Family album

There was a handsome living room as well, with a pink marble fireplace, and delicately shaped French chairs. She had blended English with French, a few modern pieces with the old, two lovely Impressionist paintings that had been a gift from a very, very dear friend. And a small but elegant staircase led upstairs. Here, her bedroom was done entirely in mirrors and white silks, like the kind of fantasies she had had as a little girl, enamoured by the movies. There was a white fox bedspread on her bed, fur pillows on the couch, a white fur throw on the chaise longue, and a white marble fireplace identical to the one in her mirrored dressing room. Her bathroom was all done in white marble and white tile. And there was another small sitting room, which she often used late at night when she was studying a script, or writing a letter to a friend. And that was all of it. A tiny, perfect gem. Just the right size for her. There were servants' quarters behind the kitchen on the main floor, and a huge garage with an apartment over it, where Bob, the gatekeeper, lived. Extensive gardens, a good sized swimming pool with a small pool house and a bar, and dressing room for her friends. She had everything she wanted here, a world unto itself, she often said. She almost hated to go anywhere anymore, and she was almost sorry she had promised to go to San Francisco the following week to visit her old friend.

But once she was there, she had a good time with her. The woman, Harriet Fielding, had been a famous actress on the Broadway stage years before, and Faye had enormous respect for her. Harriet had taught her a great deal, and Faye talked to her about her new role now. There was no doubt, it would be challenging. The leading man was said to be difficult, and a prima donna of the worst sort, everyone said. Faye had never worked with him before and wasn't looking forward to it. She hoped she hadn't made a mistake accepting the role, but Harriet insisted that she had not. The part had more meat to it, and required more expertise, than anything Faye had ever done before.

“That's exactly what frightens me!” She laughed with her old friend as they looked out across the Bay. “What if I fall flat on my face?” It was like having a mother again, being able to talk to her, although Harriet was very different than her own mother had been. She was more sophisticated, more worldly, more knowledgeable about Faye's work. Margaret Price had really never understood anything about what Faye did or the world she had moved into, but she had certainly been proud of her. She bragged to everyone, and Faye was touched to realize how much her mother cared about it all whenever she went home. But there was no home to go back to now, no one she still cared about in her home town. Instead, there was Harriet, who meant a great deal to her. “I'm serious, what if I'm terrible?”

“In the first place, you won't be. And in the second, if you do fall on your face, and we all do from time to time, then you'll pick yourself up and try again, and do better next time. Probably much better, in fact. What's the matter with you? You've never been cowardly before, Faye Price.” The old woman sounded annoyed, but Faye knew it was all an act. “Do your homework and you'll be just fine.”

“I hope you're right.” The old woman growled at her in response, and Faye smiled. There was something so comforting about Harriet in many ways. They walked the hills of San Francisco side by side for five days and talked about everything from life, to the war, to their careers, to men. Harriet was one of the few people Faye really talked to. She was so wise and so bright and so funny. She was a rare, rare, woman and Faye was always grateful to have found her.

When the conversation turned to men, Harriet questioned her, and not for the first time, about why she never seemed to settle down with any one man.

“They're never quite right, I guess.”

“Some of them must be.” Harriet looked searchingly at her young friend. “Are you afraid?”

“Maybe. But I really don't think any of them have been right. I can have anything I want from them, orchids, gardenias, champagne, exotic evenings, fabulous nights, entree to some extraordinary parties, and in some cases expensive gifts, but that's never really been what I wanted. None of that seems real to me. It never has.”

“Thank God.” That was one of the reasons why Harriet liked her. “It isn't real. You've always been smart enough to see that. But there are other men in L.A., not just the fakers and the pretenders and the playboys.” Although they both knew that because of Faye's looks, and her star status, she attracted hordes of what Harriet loved to call the “glitter gluttons.”