Page 26 of Starlight & Dark Nights

She has girls to raise, and unlike her own mother, she needs to have the chance to be here for them.

* * *

Catherine had a singing voice like a songbird crossed with a bewitching fairy. She would lounge in the bathtub for hours, her voice echoing in the tiled room and trickling down the hallway as she sang a haunting rendition of “I Don’t Want To Set the World On Fire” by the Ink Spots. Jude could hear the splash of water as Catherine flipped around, refilling the tub with bubbles and hot water, and she would stop whatever she was doing to listen as Catherine hummed to herself and switched to “You Always Hurt the One You Love” by the Mills Brothers.

Sometimes, as she sat at her chipped vanity table in the light of a pink-shaded lamp, putting cold cream on her smooth skin, Catherine would talk to Frank Sinatra—that dumb white cat—telling him all about her day, about the movie stars she’d seen on set, and about the way the director or the other actors had treated her.

“And can you believe that man came up to me and asked me what size brassiere I wear? Can you even stand the audacity, Frank Sinatra?”

Jude walked past the bedroom and saw her friend sitting on the bench seat, looking down at the cat on the carpet at her feet.

“He’s not in the costume department, and he’s not even in charge of the film—he just wanted to talk about my breasts!”

Jude paused that time, leaning against the doorframe as she watched Catherine reach out a long, elegant arm, letting her thin wrist dangle as she brushed her fingers over Frank Sinatra’s upturned head.

“Men,” Catherine had said, shaking her head. “So silly. So predictable.”

“Aren’t they, though?” The words were out of Jude’s mouth before she could stop them.

Catherine turned in surprise. “Judy! I didn’t hear you there.”

Jude stepped into the bedroom and perched on the edge of the bed, with its satin coverlet and the marabou feather slippers placed side-by-side for Catherine to step into. She may not have been a starlet yet, but she certainly subscribed to the notion that a woman needed to act the part regardless. Jude loved this about her.

“Sorry,” Jude said, putting her hands between her knees and rounding her shoulders as she yawned. “I didn’t mean to creep up on you. I just heard you talking, and I didn’t know that old Frank was here.”

Catherine glanced at the window sash, which had been pushed open. Outside, against the dark night sky, the leaves and branches of a lemon tree were visible.

“Frank knocks politely until I let him in, don’t you, Mr. Sinatra?” Catherine looked at him again, and he sat there, perfectly still, looking up at her. It was a mutual admiration society, for sure.

“A man really said that to you?” Jude asked, leaning back on the bed so that she was propped up on her elbows.

Catherine spun around on the bench seat until she was facing Jude, and she tightened the satin sash of her robe as she crossed her legs at the knee, revealing about a mile of bare thigh. “He did,” Catherine said with a pretty pout. “And I would have smacked him on the nose, but he’s the brother-in-law of the film’s producer, so I bit my tongue until it bled.”

“Nepotism,” Jude said with a roll of her eyes.

“Asshole-ism,” Catherine barked back.

The women laughed, and then fell quiet. Outside, crickets chirped noisily in the dark night.

“Do you really think you’ll make it?” Jude asked, still braced on her elbows as she looked at Catherine. “Do you think you’ll stay in Hollywood until you end up famous?”

Catherine blew out a breath like the question was a big one that needed contemplating. “Well,” she said, reaching down to scoop up Frank Sinatra. “I think I will stay. I mean, what else would I do, Judy? Go back to Missoula and marry a man who owns a farm?”

Jude shrugged. “Doesn’t sound too bad—if you like that sort of thing.”

Catherine stood then, cradling Frank Sinatra in her arms as she walked over to the open window. “Well, I don’t mind a man on a horse, but I’d rather ride him myself.”

“The man or the horse?” Jude rolled over onto one elbow, watching Catherine move in the light from the lamp.

Catherine reached up to the open window and set Frank on the sill gently, urging him to jump down and go home. They weren’t one hundred percent sure, but they assumed that Frank actually belonged to Mrs. LaJolla, the old widow who lived behind them. Either that, or he was an opportunist who made his way into every yard and every home on the block.

Once the cat had gone, Catherine turned back to Jude. “I guess neither,” she said. Catherine crossed the room, her satin robe billowing behind her. She sat on the edge of the bed next to Jude, but since Jude was lounging on an elbow, Catherine had to look down at her. She reached out a hand and let her long fingers comb through Jude’s dark hair. “I’ve never fallen hard for a man at all—or a horse, for that matter.”

Jude smiled up at her, feeling uncertain. Unsettled. Finally, she sat up, only when she did, she realized that their faces were far too close together.

“You’ve never been in love?” Jude asked, feeling breathless. “Never?”

Catherine tossed her long, honeyed hair over one shoulder. “I wouldn’t saynever, but I would say that I’ve never been willing to throw away my own dreams for a man. I’ve never felt that urge to give up my life and devote myself to helping some guy find his own happiness. I haven’t wanted to raise anyone’s children, or do anything conventional for that matter.”

---