Lost in Carmel Page 7

  Monty spoke it into existence. It wrapped around her in a silky shawl and she pulled it tight across her shoulders. She would be fine. They would be fine.

  “Can you talk about it?”

  “Yes, I can.” Natalie nodded. She'd spent weeks with Anne digging in the dirt for clues. Not every fossil she'd unearthed was worthy of inspection, but you couldn't tell until after the layers of muck had been cleaned off. It was a slow and exhausting process, and finally after weeks of daily sessions things were shifting into place. This goes here, that belongs there. But along with the dirt under her fingernails, Natalie had tapped into an underground river of strength. She was beginning to trust herself again.

  “So, what happened to your hair?” Monty's voice was soft and heavy with worry.

  Yes, her hair. It was not something to be glossed over. Chopping off her hair was shocking and she knew it. No use pretending otherwise.

  “It was the last of bad days, right before I met Anne.”

  Monty searched her face, and Natalie could feel him holding her in his gaze while he evaluated her words for validity. Satisfied she wasn't holding anything back, he let her go.

  “Speaking of Anne— God, can I tell you how much I love her?”

  “Yes, you may.”

  Natalie rolled her eyes. “I can tell you this much, my break-down was years in the making. I let everything get to me.”

  Monty nodded. “I've always said, you don't just wear your feelings on your sleeve, they enter the room before you do.”

  Monty was right, it had always been that way. Her emotions barely under the surface, with only the thinnest layer of skin protecting her from the outside world. On one side of the coin, the ability to pull back the veil and retrieve them on cue, made her a great actress. To wring emotion out of others wasn't simply a gift, it made her valuable. Even at seven-years-old.

  But the other side of that coin left her vulnerable. Accessing that kind of emotion left her exposed and raw and other's opinions could cut her to the core. Death from a thousand cuts.

  “You know I've always dealt with anxiety. But lately the attacks became intrusive, disruptive. Paralyzing to the point that there were days I couldn't show up to work. Every critical review cut like a knife. And in the last years, there were plenty of critical reviews.”

  Monty kept her hand in his, gently rubbing his thumb over her knuckles as she talked. “It hurt me to see those.”

  “I remember telling Anne, that my entire life has been based on what other people think of me. And I said, ‘Monty would say that's fucked up’.”

  Monty nodded. “That's Hollywood in two words or less. Fucked up.”

  “So, I'm working on finding the balance, or maybe the demarcation line between the public Natalie and the private Natalie that belongs to me and my circle.”

  “How's that working?”

  “Well I don't know, it's still early. But I'm getting a handle on it. That's not the only thing that's fucked up. Stan and I had our personal and professional life all tied up in knots. I lost myself somewhere along the way. Maybe he lost himself, too.”

  She filled him in on the missing years. How Stan could never be satisfied with what he had. Always reaching for more. Bigger and better houses. If a larger pool wasn't enough, how about two pools? Their lavish parties were legendary, but for her it was just another day on the soundstage. Playing the part of the happy hostess, filling martini glasses with one hand, while turning guests into investors with the other. It was always about Stan's next movie, and somewhere along the way, the two of them became a desk set.

  Either at Paramount or at home, she was never without a script.

  Monty listened like a professional, nodding without interruptions. Encouraging her when she stumbled until she had dumped it all in his lap. He held her truth, all of it, without judgment. Then he handed it back to her, as only a true friend could. He loved her. Sane or insane. Hair or no hair. And she loved him, back.

  “Now it's your turn.” She slumped back in her chair, exhausted but ready to return the favor. “Tell me everything.”

  “Everything?” Monty lit a cigarette and tossed the pack on the table. “Let's see if I can come up with a Reader's Digest version.”

  “Don't leave out any of the good parts.”

  “Those are the only parts I remember.

  June 5, 1977

  * * *

  It's Not Gossip If It's True

  By Theadora Barrett

  * * *

  Where in the world is our darling, Natalie?

  Life is always stranger than fiction, especially in Hollywood. With production unexpectedly shut down on The House on Fremont, the town is buzzing with theories. It seems as if Miss Hampton is starring in her own mystery movie, 'The Case of the Missing Movie Star.'

  However, I have it on very good authority, the mystery movie might actually be an old fashioned, 'Who Done It?' Or to be more accurate, a 'Who Was Doing Whom?'

  If you're confused, you're not alone. Unfortunately, we're left with little more than speculation at this time, until someone decides to break the gag order. Don't worry, they always do. And when people talk, I listen.

  * * *

  Until next time, darlings

  Thea

  14 Laying a Cornerstone

  Natalie slid the news article across the same little table they'd planted themselves at the day before. Monty read it without a word, before folding the clipping and tucking it in his shirt pocket.

  “Where did you get that?”

  “Nora sent it along with the letter you hand delivered.”

  “Of course, she did. Theadora Barrett,” Monty spit the words. “How appropriate that her initials are T. B. That woman is a disease.”

  “She said the town's buzzing with theories. What have you heard?”

  “Nothing.” Monty shook his head. “And neither has she. Well that's not exactly true. There is some talk about Stan and Monica. But nothing about you.”

  “Yet,” she sighed. “It's bound to come out sooner or later. She's right. Someone always talks.” Natalie tossed the napkin she'd shredded onto the table along with her question. “What kind of talk about Stan and Monica?”

  Monty raised his eyebrows. “The affair.”

  So, it was out there. Like a bad game of telephone. Natalie's stomach churned at the thought of the whispers being passed around along with the appetizer tray at the latest party.

  “Are they together?”

  “I haven't heard; besides I don't want you to think about any of that stuff right now. Hollywood is far away.”

  “Not far enough.” Natalie pointed to his pocket.

  Monty waved his arm. “But we're here, sitting in a piazza in the middle of Rome. Fuck Stan and the horse he rode in on. What was that horse's name, anyway? Monica?”

  Natalie laughed out loud, and the sound of it in her throat sounded like hope. She looked across the table at her copper-haired friend. Still the same. No, not quite the same. More mature, more life etched at the corners of blue eyes. But that dimple in his left cheek was the same. And he was filled with the same loyalty that had him running to her side when she called. She ached for all she'd missed out on.

  She hesitated for a moment before speaking up. She had no right to ask, but her heart led the way. “What would you say if I asked you to manage me again?”

  “I'd say, what took you so long?”

  “I don't know why you'd take me on,” Natalie said. “It's really unfair to ask you to manage my demise, but I don’t want Stan’s fingers anywhere on my career from now on.”

  “Let me handle that.”

  “While you're handling things, I have one more request.”

  “Name it.”

  “I need a good lawyer.”

  “Go on.”

  “I want to file for legal separation. Immediately.”

  Monty whistled under his breath.

  “I promised Anne that I wouldn't make any permanent decisions abou
t the divorce for a little while longer. But the separation is the first step. I need to set things in motion. And if Stan wants to take it from there, that's his choice. I'm not sure what the future holds, but I know I'm not going backwards.” Saying the words out loud was like pouring them into concrete. Laying a cornerstone.

  “Not going backwards,” Monty repeated. “That sounds like the old Natalie.”

  “I'm done with living a lie.”

  “I know all about living a lie,” Monty whispered. “It's like a wound that never heals.”

  “Oh God, darling.” Natalie reached for his hand. “I know you do.”

  For years she'd watched her best friend living in the shadows, denying his truth, always looking over his shoulder ready to swat the gossip at his back. Years of refuting rumors and staging photo opportunities with some young starlet on his arm.

  “I don't know how you do it, Monty.”

  “I do it, because I don't have a choice. But you, my gorgeous, little skinhead, have a choice. Seize it. Run with it and don't look back.”

  “I will.”

  She had the sense that she'd been a pushing a problem uphill for a long time. Now, she stood back and took a deep breath, filling her lungs with fresh air. Separation was only the first step, but it was hers.

  “I'll get you the best attorney in L.A.,” Monty was saying. “And we'll manage this thing.”

  “Stan's not going to go without a fight, there's too much money at stake.”

  “The problem with Stan is that he never deserved you, and he knew it. After what he's done to you, he just better hope he doesn't run into me, or he'll be running into my fist.”

  The image of Monty starting a fist fight had her hiding a smile. “Stan didn't cause my nervous break-down.”

  “He certainly didn't help.”

  “It's sounds weird to say, but I'm kind of grateful for the break-down. It was so big; it couldn't be swept under the carpet. It demanded attention. Anne was right when she said a breakdown doesn't have to be viewed as a negative. Often a breakdown leads to a breakthrough. Because of what I've been through I'm finding myself again. I'm a little worn for wear, but still standing.”

  “Damn right you are.”

  As she said the words, she realized how true they were. How far she'd come in the last few weeks. She remembered speaking from the depths of her depression, telling Anne that she was stuck between the living and the dying and she didn't care enough to save herself. Now with the Italian sun shining on her face, and Monty smiling at her from across the table, she could feel the energy in her bones.

  Strength drawn from the river deep inside bubbled to the surface and she cupped her hands to drink from its cool, clear offering. Instead of worrying about what lay around the bend in the road ahead of her, she was eager to strike out. Albeit on shaky legs. Anne was right. This was what the beginning looked like.

  15 Mary

  “How was your dinner with Anne,” Natalie asked.

  Her arm was tucked under Monty's, and like Lewis and Clark they strolled the narrow streets of her neighborhood, pushing further and further out each day. Careful to avoid the tourist areas, they found themselves in alleyways were butchers and bakers and cobblers stood at the back door while having a smoke and sharing a bit of gossip with their neighbor.

  Natalie knew instinctively these were the back-lots of Rome. Where all the real stuff happened. She was at home here.

  “Great,” Monty said. “Lots of old college stories rolling around the table; you would have been bored out of your mind.”

  “I understood what Anne meant about keeping our relationship on a professional basis. It makes perfect sense.”

  “I just don't want you feeling left out.”

  “I'm fine.” She looked up at Monty with a sideways grin. “I bet you were crazy in college.”

  “No crazier than I am now. Just drunker. Anne seems to remember a lot more than I do, which probably goes hand in hand with the amount of alcohol I consumed. She was always worried about showing up to class the next morning.”

  They slowed their steps as they turned a corner and found themselves in another little piazza.

  “Look at these colors,” Natalie marveled. “Have you ever seen anything like this? I don't think they could be replicated if we tried.”

  The saffrons, the blue's, the faded russets weren't colors that could be found on a paint chart in Beverly Hills, but only here on tall buildings nestled together like grand dames gathered around the dance floor. Their once brilliant ball gowns sun-washed over the centuries to a pale memory of their former glory. But Natalie liked this softer version, sensing at once that they were lived-in and loved.

  “Yeah, they're beautiful but I'm starving,” Monty said.

  “You're always starving.”

  They snagged a table near the fountain and scooted their chairs in close. “I'm so glad almost everyone seems to speak English.” Then she looked pointedly at Monty. “Except the nuns at the convent. Poor Chloe, she's been struggling.”

  “Don't look at me,” Monty said around a mouthful of egg salad sandwich. “Anne picked the convent, because she knew one of the sisters. She told me they spoke English. I remembered that Nora is half-Swedish, and I thought it was a cool connection.”

  “It would be if I spoke Swedish.” Natalie laughed. “Or Italian. I did stumble upon one little nun who speaks fluent English. Sister Elisabetta. She's going to college and loves everything American.”

  “So, you've already made a friend.”

  “I don't know about friend, but she's sweet and doesn't seem to have a clue who I am.”

  “And you love that don't you?”

  “I do. You have no idea how good it feels to be anonymous.”

  “I don't understand the allure. I've been anonymous my whole life, what's the big deal?” Monty shook his head, teasingly. He looked over at Natalie and caught her eye. “You look good today. Love the hat instead of the scarf. In fact, you look like Audrey Hepburn. With tits.”

  “Oh God, Monty, you haven't changed a bit.”

  “Why should I?”

  “No reason. In fact, make sure you don't.” Natalie laughed.

  On a day like this, with the laughter rolling between them, exchanging barbs in a contest to see who could make the other laugh hardest, she could almost pretend she'd never lost Monty. Then she reminded herself, she hadn't lost him. He was missing because she'd sent him away. She really didn't deserve this second chance. But she knew she'd have been the person doing the running if Monty had been the one to call.

  She couldn't undo the past mistakes. Couldn't erase the hurt. Couldn't rewrite the scene and say all the right words. But together they could write a new ending.

  “Has Anne talked about when you might be able to come home?”

  “I’m not under lock and key. I can go home anytime.” Natalie licked a bit of mayo from her fingertip. “But I don't want to.”

  “Ever?” Monty looked up, wide-eyed.

  “No, just for now. In fact, I've decided to have Nora and Tess come over for a visit. As soon as Tess is out of school.”

  The initial idea of having them come for a short visit had blossomed into an idea of a summer long stay. Still unsure of the particulars, she kept her plans to herself, for now.

  “Really?” Monty looked surprised.

  “Yeah, Anne thought it was a great idea.”

  ,“Well, she's the boss.”

  “No, I'm the boss.”

  Monty sat back in his chair with an appreciative grin. “Yes, you are. And if you want my two cents, I think it's a great idea, too.”

  “Thank you. I've been working since I was seven years old and I say, it's time for a real vacation.”

  “From the number of movies you've been churning out, you've been a workhorse the last few years.”

  “Lately it seemed as if Stan's motto became quantity not quality. But this isn't about him. I need time with Tess. It breaks my heart to think about wha
t I'm about to hand her with the divorce.”

  “She'll be fine.”

  Natalie pushed her bread crust around her plate. “People always say that, but I'm not so sure it's true. I think adults say it to make themselves feel better. There's no way around the fact that her world is going to be turned upside down.”

  “Then all you can do is provide a safe place for her to land.”

  “I'll do the best I can. I remember what it was like. I was ten when Nora and my dad divorced. It's a hard age, you're still a little kid, but old enough to know what's going on. Old enough to be scared.”

  “Divorce sucks for everybody.”

  “Don't I know it.” The words were a sigh. “Sometimes I wonder if my parents would have stayed together if we were just a normal family.”

  “What does a normal family look like?”

  “Damned if I know.” Natalie laughed.

  Looking up at the building beside them, Natalie pointed. “Have you noticed how many Mary's are all over this city?”

  Monty turned in his chair to follow her finger. “No. Not until you mentioned it.”

  “She's everywhere. I don't why, but it feels sort of—comforting.”

  “Maybe to you, but I don't want her watching my every move.” Monty tipped his glass, dropping an ice cube on his tongue.

  “It doesn't feel like that to me.” Natalie was still staring at the faded image looking down from the rooftop over the piazza below. “She's a mother. I think you have to love a city and a people who have such an unabashed love for their mother.”

  “Uh oh, sounds like you're falling in love with Rome.” Monty shook his head. “Happens every time.”

  “When in Rome…’’ Natalie cocked her head with a smile. “Besides there are worse things. Like you leaving tomorrow. I can't believe it's already been a week.”

  “Me either. Wish I could stay longer, but I've got tons to do, and now you've thrown a couple more tasks on my plate.”

  “Thank you, Monty.” She reached over and took his hand. “For everything.”