The next morning, on the drive to Eleanor’s home, Chelsea made a vow to be professional and accept that Bailey wasn’t going away. Her cool demeanor evaporated when she saw Bailey’s Jeep already parked in the circular drive. When they were together, Bailey hadn’t made it a habit to be early for anything. What had changed?
Chelsea got out of the car and was about to step up to the door when she heard laughter and music from the backyard. She walked down the path to the patio and stopped in shock at the sight before her.
Bailey and Eleanor were dancing. To an Elvis tune? And when did Bailey learn how to dance like that?
The two women moved like they’d danced together for years. Chelsea’s gaze dropped to Bailey’s backside where the jeans hugged her tight. God, what am I doing staring at her ass?
“Ms. Hampton, but you do dance quite beautifully,” Eleanor said, affecting a southern accent.
“Why, Ms. Burnett, are you flirting with me?”
Eleanor giggled.
Chelsea’s fascination with Bailey’s dancing ability vanished quickly. She remembered they were there to get an interview. And who knew if Eleanor would continue to grant them both access? She’d already proven to be difficult.
Chelsea cleared her throat before approaching.
Eleanor spotted her over Bailey’s shoulder. “I do believe Doctor Parker has joined us. I’m afraid this dancing lesson has come to an end.”
Bailey stopped and waited a half beat before turning toward Chelsea. A slight blush rose up her neck. “Hey, Chels.”
“Bailey.” Chelsea barely acknowledged her. “Eleanor, I was hoping we’d get started today.”
Eleanor walked to the portable CD player and punched the Off button.
“Why don’t you both sit down? I assume you want coffee. I know how you Yanks love your coffee in the morning.”
“I’ll have coffee, Eleanor, but Chelsea doesn’t have a cup until—”
“Coffee’s fine,” Chelsea said and glared at Bailey before sitting down.
Eleanor left for the house. “Niles isn’t up yet,” she said over her shoulder. “Never rises before eight. I’ll be right back with your coffee and my tea.”
After she left them, Bailey swiveled toward Chelsea. “You’ll have to get over this shit. I’m not going away. We’re capable of being civil to one another, aren’t we?”
Chelsea was about to fire off a retort but stopped. She took a calming breath. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It was a shock seeing you yesterday, and I’m still trying to adjust to it.”
The sliding glass door opened. Bailey got to her feet to help Eleanor.
“Let me carry that.” Bailey took the tray from her and set it on the table.
“I hope you two have ironed out your differences,” Eleanor said.
Bailey questioned Chelsea with an upraised eyebrow as she handed her the mug of coffee and sat down between the two women.
“We’re fine.” Chelsea held the mug in her hand but refrained from drinking. She didn’t like coffee this early, but she didn’t want to give Bailey the satisfaction of knowing her so well.
“Ah, ‘fine.’ I remember hearing that word over the years with Daph. I often called it the other four-letter ‘f’ word. Are you really fine, Chelsea, or are you humoring an old woman to get an interview?”
Chelsea set down her mug. “No, Bailey and I are good. Aren’t we?”
Bailey raised her mug toward Chelsea. “Sure, Chels. If you say we’re okay, we’re okay.”
Chelsea didn’t miss her smirk. She resisted the urge to glare at Bailey again. Instead, she retrieved her notebook and tape recorder from her briefcase.
Eleanor’s voice stopped her. “You won’t need those.”
“I’m sorry?” Chelsea looked up.
Eleanor continued to stir her tea. “The notebook and that contraption you have there”—she pointed at the tape recorder—“you won’t need them.”
“I’m confused.”
Bailey, who had her finger poised over the buttons of her tape recorder, also appeared perplexed.
“I’ve agreed to the interview, but on one condition and one condition only.” Eleanor stood up. “If you’ll excuse me a moment, I’ll bring that condition to you.”
Chelsea waited until Eleanor had entered the home before she spoke. “I wonder what she has in mind.”
“I wouldn’t put anything past her.” Bailey stared out at the gardens with her brow furrowed.
Chelsea observed her in this unguarded moment. She looked tired and older than her thirty-one years. The sun captured the blonde highlights of her hair. Bailey ran her long fingers through her tresses. Yesterday afternoon’s harsh words momentarily forgotten, Chelsea felt a sudden stirring inside as she recalled what those fingers could do to her body. She raised her eyes, and her breath caught when she locked gazes with Bailey.
The sound of the door sliding open behind them broke the spell. Eleanor approached the table cradling a well-worn leather book to her chest. She sat down and held the book in her lap, rubbing the leather as she spoke.
“This book, like the others to follow, is precious to me. I’ve never let anyone else read them, not even Daphne. But that’s changing today. This is the first of my diaries. I started it when I arrived in Hollywood at the age of twenty.” Eleanor smiled at their reaction. “Don’t act so surprised. I didn’t have the best home life in the world. My mother died when I was twelve, and my father did the best to raise my two younger brothers and me, but…”
She shook her head. “When he remarried three years later, we were afterthoughts. His new wife sent us off to boarding school as soon as she had the chance. I’d sit in class, watch the rain as it pelted the window, and dream of another life far away from Banbury and Oxfordshire. As far as I could go. When I graduated, I used the money I’d saved working part-time in a bakery and traveled to the States in the summer of 1950.”
Chelsea silently chastised herself for not taking down notes once Eleanor had started talking. She thought Eleanor would at least grant her this concession, since it was a prelude to the diaries. But Eleanor’s words had captivated her to the point she’d forgotten about the interview.
“When the steamship pulled into the harbor, and I saw the green lady staring out at the distance…” Eleanor’s voice caught. “My heart stopped. My God, what a wonder. Has either of you seen her?”
“No, I haven’t,” Bailey said. “I’ve wanted to, though, and hope to before I die.”
“I saw the Statue of Liberty a couple of months ago. I went to New York to a conference, and a friend and I took the tour.” Chelsea felt Bailey staring at her, but she remained facing Eleanor.
“Everyone needs to go at least once in their lives.” Eleanor again brushed her fingertips against the diary. “From there, I started on my cross-country bus adventure. That was an eye-opening experience, one I’ll never forget. I arrived in Los Angeles shortly before my twenty-first birthday. It was hot and steamy. I remember how my dress clung to my sweaty legs as I searched for a decent hotel.” She laughed. “I was so naïve. With what I could afford, I ended up staying for a week in a flea-ridden hovel until I found a one-bedroom apartment in West Hollywood. I worked at a diner a few miles from the opening gates to Taylor-Goodwin-Mays Studios. I’d take a bus to the studio sometimes on my lunch breaks and linger outside with another ten or so women who shared the same dream.”
“You were an extra in two of Daphne’s movies,” Bailey said.
Eleanor smiled. “Very good, Bailey. I attended readings around my work schedule. I learned very fast that a lot of the casting agents were scum who expected their clients to sleep with them to get even a sniff at a reading. But then I met Hal Marker. What a gentleman, a rare breed in Hollywood. He hooked me up for a reading with Frank Teller, the director for Daphne’s The Brave Few, which is how I earned my walk-on in the nightclub scene. I was the cocktail waitress. My only line was—”
“On the rocks or straight up?” Bailey said.
“Now, I truly am impressed.”
“I enjoyed watching Ms. DeMonet’s movies. And when I found out I was coming to interview you, I researched where you fit in with her film history.”
“That’s a nice way of putting it. Fitting in.”
Chelsea wasn’t too pleased with the chummy exchanges between Eleanor and Bailey. She felt like an outsider. “You said we could interview you on one condition, and I—”
“You are such an impatient young woman, Doctor Parker. Has she always been like this?” Eleanor asked Bailey.
Bailey smiled as she looked at Chelsea. “She had her moments. She’s curious and sometimes wants things to move faster to get the information she needs. She was hell around her birthday, always trying to guess what her gift could be.”
Chelsea’s cheeks burned. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here, Bailey. I’m not invisible.”
“No, you’re definitely not that,” Eleanor said. “You’re beautiful, as I said yesterday. And you...” She turned to Bailey. “You’re one handsome woman.”
Bailey ducked her head.
“Oh, we’re shy? Somehow I find that difficult to believe.” Eleanor grew quiet as she gazed at them. “This is my condition.” She held up the diary. “I want the two of you to read this book out loud. Here, at first. Once I’m confident that you’ll continue to read together on your own, I’ll permit you to take the other diaries with you. But you have to gain my trust, and it will take several readings here.”
“I don’t mean to be impolite,” Chelsea said, “but how does this constitute an interview?”
“Because after each reading, I’ll allow you to ask me any questions you like and I’ll answer them to the best of my ability. These diaries are my life. At least it’s when my life began. They give you as much insight as if you sat there and asked me questions point blank without any reference.” She offered the journal to Bailey. “Do we have an agreement?”
“I can’t answer for Chelsea,” Bailey said as she took the diary from Eleanor. “But I’d be honored to read your words.”
Chelsea shifted in her seat.
“Doctor Parker?” Eleanor asked.
“It’s Chelsea.”
“It’s Doctor Parker when I anticipate you’re about to be difficult.”
Bailey started to laugh, but coughed into her hand when Chelsea glowered at her.
“Fine,” Chelsea said.
“There’s that word again. You remind me of Daphne in so many ways. You wouldn’t by chance be of Irish descent?”
“On my mother’s side.”
“There you have it.”
“DeMonet doesn’t sound Irish to me,” Bailey said.
“It was her stage name. Her given name was O’Shea, but the studio heads didn’t like it and tried for something fancy that went with her first name. There was another reason, too, but we’ll touch on that later.”
Chelsea shifted in her seat again, causing the cushion to squeak.
“Back to our impatient Doctor Parker. You’ve agreed. Why don’t we begin? Who wants to read first?”
Bailey handed Chelsea the diary. “Why don’t you read, Chelsea? You’re the one with the good voice. Eleanor’s already commented on how she can tell you sing.”
“I’ve marked where you can start,” Eleanor said. “I’ve already given you the background leading up to where you’ll begin.”
Chelsea thumbed the marker and opened the diary. “You have beautiful handwriting, Eleanor.”
“Those years in boarding school weren’t all lost.” Eleanor motioned at the book. “Now, read.”
Chelsea cleared her throat. “Monday, 21 August 1950. It’s my twenty-first birthday, although there’ll be no celebration. There hasn’t been much celebrating since arriving in the States…”