Page 40 of Nantucket Gala

Cindy lived in a moderately-sized bungalow in Santa Monica, just three blocks from the beach. The gate in front of the driveway opened as soon as Henry pulled up.

The politician opened the front door with a big smile. “Henry Crawford?”

Henry raised his hand. He’d read that Cindy was from the Midwest originally, and he felt a warmth about her that didn’t feel Californian or city-esque.

“Thanks for meeting me,” he said as he shook her hand.

“The pleasure is mine! It’s rare that anybody asks me about my film career. Goodness! That’s a walk down memory lane!” She led him into the living room, where she’d set up tea and decadent chocolate chip cookies. Across all the walls hung photographs of who Henry assumed were grandchildren. Mostof them had lost their teeth recently. Henry’s heart swelled. He had a sense his grandmother would like Cindy.

Cindy was tremendously kind and easy to talk to. Before Henry dared dig into it, she peppered him with questions about his own career, where he’d come from, and what his plans for the future were. When she learned who his father was, she snapped her fingers.

“I’ve seen some of his segments. He isn’t bad.”

Henry smiled and cursed himself for forgetting to call his father again that week. “He’s always been very devoted to his career.”

“You can feel that,” Cindy said thoughtfully.

Henry was quiet for a moment. His feelings about his father were complicated at best.

Come on, Henry. Pull it together.

“I saw your film,” Henry said finally. Spontaneously, he pulled the floppy disk out of his backpack and waved it. He didn’t say he’d had to track down an old computer at the Echo Park library to watch it.

Cindy’s eyes glowed. “I can’t believe this. Nobody’s watched that thing in fifty years.”

“It’s really good,” Henry said. He wasn’t lying. The storytelling was tight. Both Natalie and Sophia were trained actresses. The costuming was on par with other films of the era. The painful ending was so visceral that Henry caught himself tearing up.

In fact, it felt like a tragedy that Cindy Saucer hadn’t gone on to make more films. But he didn’t want to say that, not now. The last thing he wanted to do was make Cindy regret the events of her life.

Cindy cackled and whacked her leg. “I appreciate that. I don’t know whether to believe you, but I suppose it doesn’t matter. Still makes me feel good.”

“When was the last time you watched it?”

“1985,” she answered readily. “Right after Natalie Masterson died.”

Henry’s head thrummed.

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” Cindy asked, raising both eyebrows.

Henry laughed. This woman was whip-smart. There was no getting anything past her.

“You’re good,” he said.

“I was in politics for thirty-nine years,” she said. “I had to figure people out like that.” She snapped her fingers. “Plus, there’s no reason to have any interest in that old student film—save for the actresses in it. What a tragedy, huh?”

Henry searched her eyes. “I wanted to ask you what they were like.”

“Sophia and Natalie?”

Henry nodded.

Cindy furrowed her brow. “It’s funny. It was almost fifty years ago, but I remember it all so clearly. I burned with such a fiery energy back then. All I wanted was to be a filmmaker. I wanted to prove myself to all the men at film school who said I couldn’t be anything. Every day on set with Natalie, Sophia, and the whole gang was the best day of my life. Natalie and Sophia took direction very well. They were good actresses. There was a reason I picked them. If I remember correctly, forty-four other women auditioned for those roles.”

“Wow. For a student film?”

“I had money to pay them,” Cindy remembered. “I’m told these days there isn’t a lot of money at that level anymore, which I think is too bad. How do filmmakers cut their teeth if they don’t have money? Does that mean only the children of wealthy parents get anywhere? Oh, but I digress. I apologize. It’s been a long time since I made a political speech.”

Henry laughed gently.

---