The hallway was long. Billy Rapp walked toward Nora slowly, taking his time and smoking his cigarette a little too deeply. Billy knew she was there—waiting—but he didn’t acknowledge her. It wasn’t his way. She could see the light fabric of his trousers and cotton shirt billowing against the ocean breeze. With wavy golden-brown hair and those piercing eyes, Billy could have been a star in his own right, but that wasn’t his style, either. Billy ran hot and didn’t like to feel owned and make no mistake, the studio owned everyone—including its directors. He wanted his films to be realistic, not some glossed-over studio version or vaudeville comedy. Somehow he had convinced himself that he had some measure of control over his work. Today Billy’s soft eyes and full lashes were hidden behind a pair of tortoiseshell sunglasses. Nora closed her eyes. Something about this moment—the way Billy approached her, with his feet softly hitting the Spanish tiles, raking his hair with his left hand and finishing off the cigarette with his other, not to mention the open door that led to the blue ocean framed around him—she knew she should keep this image locked away in her mind, because both it and Billy would be fleeting. Billy took the breath out of her. Even while she was with him there was a strange nostalgia for him, as though she knew that she’d never keep him. Losing Billy felt familiar to her, like a gunshot wound that had scarred over but never fully healed. He was a haunting figure—a loner who seemed to barely tolerate anyone around him, her included. With her, he just pretended better.
He gathered her in his arms when he reached her. Theirs wasn’t an equal relationship. He was the director and she his muse. They’d done two films together—Train to Boston and The Hidden Steps—but she would not appear in his new film, Starlight Circus. He’d passed on her for the lead, giving the part to Jayne McKenna. Halstead had let the
news slip, but Billy didn’t know she’d already been told. Nora wondered how he’d choose to tell her. Would he just be straight about it? Come clean and tell her that he’d passed on her for Jayne McKenna? Would he tell her why? Or would he blame Halstead?
Nora wore a sleeveless tangerine dress with a twist at the neck. She looked up. It was only two o’clock in the afternoon, but it seemed like the sun was already setting. Unlike everyone else, she always thought the California evening sun was a sad spectacle—one of the last places in the world to see the sun of the day. A final bow.
They walked arm in arm to the club and a few couples nodded at them as they passed. Nora was used to getting recognized, although she wasn’t a big star. She’d spent less than five minutes onscreen as the victim in Billy’s film Train to Boston and then fifteen minutes onscreen in the second film, The Hidden Steps, playing the shrill and manipulative first wife. Both roles had been small, yet memorable. She’d earned a raise six months ago, enough to purchase a Spanish-style house on a curvy street near the newly constructed Hollywood Bowl. From a distance, Nora had a view of Mount Lee with the HOLLY part of the Hollywoodland sign visible. New houses were popping up everywhere around town, and when the windows were open, the sound of hammers started early in the morning. Nora’s house was a new Spanish bungalow with rounded doors, cathedral ceilings, and wood beams. Outside, a fat palm tree stood at odds with a skinny pine resembling Hal Roach’s Laurel and Hardy. On the beige stucco wall, two lanterns burned at the entrance with a round-topped door and two stucco planters with overflowing and untended plants. Peeking out above the brown garage doors with brown beam posts was a double Juliet balcony. It was a romantic house with a three-car garage, although Nora only had one—a black 1931 Chrysler Roadster with a white top that she’d purchased from a dealership on Sunset. Inside, the house overflowed with clothes and books. Nora had everything. And yet the one thing it seemed that she couldn’t have was Billy Rapp.
On her first shoot working with Billy during the filming of Train to Boston, she’d watched him in silence until he called for her. Her part in the film took only two days to shoot. But she’d been a surprise hit. She’d done another small part as a gangster’s girlfriend in another film with another director. It wasn’t a comedic part like the molls that Jean Harlow played, but the tragic, ruined girlfriend. She’d been a surprise hit in that film, too. Billy had requested her again for The Hidden Steps, this time as the first wife. The second shoot with him took one week. Billy never spoke to her off the set, not even when passing her as she walked from the dressing rooms to the studio. He was an intimidating figure, quick to anger and prone to storming off the set, but what he created was ahead of its time and everyone at Monumental knew it. As a director, Billy was a true visionary, but that often made dealing with everyday studio employees difficult. The sight of Halstead walking from the set to Rapp’s office to cool him down was almost a daily occurrence.
Nora’s voice had been an asset to her as she tested for parts. After the release of The Jazz Singer in 1927, several actresses who’d had lucrative careers in silent films had failed to make the transition, so Nora’s timing couldn’t have been more perfect. Her voice was deep and sultry from all the years of voice lessons in Akron. It was too sultry for an ingenue role, so she’d play the femme fatale or the bad girl. With her looks, Nora was a chameleon who could straddle dramatic and comedy pieces. In the past eighteen months, she’d watched fame surround her and she’d been close to it, but had never been given a starring role. When she was passed over for WAMPAS Baby Star of 1933, she’d decided that she’d had enough waiting. She went to Halstead to plead for a better part—a shot. He gave her a card with an address written on it and told her to be there by six P.M. and to look her best.
Four hours later, Nora arrived at a party in Beverly Hills that was in full swing. As she walked through the door, Nora understood what type of party she had been invited to. The men were all executives at Monumental as well as a select group of the “Top Theater Executives of 1933” from around the country. And the women—all young—were clearly there for one purpose: to entertain. There wasn’t a wife in sight, but Nora noticed that the serving staff was in heavy rotation for drinks. Nora’s face flushed. So this is how it was going to be? She’d hoped that Halstead had been different, but her good reviews were nothing to him. She decided to grab some hors d’oeuvres and a glass of champagne since she had no food in her house. With a plate of deviled eggs, Nora found a quiet corner and sank into a chair.
“Aren’t you supposed to be out there shining?”
“That’s what the sun is for.” Nora took a bite of a delicious deviled egg. She’d be going back for seconds. Nora looked up ready to dismiss whoever was standing there. She found a tall man standing above her, blocking the sun. There was something familiar and precise about his voice. “I think there was a mistake with my invitation.”
As the man lowered himself onto the chair next to her, she could make out the sunglassed Billy Rapp, his wavy hair tamed with a pomade. She could see the hint of a sunburn on his forehead. He leaned toward her. “I doubt there was a mix-up.”
Nora looked down, stung.
He read her expression precisely. “I didn’t mean to offend you.” He looked over at the partygoers. “I just meant Halstead knows exactly who he’s inviting here… that’s all.”