A LADY NAMED ROSE
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Fourth of July, 1920
His name was Edgar Maximillion
Krieger II, and at the moment he held Rose's undivided attention.
But she didn't have his. The
infant, his first birthday only a month away, was anxious to explore his
surroundings and squirmed and fidgeted in her lap. Every few seconds he'd let
out a whimper of protest at being abandoned and left at the mercy of someone
other than his parents, even if it was for the short time it took his mother to
get dressed.
Though with Angelica, one never
knew how long anything might take.
Angelica's husband, Max, had
vanished early that morning, presumably to spend the holiday with his parents.
They'd had quite a row the previous evening, Angelica confided, and he spent
the night on the same lopsided sofa on which Rose now waited for her old
roommate. What remained unspoken was that this had become a pattern in their
marriage. Since giving birth to her son, Angelica had traded her acting career
for a role as traditional wife and mother, a role she wasn't well suited for,
and about which she complained bitterly.
She'd neglected the housekeeping
that day, and toys were scattered about the floor. Edgar, or Li'l Max, as
everyone had taken to calling him, was currently straining to reach one of
those toys, an obnoxious stuffed cow that bleated piteously when its stomach
was squeezed. Naturally, it was the baby's favorite.
Suddenly, Li'l Max was still. He
gurgled, and a foul odor drifted to Rose's nostrils.
"Ugh, Max!" Rose lifted
him and held him at arm's length, her head turned to the side. Luckily nothing
leaked, and even if it had she was wearing blue jeans and any stains would wash
out easily. Still, she didn't wish to wait any longer while the infant's diaper
stunk up the place. "Angelica!" she called out. "I think someone
needs to be changed."
Angelica stuck a head full of
curlers into the room. "Do you think you can do it for me, sweetie? My
nails are still wet and I'd hate for them to smear."
She retreated before Rose could
answer. Li'l Max appraised Rose for a moment, then began to wail.
What a life Angelica had. She'd
gone from an elegant New York brownstone to a two-bedroom bungalow with scrub
brush and mounds of sand for a yard. The house, on Highland Avenue not far
outside the heart of Hollywood, had been a steal according to Max.
Unfortunately, from the looks of the dilapidated structure, it probably wasn't
worth much more than the down payment. The living room where Rose patiently
bided her time was cramped, and to put it simply, ugly. The carpet was
threadbare, the bare walls painted a sickly dull shade Angelica referred to as
"desert white." The sofa, a cabinet containing a phonograph player
and records and a round dining table with a set of four chairs and a high chair
for the baby were all crowded into a space of about twenty square feet.
Rose's unexpected arrival in Los
Angeles had brought some cheer into Angelica's life, though her motives for
contacting her friend and sometime rival had nothing to do with rehashing old
memories. She'd written her a hasty note while in Cedar Rapids and asked the
housekeeper to post it for her. She didn't want to take any chances that she'd
be unemployed and without a roof over her head upon her arrival in California.
Fortunately they'd taken a detour
to the Grand Canyon and the letter reached its destination before their caravan
did. The Geisels and what was left of their Vaudeville Revue welcomed Rose back
into the fold and Fritz immediately offered her a room in their new boarding
house. She was elevated to leading lady status, for which she received a weekly
salary. She worried at first about arousing Angelica's ire, but for the time
being Angelica was too thrilled to see someone from back East to care. Besides,
they were playing to nearly empty houses and little notice from critics. This
was the land of movies, and all of the original members of the troupe had left
the stage to pursue careers on the big screen, save the Geisels themselves, Max
and Catherine, who'd gained even more weight and had taken to walking with a
cane when she wasn't performing. Even Max's parents had left the Revue, and his
father had gone to work as a production supervisor for Paramount Pictures. Rose
doubled as a ticket taker and girl Friday. It was back to square one, but it
was familiar.
To tell the truth, the future
scared the hell out of her.
"I'm ready!" Angelica
announced, making her grand entrance in a slip of a dress that was a bit too
snug in the hips and waist. She hadn't quite grasped the idea that pregnancy
had filled out her figure, perhaps permanently. That aside, she looked perfect.
Her makeup was flawless, raven hair pinned to her head in little ringlets in
the current style. Next to her, in denim and a long braid down her back, Rose
felt plain. She didn't have the heart to tell Angelica she was overdressed for
the beach.
There was a knock at the door.
"I'll get that," Angelica offered. "Why don't you get Li'l Max's
stroller? And don't forget his bottle and that cow toy. He just loves that
toy."
"Can we bring something else
instead?" Rose asked hopefully. "I already changed him. It's the
least you can do for me."
Angelica didn't hear her; she was
already at the door. "Well, hello, handsome!"
Ever the gentleman, Anderson
lifted her hand and kissed it. "My, don't you look glamorous today. Are we
meeting someone I don't know about at the pier?"
"Oh, stop!" she
giggled, and slapped his arm playfully with a lace glove.
Rose glanced up from her struggle
to lace Li'l Max's shoes, and her breath caught in her throat. Anderson also
wore blue jeans and a billowing blue shirt that emphasized his eye color.
Behind him, Angelica conspicuously eyed him from head to toe, and licked her
lips.
His greeting to Rose died on his
lips, and he suddenly burst into laughter. "Hold still. I have my camera
in the car."
"Oh, dear," Angelica
spoke, trying her best to choke back a laugh herself. "You're going to
have to change."
Rose followed their eyes to her
blouse...and a trail of spittle dripping downward from the collar. When did
that happen?
Li'l Max chortled with glee.
*****
The sun was bearing down and the
Santa Monica Pier was crowded with beachgoers. The dirt-and gravel-packed lot
where they found parking was rapidly filling with automobiles. While Angelica
secured the baby in his stroller, Rose took in the sights.
It was much as it had appeared in
her dreams. Vendors hawked souvenirs and arcade games from festive tents. Calliope
music blared from a building resembling a Moroccan palace; they would later
ride the carousel inside. A man dressed as Uncle Sam wove his way through the
crowd on stilts, quite a feat on the wooden planks of the boardwalk. The scent
of frying grease mingled with salt spray from the Pacific.
The ocean. Rose avoided looking
at the water, instead settling her gaze on the graceful outline of the Santa
Monica Mountains to the north.
There was a scream from above,
and all heads lifted in time to see a car drop down a precarious slope of the
Blue Streak Racer roller coaster.
"I dare you."
Anderson grinned at her. Rose
arched her eyebrows. "You sure you want to do that? I once rode the
Cyclone at Coney Island seven times in one day."
"Liar."
"Ask Angelica. She was with
me that day." He looked to Angelica for confirmation; she only shrugged.
"You'll throw up and ruin
another shirt."
"Not if I don't eat first.
Race you!"
Rose took off and darted past the
other amusements--briefly taking notice of a rather interesting contraption
called the Whip...maybe they'd ride that next--and ignoring the open stares
from the crowd, joined the line at the ticket booth. Minutes later, she and
Anderson were strapped side by side into a wooden car surrounded by other
revelers, most of them younger than they.
"Last chance to back
out," Anderson teased her. Rose only smiled. The car suddenly jerked
forward and began to creep uphill. Around them the teenagers cheered, cheers
which turned to raucous screams as they plunged downward, looped in a circle
and dropped again.
Up, down, and around, and it was
over in mere seconds. Anderson helped Rose out of her seat, and she headed
straight for the ticket booth. He stumbled behind her, out of breath.
"Again? Rose, we're not here by ourselves, you remember."
"Just once more," she
begged him.
But it was twice more before
she'd quit, and then only because she'd worked up a horrendous appetite.
Angelica had managed to reserve the four of them a picnic table and fed Li'l
Max applesauce from a jar while Anderson wandered off to buy refreshments.
"We never went to Coney
Island together," Angelica accused as soon as he was gone.
"I did," Rose said,
almost adding, with Sebastian, but she was unable to say his name even now.
"And for the record, I did ride Cyclone seven times in one day."
"Oh, I believe you. You
always were a daredevil." Angelica hesitated, then continued, "You
were so brave, to come all the way to California with strangers. But of course,
looking at Anderson, I can see why."
"It's not like that at
all," Rose said hurriedly. "We're just friends. My goodness, we're
almost related."
She'd told the Geisels only that
while on sabbatical in Wisconsin, she'd met a show business family who just
happened to be related to her Uncle John by marriage. They were familiar with
the Calverts' work, but the two families had never crossed paths in New York or
Los Angeles. In all the chaos and upheaval of her move, Rose hadn't even
considered the possibility that she'd have to reconcile the stories she'd told
her friends in New York and her lies to the Calverts. Bad enough that Anderson
continued to call on her, and had insisted upon attending some of her
performances, even as he completed his own script. So Rose had some improvising
to do. Luckily, the subject of where she was born had not come up in
conversation.
"Just friends, my ass,"
Angelica taunted her. "He adores you, I can tell. Why don't you just
accept it? You're not getting any younger. You need someone to take care of
you, and from what I can tell, he certainly has the means, unlike my
husband."
Rose was spared another of
Angelica's sob stories as Anderson returned with a box of hot dogs smothered in
sauerkraut and mustard, bottles of root beer, and long pastries sprinkled with
sugar. "They're churros," he explained to Rose.
"Oh, Anderson, you shouldn't
have. You know I'm watching my figure," Angelica scolded as she snatched a
churro from the box.
They ate in silence, savoring the
food and the sights and sounds of the pier. Li'l Max had blessedly drifted off
and his mother seemed to have run out of things to say for once. Anderson
finally spoke. "Too bad the beach is so crowded. I could go for a
dip."
"So could I," Angelica
said. "It must be a hundred and ten degrees out here." She removed
her floppy hat and fanned herself with it. "You know, I hear there are
beaches in Europe and South America where people actually swim without bathing
trunks."
"There are swimming pools
right here in Los Angeles where that happens all the time," Anderson
replied with a wink.
God, those two were flirting
again. And there it was, a twinge of envy. Angelica had to really be enjoying
herself, finally getting even, though in a small way, for Sebastian.
Rose was unnerved to realize that
this was the second time in one day that she'd thought of her late fiancé.
Angelica was saying her name.
"...I just think it's such a shame you can't swim. All this splendid
weather and you aren't taking full advantage."
"You can't swim, Rose?"
Anderson asked, incredulous.
Here we go, Rose thought.
"We'll just have to remedy
that. There's a pool at the gymnasium and you can take lessons there."
"I don't want to."
He was taken aback, but
undaunted. "If it's the cost that concerns you--"
"It's not the money,"
she snapped. "Please, I just...would rather not."
Of course she knew how to swim.
That knowledge had helped save her life. Her father taught her when she was
nine years old. She'd been very comfortable in the water. Once.
Anderson glanced at Angelica, who
shook her head. She was aware of Rose's phobia, but knew she wouldn't discuss
what caused it. She saved the day by changing the subject. "Look, those
people are riding horses on the sand. Maybe we can rent one."
They followed her pointed finger
and sure enough, there were horseback riders right on the water's edge. Rose
looked dubious, but Anderson coaxed her. "Come on. This is a way to cool
off without getting wet. You're dressed for it."
She was. And what did she come
there with him for, if not to test the waters, in a manner of speaking?
They made inquiries and found the
stables some distance from the pier. The horse they rented was a gentle bay
mare by the name of Gretchen. As it turned out, only Rose would ride, as Li'l
Max had awakened and wouldn't allow anyone but Angelica to hold him, and
Anderson suddenly remembered his camera and had to return to his car for it.
"You're not riding
sidesaddle, Miss?" the trainer asked, baffled, as Rose swung her right leg
over the saddle.
"Nope. That's why I wore
blue jeans."
While Angelica took Li'l Max for
a ride on the merry-go-round, Rose made her way along the shoreline, gradually
allowing Gretchen to tread into the surf. They were a long way from the pier
and the crowds, and Rose oddly felt at ease. For once, the sound of crashing
waves was actually soothing and hypnotic. She almost regretted it when Anderson
woke her from her trance.
Gretchen dutifully stood still
while Rose struck a pose with the roller coaster in the background. Anderson
snapped a photograph which would later become one of her favorites.
Later, they stood on the
boardwalk awaiting the evening's fireworks, Angelica holding Li'l Max so he
could see. In the meantime, a gorgeous sunset exploded over the Pacific. A mime
approached them juggling tennis balls; the infant laughed. The young man tipped
his hat in Anderson's direction--probably mistaking him as the child's
father--and Anderson obliged him by dropping a handful of change into the hat,
all the while talking to Rose.
"I swear I don't understand
you," he said. "You're terrified of water but have no problem with
that." He indicated the Blue Streak Racer. "You're an enigma, Rose,
and I mean to unravel all your secrets."
She heard him, but her mind was
on the juggler. He'd given her an idea.