be as forceful as she would like to be, but she did take pride in her ingenuity. For now that would have to do.

Jean glanced down at her own feet, the tense moment between them extinguished in the face of sudden fashion talk, which they both adored.

“Oh, good, I’m glad you like them because, as it happens, I brought you a pair just like them, so we can be twins!”

“Gosh, that’s great, thank you, Mommie. I just love them!”

Suddenly, Marino was standing in the doorway, leaning against the jamb, wearing his customary sly grin. He always reminded Harlean of a gangster, but that was another thing she would never tell her mother. Jean believed him to be the sophisticated savior of a floundering Midwest beauty. In reality, he was a smarmy, two-bit huckster.

“So what have you two gorgeous dames got in store for me today?”

As he posed the question, he touched his moustache. Harlean supressed a twinge of disgust in response. What her mother saw in him she would never know, and she certainly didn’t care to. But they were here now, and Harlean fully intended to take advantage of the visit in order to bring her mother and her husband together at last. She certainly didn’t want this turmoil, she didn’t like it, so that was about to come to an end. She would figure out a way. Being in Hollywood again had given her a new confidence she never knew she had, and finally Harlean felt up to the heady challenge.

* * *

Over the next few days, Jean and Marino settled into the house as if they meant to remain there indefinitely. Clothing was steadily being strewn and piled everywhere in the bedroom and the bathroom. A few pieces even found their way into the living room. Jean’s favorite tablecloth now covered the table in place of one Chuck and Harlean had bought on their honeymoon cruise, and the music on the radio was nearly always the Italian opera that Marino fancied.

As a clear response to their presence in his home, Chuck left early most mornings before Harlean awoke. When he returned at night, he was most often under the influence of more than a few drinks.

“I hate this damn guest room,” he grumbled in the dark as he flopped onto the edge of the bed and tried to remove his own shoes and socks without falling over.

Harlean pressed a hand onto his shoulder in a soothing gesture. “You’re only saying that because Mommie’s in the other room.”

“I’m saying it because I haven’t made love to my wife since her mother installed herself in my bedroom!”

“Shh, pipe down, or she’ll hear you!”

“This isn’t normal, doll, us being separated. I miss the feel of you, the way you taste. Not having you is driving me crazy!”

He pivoted on the bed and pressed her back into the pillows, then arched above her before she had a moment to object.

“I need you, Harlean. I need us. Your mother is gonna ruin everything, I know she will.”

“Don’t say that. You don’t know her like I do. She wants what’s best for me.”

“Not so long ago you told me that was me.”

His thighs anchored hers to the bed, his hands were tightly cuffing her wrists. Harlean pressed her hips into his, wanting the connection with him every bit as much as he did. But the walls in this house were thin, the two rooms separated only by boards and stucco. The springs on the bed frame creaked.

She could hear the muffled sounds of Marino and her mother talking in the other room.

Chuck kissed her again, one breast then the other. They were straining to hold back from what they both wanted.

“If we’re quiet...” he raggedly whispered.

“God, they’ll know, for sure!”

Harlean was meeting his kisses with anticipation. He pressed up her silk nightgown straining over her. “So what if they know? I need you, Harlean, you’re my wife!”

“Chuck! I can’t!”

Their heavy breathing fought the silence, though Marino’s muffled words still came through the thin walls. “I can’t go on like this!” Chuck growled.

“They’ve only been here a few days.”

He moved away from her and fell onto his back, his chest heaving. “Well, it feels like a goddamn eternity to me.”

Harlean nestled against him, the sound of his heart slamming in her ear. He was being petulant and spoiled. She waited for him to calm beneath her tender touch. “I love you, Chuck, with all my heart. You know I do.”

“Get them out of here, Harlean. I want my wife back.”

It was the last thing he said before he rolled away from her and pulled the covers up to create a barrier between them.

* * *

Harlean rose early the next morning so she could let the dog outside in the backyard. There was a light mist covering the lawn and the sunrise sky was all rose and vermilion. She stood watching it for a while before she went back in to make a pot of coffee, then sank onto one of the new kitchen chairs. She’d been awake most of the night, wanting Chuck as much as he had wanted her and struggling with guilt over refusing him. As glad as she had been about her mother’s arrival, it had changed things. The Bellos just needed their own house nearby and then everything would be fine.

Everything would get back to normal.

The ringing of the phone startled her. She lunged toward the dining room nook to answer it. She needed this bit of peace, time to herself. She certainly didn’t want Chuck to wake in a fouler mood than the one in which he had gone to bed.

“Hello?”

“Jean Harlow, please.”

“I’m sorry, my mother is still asleep and—”

Only then, as the words crossed her lips, did she remember the name she had given to Central Casting. She was Jean Harlow.

She cleared her throat. “Jean Harlow speaking.”

“Bring your best evening gown to the Paramount Pictures lot. Get here by nine and be prepared to spend the day.”

The voice was male, young and in a hurry. She heard the click on the other end before she had a chance to ask if she could bring her mother.

Stunned, Harlean set the phone back in the cradle, then sank against the wall. The spark of excitement she had felt faded quickly when she thought of her mother, asleep and unaware, in the next room. In spite of the enthusiasm she had initially shown, Harlean could not help wondering how the news would truly strike her. After all, Jean Harlow Bello was a beautiful woman who had struggled for years, then finally had given up on her dream only to have her young, pretty daughter called for work in a matter of days—and while using her mother’s name.

Harlean fought against the disloyalty and worry she felt. Not only was her mother likely to feel envious, Chuck would doubtlessly feel threatened that a group of men might want to use her in a motion picture.

Hollywood is no place for a lady.

The echo of her grandfather’s voice the last time they’d spoken moved through her mind now and added to what she knew would be a resounding chorus of discontent if she went through with this. A silly dare had very suddenly become something more. Harlean couldn’t help but feel as if she were on the cusp of some monumental thing, but she still wasn’t certain that finding out just what it might be was worth the risks with those she loved.

Chapter Seven

She decided to leave a note for Chuck saying that she was going off for the day with Rosalie and she was taking the car. Then she left before anyone was awake. She didn’t trust herself with them about this yet—her mother would be pushing for one side and her husband would be dead set against it on the other. After all, she kept reminding herself, it was rare to actually be chosen for work from the huge pool of extras they called in. For luck, she had just pinned Irene Mayer’s brooch squarely onto the collar of her dress and, before turning from the mirror’s reflection, she had admired her ingenuity in obtaining it. Ah, Irene’s face when she had presented the business card to her and demanded payment had made the entire adventure worthwhile. Of course she would return it in time, but for now the brooch was a symbol of her having set out to prove something to herself, setting a goal and then achieving it.

Always finish what you start. It was another thing her grandfather regularly said, and the maxim came to her as she walked across the studio lot with a renewed purpose. She wondered, with a spark of amusement, if he would think that applied to his only grandchild trying to wade into the turbulent, highly competitive waters of Hollywood. She already knew the answer to that, of course.

Skip Harlow would be livid.

Two men in silk top hats and tails, each carrying scripts, walked by her with bearded men in plaid shirts and cowboy boots. A group of actresses in dance-hall costumes stopped them to talk. Others wearing ponchos, sombreros and great false mustaches passed her by as she made her way through the bustling Paramount back lot. There was such energy to the atmosphere that she hadn’t seen when she was younger, and there was a touch of mystery to it. Harlean hadn’t expected to be drawn in by any of it today, but being in the center of everything, and on her own, suddenly felt exciting.

After she checked in at the casting office with a hundred other extras, the women were all shown to a huge room, the walls lined with mirrors, where they could change into the evening attire they had brought with them. Most of the women kept to themselves as they primped, straightened and pinned themselves together. They ranged from stout-looking matrons to slim ingenues. Her mother and Rosalie had both told her that if the hopefuls received a nod in the next few minutes it would mean a day’s wages to actors who were more than a little down on their luck. She could hear several of them murmuring prayers and affirmations to themselves as they filed back outside to line up around the soundstage.

While they all waited together, Harlean began to feel as if she were trapped in a crushing jungle of competition and desperation. Most of it was costumed in stained, faded or mended satin, or taffeta and fake fur. The actresses around her gossiped, smoked cigarettes and cracked chewing gum to lessen the strain and pass the time.

Harlean fluffed the rose silk evening dress she had worn on the cruise. It was couture and had cost her grandfather a small fortune. She guessed that hers was the only dress that had actually come from a Paris designer as she compared it to the faded costumes around her.

A no-nonsense-looking woman and man, both in gray business attire, surveyed the long line. The man quickly assessed each hopeful extra and only occasionally said “you.” The woman wrote down the person’s name on the clipboard she carried, and they moved steadily on.

He had chosen at least thirty by the time he came to Harlean. To her surprise, she felt her heart begin to pound. Suddenly, she desperately did not want to be passed over. It was a curious sensation—one that felt unnervingly like a growing sense of ambition.

When he stopped in front of her, Harlean saw that he was a remarkably young and fresh-faced man for the job. However, his gaze held the critical stare of a professional who had been at this a while.

“You, what’s your name?”

“Harl... Jean Harlow, sir.”

“Quite a looker. The director will want you, for sure.”

She was uncertain whether or not she was meant to respond.

“Follow the others,” he said with no inflection in his voice. He moved along down the line and, just like that, her moment was over.