“Don’t you eat the craft services food?” Ruby asked.
“Not if I can help it.” David grinned. “I pay a kid to sneak in paninis and Italian sodas for me.” He held up a hangar full of clothes. “Now, take your clothes off.”
“I beg your pardon? Here?”
David rolled his eyes. “Honey, I’m the last person on this set a girl like you needs to worry about.”
“I’m not sure what you mean…”
A smile spread across David’s face, and he chuckled. “Oh, sweetie, you are green. How old did you say you were?”
She tilted her chin up. “Old enough.”
“Uh-huh.” David arched an eyebrow in obvious doubt. Harried, he shoved the clothes toward her. “Go change, but don’t go out without my checking you. I don’t care if it is just a lighting check; you will be perfect. You reflect on me. Now go.” He flung his hand toward a small changing room.
Once inside, Ruby wriggled out of her clothes and into the skirt and blouse. Emerging from the dressing room, she asked, “How’s this?”
“Oh, darling, no, no, no,” David said. “Valentina, we need some help here.”
An older woman hurried to help Ruby untuck the shirt and tuck it in again. She gathered the fullness to the sides and back with crisp folds, which gave the blouse clean lines in front. Then she added a wide belt to cinch Ruby’s waist and tied the striped scarf around her neck.
David stood back, apprising her look. “You should have been in makeup first. Go now, and have it applied very carefully. Tell the makeup artist not to get a speck on my costume. The lighting supervisor will need to check the lighting on your face.” He whisked a hand toward the door. “What are you waiting for?”
“Thank you, David,” Ruby said.
“Thank that boyfriend of yours for the limoncello,” David said with a grin. “Now, go!”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Ruby called out as she raced to the door and stumbled on her shoe.
David flung up his hands. “And don’t run. You can’t scuff those shoes.”
Ruby slowed her pace, yet still managed a brisk walk to the next trailer, where makeup stations were set up similar to the beauty shop where her aunt Vivienne worked in Hollywood. Several people were languishing in chairs chatting and reading fan magazines.
Ruby cleared her throat. “I’m here for makeup.”
An older man nudged the woman in the chair who was talking the loudest. “Marge, you’re up.”
Marge pushed herself from a chair. “You should have come here first.”
“I’m filling in for a stand-in who is out sick,” Ruby said. “They’re going to adjust lighting and places, so David in wardrobe told me to come over. And asked that you be careful with the costume.”
“I’ll bet,” Marge said, chuckling to herself. She yanked a makeup cape from a hook. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s get that shine off your face and add color to those lips.” She motioned to a chair.
Ruby eased in, and Marge unfurled the cape over her costume. The woman snapped it snugly around Ruby’s neck. After matching the tint to the skin on Ruby’s face, Marge applied it liberally to Ruby’s cheeks and forehead, blending as she went.
“The lights are hot, so this is sweatproof,” Marge said. “Might be difficult to wipe off afterward. Do you have any cold cream?”
“Ivory soap and water?” Ruby fidgeted under the cape.
Marge clucked her tongue and nodded toward a white ceramic jar on the counter. “Take a jar of that Pond’s cream with you. You should be using it anyway, at night. Not that you have any wrinkles, but if you’re going to be in pictures, you can’t start taking care of your skin too soon. Look at Garbo. Now that’s a face.”
“Do you know why she retired?” Ruby asked.
“Seeing as how Garbo retired in forty-one, I wouldn’t likely know her.” Marge brushed color onto Ruby’s face as she talked. “That was before my time, so I only know what’s in the fan mags. Garbo is one of the greats, though, that’s for sure. Fans still adore her.”
Ruby sat as still as she could while Marge penciled in thick eyebrows like Miss Hepburn’s. Taking another, narrow brush, the makeup artist dabbed on lip color. After pressing powder onto her skin with a sponge, Marge stepped back. “See what you think.”
Ruby gazed into the mirror, amazed at the transformation. Now she really did look eighteen, even twenty or older. “Thank you,” she murmured, awestruck at her image.
“You’re ready.” Marge grinned and whisked off the cape.
Ruby pushed herself from the chair and stood. “I’m not sure where to go.”
Just then, a young man rushed in the door fanning his face with a newspaper. “Are you the stand-in for Miss Hepburn today?”
“I am.”
“They need you on set right now. I can drive you.”
“See you around,” Marge said. “And don’t forget the Pond’s.”
Ruby tucked it into her purse and set off with the young man in a little Fiat automobile. As they careened through the streets, Ruby asked, “Where are we going?”
“They didn’t tell you?” the young man asked, steering through a roundabout that had Ruby clutching the dashboard. Without waiting for an answer, he went on, “The Santa Maria. It’s an old church at the Piazza della Bocca della Verità, or Mouth of Truth. As the old legend goes, if you’re not telling the truth, it bites off your hand.” He paused for dramatic effect. “You’re going to have to put your hand in there.”
Ruby angled her chin. “I’m not afraid.”
Chuckling, he eased to a stop in a piazza crowded with onlookers. “And here we are.”
Ruby had been fine up until now. As soon as they arrived at the designated filming location, she began fidgeting.
It was one thing to watch movies and dream of being in them, but now, here she was in the middle of the chaos, in the stifling heat of a city teeming with crowds that followed them wherever they went. She’d have to learn to block it all out if she were to become a great actress.
Heads turned as they hurried to the side of the church, where the film crew milled about. Ruby was quickly folded into the crowd and rushed to the set.
“Where should I go?” Ruby asked, her heart quickening.
“Right over there,” the driver said, pointing to a spot beside a large round piece of stone.
The disk had a frightening-looking face carved into it, with hollow eyes and a gaping mouth. Ruby cut through the crowd.
“Here she is,” another man called out.
Ruby recognized him as the assistant director. Beside him in a folding chair sat Mr. Wyler, calmly watching everything around him. He brightened and nodded toward Ruby.
“You’re the young lady who was almost run over by the Vespa, right?” Mr. Wyler put out his hand.
Ruby shook his hand, pleased that he remembered. “Yes, sir.” His calm demeanor and the way he smiled at her put her at ease. He reminded her of her father, who remained unruffled, even when faced with adversity. She’d watched her steely-eyed dad manage dangerous situations ranging from rattlesnakes and wild boars to rabid dogs. Stay still, he’d say. But she wondered if the director also had a fierce temper like her father. She blinked, forcing her thoughts back to the present.