“What is it?”
“We want your feedback on the performance. Thanks for coming.”
“Why me?”
“Aren’t you an employee?”
“Yes.”
“Then your feedback is requested. Thank you for coming.”
Walking home, Kitty saw Lucy leave the lot at the wheel of a dark-colored Mercedes. The windows were down, and she could see Cora in the passenger’s seat, wearing a fluffy black fur. She heard their voices but couldn’t make out their words over the music, a melody she couldn’t name. Kitty wondered where they were going. It was the first time in a long time that she wished she’d been included.
* * *
Kitty returned her evaluation to the mailbox outside of stage C the following morning as the form instructed. Taking Lucy’s invitation literally, she found her later that evening, mixing makeup backstage. Like Emma, Lucy was eager to make her over. “If you want people to take you seriously, you have to look like a woman, not a little girl.”
“You sound like my sister.”
“She’s right.” Lucy handed her a tube of lipstick. “Put some color on your lips.”
“You don’t wear makeup.”
“I do.” Lucy leaned into the mirror, examining herself. “The overhead stage lights are bad for your skin, so I try not to cover my face in foundation when I’m working.”
“You don’t need it.”
“I don’t wear it because I need it. I wear it because it helps me look my best. The better you look, the better you feel, the better you act.”
Lucy taught her how to line her lips, curl her eyelashes, and blend foundation and blush, and supplied her with makeup for daytime and nighttime looks. “Don’t leave the house without the bare minimum.”
“Where are you going tonight?”
“A fundraiser,” Lucy explained, leaning into the mirror.
“Your husband doesn’t mind you working?”
“No, he’s a liberal, thank God. What else would I do?”
Kitty liked her more, hearing that. She’d learned some White women felt “unfulfilled” under the expectation to stay home and rear children. In Kitty’s mind it was a punishment Negro women could only dream about receiving.
“You don’t have children?”
“No. It’s not for me.”
Kitty didn’t understand. Babies weren’t for people, they happened to people.
“I fell in love with the studio, found I couldn’t give it up.”
“How do you not get pregnant?” Kitty covered her mouth, realizing how forward she was being. “I’m so sorry.”
Lucy smiled. “It’s all right. Careful timing.” She looked at Kitty in the mirror. “You’ve never been with a man?”
Kitty shook her head, embarrassed to be asked.
A knock came at the door, and Johnny, the assistant director, entered before he received permission. He was flustered and spoke with his hands. His shirt kept rising to show his pale, hairy stomach. “We have to film the rehearsal now. I need touch-ups on everyone.”
Lucy tossed the eye shadow brush she’d been using onto her vanity table. “He’s become such a pain in the ass. He acts like he must resurrect us from the dead.”
“Please hurry,” Johnny said, already exiting. “We’re behind schedule, and the last thing we need is to go over budget.”
Lucy rolled her eyes at Kitty. “He’s the one upping costs.” She locked her door behind them. “He could just come down here and watch it, but instead, the cameramen have to stay late to film it, which comes from the show’s budget.”
“Who is he?”
“Nathan.”
“Where is he?”
“Around here somewhere.” Lucy scoffed, but then her expression and voice softened. “I shouldn’t be dismissive. He does have a lot to offer. He’s very analytical. The problem is, it takes him forever to make a decision.” After so many years at the studio, Kitty saw, Lucy knew the entire Tate family well.
After the rehearsal, Kitty received another evaluation form. She returned it during her lunch hour the next day, and that night, the director, Charles Mints, also the director of The Misfits, approached her.
“We got your notes.” He fingered his sandy beard. “What do you think of this episode?”
“It’s too sad, especially now.”
He eyed Johnny and exhaled, relieved. “My sentiments exactly.” It was understood that Kitty was referring to news of the death of James Dean, the hugely successful actor who had just died in a car crash. Hollywood and his fans were in shock. It wasn’t the time for parallels on daytime television.
Charles pulled a script from his back pocket. “This is next week’s episode. Let me know.”
She returned her notes the next day, and Lucy traded her another episode, and then another, and pretty soon, Kitty had given feedback on the entire season of Windfall. Charles liked her “outsider” perspective and her ability to bring depth to the largely comedic show.
Mitch’s became a welcomed afterthought. Kitty started writing again, waiting for Emma to get home in the evenings. Miffed by Kitty’s disinterest in her established routine, Emma had begun to stay out later and later, seemingly in competition to prove who had the most interesting life. It was as if she wanted to make Kitty feel jealous enough to ask where she had been. What Kitty didn’t know was that the other operators had become similarly irregular patrons of Mitch’s, trading girls’ nights for dates. Emma was the only one with nothing else to do.
Emma stomped in intoxicated one Friday night with news of Judy’s engagement. Sam had proposed to the accompaniment of an orchestra on one of the sound stages.
“Everyone’s invited for cake and champagne on Monday to celebrate.” Emma fell into the chair across from the couch. “I can’t get anyone to go out with me at all. It took Judy three months to get engaged. Three months.” She leaned forward to make the point. “When I first met Judy, she was still wearing her hair in two ponytails. I changed her hair, got her ready for the weigh-ins—I dieted with her for months—and now she’s the one getting married. She’s not even smart.”
“She has a college degree.”
“Only because her parents could afford to send her.”
Tired of hearing her insults, Kitty asked Emma why she was friends with Judy.
“How can I ever really be friends with anyone except you?” Emma replied.
“That’s a lonely life, Emma.”
“Well, we can’t have it all.” She stretched her legs to rest her heels on the couch. “She asked me to be a bridesmaid.” The wedding would be in London in May; Judy’s fiancé was British on his mother’s side and had royal ties. “His family lives in a castle. Judy showed me pictures.”
“Maybe you’ll meet someone. Someone royal.”
Emma cut her eyes at Kitty as she prepared a drink.
“It happened to Judy, it can happen to you.”
“She’s White,” Emma snapped.
“So are you.”
CHAPTER 18
Kitty
October 1955
A month after Kitty became a regular on the Windfall set, another memo came from Nathan’s office, announcing that the interview window for secretaries had closed. The operators were livid—no one knew interviews had even begun.
“See?” Emma couldn’t wait to taunt Kitty. “You’ve been going to the stages, staying late, for nothing.”
For answers, Kitty went to Lucy.
“I got you an interview to be Nathan’s assistant.”
“Is that different from a secretary?”
“Better.”
“But the memo said interviews were closed.”
“That’s because he found what he was looking for.”
“But how?”
Lucy wiggled a cigarette in the air as the signal for them to go outside. As they walked toward the stage door, she said, “He asked people to show up, and you did. They’ve been impressed with your feedback. Looks like you have a shot.”
“What does being his assistant have to do with acting?”
“Access. Most people never even get to see him.”
Kitty wanted to say yes, but it scared her. “My sister would kill for that job.”
Lucy rolled her eyes. “Emma?”
“You know her?”
Lucy nodded. “Of course. She never told you about me?”
“No.”
“I’m surprised. I got her a job here.”