As the bed rocked, Nora considered the empty suitcase under them. He would hurt her badly if he found it.
After he’d finished, Nora got up and wrapped her robe around her. She took his empty whiskey glass and poured him another drink. This time, however, she dug a bottle of sleeping pills out of her purse, opened one capsule into the drink, and shook it until it dissolved. And then on impulse, she added a second pill. What with the sex, liquor, and sleeping pills, he should sleep soundly. She tasted the drink and couldn’t pick up a hint of the pills.
An hour later, Nora lay awake as Clint snored softly. The longer he slept, the deeper he’d fall. He wasn’t a light sleeper. When his snoring was steady, Nora slid the open suitcase out on her side of the bed and pulled a few items that she knew she’d need, feeling her way for them in the dark and hoping she was getting the right things. Clint turned over and she slid the suitcase back under the bed until she heard his rhythmic breathing resume. She dressed quickly in the dark and secured one latch on the suitcase, watching Clint’s lack of movement, and then she tiptoed into the living room and shut the second latch. She gathered her purse and her coat, feeling for the ticket in her pocket and only turning the doorknob when she felt the paper in her hand. Sliding the suitcase out the door, she figured she’d buy anything else that she needed on the road. She put her shoes on only when she was out in the hallway, softly shutting the door, but not bothering with the lock. With any luck, Clint would just think she had an appointment in the morning and hadn’t bothered to wake him. It would buy her time. Only if he decided to go to the theater would he learn that she’d quit with no forwarding address. There was a chance he wouldn’t even realize she was gone for more than a day. Then, even if he tried to find her, it would take him several weeks. She’d been careful to not tell anyone, except Marv Walden, where she was going. By the time Clint finally pieced it together, it wouldn’t matter. She’d have a career in Hollywood. Before she shut the door, she made sure she had the envelope with cash in her purse. It was thick with what she’d cleared from her savings.
Nora hurried out of the door, and the cold hit her. She’d be glad to leave this all behind. Only when she was in the warm taxi headed to Pennsylvania Station did she finally relax. As she boarded the train, she looked over her shoulder one last time, holding her suitcase tight against her and then looking out the window until the car pulled away from the station. Once the train was in motion on the way to Chicago, she slept soundly. In Chicago she boarded the Golden State line at ten fifteen P.M., which had her in Kansas City the following morning. She looked through everything she’d packed and realized that she hadn’t been able to pack her curlers, face creams, and stockings. She’d have to buy those things once she got to Los Angeles. By the following evening, the landscape was changing to desert as the train entered New Mexico. The desert air was cold, which was a surprise to Nora, but by the time the train stopped at Chandler, she had opened the window to let the dry, warm breeze in. She hadn’t had another person in her sleeping car since Kansas.
Arriving at the Los Angeles Union Terminal just after dinner, Nora got a taxi to the Grove Hotel, which was walking distance to Monumental Studios. As she rode in the cab through the neighborhoods, she was struck by the colorful bungalows with perfectly clipped yards, palm trees, and that smell.
“What is that smell?” she asked the cabdriver. It was a sharp scent like an herb with a sweet finish.
“Eucalyptus trees.”
The next morning, when Nora cracked open the balcony door, she was greeted by a soft, sultry sun and carefully trimmed hedges mixed with fat palm trees and the smell of warm leaves. The air reminded her of an inviting bath.
Nora was scheduled to meet with Harold Halstead, the number two man at Monumental Studios, who had plucked Nora’s screen test out of the pile. His assistant, Penny Bentley, had instructed Nora to be early for their nine thirty A.M. meeting.
At nine thirty-one, Harold Halstead sat behind a desk that was as big as a concert hall piano and pushed thick glasses up the bridge of his nose. Reed-thin, he had an anxious look like a cat ready to pounce. “You’ve got something… magical. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but Marv Walden and I go way back and he says he’s never seen anyone like you.” The little man slid down in his brown leather chair, and Nora had to straighten her back to see him across his desk.
“Marv Walden talked to you?”
“He called me. Insisted I hire you.”
Nora was touched. She had been a reliable girl for Marv, but he gave not a single hint that he felt she was anything special.
Halstead stood up, walked around, and leaned in close to look at Nora’s face. The burn had scabbed over and left a smaller blemish. “Billy Rapp has a picture he’s working on right now, Train to Boston.”
“I just got off the train from New York if that helps,” quipped Nora.
“You’ve got a great voice, too.” Harold Halstead studied her up and down. “But I need a blonde. Keep talking to me. Tell me about Marv.”
Nora reached up and touched her dark-red hair. Her shoulder-length red locks and long legs had been her signature in New York. “Marv was swell. He hired me from a regional theater company where I was performing in Akron.”
“Are you a Midwest girl?”
“I’m from Akron. My mom ran a boardinghouse.”
“Guess the troupe didn’t take you very far if you started and ended up in Akron?”
“Maybe I wasn’t trying to get away.”
Halstead smiled at her quick delivery. He folded his arms and leaned them on the desk. “I need a blonde.”
“How blond do you need me to be?”
“Have Penny set you up with Max.” Then Harold Halstead changed his mind about something and picked up the black phone himself. “Get Eve on the phone.” He waited, looking out open balcony doors that faced Melrose. “Eve,” he said when a voice barked on the other end. “I have a young lady here for Billy Rapp’s next picture. I need a blonde. Do you have time this afternoon?” He paused and then studied Nora, pulling down his glasses. “Not exactly. No. Not exactly.”
Norma could hear someone—a woman—speaking quickly on the other end of the line. Halstead kept nodding. “Well… just do your best.” Then Harold Halstead laughed. “Of course. I owe you.” Norma could hear the voice on the other end of the phone laughing.
Once he hung up the phone, Halstead scribbled furiously on a piece of paper and handed it to her like a doctor would a prescription. The note read 1660 Highland Avenue. 1 P.M.
“What is this?”
“That, my dear, is the address for Max Factor.”
“The makeup?”
“The man. Have Penny take you down to see Eve Long right now. She’s Monumental’s chief hairstylist. She’ll get you blond—butter blond! Then go and see Max Factor, who’ll blend the rest. Come back tomorrow morning, same time, and we’ll see what we’ve got to work with.” He tapped the note with long fingers. “No promises, though, mind you.”
Nora placed the paper in her purse. “I understand.”
Twenty-four hours later, a butter-blond Nora Wheeler returned to see Harold Halstead. That Penny didn’t even recognize her thrilled Nora. She’d spent the entire morning fumbling with the white screw-off case for Pan Stik that was designed to complement her new coloring. The transformation had been shocking. All of Nora’s new makeup cases were blue—the Max Factor color for blondes. Her hair had also been cut to a modern, chin-length bob with soft curls. Nora had slept on a satin-covered pillow that Eve had given her to keep the curls fresh. Eve had liked her and let her borrow a blue suit from the costume department. Nora capped off her new look with tortoiseshell cat’s-eye sunglasses she’d picked up and new faux-crocodile pumps. As Nora studied herself in the mirror, there was no resemblance to Norma Westerman—and there never would be again.