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  Gloria Grant, legend of the silver screen, smiled at me in greeting and sipped her own drink. She might be a legend, but she hadn’t made the effort to look like one tonight, dressed in a simple yellow shirtwaist with a thin belt, sensible shoes, dark brown hair pulled back, no makeup, and jewelry nothing but a pair of square gold earrings clipped to her small ears. But her pale skin was so fine, her eyes so blue, her bone structure so good, her smile so sparkling, I could see why she’d been a star.

  A tray of canapés, samples of the food that would be served at this evening’s cocktail party, rested on the table. The food was untouched, and I mumbled, “Sorry. I’m famished. I never did get lunch,” as I grabbed a pastry-wrapped sausage.

  “Tatiana said we had to wait for you.” Velvet plucked at a square of orange cheese impaled to a pineapple by a toothpick.

  “Is only polite,” my aunt said through a cloud of cigarette smoke. Aunt Tatiana is in charge of the housekeeping department at Haggerman’s.

  “I was telling your mother and your aunt how lucky they are to have this marvelous place,” Gloria Grant said. “I’m so pleased I was able to come. The setting is gorgeous, everything is immaculate, the food is wonderful, and your gardens in particular are a delight.”

  I felt a flush of pride. We’d worked long and hard to whip Haggerman’s back into shape after years of genteel neglect by the previous owner. “Like in the movies, it takes a lot of work behind the scenes to make everything look so effortless.”

  “That is certainly true.”

  “How did today’s filming go?” I asked when I had food in one hand and a full martini glass in the other.

  “Well enough, I think. I have not worked with Mr. Thompson before, and I was unsure about him. Those ever-so-handsome young men can rarely act, but he seems to be . . . adequate.”

  “Sooo handsome is right,” Velvet sighed.

  Gloria’s look was surprisingly stony. “Beware, dear. They’re all alike, those ones. Are you coming to the dinner tomorrow?”

  Velvet shot me a pleading glance, which Olivia interpreted. “You’d be welcome, Velvet.”

  “Oh, gosh. Thanks. That will be so great. Not just to meet Todd Thompson, but all the rest of you.”

  “I was surprised to hear Todd call you Grandmama when you were filming,” I said. “Are you playing his grandmother? Surely—”

  Gloria’s face twisted. “I’m twenty years older than him. Barely old enough to be his mother, never mind his grandmother. But my glory days are behind me, and at my age I’m lucky to get any roles at all, so I don’t complain.”

  “I’ve been told,” I said, “that the director Mr. Theropodous can be somewhat . . . demanding.”

  “Gloria was married to Elias Theropodous at one time,” Olivia interrupted quickly.

  “Oh,” I said, “Sorry.”

  Gloria snorted. “Don’t apologize, Elizabeth. Elias’s temperament is legendary, and his moods didn’t lessen one bit once we closed the door of our apartment. Which, I have to add, is why we are no longer married. I’ve worked with a lot of directors over the years, and none of them are easy, but Elias takes it to a whole new level. He has won three Academy Awards, so as far as the industry’s concerned, he can do whatever he wants, although word is . . . never mind that. At least he hasn’t assaulted a member of the cast. Not yet. Not publicly, at any rate.” She smiled at my mother. “Do you remember, Olivia, when we were doing that film with Esther Williams and that awful director, I forget his name now, threw the young dancer into the pool in a fit of rage because she went right when everyone else went left? She couldn’t swim, and no one noticed until she’d almost drowned.”

  “Oh, yes,” Olivia said. “Good times.”

  They laughed. Tatiana shook her head and slipped a piece of cheese to Winston.

  “Is acting something you can learn?” Velvet said in a soft voice. “Or do you have to be born to it? Like dancing. I wanted to be a dancer, like Olivia, but . . . sometimes I have two left feet.”

  That was an understatement. Velvet could trip over a speck of dust.

  Gloria studied my friend’s face and said nothing for a long time. Velvet turned beet red under the other woman’s scrutiny. “You’re beautiful, dear, and in the movies acting skill is sometimes only secondary. But, I think, you’re better off where you are. It’s a hard life. Hard and ultimately disappointing. Particularly for a woman. How old are you?”

  “Twenty-seven. Same as Elizabeth.”

  “Too old,” Gloria said bluntly, “to be starting out. I was at the top of the marquee once, and not so long ago. My part in this movie is small. Insultingly small, and I’m reduced to playing an adult man’s grandmother and taking orders from my ex-husband. But they are paying me well because my name is not yet forgotten and the producers know that.” She shrugged and sipped her drink. “Thus, here I am. Not entirely because of the money, but because the attention of the camera is like a drug. Once it bites you, you have to have it. No, Velvet, better you stay well away.”

  Velvet smiled politely and chose a deviled egg. She didn’t look all that convinced.

  I glanced at my mother, staring vacantly into the trees. It wasn’t the camera she’d loved but the applause. She’d appeared in some movies, but Broadway was Olivia’s first love. It had been hard on her when she had to step away from the limelight. She could have gone on to teach dance or become the artistic director of a small dance company, but it wasn’t in her nature to take a behind-the-scenes role. She quit show business altogether in favor of becoming a patron of the arts. Then her third husband stole all her money . . . and here we are.

  Winston leapt to his feet and set up another chorus of barking. Gloria started and clutched her chest. “Goodness, that frightened me.”

  We heard the snap of dead branches, the squeak of wheels, a grunt of effort, a minor amount of swearing, and then Randy Fontaine, our head lifeguard and supervisor of water-based activities, rounded the corner, pushing a cart laden with room service dishes. A waiter followed him with a second cart.

  “Hey there!” Randy called. “I ran into a couple of busboys heading this way, and I said I’d give them a hand so one of them could get back to work. Hi, Velvet. How you doing?”

  “Fine, thanks, Randy,” she said.

  I threw her a quick glance. Her tone was surprisingly frosty. I’d thought she and Randy were . . . if not exactly dating at least getting close.

  Apparently not.

  The men reached the bottom of the stairs and began unloading the carts. Delicious smells wafted out from beneath the covered dishes. I put down my glass, grabbed another pastry-wrapped sausage, popped it in my mouth, and hurried to help carry dishes.

  “You’ve brought six sets of plates and cutlery,” I said to Randy. “We’re only five for dinner.”

  “Will you look at that,” he said. “What a silly mistake. I bet there’s enough food for six people here too.”

  “Oh, all right,” I said. “You can join us.”

  “If you must,” Velvet mumbled.

  Chapter 3

  Monday morning the film crew were on site and set up early, wanting to get the morning light as the sun rose over the lake. Todd Thompson, today wearing a perfectly cut white blazer and tailored dark slacks, was on the dock with an older man, who I guessed was playing his father. They yelled at each other a lot and waved their hands in the air while the camera rolled, and Gary alternately shouted “Action” or “Cut.” Gloria wore her own clothes, and she and my mother had been given chairs in pride of place next to the director.

  Later in the day, they moved everything up the hill to film on the porch of cabin one, the largest and most expensive private cabin we have, situated next to the main building, facing the lake, close to the beach, the courts, and the swimming pool. Fortunately, the occupants of cabin one were big film fans and thrilled to turn over their porch for the day provided they were allowed to get close to the excitement.

  Over dinner last night, Gloria had described the movie to us. It was set in 1942, and Todd played Reginald Vandross, scion of a New York family making money hand over fist now that their household-appliance factories had been converted to manufacturing armaments for the war effort. Reginald had decided to join the army rather than take advantage of his father’s political connections to stay safe at home in America, helping to run the business. He came to his family’s regular vacation retreat in the Catskills to say goodbye to his beloved grandmother, played by Gloria, who is determined to make him change his mind. Gloria is also determined that Reginald will not marry the beautiful but impoverished Esmeralda Sanchez, who labors at a menial job in one of those factories. The woman playing Esmeralda, a new face in Hollywood named Rebecca Marsden, was due to arrive tomorrow for her scenes in which Reginald would visit her in the bungalow colony where he’d hidden her prior to their secret wedding the night before he leaves to join his unit.

  “And then what happens?” a wide-eyed Velvet had asked breathlessly. “You can tell us. Does he come back from the war bitter and maimed, or proudly facing the future? Does he still love her? Do they live happily ever after? Please say yes.”

  Gloria smiled at her. “This movie is already being talked about as an Oscar contender. I won’t say I have my own hopes for another nomination, but mine is a powerful, although small, role. I couldn’t tell you how it ends even if I wanted to, dear. I haven’t seen any of the script other than my own part and of that only the early bits. I appear again at the end, in a scene at my luxury apartment overlooking Central Park when young Reginald returns from the war.” Her face twisted. “It’s supposed to be four years later, and I fear they’ll
attempt to age me twenty years. I haven’t seen my portion of that part of the script. Elias runs a very tight ship.”

  “Why’s it called Catskill Dreams?” Velvet asked.

  “When Reginald is away at the war, he dreams of his favorite place on earth—the resort where the family spends their summers,” Gloria had told her. “Elias himself grew up close to here, near Summervale, I believe. He left after his parents died when he was young, and as far as I know he never came back. He’s anything but a sentimental man, but in the movie he wanted the character, off at war, to have powerful memories of a beloved childhood vacation spot, and he remembered the Catskills.”

  * * *

  * * *

  As usual, I spent most of the gorgeous summer day inside my dark office, bent over the account books or trying to solve numerous problems. The department heads are good, and I generally leave them to run their departments, but one crisis or another is always popping up, and streams of people come in and out of my office expecting me to solve them.

  Velvet stuck her head in around lunchtime to tell me that most of her daily programs were back on track. “It’s the second day of filming, so some of our guests have lost interest. Movie people do seem to spend a lot of time standing around doing nothing. I’m looking forward to hearing more about it at dinner tonight.” She sighed happily.

  I leaned back in my chair, grateful for the chance to take a break. “What’s happening with you and Randy?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask?”

  “I got the impression you two were coming to a . . . shall we say understanding. But last night you were so cold you were almost rude to the poor guy. I considered putting the fire on.”

  “We never had any understanding, Elizabeth. That was your imagination.”

  I shrugged and picked up my pencil. Break over. “Okay.”

  “I mean, Randy’s nice enough and all, but . . . a Catskills summer romance? How common is that?”

  “Nothing wrong with common.”

  “A girl needs some adventure in her life.”

  “Romantic adventure is vastly overrated.”

  “Says you, who’s been married. Life with Ron was an adventure, wasn’t it?”

  I hesitated and then forced out a smile. My brief marriage had not been an adventure. More like being trapped in a horror story. Of that, I never spoke. Not even to Velvet, although she and I had been the best of friends ever since we were very young, back in Brooklyn. Aunt Tatiana knew, I suspected, that I had not mourned the man. I sometimes thought she could read my mind. But she never said anything.

  “You heard Gloria invite Randy to dinner tonight,” I said. “So be nice.”

  “I can be nice,” Velvet said. “When I want to.”

  She flounced out, and I picked up the phone and asked to be put through to the kitchen. I should have saved myself some time and walked over. When Chef Leonardo had finally been tracked down, I said, “I’m checking on tonight’s private dinner. Is everything going to be ready?”

  “You think I wouldn’t tell you if I had a problem?”

  “Yes, I think exactly that.”

  He huffed.

  “Please go over the menu with me,” I asked as politely and patiently as I could manage.

  “I sent you a copy yesterday.”

  “Humor me,” I said. Leon was a great cook but a terrible manager, and he had a mind of his own. If he’d decided fish would be a better main course than the chicken we’d decided on, he might not bother to tell me.

  “Mushroom soup or beet salad. Stuffed breast of veal with roast potatoes or chicken à la king with rice. Daily vegetables. Chiffon cake or coconut cream pie.”

  “Juices and pickles and bread rolls?”

  “What do you take me for, Mrs. Grady? A short-order cook in a Bronx diner?”

  “Just checking. Thank you. If you see Rosemary, will you ask her to come to my office?”

  “I am not your messenger boy.” He hung up.

  I next asked the switchboard to summon Rosemary to my office.

  She arrived only minutes later, bearing a tray with a bowl of soup and a sandwich. “I was passing through the kitchen, so I said I’d bring your lunch. It was getting cold waiting for someone to get someone to tell someone to bring it to you.” She shoved a stack of papers aside with her elbow and put the tray on a side table.

  I eyed it. “Not tuna fish again! I loathe tuna fish. The kitchen knows I loathe tuna fish. Why do they always give me a tuna fish sandwich?”

  Rosemary chuckled. “Probably because no one else wants it. Try the soup. It’s mushroom, and it’s very good. Leon changed the recipe. What’s up?”

  “About the private dinner for the movie people tonight. I want your best staff working it.”

  “I can arrange that. Okay if I send Luke?”

  “The ladies in the dining room will have to miss him for one night.” Luke Robinson had a reputation among what’s known throughout the Catskills as “Weekday Widows”: women who spend the season at the resorts while their husbands commute up from the city on weekends.

  “As you want the best,” Rosemary continued, “I’ll take the bar myself. Is Olivia going to be okay with that?”

  “She’s coming around.”

  Olivia had initially refused to allow Rosemary to work as a bartender, believing that was a man’s job. Rosemary had stepped in to cover an emergency and done such a good job, Olivia tactfully never mentioned her objection again. So now Rosemary worked as a bartender as well as the manager of food service. That didn’t seem like a good deal to me, but she considered it to be a victory.

  “I checked with Leon about the dinner, but my courage failed me when I was about to ask him to call Nick to the phone.”

  Nick Timmins was our saladman, in charge of cold foods. He could be as difficult and temperamental as the head chef. “Predinner canapés are under control?”

  “I’ll make sure they are. With a touch extra.”

  “Thanks, Rosemary,” I said, and she left.

  The soup was delicious, and I ate the soggy bread of the sandwich after I’d scraped off most of the tuna fish, trying not to breathe in the odor. After lunch I kept my eye on the clock. The business office closes at five, and I was determined to leave work precisely on time. Our special guests were due to arrive at six thirty for cocktails and sit down to dinner at seven. They would join the rest of the guests in the ballroom after dinner for dancing and to enjoy the evening’s entertainment.

  At quarter to five the phone on my desk rang. I crossed my fingers, hoping not to hear that the kitchen caught fire, the railings supporting the porch on one of the cabins collapsed, or someone got food poisoning at lunch.

  “A lady here to see you, Mrs. Grady,” said one of the office clerks.

  “What about?”

  “She says she’s with the film crew.”

  I sighed. “Send her in.”

  I straightened in my chair, folded my hands on the desk in front of me, composed my face, and tried to look professional and competent.

  A light tap on my door. I called, “Come in,” and the door edged open.

  A woman slipped in. She was tall and thin to the point of scrawny, with a sharply pointed chin, prominent nose, and washed-out blue eyes that darted around the room, not settling on anything, even me. She wore a dress the color of snow after a pack of wild dogs has crossed over it, which did nothing for her sallow complexion, and her brown hair, streaked with premature gray, was scraped back so tightly it pulled at the edges of her eyes.

  “I’m sorry to bother you,” she mumbled.

  “Not at all. What can I do for you?”

  She slipped into the room. “I’m Mary-Alice Renzetti. Mr. Theropodous’s secretary.”