Chapter 21

Los Angeles, California, January 1942

“Both of you have to leave,” Jerusha said. “I don’t want to hear any more excuses. We’ve already asked you to move out. And now this. It’s unacceptable. Your brother cannot live on the back porch.”

“Don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud. Y’all are fussing over nothing.” Sylvia’s Southern drawl had been grating on Jerusha’s nerves ever since the woman moved into the bungalow. And the magnolia syrup got thicker when Sylvia was trying to cajole something out of someone, as she was now.

Sylvia shook a cigarette from a nearly empty green pack of Luckies and stuck it into her lipsticked mouth. She struck a match and touched it to the tip of the cigarette, then extinguished the flame and tossed the match in the chipped saucer that served as an ashtray. Smoke trailed from her nostrils as she looked at her three housemates, standing in a semicircle around the kitchen table. Sylvia shifted in the chair where she sat, one shapely leg crossed over another, stretched like a sleek cat and ruffled her wavy blond hair with her left hand. “Binky’s just a little ol’ boy, barely eighteen. Y’all have brothers. What’s the big deal about him staying here just a spell?”

“He’s not my brother,” Jerusha said. “And I don’t want him living here.”

“How long is ‘just a spell’?” Pearl asked.

“Too long,” Anne said. “The two of you have to leave.”

“Oh, come on now,” Sylvia said in that wheedling tone. “There’s plenty of room for Binky and me on the porch. If you’re such shrinking violets about having a fella here, it’s not like he’s using the main bathroom. There’s a toilet and a sink back there. He can shower at the studio. You’ll barely see him, just here in the kitchen maybe, getting a cup of coffee in the morning. It’s just temporary. Besides, I should think y’all would want someone else contributing to the rent.”

Anne glared and put her hands on her hips. “Contributing to the rent. That’s a laugh. You’re a month behind with the rent.”

“You’ve been taking money out of the grocery kitty again,” Pearl added.

Sylvia took another drag on her cigarette. “I didn’t take the money. Binky just borrowed a five to tide him over until he gets paid. Now look, it’ll be fine. We’re both working now and we’ll square everything at the end of the month.”

“We asked to you to leave in October,” Jerusha said, exasperated. “And you’re still here.”

Sylvia had moved into the bungalow in August, and it didn’t take long for the others to realize she wasn’t working out as a housemate. Her messiness, her perpetual lateness with the rent, her raids on the grocery kitty, her habit of borrowing clothes and jewelry without asking—all of these got old in a short time. Then there was the day Anne had come home to find the naked man wrapped in a towel helping himself to food in the kitchen. As September gave way to October, there had been another confrontation around the kitchen table, with Anne, Pearl and Jerusha telling Sylvia it was time for her to move out, and soon.

Of course, Sylvia said. She was sorry it hadn’t worked out. It would be better for all of them if she left. But she wanted to stay until the end of October, until her younger brother Byron, the one she called Binky, arrived in Hollywood. But he didn’t show up until just before Thanksgiving. He got a room at a boarding house and the housemates assumed that Sylvia would be out by the end of November. They were wrong. Sylvia didn’t leave. Her excuse was that she had to stay through December. She was working but she really needed to wait until Binky found work so the two of them could afford to rent an apartment. She certainly didn’t have the funds to rent a place on her own.

That no-money excuse didn’t wash well with Jerusha. Sylvia had plenty of cash to spend on Christmas presents, including a set of gold cufflinks. Jerusha saw Sylvia buying the cufflinks at a jewelry store in Hollywood. Jerusha went in one day in early December, looking for a present for Ted. She was surprised to see Sylvia at the counter, looking at cufflinks. Sylvia had waved Jerusha over to where she stood and asked her opinion. All the jewelry looked ornate and too busy to Jerusha—and expensive. Sylvia had finally selected a pair with a Celtic cross, the design similar to the ring Ralph Tarrant wore that day in the commissary, back in August. Later in December, at the studio, Jerusha saw Tarrant, wearing the cufflinks Sylvia had purchased with a wad of greenbacks.

So Sylvia was lying about having no money to rent an apartment. And Binky was working steadily, as an extra. Sylvia swore she’d be gone by the end of December. But she was lying about that, too.

But this was really the last straw. On this Saturday in January, Jerusha, Anne and Pearl had gone out to lunch with friends. When they came home in the middle of the afternoon, they discovered Binky camped out on the back porch. He’d made a pallet on the floor near Sylvia’s single bed and his clothes hung in the makeshift closet next to the half bath with the toilet and sink. He made himself scarce, going out to buy cigarettes, or so he said, and leaving Sylvia to confront her angry housemates.

“Just give us a couple more weeks,” Sylvia said now.

Jerusha shook her head as Anne said, “No, no, you have to leave now, and so does your brother.”

“It’s time for you to shove in your clutch,” Pearl said. “We’re out of patience and browned off.”

The object of the rancor opened the exterior door leading from the backyard to the porch. Byron Jasper strolled into the kitchen, whistling as he tucked a house key into the pocket of his jacket. He was short and slender, about five feet five inches, and he had nondescript hair and a pale face. His eyes were a deep brown, hard like pebbles, and they flickered briefly as he looked from face to face. He stopped whistling and his thin mouth curved into a malicious smile.

“My, my,” he said, his drawl a few tones lower than Sylvia’s. “What have we here? The Inquisition?”

“We’re discussing your imminent departure.” Jerusha could barely control her anger. She didn’t like Binky any more than she liked Sylvia, and at the moment she wanted to wipe that smile off his narrow face.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Binky declared. “I’m tired of living in that boarding house, and you’ve got plenty of room.”

Several voices boiled up at once. Even as she spoke, Jerusha saw Binky’s smile mirrored on Sylvia’s face. They were enjoying this, she realized. They must have been planning it ever since Binky arrived in Hollywood.

Anne drew herself up to her full height and stared down at the shorter Binky. “No, we don’t have room. And we don’t wish to share our quarters with a man.”

“Not very broadminded of you,” Binky said. He stared at the engagement ring Jerusha wore, the tiny diamond Ted had given her for Christmas. “Though you will soon enough. I understand both Miss Anne and Miss Jerusha are getting married.”

“I’ll share quarters with a man of my own choosing,” Jerusha snapped, “and that’s not you. We want you out, now, by the end of the day.”

Binky touched the corner of his mouth with his right index finger and tilted his head to one side. “Oooh, I’m so scared. Well, I’m not leaving. You can’t make me.” He pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down next to Sylvia, tearing the wrapper from a new pack of Luckies. He shook out a cigarette and lighted it, his look insolent as he blew out smoke.

Jerusha stared, frustrated, then she turned and walked out of the kitchen, followed by Anne and Pearl. They went back to the room shared by Pearl and Jerusha.

“What the hell are we going to do?” Pearl asked, plopping down on her bed.

“If they won’t move, we’ll have to do it for them,” Jerusha said.

Anne nodded. “You mean, pack up their stuff and put it outside. I suppose you’re right. She’s given him a key. The locks will have to be changed, so that means talking with Mr. Collier, the landlord. We need some backup, some big strong guys. I wish Lem was here but he’s up at Camp Roberts.”

“And Ted’s in San Diego. But we do have some guys for backup,” Jerusha said. “Ted’s Uncle Walt in Chatsworth. And we know fellows from the studio, like that stuntman Pearl used to date.”

“My cousin Floyd in San Pedro,” Pearl added. “I’m sure he and his fishing crew will help.”

“And the landlord’s son is a nice, big, high school football player.” Anne rubbed her chin. “We can’t make phone calls from here, not with those two in the kitchen. I’ll go down to the store on the corner and use the phone to call Mr. Collier. He’s not going to like the idea of that nasty young man living here in his house, any better than we do.”

Once the plans were made they came to fruition quickly. Sylvia and Binky left for Metro early Monday morning. Pearl was shooting a film at Paramount, but Anne and Jerusha weren’t working, having recently completed projects. The two women quickly packed up all of the Jaspers’ belongings. Mr. Collier, the landlord, arrived just before noon, accompanied by a locksmith. He changed the locks on the front and back doors, and gave Jerusha four new keys.

“Thanks,” Jerusha said. “As soon as Sylvia’s gone we’ll find another woman to move in. I hope we have better luck this time.”

“Me, too,” Mr. Collier said. “So I’ll be back tonight, with Albert.”

“I’ll be glad when this is over,” Anne said when he’d gone. “I hate unpleasantness. But sometimes people have to stand up for themselves.”

Jerusha sighed. “I agree. It’ll be over soon and they’ll be gone.” She jingled the new keys in her hand. “How long do you plan on staying in Hollywood?”

Anne shook her head. “I don’t know. I might take one more job. Lem and I haven’t set the date yet. I don’t think I want to move back to Colorado until spring or summer.” She smiled. “I’ll have to get used to all that snow again, after balmy Southern California.”

“I’m ready to leave,” Jerusha said. “As soon as Ted’s finished with training down in San Diego, we’re getting married. And once he ships out... I don’t really want to go back to Jackson and wait out the war. I want to do something useful. Maybe I’ll get a job in a defense plant, start saving money for when he comes back after this war is over.”

They were both silent for a moment. Jerusha thought about Ted’s brother, Tim, still entombed in the wreckage of the Oklahoma at the bottom of Pearl Harbor. She jingled the keys again. “I’m going to stash these in the bedroom. Looks like Pearl will have to get three new roommates before the year is out.”

“I’m going to make cookies,” Anne said. “I feel like making cookies.”

Pearl returned from the studio late that afternoon, accompanied by her cousin Floyd and another strapping young fisherman from San Pedro. They’d picked her up at Paramount in Floyd’s rattletrap old truck. They were followed shortly by Ted’s uncle, Walt Howard, and Mr. Collier with his son Albert and three classmates. They loaded the boxes containing all the Jaspers’ belongings into the truck. Jerusha made another pot of coffee and handed cups around to the assembly who filled the living room to capacity, eating most of the plateful of Anne’s freshly baked oatmeal cookies.

It was nearly six o’clock that evening when Jerusha heard a key in the front door lock. The door didn’t open. Then she heard Sylvia’s voice swearing. “God damn it, they’ve changed the locks.”

Jerusha opened the front door and stepped out onto the front porch. Sylvia stared. Binky was behind her, his face visible in the porch light. “That’s right. Mr. Collier had the locks changed this morning. And we’ve packed your things. They’re in that truck out there at the curb. You no longer live here.”

“You can’t do that,” Sylvia spat out. “You can’t just kick us out.”

“We already have,” Anne said. She and Pearl joined Jerusha on the porch. “I’d advise you to go quietly. We don’t want any more trouble. If you do make trouble, we have some friends here to see that you leave.”

Floyd stepped up behind Pearl. “I’ll drive you anywhere you want to go,” he said, “one-way trip. ’Course, if you act up, me and my buddies will take your stuff out and leave it on the curb.”

Sylvia sputtered in frustration. Binky’s face was a mask of cold anger. He took Sylvia by the elbow and pulled her away. Then he stared at the three young women on the porch. “This isn’t over,” he said. “You may think it is, but it’s not.”