All for a Sister Page 12

  “But it’s not your first movie.”

  “It’s my first where I get to be an actual woman. I even have a kiss; can you believe that? And for the first time you’ll see Celeste DuFrane on the movie poster in the lobby.” She turned her attention back to her reflection and decided that the black dress wouldn’t do after all. “It’s for a much older woman.” Then, inspiration. “Maybe you should wear it.”

  Dana didn’t know if she should be amused or offended, so she offered only a low chuckle in reply as Celeste clapped her hand over her mouth in wide-eyed mortification.

  “I’m so sorry.” She dropped her hand. “I’m such a dope. That was terribly rude, wasn’t it? I just meant that . . . well, you are . . .”

  “Old?”

  “Really, not so much, but I forget. Sometimes, you seem, I dunno. Older.”

  “You’re getting kinder by the minute.”

  Celeste made a sound of frustration, threw the black feathered dress on the pile, and cinched her silk robe around her waist. “Didn’t you think everybody was old when you were my age?”

  At this, Dana did laugh, though more bitterly than she’d intended, and her heart softened at the stricken look on Celeste’s face. “I don’t know that I remember much about being your age. Everything for me is rather a blur. I was a child, I was a child, I was a child, and then—”

  “Then what?” Celeste sat on the edge of the bed, mindless of the silks and chiffons piled upon it. “Think back to when you were a child. Before all of this.” She waved her hand, as if dismissing nearly twenty years of injustice. “What did you want? More than anything? I wanted to be in the movies. And here I am.”

  “All Mama and I ever talked about was for her to find a good job as a live-in in a big house, where I could stay and work beside her.”

  “So your dream was to be a maid?” Celeste had never looked more confused.

  “That was my mother’s dream. All I ever wanted was to see her happy.”

  “Nothing for yourself? I remember lying in that room—” she pointed out, toward the room Dana now occupied—“praying to God to be in a movie. I can remember it like yesterday.”

  Dana smiled indulgently. “A lot more time has passed for me since my childhood.”

  “Maybe so. But here you are now. Here we both are at this same place. The one thing we have in common is that we were both children, once. And now we’re both women. Maybe if we can find something we held in common back then, we can find something we hold in common now.”

  Dana kept her composure only by imagining Celeste to still be that child, longing to be an actress, playing dress-up with her mother’s cast-off gowns.

  “Did your mother want you to be an actress?”

  Celeste blushed, the pale flesh of her collarbone blotched red. “She hated the idea. Tried everything she could to stop it. Sometimes, and I know this sounds awful, but I don’t think she ever forgave me for not being my sister. She saw my existence as being the reason for Mary’s death, like the universe had to push her aside to make way for me.”

  The brash, confident girl who, mere moments ago, had bragged about her name on a motion picture poster all but disappeared, grown smaller and nearly silent toward the end of her revelation. A wave of compassion swept over Dana as she imagined that the only thing worse than being locked away by Marguerite DuFrane’s misplaced revenge would be to grow up under it. She needn’t tell her that all she’d ever wanted as a child was to live in a house like the DuFranes’, surrounded by pretty things she could call her own. And it would be cruel to enlighten Celeste on just where Dana had been when she was nineteen—one small, dark cell. Alone and forgotten for a period of time she’d yet been able to measure, and wanting nothing more than an opportunity to speak the truth. Tell her story, and walk out to . . .

  What? Where would she have gone had the doors and gates mysteriously opened all those years ago?

  Somehow, in this moment, she had all she’d ever wanted.

  “Perhaps,” Dana said softly, “we have more in common than we think.”

  Celeste looked up, not understanding.

  “I don’t believe your mother liked me very much either.”

  The first giggle snuck out like a mistake, and each seemed to need the other’s permission before any laughter could ensue. When it did, it came across with great release, dying away only briefly as both stole a glance at the framed photograph of Marguerite DuFrane on Celeste’s dresser.

  “When was that taken?”

  “Shortly after we moved here.” Celeste’s brow furrowed in thought. “Just think. She must have been about your age.”

  Dana squinted, a further reminder that she must see someone about the growing dimness in her eyes. “She looks older.”

  The second round of laughter had a sweet air of wickedness and died out with a harmonious sigh that led to the most comfortable and content of silences.

  “You should go with me,” Celeste said after a time.

  “Where?” Dana had lost all thread of conversation.

  “To the premiere. Tonight.”

  Before Dana could protest, Celeste had bounded off the bed, calling, “Graciela!” at an increasing volume until the older woman’s head poked through the door.

  “Sí, Celita?”

  “Do you have time to do a quick set on Dana’s hair before tonight? We have to leave at six o’clock. No later.”

  “Oh yes.” The older woman’s smile was warm and proud, and if Dana envied Celeste anything, it was growing up with such devoted care. “I’ll be back. Ten minutes.”

  “And I think this to wear.” Celeste held up a dress of deep midnight blue. A simple sheath with strands of tiny black beads at the hem. “It’s sophisticated without being stuffy. And it’ll keep people guessing about your figure.”

  Dana’s mind swirled with fear and possibility, but mostly fear, and she interrupted Celeste in the middle of a thought concerning high-heeled shoes.

  “I can’t go.”

  Celeste prattled on a few words before stopping her train of thought and changing direction. “What do you mean you can’t go? Why not?”

  “You act as though I’m nothing more than some distant friend of the family come to visit. You do remember where I’ve been, realize how I’ve lived most of my life. Why do you think I can just put on a fancy dress and go to a party?”

  Celeste merely stared, blinking.

  “I could never talk to any of those people.”

  “You never seem to have much of a problem talking to Werner.”

  Now it was Dana’s turn to go speechless, and the expression on her face inspired a knowing half smile on Celeste’s as she answered Dana’s unasked question.

  “Yes, he’ll be there. He hates these things too, rumor has it. But he hopes to direct the star of this picture in one of his own, so . . .”

  “I’ve never been to a party. Of any kind. I wouldn’t know what to do or what to say.”

  “Do what I do. Say what I say, unless I drink too much champagne, because I tend to get quite vulgar when I drink. Trick is, stick close to me and you’ll be fine.”

  “But I’ve never—”

  “Jeepers creepers, Dana. Are you going to spend the rest of your life making decisions based on what you’ve never done? Because if you are, I might as well lock you up in a room right here so you’ll feel nice and comfortable.”

  Despite her tone of gentle encouragement, the words stung like a slap, and Dana flushed with anger.

  “You would never say such a thing if you knew, if you really understood.”

  “Don’t be silly. Of course I would. Now . . .” She held the dress out in front of her and shook it, filling the room with the sound of softly clicking beads.

  Two beams of light shot straight up in the air. Arm in arm, Dana and Celeste walked straight between them. As if the beams weren’t enough, intermittent flashes from the photographers lining the street burned nearly to blindness.

  “Over here!
” they shouted. “Miss DuFrane?” And Dana would step away to allow Celeste to rest her hand on her out-thrust hip and pout prettily.

  “Who’s this with you?” more than one asked.

  “My sister!” It was the ruse upon which they’d all agreed—Dana, Celeste, and her manager, Roland Lundi. Less complicated than the truth, and a perfect little seed to plant in hopes of growing an interest in their story. All of that had come from Mr. Lundi’s fertile, forward-thinking brain. In fact, he was supposed to have been on Celeste’s arm this evening as something of a professional date, but had gladly given up his spot in lieu of this opportunity.

  “Just wait until they get wind of the whole story,” Celeste said, somehow managing to speak without losing a bit of her smile. “They’re gonna eat us up like candy.”

  Dana clutched her beaded purse and willed herself not to run away. Not that she’d know where to go. A chauffeured car had dropped them off in front of the ornate theater and disappeared into the night.

  “Isn’t it exotic?” Celeste said. It was, with columns and palm trees and images of an Egyptian pharaoh watching over the crowd. “Like walking right into Tutankhamen’s tomb.”

  As the crowd pressed closer, the cameras flashed more brightly, and the questions became more insistent, Dana wished there were a tomb to climb into. At the very least, she was tempted to climb into the backseat of any one of the cars pulling away from the curb and let it take her where it willed. Anything would be better than this, and when Celeste pulled her close, cheek to cheek, the touch of the young girl’s cool, powdered face next to her damp, flustered one incited panic, and she cringed away.

  “What is wrong with you?” Again Celeste spoke with a frozen smile and a pretty wave out to the crowd. “We need to make it look like we love each other, you know?”

  “I’m so—” She meant to say, I’m sorry, but the word got caught in whatever mass of air had lodged itself in her throat, leaving Dana unable to breathe, let alone speak. The lights around her became one contiguous blur, and individual voices a single, sustained roar. She had to get away from this spot, this place, and faced with a singular path walled with people, leading either to the street or into the theater, she shrugged from her sister’s grip and pushed her way through the crowd, ignoring their protests as she staggered toward the open doors and the golden light of the opulent lobby.

  “Dana!”

  Her name, his voice, somehow cut through the pressing din of the crowd, but she could not bring herself to lift her head to look for him.

  “Dana!”

  Again, closer, and she covered her ears, hoping to drown out every other sound. She’d stopped still in the center of the room and allowed herself to be buffeted by the milling throng, each elbow and shoulder threatening to pierce her skin. She would scream if she had breath, but she didn’t.

  “Dana, darling.”

  Werner.

  He was right beside her now, a protective arm around her shoulder, keeping her from falling to pieces right there in the middle of the Egyptian lobby.

  “Come on.”

  A dark frame had formed a border around her vision, so she turned her face to his jacket, trusting him with every step. They paused for a moment while he fumbled for something in his pocket.

  “Go. Get my car and bring it to the alleyway. Fetch me here.”

  Whatever he’d given the young man resulted in a pubescent exclaim of gratitude and surprise.

  “In here,” Werner said and, with his hand on the small of her back, guided her past a long wooden counter and through a door into what she soon perceived to be a coat closet. Immediately the clamor of the crowd disappeared as she found herself in a small room lined with all manner of fur coats along a wall.

  “Sit down,” he ordered, and she obeyed, wondering where the chair had materialized from. He placed his hand on the back of her head and—“Between your knees”—lowered it.

  Slowly she felt her body relax, returning to a pattern of deep, measured breath.

  “Twenty . . . ,” he counted, “nineteen . . . eighteen . . . seventeen . . .”

  She was well recovered by the time he got to ten but maintained her posture for the remainder of the countdown to work up the courage to face him after such a display.

  “One.”

  She sensed him crouching beside her and lifted her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened to me. What a fool—”

  “Tsch,” he chastised with a half grin. “It is a horrible business, all of this for a movie, and each one bigger and sillier than the last.”

  “Celeste will be so upset with me.”

  “Nonsense. You’ve left more of the spotlight for her. She will be in your debt.”

  Now it was Dana’s turn to attempt to smile. The smallness of the room gave an odd sense of comfort, as she felt cushioned by the coats and hidden in its dim light. Her peace deepened with Werner’s presence. Close, but not touching. His hand rested on the back of her chair, and he remained at eye level, not towering over. She could touch him if she wanted to, and a restless movement in her fingers made her think that she did. His jacket was made of the lushest black wool she had ever seen, its lapel lined with velvet. Almost in contrast, his face boasted a bit of stubble, indicating he hadn’t bothered to shave for this momentous event. With each newly steady breath, she longed to touch both—the richness of his jacket, the roughness of his face. She didn’t remember ever wanting to touch anybody this much. Not since the baby.

  And with that memory, she balled up her fists and looked away.

  “We do not have to stay, you know,” Werner said. “Say the word and I’ll take you right away from here.”

  “Celeste is expecting me.”

  “Celeste, by now, has had two glasses of champagne and is pretending to be annoyed at the flirtations of a dozen producers.”

  Dana almost giggled. “Still, she might be a little concerned about the antics of her crazy sister.”

  Werner’s brow cocked at the word sister. “Is that what she is calling you?”

  “We had to say something.”

  “And why wouldn’t an actress want to star in the movie about her own sister’s tragic tale. The girl is a publicity savant.” He stood and, in so doing, hooked his finger under her chin and raised her face to look at him. “Do you want to stay?”

  “In here? Yes.”

  He gave a gentle laugh. “For the screening. And the party after?”

  “I—I don’t know.” But she did know, and it seemed he did too.

  “Come on. I’ve had my car brought around. We’ll go for a drive, get some fresh air, and slip in for the final reel. Nobody will even know we’ve been away.”

  “But Celeste—”

  “I’ll send one of the pages to find her and tell her to look for us after the film.”

  With an air of decisiveness, Werner charged out of the closet, giving Dana a free moment to take her small mirror out of her clutch and see if any of Celeste’s meticulously applied makeup had survived her abuse. Thankfully, there was just the slightest smudging of the kohl outlining her eyes, and her painted lips seemed fully intact. She dabbed her nose and forehead with powder as she’d seen Celeste do countless times, stood, and was smoothing her dress when Werner returned.

  He held out his hand. “Come.”

  Without a word, she took it.

  Her sequined headband performed its duty, keeping her hair in place as they drove in the night. Dana held a listless arm out over the car door, twisting her wrist in the breeze. Beside her, Werner drove, a seemingly forgotten cigarette locked between his fingers as he gripped the wheel.

  They’d driven first through the city streets, awash in the lights, surrounded by their fellow motorists. Before too long, though, they’d made their way into the hills, and a darkness like she’d never imagined enveloped them.

  “Lo, I have brought thee out of Egypt,” Werner intoned. “Though it was not exactly the miracle of parting the Red Sea.”
<
br />   “I’ve never been to the beach.”

  “There’s no time to go tonight.”

  His reply startled her, as she didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud. “I didn’t mean—” she stammered. “I wouldn’t presume—”

  “Someday I will take you to the beach. I have a house there.”

  His statement disallowed argument. She turned her face up to look at the stars. “I’ve never been to the moon either.”

  “I’m afraid I am no help to you there.”

  A sideways glance showed that he was grinning, and she thrilled at the feeling of being one part of a shared mind. Never before had anybody been so close, not even her mother, who worked far too many hours to ever commit time to such idle thoughts. To say anything more would ruin the moment, so she offered only a grin of her own before returning her gaze to the sky.

  After a few more winding turns, Werner steered the car off the road entirely, cut the engine, and turned off the headlights. Below, the city lay like a gathering of diamonds on an endless stretch of black velvet—not that she’d ever seen such a thing. A steady stream of glowing lights showed an endless progression of automobiles, looking so orderly in their journeys from this distance.

  “To think,” Werner said, “all of this come to pass within our lifetime. Where I come from, towns are dated by centuries. Here? Overnight, it’s a city.”

  She followed his lead, getting up to sit along the top of the seat, making the view even more expansive. Within our lifetime. To think of all she’d missed. Until she came to Los Angeles, she’d never ridden in an automobile or listened to a radio or eaten fish or seen a movie. . . . And below, an entire population for whom all of these things were daily occurrences. Werner wasn’t the only foreigner gazing out upon a strange, new land.

  “Do you imagine this is how God sees us?” she asked, as much to herself as to him.

  “No.”

  She looked at him. “You don’t believe in God?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “You don’t believe he watches us?”

  He shook his head. “Not like this. Not from this kind of distance. How could anybody out there call and be heard? How can we see from here any need or pain?”