Design for Dying (27 page)

She removed her glasses and inspected me. “Turn around.” After I'd executed my three-sixty, she nodded. “Slacks. Definitely.”

“To a party?”

“High-waisted linen slacks, a gold or silver belt, a silk blouse, a low-heeled shoe. You'll blend in perfectly.”

I pictured myself so attired. Cocktail in one hand, the other poised to accept the offer of a dance with a handsome stranger. Then reality intruded.

“Too bad I don't have any high-waisted linen slacks. Only these old cotton ones. And I don't remember seeing a silk blouse in my closet.” I flopped back into the chair, throwing my legs over the side.

“Enough moping.” Edith then uttered words I never dreamed she'd say. “Perhaps we could take a page from Ruby's book.”

*   *   *

TWENTY MINUTES LATER
I stood before the mirror in Travis Banton's salon, posing in a white silk button-down blouse as light as an angel's kiss and dark brown linen slacks that gave me the appearance of a lower order Vanderbilt.

Edith prowled around, making minute adjustments. “A girl your height, you're lucky we found something to work with. You'll see Bill at this soiree with his latest conquest. He's already asked me what color tie he should wear and what corsage would complement it. You two will have to fill me in on what everyone else wore.” She couldn't mask the wistful note in her voice.

“You must be invited to events like these constantly.”

“No, never. I'm too busy to attend anyway.” She stepped back to appraise her efforts. “You could give Garbo a run for her money.”

“I prefer Dietrich.”

“Ah, Marlene. I adore working with her. She understands the power of wardrobe. The last time she was here she brought Travis a kugel she'd baked herself. Can you imagine?”

“Is that how I stay on your good side, Edie? Bake you a kugel? Maybe you'd settle for a pound cake.”

I turned to discover Barbara Stanwyck behind me. No longer the temptress of
Baby Face
, sleeping her way to the top of the Gotham Trust building and scandalizing the theaterful of jaded New Yorkers around me, the actress was rectitude personified in a tan bouclé suit with black trim and matching oversized buttons. Her long auburn hair was pulled back and she wore no makeup save lipstick, which made her look younger than she did onscreen. I somehow remained upright on the pedestal, a signature accomplishment in my life.

“Barbara, you're welcome with or without a gift,” Edith said. “You're not here for a fitting.”

“Just dropped by to say hello. No Travis?”

“Not today.”

“He doesn't see me as a clotheshorse anyway. Is he … being a good boy?”

“He's doing his best,” Edith said with a knowing look. I'd just been made privy to some confidence. I didn't know what, exactly, but something.

Remembering to breathe, I stepped down from the pedestal. Up close Barbara Stanwyck seemed small yet hardy, a piece of jetsam stripped to its strengths by its travels. She smiled, but her eyes retained a faint, permanent unease. Not the standard Hollywood stripe but the deeper variety of one who'd known turmoil and expected more of the same. “Pleased to meet you. I'm Barbara.”

Her accent was more pronounced in person, and in it I heard the clink of subway tokens. “Lillian. I'm from New York, too.”

“You're not trying to take my place in pictures, are you?” Her throaty laugh was exactly as I'd heard it at the movies. “I'll put up a fight.”

“Oh, no. I'm not an actress,” I said, no doubt to her overwhelming relief.

“Lillian wanted to know what I thought of this outfit for Addison Rice's party this weekend,” Edith said.

“Will you be there, Lillian? We'll have to have a drink. Whatever Edie's advice is, take it. She found a way to give the suits they always put me in some flair so I don't look like I'm out collecting for the Salvation Army. If she says wear hip waders and an Indian headdress, don't argue. You'll be the most fashionable girl there.”

“What do you think of this?” Edith lifted a hand in my direction. “Casual, but just so.”

“It's lovely. Beats my getup. Thanks to Addison's antics, I'll be looking like a fugitive from a circus tent.”

“What will you be wearing?” I asked.

“You'll see on Saturday. I'll be hard to miss.” She shook her head. “‘Come as you are.' Oh, brother.”

*   *   *

I WAS BEHIND
the Japanese screen changing back into a pumpkin when I heard the door open. Peeking around the corner I saw Adele Balkan in earnest conversation with Edith.

Dressed, I stepped out from behind the screen as Edith said, “Tell Howard I'll take care of it. Again.”

She looked to me as Adele hurried from the room. “When are you due at Tremayne's?”

“That's a long story.”

“I don't like the sound of that. May I impose upon you to come with me? I could use your help.”

“Of course. Where are we going?”

“That's another long story. Why don't we take turns enlightening each other in my car?”

I had barely settled myself when she pointed her sedan at Gower and let fly. “What's our secret mission?”

“To locate Travis. Adele received a call from Howard Greer. He ran the department before Travis and hired me on. Howard has his own salon in Hollywood. He and Travis enjoy a few drinks now and again.”

“And sometimes more than a few?”

“Precisely. That's where the trouble starts. They were out all night. Howard offered Travis a ride home, but Travis said he'd rather take the streetcar. Last month we found him shuttling to Santa Monica and back. Having a lovely time, he said. Never mind I was sick with worry.”

“Riding the streetcar with a snootful doesn't sound so bad.”

“Travis's reputation has suffered enough. The studio's already weary of his cavalier behavior. This will be another black mark against his name, unless we find him first and pour several gallons of hot coffee into him.”

“You want to protect him.”

“Travis is the best designer in pictures, perhaps ever. I've learned more from him than I could ever hope to repay.” She glanced over at me. “I take it you've heard otherwise about our relationship.”

“Just gossip. But if Travis were let go, wouldn't you be top choice to replace him?”

“Unlikely.” She set her jaw and kept her eyes on the road. “Lead designer is a role to be cast like any other, and the thinking is I lack the star power. I'm a woman and I came up through the ranks. I don't have the requisite status, the pedigree. Howard began with Lady Duff Gordon. I grew up in a Nevada mining camp, tying scarves on burros that happened by. Travis had his own studio in New York, designing for Ziegfeld and society women. Mary Pickford married Douglas Fairbanks in a Banton original. My career began dressing elephants in
The Wanderer
. I used real fruit and flowers in the garlands. The beasts ate them all before the cameras started rolling.”

I couldn't help it. I laughed. Edith mustered a tight smile as the car continued rocketing forward.

“The studio is already auditioning replacements for Travis and they're holding true to form. They've brought Ernest Dryden out from New York. He's designing Bing Crosby's next picture.” She chuckled darkly. “Ernest made his reputation on
The Garden of Allah
, but those are all Travis's gowns. Dietrich loathed Ernest's designs and insisted Travis take over. Travis did Ernest's best work, and Ernest may well end up replacing him.”

“Maybe you can stay on with Mr. Dryden.”

“No. New brooms sweep clean. I'm too associated with Travis. I'll go where he goes, provided he'll have me. And if he doesn't, well, I can always dust off my teaching credential and go back to giving French lessons.” She didn't sound enthused by the idea. “I do wish Travis would stay here. If only he'd settle down.”

Edith squinted through the windshield. “There's a streetcar ahead. Keep your eyes peeled. If he's not on this one we'll wait at the Santa Monica turnaround and pray he didn't switch to another line.”

The streetcar rattled past, hissing. I couldn't pick Travis Banton out of a lineup but doubted he resembled the only male passenger aboard, a burly man in coveralls with a bag of tools under his arm.

Edith glanced up, too, and quickly corrected our drift into the next lane in response to my ladylike yelp of terror. “We weren't even close to hitting that truck. On to Santa Monica it is. Tell me about Tremayne's. Did the flowers help?”

“Tremayne's and I are past flowers.” When I finished my story, Edith shook her head in something miles from sympathy.

“I must say I'm surprised, Lillian, coming in downcast over not having anything to wear to this party when loss of steady income is of substantially more import.”

“I know, but—” Any excuse would wither under Edith's scrutiny. “The party is Saturday night.”

“We've solved that problem. Now, about your career. Are you considering positions outside of retail?”

“I'm up for anything from rodeo clown to fan dancer.”

“What do you think about working in Wardrobe? Securing you a position could be one of my last acts at Paramount. No special treatment, mind you. You'd be picking up pins off the floor like everyone else. It's a good way to learn the business.”

“But I can't draw. Or sew.”

“It's not talent that matters in this work but drive. And you're not lacking in that. I offer myself as a case in point. I would ask you to keep this incident under your hat as I'm not exactly proud of it. I was a student when Howard Greer placed an ad for sketch artists. I knew he prized versatility, so I brought along plenty of sketches and was hired on the spot.”

“That's wonderful. But as I said, I can't draw.”

“If I might finish … not all the sketches were mine. I borrowed some from my classmates—”

“And passed them off as your own? You
lied
your way into Paramount?”

Her look would have sent a charging bull up a tree. “No, I did not. I explicitly told Mr. Greer, ‘This is what we're doing at school.' And it was. Once I'd gotten the job, I worked harder than anyone else. What matters is I created the opportunity.”

It was impossible to contemplate a job offer at breakneck speed. “Let me think about it,” I said.

“Thinking about it is a luxury you can't afford. The world says no on a regular basis. It's up to you to say yes. Here's another streetcar.”

We stopped at a traffic light with the streetcar on our left. I clambered into the backseat. A dapper man sat with his arm on the window ledge as if he were grand marshal in a parade. He waggled his fingers at me then touched the brim of his straw boater. “Good morning!” he called.

“We may be in luck,” I told Edith.

The gent's gaze shifted to her. “I'll be damned. Edie, is that you?”

“Travis!” Edith replied. “Stay right there.”

Horn blaring, she scissored across the right lane and pulled into a parking space. We bailed out and sprinted to the next streetcar stop. Panting, I pulled myself aboard.

Travis Banton rose, the picture of pickled dignity in a gray suit with a blue striped tie, both slightly withered after a night's revelry. He had a puggish nose and full lips that unfurled in a smile. “What a lovely surprise.” He snatched a handrail as the streetcar started forward again. “Will you ladies accompany me on my excursion?”

“We'll sit awhile, Travis.” Edith wiped off her spectacles.

“It's a beautiful run. Busy streets yielding to the quiet of the beach, serenity only a few stops away. We'll finish with a swim. The very thing on such a day.” He took a nip from a silver flask then held it out to me.

“Not until the sun passes the yardarm,” I said.

Knowing not to offer any to Edith, Banton downed another slug then stowed the flask. “I don't believe I've had the pleasure of making your acquaintance.”

“This is Lillian Frost. Why don't I drive us all back to the studio?”

“This conveyance is smoother. I've ridden with you before. And what about our day at the beach?”

“Right now we should get you back to work. A line of actresses awaits your singular magic.” The flattery sounded forced in Edith's delivery.

“Along with spying eyes, reporting my every false move. It's no life for us artistic types. And you could take care of those temperamental ladies with one hand behind your back.”

“They don't want me, Travis. They want you.”

Banton stared intently at Edith, as if trying to gaze through her glasses into her soul. But the lenses were too thick. He abandoned that enterprise and grinned at me.

“What say you, Miss Frost? Shall I return to the studio, home to ceaseless toil and friends like faithful Edith? Or carry on with my poor man's holiday?”

“The Pacific isn't going anywhere,” I said.

“Miss Frost, you are as wise as you are tall.” He stood with the grandeur of a surrendering general and pulled the bell cord. “Driver! We shall disembark here. This world will not glamorize itself.”

 

28

“STOP FIDGETING. YOU'RE
making me carsick.”

“I'm not fidgeting, Vi. I'm preventing wear on these clothes.” I adjusted the gold chain belt adorning my Paramount-issued slacks. We were doubled up in the backseat of Ready's car en route to Addison Rice's soiree. I'd been to parties before. I wasn't fidgeting. Honest.

Kay swiveled in her forward perch, pencil in position behind her ear. “I'm warning you two. I'm staying 'til the bitter end, so if you get bored find your own way home.”

“Bored? I don't plan on being bored,” Vi said.

“She's in the Prince Charming market,” I added.