Pages of Promise (16 page)
“I’m not obstinate,” Tom turned to grin at her. “I’m firm. That’s the difference between us. You’re obstinate and I’m firm.” He laughed at her expression and said, “I’m sorry, Mona. I didn’t mean that, and I don’t set up to be any expert about the movies.”
Mona was not a tall woman, though supple and very well shaped, as befitted a former Miss Oklahoma. She had given herself the best care, and as Henderson looked down at her, admiration showed in his eyes, but he said nothing.
Mona was annoyed about being called obstinate, and she was puzzled. Almost every male she had ever met since she was fourteen had tried to kiss her, but not once had Henderson even spoken a word that would be construed as a pass. A perverse notion came to her.
He’s not as high and mighty as he
thinks. I can make him kiss me!
And Mona certainly knew how. She looked up at him and let her lips go soft, and whispered, “I’m sorry, Tom. I didn’t mean to say those things.” She knew how to lower her eyes to make them more enticing, and she leaned forward just a fraction of an inch, an invitation that any man would have recognized instantly.
Tom looked at her, and something like humor came to his eyes. He ignored the provocative look and said, “Well, that’s good. We’d better be getting back now.”
Stunned by his seeming rejection, Mona said almost nothing. She was short-spoken with Richard, and that night, back at the home place, she lay awake thinking about Henderson. “Maybe there’s something wrong with him,” she muttered. “Maybe he just doesn’t like women. I’ll ask Richard tomorrow.”
She did so the next day, after riding over early, and Richard responded, “He goes to the dances some. Women seem to take to him. He likes them, too. He’s spent a lot of time with a redhead named Colleen, but nothing serious, I guess.” He grinned at her and said, “What’s the matter, Mona?”
She turned away without answering. The resolve hardened in her, and when Henderson appeared and said he was going out to look for a cow that was about to calve, she asked, “Can I go along?”
“Sure, come along, Mona.”
They left the house, and he spoke lightly as they strolled along. Though it was cold, he wore no jacket, only a flannel shirt, with the sleeves rolled up. “Always did like the cold,” he said. “Don’t like the hot nearly as much.” When they entered the woods, he called for the cow in a soothing voice but finally gave up. “She’s had that calf somewhere. She’ll just have to come in on her own.”
He turned and Mona brushed against him, making it seem accidental. “Sorry,” she said, and she put her hand on his arm to steady herself. She waited then, and he turned to face her. She lifted her head and whispered, “You’re a very attractive man, Tom. I didn’t expect to find anyone like you out here in the Ozarks.”
Henderson stared at her but made no move. He studied her for a moment—the pursed lips slightly open, the eyes that watched him with provocation—and then he shook his head. “You don’t really want me to kiss you, Mona. It’s just a challenge to your talents to find a man who won’t come panting after you. That’s Hollywood, and that’s one of the things I don’t like about it, and it comes out in the pictures. Anyone who stays in that place long enough gets hardened, and it’s happening to you.”
Curiously, Mona slapped him resoundingly across the cheek. “You’re a stupid man, Tom Henderson! You don’t know nearly as much as you think you do!”
She whirled and ran blindly away. She heard his footsteps behind her, and then his hand grabbed her arm. “Turn me loose!” she said, turning around furiously. “Or I’ll slap you again!”
“You’re going the wrong way,” Henderson said. “The house is that way.” He nodded in the direction opposite the one she had taken.
Mona’s face flamed, and she jerked her arm away and walked silently back. She felt stupid and ashamed, and she refused to look at Henderson, who walked silently beside her. He said nothing either, and when the two got to the yard, she went at once to her horse. Henderson said not a word to her but turned and walked into the house. He passed by Richard, who came out as Mona swung into the saddle. “You’re not leaving, are you?”
“Yes!”
Richard saw that she was disturbed. “What’s wrong, Mona?” he asked quietly.
“Tom Henderson is an arrogant jerk! That’s what’s wrong!”
Her words were harsh, and her lips were drawn together into a tight line. Richard studied her carefully and said as gently as he could, “He’s the smartest fellow I ever knew, Mona. And the best man, almost, outside of family. You’re just mad because he won’t dance to your tune.”
“And you know all about it, don’t you, Richard!” She kicked her heels against her horse’s sides and rode away at a gallop. She did not turn, but she had the feeling that she had made a perfect fool of herself. She thought of Henderson’s steady gaze and muttered, “He’s not the saint he pretends to be!” Still, she could not get him out of her mind, and when she got back to the home place, she unsaddled the mare, walked her to cool her down, then put her in the corral. That night at supper she told Logan and Anne, “I’ve been here long enough. I have to get back to Los Angeles.” She sensed their eyes on her and felt that these two people could read her through and through. She excused herself early and went to bed dissatisfied.
The next day she kissed both Logan and Anne good-bye and endured the bus trip to Fort Smith. When her plane was in the air, she looked down on the rolling Ozarks that lay beneath her and thought spitefully,
I hope I never see this place
again—and especially I hope I never see Tom Henderson again!
H
ollywood had lost some of its glitter for Mona Stuart. She returned from the Ozarks and threw herself into a small part in a picture that she did not enjoy. The role was, the studio convinced her, worthy of her talents and would advance her career. It paid well, and since she had nothing else to do, she had taken it. She portrayed a woman of extremely low moral character, almost a prostitute. The stars of the picture she did not find to her taste, and every day when she left the studio, she felt gritty and dissatisfied with everything.
After the New Year, 1954, a call from RKO Studios came, and she went eagerly to talk to the producers there. They wanted her, she quickly discovered, for another minor role, this time portraying the companion of Machine Gun Kelly, a famous criminal of the Roaring Twenties. Once again she was assured that the role would help her, and again, the money was good. Still, she put them off for a few days.
Adam had been having a tea party with Suzanne when Maris poked her head in the room saying, “Adam, Mona’s here.”
“Oh, no!” Suzanne said. She shook her blonde hair, and the innocent blue eyes looked just for a moment rebellious.
“We’ll continue this another time, sweetheart.” Adam pulled her up and kissed her, nuzzling her neck saying, “Mmm! You smell good!”
“You don’t smell very good, Daddy. I think you need a bath.”
Adam laughed outright and released her. “Probably right,” he said. He left the child’s room and moved into the living area to greet Mona. “Well, this is a surprise.” He grinned. “But you missed supper.”
“Oh, Adam,” Mona said. “I hate to bother you like this, but you’re so busy at the studio.” Her lips turned up in a smile as she continued, “So I thought I’d just come and bother you at home.”
Maris smiled at Mona. “Just in time for dessert. Adam always eats so much I make him wait for dessert. Come along to the table.”
Mona protested but gave in, and soon the three of them were sitting at a small table in the kitchen eating lemon meringue pie and drinking coffee. Mona commented as she watched the couple, “How perfect you two are! You look like something off the cover of a romance novel.”
Adam and Maris both laughed heartily. He said, “Mona, not five minutes ago my about-to-be-seven daughter told me I need a bath because I don’t smell so good. Don’t take Hollywood too seriously. Real life is nothing like a romance novel. Is it, Maris?” He smiled at his wife. “Maris and I know the worst about each other, and as much time as you spend here I can hardly believe you don’t see at least some of it.” Just then the two children came in begging for bites from the pie. Mona enjoyed the teasing between Adam and his son, and she saw that the children adored him.
Saying, “It’s time for baths,” Maris rose. Ignoring Sam’s protests, she hauled him off bodily while Suzanne came over and took her father’s kiss. “You promised to come in and read me about the little train that could.”
“You know it already by heart. And besides, you can read that yourself.”
“I know,” Suzanne said placidly, nodding her blonde head. “But it’s better when you read it, Daddy.”
As Maris and the children went upstairs, Adam said, “I’m already dreading the teenage years—what’ll I do when some boy wants to date my little girl?”
Mona smiled. She sipped her coffee, then pushed a morsel of pie around with her fork.
Noting her preoccupation, Adam leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table. “What’s up, Mona?” he asked, his eyes fastened on her face.
Lifting her gaze, Mona said, “I’m worried about my career.”
“You’re doing fine. You’ve done good work, and you’re going to do more.”
“I got an offer from RKO today.” She lifted a hand in expressing her futility. “They want me to play a gangster’s moll. Some no-good woman who hooked up with a hood named Machine Gun Kelly back in the twenties.”
“I heard they were doing some casting for that. Gangsters are big again these days. It seems like the worst ones have become heroes—Capone, Dillinger.”
She looked up and shook her head. “Why is it that people want to see things like that?”
He sipped his coffee then said, “Something about evil attracts people. Don’t know what it is. We’ve run out of heroes, I guess.” He picked up the paper lying on the table and said, “It looks like we’ve lost another one.”
“A hero? Who’s that?”
“Joe DiMaggio. Look. He’s marrying Marilyn Monroe.”
Mona studied the picture and read a few lines of the story. She shook her head, saying, “That’ll never last. That woman has no stability. Beautiful, but they say she has no self-esteem at all. All that beauty, and she still hasn’t found herself.”
“Some might say that sounds a lot like you, Mona,” Adam commented. “I don’t know,” he went on when she made no reply, “why the stars don’t seem to make it. This business is hard on souls, isn’t it?”
“I guess it is. I want to do a good picture, Adam, something as good as
The Soldier.”
“So do I,” he said wryly. “We’ve been looking all over the place for good scripts, but they’re about as rare as the Hope Diamond. What I’d like to do,” he added, “is
Bride
of Quietness.”
“That book won the National Book Award, didn’t it?” Mona frowned. “I haven’t read it.”
“You should. It’s the finest novel I’ve ever read. Certainly, at least, of the modern ones.”
“Why haven’t they made a movie out of it?”
“Basically because the author, William Starr, won’t let anybody have the rights to it. Everybody’s made a try, but so far no cigar.”
“Do you know him?”
“No, he’s a recluse. He taught in a little college in Kentucky, wrote the book, and as soon as it hit big and won about every prize in sight, he just disappeared. Nobody can understand it; most people would be riding the crest of the wave. But why don’t you read the book. I’ve got a copy you can take home with you.”
Mona left an hour later and went back to her apartment. She undressed, showered, put on her gown, got into bed, and then began reading
Bride of Quietness.
She had intended only to skim through it, but the first chapter, almost the first words, riveted her. It was a simple book about a country woman who had to handle great emotional problems. After reading three chapters and noting that it was after two o’clock, she put the book down and shut off the light. She lay for a time thinking about the story.
How can a man write a book like that? He knows
so much about what a woman’s like.
Her last thought was,
I’d like
to meet William Starr. . . .
Amos called Jake into his office and said, “Get out of Chicago for a while. Cover President Eisenhower’s address to the UN General Assembly. Go to New York. We need something fresh.”
Jake was surprised. He’d done a lot of traveling on assignment before, but since he’d been promoted to assistant news editor, he’d assumed those days were over.
“By the way,” Amos continued, his face expressionless, “Stephanie will be in New York, too, working on a report on Dag Hammarskjöld. She’s only working as somebody’s assistant, but she’s never been to New York before. Guess she figured if she was going to see the great cities of the rest of the world, she might as well see our own.” He tore off a piece of paper from a pad on his desk and handed it to Jake, saying, “This is where she’s staying if you care to look her up.”
In the months since Stephanie went overseas, Jake had poured himself into his work, putting in long hours and, after his promotion, concentrating on learning his new responsibilities as Amos’s assistant. He liked being an editor, but he didn’t much care for the administrative aspects of the job, so he concentrated on learning to do those particularly well. Mostly, he just didn’t let himself think about her. He wouldn’t go out with anyone else—when his pals commented about that, he told them he didn’t have time because of the job. He wouldn’t admit that he just didn’t have the heart for seeing anyone. As he returned to his desk, he thought,
And here’s
Amos setting me up.
He didn’t know how much Amos knew about things between him and Stephanie. Amos was certainly reporter enough to know something had happened to provoke Stephanie’s sudden desire to get an overseas job immediately.
Should I go see her, as Amos is suggesting?
he wondered. Then he grinned at himself.
Of course I’ll go see her.
Then a sobering thought arose.
If she’ll even want to see me.
Stephanie was out shopping New York’s fashion district the first time Jake called her hotel. He left a number, almost glad she wasn’t there—that way she didn’t have to return his call if she didn’t want to see him. He got back to his hotel about ten, after discussion over drinks and dinner with some other reporters about what Ike was likely to say, among other things. The concierge gave him Stephanie’s message: Of course I want to see you; call whenever you get in.