Carole’s driver sat, patiently waiting, in a black roadster, the early-morning sun glistening off the polished top of the automobile. Julie glanced at her watch as she hurried out the door; stepping into the car, she finger-combed her hair. There had been time only to dress quickly and tell her puzzled friend she would explain everything later. She was supposed to meet Carole at the ranch to help her get the place ready for their move. She would keep her focus on that and not dwell on last night. She felt childish. It was too easy to fall into seeing everything only from her own point of view. If she was to think about anything right now, it should be what Andy must be feeling for his grandparents. That worry had opened a gap between them, and at some point she would try to breach it. Not today. No poor-me response. Over her long night of troubled dreams, head on the cold steel of the typewriter, she told herself she had outgrown that.

Carole stood by the gate to the Encino ranch at 4525 Petit Drive, clad in dungarees and high boots covered with mud. Her blond hair was caught up in a rubber band, high on the crown of her head, and her face was without makeup. She looked joyous. With one foot, she kicked open the gate and beckoned the driver to inch his way in over the newly graveled driveway.

“Hi there, honey,” she said as she jumped into the back seat with Julie. “Sam, find this girl some boots, okay? I think we’ve got some in the trunk.” She turned her attention back to Julie. “I’m giving you the full tour first, but then we’re painting fences. Redwood. Ever painted redwood? Very tricky, I’m told. It defies being painted green.”

Julie shook her head and started to answer, but Carole was laughing, pointing to the sweep of land unfolding on both sides of the car. “Alfalfa fields, citrus groves,” she said. “Twenty acres of everything. I can hardly believe it. Let’s get out; I want to show you something. We can do the house tour later.”

She jumped from the car before it came to a full stop. Julie didn’t hesitate: she hopped out right after Carole. So what if her shoes got muddy? Carole’s lightheartedness was intoxicating.

“We’re putting in what some people call a chicken house and what I call a hennery, right here,” Carole said, taking in a plot of land with a wave of her arm. “See? It’s only a short distance to the house, so I can collect eggs in the morning. Just trot out in my nightie, no fans peeking out of the bushes, and scoop them up. Ever collected warm eggs straight from hens?”

Julie laughed and shook her head.

“Makes me feel quite motherly, like I’ve plopped them out myself.” A touch of wistfulness crossed Carole’s face. “Wish I could. But we’re trying.” Her mood switched again. “The pigsty goes over there.” She wrinkled her nose. “I won’t be visiting them. And I have a wonderful tractor that’s coming—did Rose tell you I want it gift-wrapped?”

“Yes,” Julie said. “We could wrap it in ribbon—”

“Oh no, hon, I want it boxed,” Carole said cheerfully. She grabbed Julie’s hand and drew her through the field, pointing to the barn, then the stables. Together they stepped inside. Lining the walls was an array of equipment, all hanging neatly: shovels, rakes, brooms of all sizes. “Only thing missing is the horses,” Carole said. “Clark is buying them; I can’t wait. He doesn’t want to clean out their shit, but I don’t mind—just have to make sure I take off my pants before going back in the house.” She laughed. “We’ll ride in the mornings together; God, life will be wonderful.” A second’s pause. Then: “Even when it’s not.” She cast a quick glance at Julie. “Things don’t stay perfect with any couple, you know.”

The implied invitation to speak trembled between them.

“There was a scene at the baseball game yesterday—” Julie began.

“I know.”

Julie felt a little rattled. “The news traveled that fast?”

“The movie business never sleeps,” Carole said with a tighter smile than usual. “And Europe has everybody here on edge, Jew and Gentile.”

“Did it hurt him?” Please say no, she thought.

Carole considered that. “He confronted a bigot, right? Let’s be honest, people would rather sweep these things under a rug. But Selznick has big plans for Andy, and most people know it. So, no, I don’t think it will hurt him.”

“His grandparents—”

“I know that, too. You’ve been talking to Doris, right?”

Julie hadn’t planned to say more, but changed her mind. “He’s drawn away from me because I tried to stop him from reacting yesterday. He was out with her last night. And she told me there’d been another woman in his life, that she was like me.”

“Doris is a protective sort.” Carole let out a sigh. “Ah well. You’re going to hear sooner or later, so I’ll tell you now. There was a woman, yes. Not like you at all, by the way. And an accident.” She peered into one of the stalls, surveying the clutter of saddle racks and horse feeders with studied interest.

“What happened?”

“Are you sure you want to hear more?”

“Of course I do.”

“You know what that thing is over there?” Carole pointed to what looked like a cart. “It’s a manure spreader. Amazing, the things a horse needs.”

“Carole—”

“Okay.… It happened two years ago. Andy was dating a gal named Nicky who was blonde and pretty, and up for a role in an MGM movie. There were rumors she was diddling Mayer to get the part, but, hey, maybe true, maybe not. Anyhow, they were out drinking one night, got loaded, climbed into her car, and headed up Sunset Boulevard, going well over the speed limit, I’m told.”

“Oh God.”

“The car jumped a curb, just missed some guy walking his dog, and hit a tree.” Carole said. “Andy wasn’t hurt, but his girlfriend’s face was badly banged up. She lost the part in the movie. Andy pleaded guilty to drunk driving, paid a fine, and spent a week in jail. She publicly blamed him, wouldn’t talk to him. End of romance.”

Julie looked down at her shoes, noting the caking mud, letting herself wonder if the suede would clean. Why was Carole sounding so casual? “That’s terrible,” she said, her voice shaky. “He could have killed her.”

“Sure, if he’d been the one driving.”

Julie cast Carole a look of astonishment. “He wasn’t?”

“He said he was, but even the police had their doubts. She was a crazy driver, and most people think he took the blame to save her reputation. Not incidentally, he was supposed to be in love with her, from what I heard. He wanted to be a stand-up guy.”

“She would let him do that?”

Carole’s hand flew to the left side of her face. “Yes,” she said softly. “She was a cheat. And a crybaby.”

Julie’s gaze followed Carole’s hand to her left cheek. Even now, if you looked carefully, you could see a faint scar traveling the length of Carole’s face, the legacy of an automobile crash when she was eighteen that left her with a devastating injury; it almost ended her career. One of the most impressive things about Carole was that she had elected to have reconstructive surgery without anesthesia, to keep her facial muscles from relaxing and thus risk a permanent scar.

Thinking of that gave Julie the shivers. “Did Nicky’s face heal?”

“Yes. But she wasn’t all that good of an actress, and it gave Mayer an excuse to dump her. She complained all over town that Andy had ruined her career. After milking the episode for all it was worth, she took a job as a stewardess.” Carole shook her head. “Andy never defended himself.”

Julie felt a rush of sadness—not for herself, but for Andy. “You know far more about his life than I do.”

Carole shook her head. “Not really. I knew him first simply as the fellow with the quickest access to Selznick. I hear he’s the guy you go to, to unscramble a production problem around here—though he underplays it.” She gazed again at the equipment on the far wall, looking puzzled. “Why the hell do we need a manure spreader in here? Don’t horses manage to spread it around on their own?”

Julie smiled. They left the barn and plodded on together, in rare silence. Ahead, behind the thick bushes and trees, Julie glimpsed the house. Wide and gabled, of white-painted brick, it exuded warmth and hospitality. The awnings were a faded, mossy green, and the generously scaled porch all but demanded that a visitor plop into one of its canvas chairs and lift her face to a blue sky and be happy. A sky that would always be blue—wasn’t that the promise? Andy would say the promise was false. But this wasn’t a movie set. Carole scoffed at movie sets. This was the place where she and Clark could unzip their glamour skins, crawl out, and be safe. If she could just curl up on that welcoming porch, maybe she could figure out how to find a haven, too.

“Talk to him,” Carole said gently. “And figure out what you want.”

“How? How did you get so sure?”

“Honey, I meant what I said when we met. Here’s what I want: I want the ranch, I want Clark. Vivien complains that he has bad breath when she kisses him, but who the hell cares? Not me. I want a baby. I want family photographs everywhere. I want pictures falling off cluttered tabletops, some in fancy silver frames, some in plain ones, shots of babies growing up. Clark and I growing old … throw in some great horses and an antimacassar or two …” She paused to catch her breath.

Julie started to say something, but stopped at the sound of voices coming from the direction of the main house.

“Reporters,” Carole said, squinting against the sun. “Fuck, probably another crisis on the set; they want Clark to respond. Vivien again, I’ll bet. She cries every time they tape her breasts to give her a little cleavage. Wouldn’t have had to worry about that with me. Bit of a wimp, I’d say.”

They trudged forward in unison, and only at the moment when they came in range of the porch did Carole’s step falter. Louella, plump Louella, the woman with eyes carved from stone, stood like a queen in the midst of her aides and cameramen, her placid body oozing righteousness.

“If you had told me first,” she purred, reaching out to fasten one formidable claw on Carole’s arm.

“Told you first about what?”

“When you learned the truth about Loretta Young’s baby, dear. Young men will sow their oats, won’t they?”

Carole stared at her, then scanned the busy, avid group of people there to chronicle her every expression and every word. She put her hands on her hips and gave a very unladylike snort. “For God’s sake, that story has been whispered about for four years,” she said. “It was all over when I came on the scene, so why should I care?”

“She’s adorable,” Louella said. “Cutest little thing—looks just like Clark. Loretta surely knows how to keep a secret, doesn’t she?”

One crack in Carole’s demeanor and Louella could send the story out of Hollywood and into the world. Julie felt blown apart by the eager hunger in the woman’s voice, but Carole—the actress—emerged with perfect timing.

“Louella darling, are we still a little upset about not being included in the wedding plans?” Carole said lightly. “I was dying to have you there, but we had so little time. Now it’s my job to make it up to you. I can tell you some wonderful stories about the trip—right, Julie?” She turned to Julie, who could only nod.

“I felt quite abandoned,” Louella cooed. Nothing in her demeanor suggested a fragile waif. She turned with a whip-sharp motion and faced Julie. “By the way, your young man got himself into a bit of hot water yesterday. Any comment, dear?”

Julie opened her mouth but Carole spoke first. “Wasn’t he brave?” she said brightly. “Standing up to some drunken lout who shouldn’t be in our ballpark in the first place?”

“Some say that about our handsome Mr. Weinstein,” Louella murmured.

Carole stepped in front of Julie and circled the pudgy columnist with her arm. “I’m going to whisper our moving date, if you promise not to tell,” she confided. “I would just love to have you with us to celebrate. So many little tidbits about Gone with the Wind to share. You mustn’t quote me, but I don’t think poor Vivien could fill an A-cup brassiere.”

Louella dug quickly into her snakeskin bag and pulled out a notebook. Julie could only watch in fascination, wondering how someone like Carole knew so instinctively the right twists and pirouettes that would keep her steady.

Late that afternoon, with Louella and her entourage gone, Julie and Carole—both now in boots and overalls and armed with brushes—knelt on burlap sacks and slapped heavy coats of paint onto the seemingly interminable stretch of fencing that surrounded the stable.

“Louella is a viper, but she can’t get me,” Carole said calmly, brushing her hand against a stray lock of hair that had escaped her ponytail, leaving it streaked with paint. Her face was uncharacteristically still, and the tiniest of lines traveled down in soft curves on each side of her mouth. “I don’t give a damn about Loretta Young and her baby. That all happened before I fell in love with Clark. I care about what could happen now.”

Julie dipped her brush into the paint can, then slowly deposited a long swipe of thick gelatinous color onto a fence post. Now? “I don’t think—” she began.

“Honey, there isn’t a woman on that lot who wouldn’t jump at the chance to fuck the King,” Carole said. “I know better than to get complacent.” A shadow crossed her brow, then vanished.

She glanced at Julie’s surprised face and leaned over to pat her leg with a paint-stained hand. “It’s a matter of protecting one’s investment. In fact, I think I’d like you to spend a little more time on the set for a while.”

“Doing what?”

“Oh, running errands for the dashing Rhett Butler. Once Pa peels off those duds at the end of the day and goes back to being Clark, I’m not worried.”

Her tone was now so lighthearted, Julie wasn’t sure how to respond.

“It’s okay, Julie,” Carole said quietly. “It’s the price I pay for getting what I want. It’s never free.”

Julie nodded. She was learning more from Carole than she had ever learned at Smith.

Daylight was fading when Rose met her at the door of the boarding house, an envelope in her hands, her eyes hopeful. “He left this for you about an hour ago,” she said. “He said to meet him at the studio if you could. He looked sad, Julie.”

Julie opened the envelope to find a single line in Andy’s bold handwriting:

I saw you at Chasen’s. Please.

It was late, and the main offices of Selznick International Pictures were almost deserted, but the guard at the front entrance seemed to be expecting her.

“You looking for Mr. Weinstein?” he asked genially. “He’s been viewing rushes and checking out schedules.”

She nodded, wondering how it looked for her to be here so late—and then wondering why she cared. “Where will I find him?” she asked.

“He’s over in the Twelve Oaks library now. They had some problems with the props. Lady, that is one beautiful set. Hard to believe people ever actually lived like that. You seen it?”

She nodded with a smile. The library of Twelve Oaks, Ashley Wilkes’s majestic home—a perfect replica of a Civil War–era library, at least as David Selznick imagined it. One of Julie’s favorite sets, actually. Twice, after a day’s shoot, she had visited, imagining herself floating in silks and hooped skirts through this rich, elaborate space, so elegant with its arched windows and curved walls. Once she tried to pluck one of the hundreds of books on shelves reaching up to the elaborately molded ceiling, forgetting they were cardboard façades.

Strange, on a spring evening, to be entering such a world of fantasy, wondering what reality was about to be played out.

Andy was sitting on the gold settee, staring into the nonworking fireplace, lost in thought. His dark hair lay still and heavy across his brow, obscuring his eyes. That alarmed her. She needed to see his eyes.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t straight with you after the game,” he said, not yet looking up.

“So Doris told you—”

“She didn’t have to. I saw you leaving. She shouldn’t have been the one to tell you about my grandparents. That’s something I should have done. There are plenty of things I should have done.”

Why was he not looking at her? She moved into the room, approaching him tentatively. “Andy …”

Finally, he looked up, and the weariness in his eyes made her take an involuntary step back.

“Come, sit down,” he said. “I’ve got a couple of things to say.”

She had an urge to push away his words. “Andy, I’m dreadfully sorry about your grandparents. That’s what you’ve been fearing, and it has happened. I understand better now what prompted you to confront those people. I don’t have to know anything about you and Doris, I just want—”

“Stop—”

She couldn’t: it just poured out. “And I know about the accident, about the woman you loved. And I know you went to jail for her.”

“No—”

“You don’t have to deny it,” she implored.

A sharp exhalation; he looked away. “So even that you’ve had to learn from someone else.”

“I understand you better, knowing these things,” she rushed on. “I can’t begin to imagine how it must have felt, and I wish you had told me, but, please, don’t let it change anything between us.” She waited. Did he hesitate? Just for a second; then he placed his hands on both sides of her face and kissed her lightly.

“Okay, here’s the rest of it,” he said.

She sat numbly as he talked.

… They left the bar that night, arguing. Mayer was dangling a good part as a carrot to get what he wanted out of her, Andy said. There were tears, accusations, shouting when they reached the car. Why was she so intent on being an actress anyway? Forget it. Are you saying I don’t have the talent? Maybe you don’t, damn it. More tears; anger. You don’t believe in me. Well, you’ll do anything for a part; you care too much about your so-called career. She grabbed the car keys—Okay, I don’t want you, and I don’t want Hollywood if Hollywood doesn’t want me—and jumped into the driver’s seat. The engine roared, and he ran, scrambling, to get in the car on the passenger side. Tires screeching, the car headed out the driveway and tore up the road.

“I was angry and I said what I thought; I was afraid she wasn’t above fooling around with Mayer to get that part. But I was too rough. I could have soothed her down. She was more fragile than I thought. Maybe I could have just said, ‘Okay, fuck Hollywood, I want you.’ ”

She could think of nothing to say.

He didn’t seem to notice. “I’ll tell you why I didn’t. Because at that point I wasn’t sure I did want her. She was chewed up, obsessing over stardom.”

Julie found her voice. “Like the girl who jumped off the Hollywoodland sign?”

His glance was startled, and he looked now straight at her. “Here’s the truth, Julie,” he said. “I figured when she crashed that car I owed her. Her face was cut pretty bad.”

“That woman who threw the glass of bourbon in your face at the party—”

“She was a friend of Nicky’s who still believes I was driving. I’ve never said differently.”

“Why not?”

“You’re asking that, as a woman? Look, if a man can’t be a hero, he can still try to be noble. Or maybe just kind.” He smiled slightly. “I wanted to forget it, stuff it away somewhere. I didn’t want to be thinking about it or talking about it. I’m not sure what image of me I wanted you to believe. And maybe that’s because I’ve known all along we were opposites. After what happened at the ballpark … Maybe I’m not a good match for you. I scared myself, Julie. Grabbing that guy—”

“That’s ridiculous.” She batted his words away. “We’ll put this behind us.”

He shook his head. “No, you won’t forget it. And I’m too old for you anyway. We’re not going to make it, kid.”

Julie found emotional ground. “Don’t call me ‘kid,’ ” she said. “Don’t call me ‘kid’ ever again, it’s your way of making me less than you.”

“Okay, you don’t want to be called ‘sweet,’ and you don’t want to be called a kid. God, can’t you understand? You’re not less than me, you’re different, same as she was.”

“Oh, I get it. She wasn’t Jewish, either. Good excuse, Andy.”

“It’s about more than—her.” He stopped.

“Now you’re having trouble saying her name?”

“All right. It’s about more than Nicky. There’s a big divide between us, you know that. Just how welcoming would your family be if you brought me home to dinner?”

She had to fight. “You’re not being discriminated against, you are discriminating against me,” she cried. “I love you—there, I’ve said it. And I don’t care if you still love that woman who let you go to jail for what she did, that’s the past.” She could hear it: her words were similar to Carole’s. It wasn’t by chance. She knew what she wanted.

There was no change in Andy’s eyes. And then she understood. “You’re afraid I’ll prove fragile, too,” she said with sudden astonishment.

His gaze faltered. Yes, that hit home.

“You’re lovely and sweet and smart—and you believe in this place,” he said. “If you crash, I don’t want to be the cause of it.”

“Not everybody does, for heaven’s sake. Look at Carole; she’s a strong woman who can stand up to anything.”

He paused. His next words took all the fire out of her.

“She’ll break, too. Most do.”

“You are determined to believe that,” she said.

“Experience, that’s all.”

They sat in silence, as if fixed in place—prepared for an upcoming scene, hitting their marks, waiting for the next cue. But no matter how intently Julie listened, there was no cue to be heard. She would have to find the right one on her own.