After they stepped out of the Phaeton, Nora caught her reflection in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, but Billy had downplayed her lips and had put some color on her eyelids. Contrary to what Nora had expected he’d done—adding the harsh shading typical of film makeup—to her surprise the effect he’d achieved in a car with poor lighting was one of an overall healthy glow, like she’d been at the beach all day. He had a great eye.
“Let’s make sure Louella sees us,” he said over his shoulder. “That’ll get her off my back for a while.” Nora wasn’t quite sure what Billy meant by the comment, but that Hedda Hopper and Louella Parsons, the Hollywood gossip columnists who were regular fixtures, would be seeing her with Billy tonight could propel her out of obscurity.
Inside, the restaurant was buzzing. The dark paneling framed dozens of haphazardly drawn caricatures of famous actors and actresses. Nora strained her neck to see them and to keep up with Billy, who was following the maître d’ at a good clip. He suddenly stopped to shake the hand of a man and his wife seated snugly together sharing a plate in a booth for four. After quick conversation, they walked on. Nora caught the profile of the woman and only then did she realize who it was.
“That was Norma Shearer.” She tugged Billy’s arm, pulling him closer to her conspiratorially.
“And Irving Thalberg.”
“Of course you’d only pay attention to the director.”
Billy’s hands were in his pockets and he turned and shrugged. He looked like he belonged here. As they were seated in the booth, Nora leaned in. “Do you come here a lot?”
“Sometimes.” Billy expanded his body in the booth, draped his arms over the back, and scanned the room. He leaned in and whispered, “I know you’re going to get really excited about this, so try to stay calm.”
“What is it?”
“Not a what.” He took out a cigarette and lit it. “A who. Carole Lombard.”
“Lombard?” Nora’s voice blurted out a little louder than she wanted. “Where?”
Billy nodded behind Nora and she spun around to see the blond actress seated two booths behind them. If Nora had an idol, it was Carole Lombard. She was animated, telling a story to an attentive man with a thin mustache. Her golden hair was darker than it appeared onscreen. Nora could see the actress’s blue eyes and coral lipstick as she turned her head toward Nora. Nora looked away. “Who is she with?”
“William Powell,” said Billy. “They just got divorced, but the talk around town is that they’re getting back together.”
Nora ordered another cocktail and didn’t realize how hungry she was until the scalloped chicken à la king arrived. Billy carved away at the mountain of roast prime rib and pointed out other studio executives around the room. Upon seeing someone standing up to leave his booth, he frowned.
“What’s wrong?”
“Howard Hawks.” Billy sniffed. “He’s Lombard’s cousin and was loaned out to Columbia to do comedy.” He said the word comedy like Hawks had been diagnosed with something terminal.
Nora turned to see a thin man talking to Powell and Lombard before waving and heading toward the door. “You don’t like comedy?”
“I don’t want my career to be defined by anything that isn’t serious or realistic. I’m looking at doing a war picture next.”
“But people like to escape for a little bit,” offered Nora, thinking about films like Marie Dressler’s Emma and Prosperity. “There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”
“It just isn’t true art the way that I see it.” Billy brushed some crumbs from the table and ordered the cherries flambé and two coffees when the waiter came to remove the plates. “Hawks is overrated if you ask me. Say, have you been to the Cocoanut Grove yet?”
Nora shook her head.
“You’d like it. Phil Harris is the band leader and he has a nice show. We should go tomorrow night.”
Nora wasn’t sure if it was the earlier sun, the four cocktails she’d drunk, or Billy, but she found she couldn’t speak.
He sat back and nodded. “People haven’t been very nice to you in the past, have they?”
Nora looked down. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I think you know exactly what I mean.” Billy was about to say more when the waiter arrived with the flambé and lit the dessert at their table. Nora smiled at Billy, amazed at the cherries on fire in front of them and the perfect day she’d had with him.
Nora was still watching the flaming cherries when she spotted his stocky figure walking toward her. Her face flushed and her heart began to beat. Instinctively, she touched her face where the scar from the cigarette burn had finally faded. The breath left her and she felt something she hadn’t felt for nearly a year: fear.
“If it isn’t Norma Westerman. Don’t you look different? I hardly recognized you. All blond now.” Clint looked between her and Billy, sizing up the situation. Clint hadn’t changed much. Maybe he was a little wider in the middle with a touch of gray at the temples, but his dark-brown eyes still gave little away. “I’d heard you’d moved here to become a big star.”
Billy seemed to read something in Nora’s body language because he interrupted the monologue that Nora was sure was about to pour out of Clint’s mouth.
“That’s great that you’re an old friend of my girl, here.”
Nora could see Clint bristle at Billy calling Nora “my girl.” It was brilliant and she could have kissed him for it.
“It’s good to see you, Clint.” But Nora didn’t extend her cheek for a customary kiss. “I’m glad you’re well. How’s New York?”
“I wouldn’t know.” He smiled. “I’m here in Los Angeles now. Working for Palladium Studios. I’ll be sure to look you up. We need to catch up.” It was a threat and Nora knew it. Clint nodded and walked on past her table.
“Who was that?” Billy took a spoonful of cherry dessert and shoved it in his mouth. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“He’s a very bad man,” said Nora, pushing her coffee away. She let Billy finish the dessert—she’d lost her appetite.
“Wonder what he’s doing for Palladium Studios?” Billy was asking if Clint was a director.
“He keeps things out of the newspaper,” said Nora.
“Oh,” said Billy, understanding what kind of man Clint was. “A fixer.”
Nora sniffed. “Not sure I’ve ever seen him actually fix anything.”
The next night, Billy accompanied Nora to the Cocoanut Grove at the Ambassador Hotel and the Trocadero supper club the following Friday. While Nora liked the statuesque palm trees and music at the Grove, the Café Trocadero on Sunset with its crêpes Suzette and Grand Marnier soufflé became her favorite. Monumental’s costume designer, Inez London, began to loan Nora dresses for her dinners. Nora and Billy were getting noticed in the gossip columns, and that delighted Halstead.
But Nora was cautious. Clint was in town, and Billy Rapp was the only thing that would keep him away from her. Clint was like a dog. If he thought she “belonged” to someone else, he might stay away. She needed to keep Billy between them.