The Property of a Lady - Elizabeth Adler [168]
Eight-year-old Azaylee still missed her pony and her beautiful room at Haus Arnhaldt and the servants and the fuss everyone made of her. And she missed the fact that she’d only had to mention something, a doll, a dress, a game, and it was hers. She had been waiting eagerly for her new stepbrother, Augie, to come home from school to be her companion, but now she couldn’t wait to race home from school with Hannah and Rachel, her books clutched under her arm, flaxen braids swinging, eager to hear who had got work today and what the Bathing Beauties had been up to. But her real idols were the twins.
Lilian and Mary left for the studios each morning after a dawn breakfast, watched by their eagle-eyed mother, who knew only too well their craving for sugarcakes and honey and Beulah’s apple turnovers. “Think of your figures,” she would chide them as they eyed Beulah’s hot biscuits longingly. “Take care of your complexions,” she would say, pushing away the chocolate cake at supper. “Remember there’s a lot more to being a movie star than just talent.” So, fortified by orange juice, cereal, and fresh fruit, the twins made the rounds of the casting offices, smiling blandly at the women and a little more roguishly at the men, and they returned wearily each afternoon, still jobless, to take their “beauty sleep,” as their mother called it. They were up again at four, for an hour’s dance practice in the sitting room. Mrs. Grant played the piano and Azaylee watched, breathless with admiration, as they stretched and leapt and pitter-pattered around on their toes, until, overcome with excitement, she would dance along with them, copying their movements exactly, her long coltlike legs wobbling as she balanced on tiptoe, her thin body swaying in time to the music.
In no time at all she was accompanying them to their daily classes at the Berkley School of Dancing on Santa Monica Boulevard, and when she was there she just knew she was the happiest girl in Hollywood. All she ever wanted to do was dance.
Life was so busy for Missie and Rosa it was only after supper at the end of the long day that they had time to talk to each other. About serious things, that is.
“So? What do you think Eddie is up to?” Rosa asked three months later as they sat on the porch in the gathering dusk.
Missie shrugged. “I don’t know, and I wish I didn’t care. What do you think he’s up to, Rosa?”
“Looking for you, private detectives, costing him a fortune. He must be going crazy by now.”
“He’s already crazy. Obsessed.” She shivered, even though the evening was a sultry one. “One day he’ll find us, Rosa, I know it.”
“Never.” Rosa scoffed reassuringly. “He would never dream his wife would be running a boardinghouse in Hollywood.” She paused and then added thoughtfully, “Unless …”
Missie’s eyes widened with alarm. She sat up straight in her rattan chair and said nervously, “Unless … what?”
“Well, I was just thinking. I mean, look how easy you found me, just asking at the local schools if the kids went there. What if he were to do the same thing?”
That old familiar sinking feeling grabbed her by the stomach. “My God, how foolish I’ve been!” she wailed. “I thought he would try Ziegfeld, Madame Elise, the New York theater world. I never imagined he might come to Hollywood. But where else would an actress come to find work? He knows I have no money!”
“Why not just change Azaylee’s name?” Rosa said, ever practical.
“Oh, no, I couldn’t do that. Not again.” Missie glanced at her worriedly, “The poor child will begin to wonder who she is. And besides, it’s too late. Everyone knows her. No, I’ll just have to take her out of school, get her a tutor.” She sighed as she thought of the money it would cost. “I’ll manage somehow.”
The very next day Azaylee’s desk was set up in the dining room and five mornings a week