“Roderick Marshall. Do you know who I am?”
She had seen several of his movies. “Of course I do, Mr. Marshall.”
“I’ve been looking at photographs of you. We need you here at Fox. Would you be willing to come to Hollywood to do a screen test?”
Rachel hesitated about it for a moment. “I don’t know. I mean, I don’t know if I can act. I’ve never—”
“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of that. We’ll pay all your expenses, of course. I’ll direct the test myself. How soon can you be out here?”
Rachel thought about her schedule. “In three weeks.”
“Good. The studio will make all of the arrangements.”
When Rachel hung up she realized she had not consulted Jeff. He won’t mind, she thought. We’re seldom together anyway.
“Hollywood?” Jeff had repeated.
“It will be a lark, Jeff.”
He nodded. “All right. Go for it. You’ll probably be great.”
“Can you come with me?”
“Honey, we’re playing in Cleveland on Monday, then we’re going on to Washington and then to Chicago. We still have a lot of games left on the schedule. I think the team would notice if one of their starting pitchers was missing.”
“Too bad.” She tried to sound casual. “Our lives never seem to come together, do they, Jeff?”
“Not often enough.”
Rachel started to say something more, but she thought, This isn’t the time.
Rachel was picked up at Los Angeles airport by a studio employee in a stretch limousine.
“My name is Henry Ford.” He chuckled. “No relation. They call me Hank.”
The limousine glided out into traffic. On the way, he gave Rachel a running commentary.
“First time in Hollywood, Miss Stevens?”
“No. I’ve been here many times. The last time was two years ago.”
“Well, it’s sure changed. It’s bigger and better than ever. If you’re into glamour, you’re going to love it.”
If I’m into glamour.
“The studio booked you at the Chateau Marmont. That’s where all the celebrities stay.”
Rachel pretended to be impressed. “Really?”
“Oh, yes. John Belushi died there, you know, after overdosing.”
“My.”
“Gable used to stay there, Paul Newman, Marilyn Monroe.” The name-dropping went on and on. Rachel had stopped listening.
The Chateau Marmont was just north of the Sunset Strip, looking like a castle from a movie set.
Henry Ford said, “I’ll pick you up at two o’clock to take you to the studio. You’ll meet Roderick Marshall there.”
“I’ll be ready.”
Two hours later Rachel was in the office of Roderick Marshall. He was in his forties, small and compact, with the energy of a dynamo.
“You’ll be glad you came,” he said. “I’m going to make you a big star. We’ll shoot your test tomorrow. I’ll have one of my assistants take you over to wardrobe to choose something nice for you. You’re going to do a test scene from one of our big pictures, End of a Dream. Tomorrow morning at seven o’clock we’ll do makeup and hair. I guess that’s nothing new to you, huh?”
Rachel said tonelessly, “No.”
“Are you alone here, Rachel?”
“Yes.”
“Why don’t we have dinner together tonight?”
Rachel thought about it for a moment. “Fine.”
“I’ll pick you up at eight o’clock.”
Dinner turned out to be a whirlwind evening on the town.
“If you know where to go—and you can get in,” Roderick Marshall told Rachel, “L.A. has some of the hottest clubs in the world.”
The evening’s rounds began at the Standard, a trendy bar, restaurant, and hotel on Sunset Boulevard. As they passed the front desk, Rachel stopped to stare. Next to the desk, behind a frosted glass window, was a live human painting, a nude model.
“Isn’t that great?”
“Unbelievable,” Rachel said.
There was a montage of noisy, crowded clubs, and by the end of the evening, Rachel was exhausted.
Roderick Marshall dropped her off at the hotel. “Sleep well. Tomorrow’s going to change your whole life.”
At 7:00 A.M., Rachel was in the makeup room. Bob Van Dusen, the makeup man, looked at her appreciatively and said, “And they’re paying me for this?”
She laughed.
“You don’t need much makeup. Nature took care of that.”
“Thank you.”
When Rachel was ready, a wardrobe woman helped her into the dress they had fitted the afternoon before. An assistant director took her to the huge soundstage.