Closing Credits: A Novel of Golden-Era Hollywood (Hollywood's Garden of Allah Novels Book 9) by Martin Turnbull & Martin Turnbull

Author:Martin Turnbull & Martin Turnbull [Turnbull, Martin]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Rothesay Press
Published: 2018-10-23T04:00:00+00:00

The set that CBS had constructed looked like Mary Pickford’s sunroom: a stained fruitwood sideboard, a pair of miniature cypress pines bookending a European tapestry hanging from the back wall, and two sofas on a Persian rug that featured a sparse geometric pattern that almost exactly matched Gwendolyn’s dress.

On camera, it all looked rather grand but Gwendolyn knew it would be broken apart and shoved back into storage in less than an hour.

If this is my only shot at the big time, at least I’ll have done it in style.

Her ad-libbed introduction went without a slip of the tongue and she sailed through her monologue. When she cut to the ad break, she looked past the cameras for Rex, who gave her a broad smile and jacked both thumbs in the air.

When Lana came out, she played the full-tilt movie star. Without reservation, she talked about how she’d dyed her famous blonde locks a darker shade so that she and Diane Varsi looked more like mother and daughter. She also broke an unwritten no-no law and talked about beating out Jane Wyman, Olivia de Havilland, and Joan Crawford for the lead. But she laughed about it absent ego or entitlement, so she managed to come across as endearingly funny. And when it came time to introduce Grace, she talked about the brief scene in which Varsi sat at a typewriter in the same pose that Grace had struck for the back of the paperback. “And if you haven’t seen the film yet,” she said, staring into the camera, “when you do, be sure to look out for it.”

Grace stepped out onto the set looking more glamorous than Gwendolyn suspected the woman had ever looked before.

“Thank you so much for joining us,” she said. “I’m guessing this feels so very far from the mill town you grew up in.”

“Yes.”

Gwendolyn waited for Grace to follow up with a pithy observation about Hollywood or her life of instant riches and fame, but Grace just sat there, sweat bleeding through the heavy powder that Lucille’s guy had plastered across her forehead.

Gwendolyn would have preferred the unvarnished hillbilly she’d encountered backstage to the bizarrely attractive mute sitting in front of her. She realized that Hal King’s handiwork had thrown Grace for a loop, too.

“My darling,” Lana clamped a hand on top of the author’s shaking paw, “why don’t you tell us about the news you shared with me when we were backstage.”

Grace’s head remained immobile. “My what?”

“Your new novel?”

Some semblance of life sparked behind Grace’s false eyelashes. “When you have a bestseller, it’s all chocolate and champagne, but sooner or later you have to come up with the next book.”

“And have you?” Gwendolyn asked.

“Yes!” The word was more of a high-pitched squeak. “I’m writing a sequel. And it’s gonna be sensational! We’ll follow what happens to the daughter, Allison MacKenzie, after she writes a book about her hometown. Let’s just say, the locals? They ain’t happy.”

“Do you have a name for it?” Lana asked.

“What else

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