Strangers in the Night, page 21
“Where do you think you’re going? Don’t walk away from me!” I followed him outside and he slid into the car.
I swore at him and kicked the tire with my boot. He rolled down the window and as he roared out of the parking lot, he screamed obscenities about what he’d do to Lana when he got home.
“Enjoy her!” I shouted back before I realized a startled elderly couple, a valet, and a family had stopped to watch the spectacle. I didn’t care—the alcohol had gone to my head and Frank made me incensed. I called my sister to pick me up and she showed several minutes later.
“Take me to Palm Springs,” I said, my voice shaking with unshed tears.
She frowned, her brow arching into one thick dark line. “What’s going on?”
“I think he’s cheating on me. With Lana.”
“Frank? Isn’t Lana your friend?”
“Some friend,” I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Are you sure?” Bappie asked, putting the car in reverse. “The man worships you and yet you assume the worst.”
“Whose side are you on?” I said, fumbling in my handbag for a cigarette. “I assume the worst because it’s true! Don’t you remember the hooker?”
Sighing, Bappie steered us onto the highway. By the time we arrived in Palm Springs, I still hadn’t calmed down. The sight of Frank’s car in the driveway propelled me up the walk. I banged my fist against the front door, noticing suddenly, for the first time, that the house was dark. And what was I doing? I didn’t have to knock to enter. I reached for the knob when Ben Cole, my business manager, answered the door.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, pushing my way inside.
“I’m having a drink with Lana,” he said, closing the door behind me. “Frank just showed up, too. Everything alright?”
I felt myself blush hotly. He hadn’t been lying after all.
As we walked into the living room, Francis took one look at me and rolled his eyes. My anger sparked all over again.
“Hi, Lana,” I said, blatantly ignoring him. “I just thought you should know what Frank has in mind for you tonight.” I repeated the crude comments he’d made.
She looked taken aback, set down her drink, and grabbed her purse. “You two can fight this one out without me. For what’s it worth, Ava, I may have loved this guy once upon a time, but I don’t anymore. Besides, I’d never do that to you.”
I knew she very well would do it to a friend because she had in the past, but before I could reply, Ben jumped to his feet.
“I’ll join her. Good night, all.” He scurried after her, the front door closing with a decided bang.
Frank’s face went purple as a plum. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“You’re what’s wrong with me!” I shouted back.
Storming into the kitchen, I reached for plates and dishes and anything else I could get my hands on and smashed them, one by one, on the floor. I’d lost my mind, and though some part of me knew this, I couldn’t seem to stop.
The maid looked on in abject horror, as if she was trying to decide if she should get the broom and dustpan or call the cops.
“Get out!” Frank roared as he stomped into the kitchen. When I didn’t obey him, he reached for the telephone. “Hi, yeah, officer, I’ve got an intruder.”
I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe he’d called the cops on me. We’d have the press on us in no time, but maybe he didn’t care anymore. Maybe I shouldn’t either.
And yet, this was our way—to love and fight and struggle desperately against our insecurities and our own brand of darkness. It was a mad, addicting cycle, but I was wrung out. Tired of jeopardizing my career for him, tired of the bickering over nothing, of the jealousy, and the way he expected me to follow him no matter what. I was tired of it all, and one day soon, I would have to decide if I wanted Frank in my life at all.
Chapter 28
Frank
After the ridiculous fight when I’d called the cops on my wife, I followed Ava to Kenya. It was one of the worst decisions I’d ever made, and that was saying something.
Kenya was beautiful and otherworldly with its black mountains, a rich savannah of grassy plains, Acacia trees, and wildlife I’d only ever read about, but it was a lot more rugged than I’d expected. The crew and the talent lived in Tent City near a river where the bugs were unbearable and the beds were scarcely more than a straw mattress on the ground. I wasn’t the kind of guy who liked to rough it in the wild. I wanted the comfort of my own bed, or silk sheets at the Ritz. Maybe that made me spoiled, but I didn’t care. I liked nice things and after years of having them, I was in no mood to give them up.
I hated being idle on set, watching my wife be at the top of her career while I wallowed, waiting for news about the audition I so desperately wanted, wishing I weren’t a nobody, and worst of all, wishing I’d done a million things differently. I took the shuttle to and from Nairobi for a little civilization on many days, but it wasn’t enough of a distraction from my misery, and I picked fights with Ava constantly.
We’d been in Kenya a week when a commotion came from the kitchen tent.
“What the hell is that?” I demanded, sitting up in bed.
“Better go see. We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto,” Ava quipped.
We pulled on our shoes and dipped outside to see what was happening. The crew gathered around a tall, lean man in a safari outfit standing aloft of the kitchen tent. He brought his finger to his lips, signaling us to be quiet, and then waved his arm to push the crowd back. He had a long scar on his calf muscle, and I wondered how he’d gotten it. Probably from wrestling with a cheetah, the dumbass, I thought wryly.
Ava leaned to my ear. “What’s in there, do you think?”
“Something we don’t want to meet face-to-face, I can tell you that,” I answered.
The safari man pulled a rifle from his shoulder holster, cocked it, and ducked inside the opening of the tent.
A roar tore through the air.
“Jesus Christ, it’s a lion!” I said, sweeping my arm across Ava and pushing us farther back.
Another roar rippled the air and goose bumps raced over my skin. I was glad I wasn’t that guy. He was nuts.
A shot rang out. We jumped at the sound.
Two lions streaked out of the tent, raw steaks and chickens in their mouths. The crowd gasped and then broke into laughter as the animals galloped away with their prizes. We watched them until their furry golden haunches disappeared in the thick grass beyond Tent City.
“I guess we aren’t the fresh meat around here after all,” Ava said, earning more laughter from the crew.
I slung my arm over her shoulder and steered her back to our tent. Wild animals, insects, constant bickering . . . I didn’t know how much longer I could stand to be here.
As it turned out, I didn’t have to wait long. Days later, I received a message and had to travel to Nairobi to retrieve it. Impatient, I rode the sweltering, smelly community bus over the rough terrain that could hardly be called a road, shifting constantly in my seat, praying it would be the news I’d been hoping for these last weeks. When at last the countryside gave way to flattened streets and colorful markets and storefronts that could hardly be called a city, I pressed my face against the dirty glass of the bus. I couldn’t stand the suspense—who had called, and when would the infernal bus stop?
As we finally pulled to a halt, I pushed to the front of the bus and raced across the square to Western Union, dust coating my Italian leather shoes.
“Hi, there’s a message for Frank Sinatra?” I asked the attendant, straining to hold back my enthusiasm.
“Yes, sir.” He handed me an envelope and I tore it open on the spot.
It was a message from George Wood, my new manager. I placed a call to the U.S. immediately.
“George?” I shouted into the receiver over the static. “Tell me some good news.”
“You got the screen test for From Here to Eternity,” he said.
I punched the air with my fist. “Yes! Get me out of here!”
He laughed. “Not enjoying Africa?”
“Hell no!” I replied. “It’s beautiful and wild, but let me tell you something, George. There’s no such thing as a cold drink and the place is swarming with flies.”
He laughed again. “I get you. Listen, Frank, there are five actors auditioning for the part including Eli Wallach, the Broadway star. You’re going to have to do the best work you’ve ever done. Are you ready for that?”
“I’ve never been more ready,” I said, forcing a confidence I didn’t feel. There were five others? How would I beat out Wallach? Everyone loved that guy. But I had a shot, and for now, that was good enough—I was going to use it well.
“I’m going to act my ass off, George.”
“Atta boy. I’ll book you on a flight to LA for tomorrow.”
When the bus dropped me off in Tent City, I leapt off the shuttle and raced to our tent to find Ava lounging with a book.
“I got a screen test!” I shouted in greeting.
She sat up and dropped her book. “Oh, baby, that’s wonderful! When do you go?”
“Tomorrow. I’m going to pack up my things tonight and head back to town on the first shuttle.”
“Are you ready for it?” she asked, hugging me to her.
“Am I ready! I already know all the lines!” I smiled for the first time in I didn’t know how long. I’d never been so ready for anything in my entire life. I’d show them I wasn’t some two-bit has-been. I wasn’t going to disappear from the spotlight without a fight.
I picked up the woman I loved, who’d helped me get this chance and who, no matter what happened between us, I couldn’t seem to live without, and twirled her around. It was one of the few moments of peace we’d had since we’d arrived.
She laughed and kissed me hard. “Knock ’em dead, baby.”
“I will,” I said enthusiastically. “I’ve got nothing left to lose.”
Chapter 29
Ava
I hated to admit it, but I was relieved the minute Francis got on that plane. I hoped like hell he’d land the part. Auditioning would give him a sense of purpose, if only for a little while. If he didn’t get it, we’d have some things to figure out. I couldn’t go on living this way. We’d been in more screaming matches since we arrived in Africa than we had even at home, but that wasn’t the only reason I was glad he was leaving. I was pregnant, again.
“Gracie, I’d be the worst mother in the world,” I confided in Grace Kelly, who had become a good friend. Working on set closely and intensely, even for short stints, had a way of bringing couples together or sparking new friendships. I adored Gracie’s determination and warmth and goodness—a goodness that was tempered with a little fire and bad behavior on occasion. She was my kind of woman.
“Don’t say that,” she replied, retying the bandana covering her golden hair. “You’d be a wonderful mother. Look how charming and friendly you are with everyone.”
“Everyone but Francis, and he’d be the father,” I said, sullenly. I unscrewed the cap to my water canteen and took a deep drink.
“You could always hire a nanny to help,” she suggested. “Think of the baby’s sweet smiles and little toes.” She sighed. I knew she was longing for marriage and a family. She was a romantic, just like Francis. I, however, was not.
“And the diapers and the screaming in the middle of the night. The schooling while we’re on the road. What would I do, drag the poor child with me on set? She’d grow up rotten.”
The truth was, after the first abortion something soft and vulnerable had broken inside me; a childhood dream I’d been carrying was switched off like a porch light on a Carolina winter night. I was too frightened of being pregnant and even more terrified of being a mother. I’d never forget Mama’s exhaustion and the pain she’d suffered because of her children, and later, her ovarian cancer. I wasn’t like her. I couldn’t devote my life to others who depended on me for everything. I could barely take care of myself. And somehow, I knew Francis would expect that of me; he’d want me to give up everything and raise our children. That wasn’t me. If he didn’t understand that by now, well . . . then we really were doomed.
I was grateful to my publicist, who discreetly leaked to the press that I was being treated for a tropical infection while I flew to London for the procedure. When I returned to set, there was hell to pay. John Ford, the director, was a real grouch. Constantly swearing and demanding retakes, insulting the cast when he felt like it, even if it wasn’t warranted. I had to shoot several scenes quickly that they’d paused while I was away, and after an exhausting day, I bungled my lines in one of the cabin scenes with Clark.
“Well, that was a real disaster,” John said. “This is why I wanted Maureen O’Hara for the part instead of you.”
I stared at him a moment, stunned by his blatant insult, but ever the sharp-tongued straight shooter, I recovered quickly. “You’ve been nothing but hateful all day, and I don’t deserve it,” I fumed. “You can take the dirty handkerchief you’re chewing on and shove it up your ass!”
Clark and the others stared open-mouthed for a minute and glanced at the equally stunned director. I stormed out of the cabin but hadn’t gone far when I heard Clark’s voice.
“You can count me out, if you don’t knock it off, Ford,” Clark said. “She’s been working her tail off all day and I, for one, am sick of putting up with your foul mouth.”
I smiled and headed to my tent for a little of that whiskey Francis had left behind.
A couple of weeks later I took the shuttle into Nairobi to put in a call to Harry Cohn. I pressured him into choosing Francis for the part, and then I called Francis. I may have been glad he’d left to give me some breathing room, but still, I was lonely. Clark and Grace had been shacking up together, their on-screen affections turning into a steamy affair. They’d teased Francis and me endlessly about my loud, squeaky mattress, but now it was them I could hear. I started talking with the crew, hanging around the cameramen and the producer, looking for company, especially in the evenings when the work was done.
On days off, there wasn’t much to do, so one day I downed a quick breakfast and headed to set. I thought I’d ride out into the bush with the crew, see the sights. Clark and Grace were filming a scene in a jeep and would be followed by a camera truck. Frank “Bunny” Allen, the professional hunter hired to protect the camp from wild animals, would be riding along in the truck for safety’s sake. I squeezed in next to Bunny, happy about my good luck. He’d be interesting to talk to if nothing else. He was tall and light-eyed with a dark brow and a slightly crooked smile. His British accent only added to his appeal, as did the way he slung a gun around like he wasn’t afraid of anything. He’d been raised in Africa and moved like a leopard, and I could see he felt as much a part of the land as the wild animals he loved.
We bumped and swayed over the uneven roads, if one could call them roads, following closely behind Grace and Clark. Grace’s hair had come loose from her bun in places and was fluttering in the wind, and though Clark handled the vehicle well despite the potholes, they had trouble delivering their lines.
I, meanwhile, enjoyed the ride and the landscape.
“Bunny,” I said, laying my hand lightly on his forearm, “what kind of bird is that?”
He squinted in the sunlight. “A grey crowned crane.”
“They’re beautiful. Elegant.”
He nodded. “There’s a lot of beauty in Kenya, especially from where I’m sitting.” He held my gaze and a sly smile crossed his face.
“Is that right?” I said, my tone turning flirtatious. I knew he was married but still had a reputation for being a ladies’ man. I could see why women flocked to him. It was all of that raw male energy, the whiff of danger.
The next instant, thunder rumbled from behind a copse of squat trees and a tangle of brush. The ground trembled and the truck began to shake. I gripped the sides of the truck to steady myself and stared wide-eyed at the dust rising like a malevolent fog into the air.
Clark and Grace turned to look at us, fear carving up their faces.
“Ah, hell,” Bunny said, cocking his gun.
Three rhinos dashed from behind the cover of the trees.
My heart leapt into my throat. Of all the animals in the Kenyan wilds, rhinos were the most dangerous. Bunny had briefed everyone on our first few days at camp with details about how to protect ourselves. His advice flashed through my mind: with a rhino, you were to stay very still so with their poor eyesight they mistook you for a tree, stay downwind to throw them off your scent, climb a tree or hide in a bush, or run in a zig-zag pattern if on foot.
We were breaking all the rules. The beasts charged straight at us.
“There’s two more!” I screeched, pointing at the small herd.
Grace screamed as the powerful animals descended upon their truck.
The rhinos ducked their heads, bashing them against the metal, their horns scraping the sides of the truck until a terrible screeching sound mingled with our screams. I watched in horror as they used their enormous, muscular bodies to push the jeep to and fro as if it were a toy truck.
Clark wrapped Grace in his arms protectively. I could do nothing but stare, open-mouthed, my heart racing.
Bunny stood with his gun, aimed, and fired.
One rhino collapsed to the earth with a thud.
Bunny fired a second shot and another animal went down. The remaining rhinos took the hint, turned abruptly, and galloped away.
My hands shook and my mouth remained agape as I watched the crash of rhinos dash off, the earth trembling beneath us.
John and Bunny jumped from the truck and raced over to the others.
“Are you alright?” Bunny asked, reaching to cup Grace’s shoulder.
She nodded, sending a cascade of tears down her cheeks. “I’m alright.”
“That was the craziest damn thing I’ve ever seen,” I said. “Thank God we’ve got Tarzan with us.”
At that, everyone broke into laughter, cutting the tension. Bunny laughed, too. He held my gaze a moment longer than what was comfortable, but I didn’t look away. I never was one to cower or play coy.
