“Do you have to go, Auntie Maud?”
“I’m afraid I do, sweet pea. But I won’t stop thinking about you when I’m gone.”
“Can I come with you?”
Inside, it seemed as if a poisonous snake had wrapped around Maud’s innards, slowly squeezing them until she longed to gasp aloud. But on the outside, her expression was serene, as she knew that any sign of sadness would just make the poor child feel worse.
“Not this time,” Maud said.
Somber little Magdalena, stiff as a Sunday school teacher, didn’t even utter a word of protest. She nodded solemnly and squeezed her Auntie Maud’s hand until finally she dropped it, and clasped both hands behind her back, looking even more solitary without her beloved Dorothy in her arms.
Riding away on the wagon, Maud watched all of it—the dreary, isolated shack, the fresh grave, her pale, weathered sister, and the brave little girl—retreating and retracting, until they dwindled down to a single dot and disappeared.
That night, after Maud returned to Aberdeen, Frank didn’t ask her for details about the trip, the funeral, or her sister; nor did he ask her what was making her so sad. Once they were in bed, he just enfolded her in a soft embrace and stroked her hair. It seemed as if she were shrinking, until her entire fiery heart and soul and all of her sadness had joined to form a round, bright ball of fire encircled by heat. She lifted her head and looked into Frank’s eyes for a long time, and a certainty overtook her. Baby Jamie had not been meant to live, but Maud was young and strong—strong enough.
Maud reached down with her hand, guiding her husband toward his sacred and loving duty. He paused, looking at her searchingly. He breathed so softly, “But, Maudie, are you sure?”
Maud averted her gaze from him but nodded. He cupped his hand around her chin and brushed her hair up from her forehead until he was looking her straight in the eye.
“No, I won’t do it, unless you tell me with words. I would never ever hurt you.”
Maud stared straight at her husband.
“Frank, I’m sure.”
CHAPTER
17
HOLLYWOOD
1939
Maud felt a prickle of cold air and heard the sound—like an old man wheezing—as she entered the Thalberg Building. A day had passed since she had found Judy sobbing in the alleyway, but she could not get the thought out of her mind. She was determined to find a way to help her.
In the lobby, Maud noticed a new girl seated in the receptionist’s chair. The young redhead frowned slightly when she saw Maud. “Mrs. Baum?”
Maud squinted in confusion. How did this stranger know her name? But with a closer look, she realized that this was the same young woman she had met on her first visit to the studio, only now her hair, which had been platinum blond, was dyed a fiery shade of red.
Maud smiled. “I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you. It’s the hair.”
The girl touched her bob and colored slightly. “Casting was looking for redheads,” she said. “I’m an actress. Aspiring actress. Just haven’t landed a part yet.”
“Be patient,” Maud said. “I’m sure your turn will come soon. Now, if you please—”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Baum. Mr. Mayer is not in today. And neither is Mr. Freed.” The girl spoke a bit hastily, as if to preempt any further inquiry.
“That’s not a problem. I’m looking for Mrs. Koverman.”
“I’m sorry.” She chewed her lip. “You’re not on the schedule.” Maud noted that she had not even glanced at the appointment book that lay open on her desk. “I was told—” She stopped short, and her eyebrows shot upward like the wings of a gull taking flight.
“That’s all right.” Maud smiled sweetly. “Don’t worry about it, dear. I’m not going to make a fuss.” The girl looked relieved as Maud turned away, but instead of moving toward the outside door, Maud pivoted the other way, dashing across the lobby to the elevator and punching the button. The doors slid open immediately. Relieved, she stepped into the waiting car. “Tell her I’m on my way up,” Maud called through the closing doors.
When Mrs. Koverman saw Maud stepping out of the elevator, she jumped up, grabbed her pocketbook, and signaled that Maud should follow her down a short hallway, away from Mayer’s office. She stopped in front of a door marked LADIES.
“Welcome to my office,” she said with a wry smile. Ida ushered Maud into a well-appointed ladies’ room consisting of a large anteroom furnished with floral couches and large mirrors. An open door led to a row of toilet stalls arrayed behind.
Maud looked around in surprise. “Quite a palace,” she said.
“Not bad, eh? This is where I hold all of my most important meetings,” Mrs. Koverman said with a laugh. “No one is ever in here besides me. It’s the quietest place I know. Please…” Mrs. Koverman seated herself and gestured for Maud to follow suit.
Maud sat stiffly on the edge of a floral upholstered divan, her handbag balanced on her knees, trying to project a businesslike manner. “Mrs. Koverman.”
“Please, call me Ida.”
Maud collected her thoughts. “After the unpleasant spectacle that we witnessed yesterday…”
Ida nodded.
“…I feel it incumbent upon me to speak up on Judy’s behalf. My husband, Frank, was a great advocate for the rights of women. He would have found it most intolerable to see the girl who was cast to play Dorothy be treated in such a heartless manner.”
Ida clucked sympathetically, adjusting her bulk on the upholstered chaise. “Freed is a pig,” Ida said. “But if it ever leaves this room that I said so, I’ll lose my job, and I need this job. I’ve got a family to support.”
“And what can be done?” Maud said. “I came to you first because I believed I could enlist your sympathy, but I’m unafraid to speak to anyone—from Louis B. Mayer on down. I thought you might be able to advise me in developing a strategy.”
Ida sighed. She reached into her pocketbook, pulled out a compact, and proceeded to freshen her bright red lipstick. “I want you to know something. I love that girl as if she were one of my own. That voice…” Ida sighed again, kissed her fingertips, and looked heavenward. “Straight from on high. She could melt an iceberg with that voice.”
“It certainly is something,” Maud agreed. “I was quite struck from the moment I heard it.”
Maud watched as Ida pressed her lips together, blotting her fresh coat of lipstick, then dropped her compact and the shiny metal lipstick tube back into her purse. Next, unfazed by Maud’s presence, she reached under her dress to fiddle with her garter, then hiked up one silk stocking. Maud tried to hide her surprise at Mrs. Koverman’s nonchalant handling of her undergarments, but her expression must have shown her discomfiture. Straightening her skirt, Ida chuckled. “Sorry, Mrs. Baum. I don’t spiff up when the gents are present, but I figured in the ladies’ room, it’s anything goes.”
“As for Judy…” Maud paused, wishing her voice didn’t sound quite so stiff. She considered herself a modern woman, but perhaps not quite as modern as Ida Koverman!
“Let me tell you something, Mrs. Baum. Most people don’t know this, but I’m the one who discovered her. I heard her singing at a nightclub in town, she was just a wee thing, not even thirteen, and I knew right away that she was something special. But I couldn’t get anyone to listen to me. You know how men are. They’ll chase after a paste jewel but miss a real-life diamond if it’s got a little dirt on it.” She reached under her skirt again, tugged on her other garter, then slipped off one shoe and began to massage her stockinged big toe.
“So how did you do it?” Maud asked.
“I got her to sing ‘Eli, Eli’ to Mayer. It’s a Yiddish song, so beautiful. Reminded him of his childhood. By the time she stopped singing, he had tears running down his face.” Ida let go of her stockinged foot. “And he signed her. Just like that. But Mayer, bless his heart, and he’s a good man deep down, he just couldn’t see it, couldn’t see past the funny-looking package that big voice came in. You have no idea what they’ve done to the poor child since then—they’ve straightened her teeth, they’ve fixed her nose, they’ve fed her cottage cheese and diet pills and stuffed her into corsets, and all the while, you and I both know, as women, that the light that shines from that dear girl has nothing to do with the shape of her nose or the straightness of her teeth. It’s that inner beauty.” Ida slipped her foot back into her pump and groaned softly. “These gosh-darned shoes make my bunions flare up. I put on slippers the second I get home.”
“What about her mother?” Maud said. “Doesn’t she protect her from—from people who don’t have her best interests in mind?”
“Ethel?” Ida snorted. “She sees that girl as the First Bank of Hollywood. Worst kind of stage mother. Now, her father—he was cut from a different cloth.”