Chapter 6

Los Angeles, California, May 1941

It was a fine Saturday morning in May, with a glorious blue sky. Too pretty a morning to stay in bed. Jerusha and Pearl took the Gasper, Pearl’s old Model A Ford, to the Farmers Market.

“I guess I’m still a small-town girl in that way,” Pearl said as she slowed and signaled a turn. “I’m used to buying produce direct from the farmers.”

“We always did, back home in Jackson,” Jerusha said. “It just tastes better.”

The market was seven years old now, started in 1934, with stalls set up at the corner of Third and Fairfax. Pearl angled the Ford into a parking space and cut the engine. They got out of the car and strolled toward the first row of stands, both carrying baskets. Jerusha had the list and the coin purse with the money from the grocery kitty. They made their way down the aisles, carefully selecting their purchases, checking items off the list, as Pearl told Jerusha about her latest part in a movie at Warner Brothers.

“We start shooting in June. It’s a remake of Satan Met a Lady, that movie with Bette Davis, back in ’thirty-six.”

Jerusha looked over a bin of oranges. “I saw that picture. It was awful, a remake of something with Ricardo Cortez in ’thirty-one.”

“I think this one will be good,” Pearl said. “It’s got a great cast, Humphrey Bogart and Mary Astor.”

“Who’s directing?” Jerusha squeezed an orange and set it aside.

“John Huston. He worked on the script for High Sierra. He was hitting on all six with that script. But this is his first time out as a director.”

Jerusha selected four oranges and paid for them. “What’s it called?”

“They’ve got a couple of working titles—The Gent from Frisco and The Knight of Malta. They should just use the title of the book it’s based on. The Maltese Falcon. The guy that wrote that, Hammett, he wrote The Thin Man, too. I like Bogart. He was such a nice guy when we were making High Sierra.”

“Yes, he is. I worked with him and Raft last year in They Drive by Night.” Jerusha moved toward a display of snap beans and spinach. Early tomatoes, too, but they didn’t look ripe enough to suit her. “I’ll be at Warner Brothers next month, too. I have a bit in a picture with Raft, Edward G. Robinson, and Marlene Dietrich. Raoul Walsh is directing.”

“Raft, can that man dance! What a pepper shaker.” Pearl pointed at a stand. “We need eggs, right? That’s a good price.”

“Yes, it is.” Jerusha opened the coin purse and doled money into Pearl’s waiting hand. While Pearl bought the eggs, Jerusha walked on, then stopped to look at bins of apricots and cherries, first of the season. She bought both, then strolled to the next stall, where boxes of fat red strawberries beckoned.

Inside the stall a young man sat on a stool, head tilted back as he drained a bottle of Coca-Cola. When he saw Jerusha, he discarded the empty bottle and stood, moving toward her. He was tall, with a lanky frame and a head of curly red hair. His face was tanned but that didn’t disguise a liberal dusting of freckles. His eyes were as green as glass, with a roguish twinkle as he picked up a bowl of strawberries. “Sweetest strawberries in California. Almost as sweet as you.”

What a line. Jerusha smiled in spite of herself. She liked his looks, those green eyes and the smile that curved his lips. “How would you know how sweet I am?”

“I can tell just by looking at you,” he said. “Here, taste one.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Jerusha plucked a strawberry from the bowl and bit into the luscious red fruit. “Oh, they are good.”

“Grown in Ventura County. Picked this morning. I ought to know, I drove ’em down here.”

“Is that where you’re from?” she asked. “Ventura County?”

“Nah. I just drive a truck for my Uncle Walt. He owns this stall.” He gestured at the stacked boxes of produce around them. “I pick up loads of fruits and vegetables and bring them here to sell at the market. I stay with my uncle, too, in Chatsworth, out in the San Fernando Valley. But I’m originally from Oakhurst. You know where Oakhurst is?”

“I should hope so,” Jerusha said. “It’s on the south end of the Mother Lode Highway. I’m from Jackson, farther north. But I live here now.”

“So you’re a Los Angeles girl now. You sure are pretty,” he said, still holding the bowl as he stared at her.

Jerusha felt herself blush. She reached for another strawberry. He set down the bowl. She felt a little tingle as his fingers brushed her palm, picking up the strawberry hulls. He discarded them in a nearby box.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Jerusha Layne.”

“I’m Ted Howard.” He stuck out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Jerusha Layne. That’s a pretty name. Sounds old-fashioned.”

“It’s a family name, passed on through the years. I have a great-aunt named Jerusha.” She shook his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

“Jerusha,” he said, still holding her hand. “I’d sure like to buy you a cup of coffee.”

“I’m...I’m here with someone.”

“Don’t let me get in the way if you’ve got a better offer.” Pearl appeared at Jerusha’s side. She looked up at Ted and beamed. “Who’s this?”

“Ted Howard.” He released Jerusha’s hand and shook Pearl’s. “From Oakhurst. But I live in Chatsworth now, with my uncle who owns this stall.”

“Hello, Ted. I’m Pearl Bishop.” With a sidelong glance at Jerusha, Pearl chuckled. “I see you’ve already met Miss Jerusha Layne. I think you’ve made an impression on her.”

“Pearl...” Jerusha felt her cheeks redden. She looked down at her hand, stained by the juice from the strawberries.

“I hope so,” Ted said. “I hope she’ll go out with me. What do you two ladies do here in Los Angeles?”

“We’re actresses,” Pearl said.

“Wow. I never met an actress before,” Ted said. “And now I’ve met two. Would I have seen you in any movies?”

“Maybe.” Jerusha tilted her head and looked up at him. “I was in The Women with Norma Shearer. I’ve been in lots of movies, and so has Pearl. I just finished a picture at RKO, called Suspicion.”

“You say you’re living in Chatsworth,” Pearl told Ted. “I did a couple of Westerns that were filmed on location out there, at the Iverson Movie Ranch.”

“Yeah, I know where that is,” Ted said.

“I’m working on a picture at Paramount,” Pearl added. “With Veronica Lake and Joel McCrea, directed by Preston Sturges. They’re calling it Sullivan’s Travels.”

“You ever work with that guy Frank Capra?” Ted asked. “I like his pictures. Lady for a Day, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, and You Can’t Take It with You.”

Jerusha shook her head. “Not me. I’d like to, though. I think he’s a good director.”

“I had a bit in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington,” Pearl said. Ted looked mystified at the term. “We’re what they call bit players. That means you have to look really hard to see us on the screen.”

“I’ve heard of extras,” he said, “but not bit players.”

“We do bits,” Jerusha explained. “Small parts, a little bit of dialogue and action. Let’s say we’re making a movie about the Farmers Market, starring Norma Shearer as the woman searching for...”

“Strawberries,” Pearl said, helping herself to a berry from the bowl. “With Tyrone Power as the young man in the produce stall.”

Ted grinned. “Oh, I see Jimmy Stewart in that part. Or maybe Gary Cooper.”

Jerusha laughed. “So the customer who keeps interrupting the stars while they’re trying to have a conversation—”

“Flirting with one another.” Pearl winked at Ted.

“The customer would be the bit player,” Jerusha finished.

“I get it,” Ted said. “What about Uncle Walt?” He pointed a thumb at the older man who was walking toward them.

“He could be a bit player,” Jerusha said. “Or a character actor.”

“I see Frank McHugh in that role,” Pearl said, popping another strawberry into her mouth.

“Too short.” Jerusha looked up at Uncle Walt, who was nearly as tall as his nephew. His hair was going gray, but it had a hint of red and he, too, had freckles on his weather-beaten face.

Ted made the introductions, then he glanced at his uncle as he stepped out of the produce stall. “Hey, Walt. Is it okay if I buy these ladies a cuppa joe and some pie?”

Walt smiled, nodding. “Go ahead. Take your time.”

“I’m gonna amscray and let you two beat your gums,” Pearl said. “I see a fella I know down there who owes me five simoleons, and I’m gonna remind him.” She winked at Jerusha. “I’ll meet you at the car in about an hour.”

“You know, I like that Pearl,” Ted said. He took Jerusha’s arm and escorted her to a stall where a woman was selling coffee and homemade pie. They shared a wedge of buttermilk pie and Ted asked if Jerusha was free for dinner.

She shook her head. “I have a date tonight.”

“How about tomorrow night?”

“I don’t go out on Sunday nights. Particularly this Sunday. I’m auditioning for a part in a Fred Astaire picture on Monday. I have to work on my song-and-dance routine.”

“How about coffee again, tomorrow afternoon?”

She laughed. “You don’t take no for an answer.”

“I’m not going to. You just name the place and the time, and I’ll be there.”

She considered for a moment, then she nodded. “Okay. Coffee tomorrow afternoon. There’s a little café on the corner of Sunset and La Brea. I’ll meet you there at two.”

She didn’t get the part in the Fred Astaire picture, You’ll Never Get Rich. But coffee with Ted led to lunch the following Saturday, and dinner the weekend after that. Jerusha enjoyed Ted Howard’s company. He was easy to talk with. He listened to her as she told him of all her dreams and aspirations, and he told her about his.

“Some day I want to go to college, train to be a teacher,” he said one Saturday evening at the bungalow. Her other housemates were out on dates and Jerusha had cooked dinner for the two of them. “But I don’t have much money. I’ve been working ever since I was a kid. When I got out of high school back in ’thirty-five, I did some work in the north part of the state with the Civilian Conservation Corps. Last year I came down here to work for Uncle Walt.”

“If you keep working for your uncle, maybe you could save some money and go to school.” Jerusha gathered up the plates and began washing them in the sink.

Ted got up and grabbed a dish towel, drying the plates and cutlery as she stacked them in the drainer. “Maybe. I’m thinking about joining the Navy.”

Jerusha stopped, a fork and the dishrag in midair. “The Navy? Why?”

“Get out of California for a while, see the rest of the world.” He took the fork from her and dried it. “My older brother, Tim, he’s in the Navy. He joined up six years ago. He really likes it. He’s been all over the Far East. China, the Philippines, a place called Guam. Now he’s on one of those big battleships in Hawaii.”

“My Uncle John was in the Philippines during the Insurrection, back at the turn of the century,” Jerusha said, rinsing the rest of the cutlery. “He was in the Army.”

“Besides...” Ted frowned. “I think we’re going to wind up in this war.”

“In Europe? You think it will spread?”

“Yeah. Hitler needs taking down. And the Japs sure are making a lot of noise in the Pacific. What they’ve done in China, it’s just wrong.”

“Yes, it is.” Jerusha nodded, remembering those horrible stories in the newspaper, about Nanking. “But it’s not our fight yet.”

“It will be,” Ted said. “Sooner or later.”

Jerusha shivered, as though something had crept up her back. She shook off the feeling and looked up at the man next to her. His presence warmed her. “I baked a pound cake. It should taste good with those strawberries you brought.”