This would be a colder Christmas than usual in Los Angeles, whatever was usual. But that’s what people were saying, even as they piled fake snow on their Christmas trees, fretting when they had to don anything more than a light sweater. Julie scorned that, but shivered as she headed out with Carole’s driver early in the morning to the Encino ranch.

Her bag was packed; she was prepared. The glitter of Atlanta was already fading into memory. It would recede even more when she walked up the steps of the large Dutch Colonial home where she once skipped rope and played with dolls, into the welcoming, tentative, relieved arms of her parents. She could visit now without feeling trapped.

Maybe she was ready for a break. She felt too cranky hearing the familiar tinkle of the Salvation Army’s bells, rung constantly by cheery people wearing holiday smiles. They were out of place in Los Angeles; this wasn’t Christmas as it should be.

Nothing right now was the way it should be.

“When are you leaving?” she’d demanded of Andy last night. Selznick had spread the news the minute they were off the plane, astonished and a little affronted that Andy was rejecting his promotion. Word traveled fast through the gossip circuit of the industry, even gleaning Andy a congratulatory salute in Louella’s column, with just a hint of puzzlement that any Jew would consider making such a move, given the terrible things that rumor had it were happening—no proof, of course. And there were many cheers from backslappers who praised his bravery while thinking him an idiot, then immediately called their agents, wondering whether that director’s job Weinstein was offered had been assigned to anybody else yet.

He looked up from a stack of paperwork on the coffee table, distracted. “As soon as I can get things in order; I told you that.”

“What about this place?” She swept out her arm, jeopardizing a mug of coffee. This house, which held so many sweet moments.

He hesitated. “I’m renting it out, Julie. No big paychecks anymore.”

“That was fast.” She couldn’t help it: she was angry. “So, I’m asking again, when are you leaving?”

Andy stood and walked over to her, his tread heavy. “I’ll go when you head out to Fort Wayne for Christmas.”

“I’m not going.”

“Yes, you are. You promised your parents; you need the break. Go spend some time with other people who love you.” He took her into his arms. “Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, I will be back. Quit being so mad.”

The ranch house with the comfortably faded awnings, shrouded in the early morning haze, was now in view. She couldn’t bear all this. Carole would keep her sane.

“He’ll come back,” Carole said as they tromped through slushy mud to the chicken house, in hopes of finding a few eggs for breakfast. “The one I wonder about is you.”

“Me? Why me?”

They had reached the chicken house. Carole tiptoed in, lifted the feathers of a bird that immediately squawked and flapped its feathers. “Okay, okay,” Carole muttered. “Keep your damn eggs to yourself. I’m never going to make any money off of you anyway.”

“Carole?”

“I’m wondering how long you’ll stay out here, juggling screenplays, playing the game.”

Julie was taken aback.

“I don’t know; you’ll stay awhile. You’ll do great, and then you’ll decide to write a book and go back east, all that shit.”

Julie tried to laugh. “That is so far from my plan,” she said.

“You know—since Atlanta?—I’ve been thinking about it. We’re all going to die, but not that movie. You can feel it—it’s huge. When we’re dead, Gone with the Wind will be going strong.” She shook her head. “Isn’t that the limit?”

“What a strange definition of eternity,” Julie said. “Showing Gone with the Wind nonstop forever? With the rest of us underground? That’s gloomy.”

“Well, something has to stick around. Might as well be a movie.”

“Do you believe in God?”

“Jesus, who’s being gloomy now? You’re worried about Andy getting killed, aren’t you?”

Julie didn’t even try to blink back her tears. “I love him, I’m afraid,” she said. “It chews at me, it makes me want to hold tight and”—she shook her head, she had to get these thoughts out of her brain—“and at the same time push him away. He’s brave, maybe too brave? He’s Jewish, Carole. He’ll be a target. Where will God be when Andy needs saving?”

“Honey, I don’t know where God is. Whether with you or me or Andy or Clark. But it’s all here—in the mountains and the desert. It’s where we are, in our everyday living. You can find it anywhere. Including Europe.”

“How do you manage to stay so sensible?”

Carole had no chance to answer. The chicken who hadn’t wanted to be disturbed began squawking loudly. Carole dived for its nest, hoisting the startled bird up in the air. “Well, I’ll be damned,” she squealed delightedly. “An egg!” She peered closely. “Come on, try again, push hard now.”

And then a second egg plopped out of the bird on the next nest, and they both cheered.

Carole picked the eggs up carefully, cradling one in each hand. Holding them in front of her, she looked directly at Julie and said quietly, “Let him go, honey. That’s all you can do. You can’t hold on too tight.”

Julie smiled; she had found what she came for. “Neither can you, if we’re going to have any breakfast.”

Carole looked at the eggs in her hands and gave a devilish grin before flipping one egg in the air and then the other, catching them both. “Taking chances makes you braver,” she said.

Julie lay in Andy’s arms, breathing in the warmth of his skin, feeling the beating of his heart. It was their last night together in the little house perched on a cliff overlooking the town of her dreams. She felt newly calm.

“Please don’t think I’m abandoning you, honey.” He stroked her hair, mussing it lightly, teasingly. “My loving little redhead,” he murmured.

“It’s not red, it’s auburn.”

“Nope, you’re my feisty, tempestuous redhead.”

She giggled, pulling his hand away and kissing it. If only time could stop; if only it could stay like this. “I will miss you and wait for you,” she whispered.

“Sweetheart, I hope you understand,” he said. His voice was hoarse, almost cracking. “I’ve been ashamed of myself. Why wasn’t I doing anything? That’s made me cranky, acerbic—a royal pain in the ass. You know that’s true.”

Of course she did. And she’d felt flashes of annoyance; and now he had found a way to unstick himself. That was true, too.

“I’ve blamed this wonderfully crass business. Blamed Selznick. Blamed the United States government. Began wondering if I’d become too good at fooling myself. From there it was easy—just toss down the bourbon and wonder why I was here in the first place. Don’t you see? When I got tired of blaming everything and everybody else, I would end up blaming you.”

She kissed him, touching a finger to his lips. “It’s okay,” she said slowly. “It’s taken me a long time, but I understand. You know why? Because you finally let me inside.”

“I would’ve told you sooner, but I wasn’t sure myself. Now I’m anxious to get into it.”

“You have to go.”

“Yes.”

“You know what Carole said? She said taking chances could make one braver. That’s what you are doing. I know it now.”

“You mean it?”

She made one more foray into her heart to find the true answer. “Yes,” she said. “And you know what? I’m proud of you.”

“Frankly, my dear”—he chuckled—“I fervently give a damn.”

Her flight to Fort Wayne was scheduled to leave the next morning at nine o’clock. Andy drove her to the airport, and they talked very little. But it was comfortable—nothing further needed to be said. Julie glanced up at one turn in the winding road to the airport and caught sight of the HOLLYWOODLAND sign. It was indeed a jaunty symbol of glamour lifted high above the city, filled with promises and expectations. What would the future here hold for her? For Andy?

He walked with her, down a narrow path separated from the field by a high wire-mesh fence, to the gate where her plane waited. He leaned forward and kissed her tenderly. His lips were soft and strong; she shivered.

“Please don’t cry,” he said.

“I won’t.”

She could do that much for him, couldn’t she? She managed a smile and stepped away, turning toward the wire fence, then trudged to the steps of the plane. She turned again and waved. Andy, to her bleak satisfaction—hands stuffed into his pocket, hunched forward—looked miserable. Then it was up the stairs, handing her ticket to the pretty blonde stewardess, having the absurd thought that, you know, this could be Andy’s old girlfriend.

She made her way to her seat and opened her purse. She stared at its interior, at the one comforting thing she had placed there this morning: a new script, pinned to a new contract. When she came back after Christmas, that would see her through.

Julie closed her eyes. One year ago, she had come stumbling into this town, dreaming of glamour and work and love, and she hadn’t been denied. She and Carole were true friends, and how did that ever happen? And now a page was turning. She had finally accepted that yesterday, as they walked together early in the morning, in the swirling low-hanging fog that rolled across the meadows at the Encino ranch.

The propellers began to turn, filling the cabin with noise. As Julie peered out the window, she remembered she hadn’t told Andy about that conversation—or that one of those hens finally laid two eggs. He would’ve laughed at that. Maybe, in a few months, where he was going, doing what he felt he had to do, nothing much would seem funny anymore. Maybe she had missed the chance to hear that loose, easy, warm laugh of his just one more time.

But he was already gone. She saw his receding back; that was he, wasn’t it? Maybe not. But he was gone.

Her fingers curling around the contract, she thought, I wish he had waited until the plane took off. But the figure she thought might be Andy turned just as the plane lifted from the tarmac and roared up into the sky. He was waving.

She waved back.

Maybe it was corny. But, yes, she still believed in the possibility of happy endings.