The Night Sister

Now it was almost as if a bomb really did go off. The pavement seemed to shift, and there was a dull roaring in her ears. She dropped the paper cup, and the top flew off, what was left of her milk shake flying everywhere, covering Rose’s good shoes and tights.

“Come on,” Sylvie said, tugging Rose back into the throngs of people, heading for the theater. “Before he sees us.” Sylvie pulled Rose along.

“There you are!” Fenton called, pushing through people to get to the girls. “Good grief, I thought I’d lost you. I was about to start panicking. Where were you?”

“Sorry, Uncle Fenton, we got caught up in the crowd,” Sylvie said.

“Well, you’re just in time. Look—they’ve arrived.”

“Who?” Rose gasped, wondering for a split second if he could possibly mean Daddy and the red-haired woman.

A platform had been set up in front of the Paramount Theater, and spotlights illuminated the sidewalk and street. A string of shiny new cars with a police escort had pulled up out front.

“What’s happening? Who’s here?” Sylvie asked, perched on tiptoes.

Rose struggled to see over the heads of the people in front of her, and Fenton, seeing her distress, lifted her up and put her on his shoulders, though she was really much too big for such things. But she didn’t mind. From up there, she had a perfect view.

From the lead car stepped a large, jowly man, with close-cropped gray hair, wearing a black suit. He stopped and waved at the crowd. A woman from the car joined him: she was young and beautiful in a dark-blue dress with a deeply scooped neckline. A mink stole was draped over her shoulders.

“Oh! It can’t be! It can’t be, but it is!” Sylvie exclaimed.

“Who is it?” Rose asked.

“It’s Alfred Hitchcock,” Fenton said. “One of the most famous movie directors in the world. And see that actress with him?” Fenton said. “She’s the star of his new picture. Her name’s Shirley MacLaine. Beautiful, isn’t she?”

Shirley MacLaine waved graciously to the crowd, smiling, her pearl earrings glistening in the spotlights.

“They’re from Hollywood,” Sylvie gasped as the director and actress were ushered through the crowds toward the platform. Sylvie pushed in closer to the street, as if being magnetically pulled toward the cars.

“The movie’s called The Trouble with Harry,” Fenton explained. “They’re having the world premiere tonight, here, because it was filmed up in Craftsbury. A little taste of Hollywood right here in Vermont. You remember this, Rose. This here is something you’re going to be telling your grandchildren about—the day Alfred Hitchcock came to Barre for a movie premiere.”

Sylvie had made her way through the crowd to the base of the podium, where a man was introducing Alfred Hitchcock and Shirley MacLaine.

Rose watched in fascination as Sylvie stood—eyes wide, face strangely blank, slack-jawed—staring up at the director and movie star, as if, for just this once, she was the one hypnotized.





Mr. Alfred Hitchcock Paramount Studios

Hollywood, California September 30, 1955

Dear Mr. Hitchcock,

Tonight, my uncle Fenton brought me and my sister Rose to Barre, and we stood in the crowd along Main Street and watched you and Miss MacLaine go into the Paramount Theater.

It was the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me in my whole entire life. I stood next to the platform. You and Miss MacLaine were close enough to touch.

My daddy always says that there are moments in our lives, moments that change everything.

I never understood what he meant until tonight.

When I saw you and Miss MacLaine earlier, I knew, I just knew, that one day, whatever it takes, I would come to Hollywood and be in the movies.

The idea hit me so suddenly and so hard that I actually couldn’t breathe for a minute. There I was, standing along Main Street, with my uncle and little sister behind me, and I couldn’t get any air. I saw everything in a whole new way. Like I’d been living this upside-down life, and suddenly things were right-side-up and the whole world in front of me made sense.