CHAPTER 7-1

The snap of a rifle shot broke the stillness. The stained glass window in the reception area of the Pelican shattered.

 Joe raced upstairs. Laura was reading in bed, Matt working on his laptop.

 “Gunshot. Laptop, purse, nothing else. We’re leaving. Now.”

 Matt imagined a sniper with his crosshairs on Laura’s heart. A Smart Rifle with WIFI, iPad, USB ports. Where had he read that?

 “What if there are more of them? Wouldn’t we be better staying here?”  Matt observed himself being excited—not frightened.

 “Trust  me,” Joe said.

 They went to the back door. Joe brought his car around and motioned Matt to wait. He scanned the landscape. He had a gun. He motioned to Matt that he would cover for them. Matt thought: Joe is willing to die for us.

 Matt put his arms around Laura to shield her and they ran.

 “Playing the hero, are we?” Laura laughed. Danger put her in high spirits.

 “Get in and keep down,” Joe said, and they sped away.

 “What’s going on?” Matt asked.

 “Damned if I know,” Joe said. “Probably nothing, but we’re leaving, just in case. We’ll find out.” 

 On the road Joe made a few calls--to tell Dr. F what was going on and to put Rondo on alert.

 They headed north on Highway 1. Joe suggested they all check into a bed-and-breakfast for the night, where he could keep an eye on them until there was some news about what happened at the Pelican. When they reached Olema, they stopped at the inn on the corner, reserved a room paying with cash and, although it was early, went into the dining room for dinner.

Despite the potential danger of the situation, Matt relished the adventure of being on the run with his two most dear people on earth--well, two of three. The excitement also bought him time away from considering what he would do with the syphilis dilemma. He decided to try to forget about it for now. A chicken approach.

They ordered champagne and oysters and more oysters with a combination of toppings: flying fish roe, lemon béarnaise, shitake mushrooms and asiago cheese, lemon crème fraiche, and crispy shallots. Matt had roasted Sonoma duck breast with chanterelles. Laura ordered a California chardonnay. She told them Hollywood stories, and casually mentioned “dating” Howard Hughes. When would he tell her, Matt wondered, about Howard’s tragic syphilitic end or about Gene’s love affair with John F. Kennedy, a name she wouldn’t recognize--or about any of it? Time to get moving with his assignment.

CHAPTER 7-2

Maybe it was the wine or the warm lamp and candlelight, watching Laura and Joe laughing, the music of a harpsichord. Matt indulged in a fantasy of being in one of his favorite movies: Jules and Jim—Francois Truffaut—two men in love with the same woman.

Joe was Jules. Matt was Jim. Laura played Jeanne Moreau playing Catherine. In the corner an old priest sipping a glass of sherry from the bar watched them. Matt, tipsy and exuberant, overacted his role to this audience of one. He remembered how attracted he had been to Joe the morning he ran to Manzanita to catch a ride share to Green Gulch. His affection for Laura was obvious. And, yes, he still had strong feelings for Joe as well. Who was he more in love with now: Joe or Laura? Jules or Catherine?

Before dessert, Joe disappeared briefly and came back with a shopping bag from the general store across the street. He had toothpaste and toothbrushes, razors and shaving cream, and three oversized nightshirts that said Sonoma above a picture of placid cows.

Their room had Ralph Lauren bed linens and the heaviest, softest goose down comforter Matt had ever seen. They brushed their teeth together, jostling for space at the antique sink in the bathroom.

Joe brought a sleeping bag from the car. Matt and Laura, who were not lovers but were used to sharing a bed at the Pelican, slept in the bed. Joe and Laura, who were lovers, did not sleep together.

Laura went right to sleep.

"Joe?" Matt said.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for taking care of us."

"Joe?"

"Yeah?"

"This was kind of a perfect day. Except for the sniper, I'd only change one thing."

"What's that?"

"I'd put strudel on the menu."

They laughed.

CHAPTER 7-3

 Matt and Laura spent the next day exploring the area, walking on the beach and in the hills, enjoying the wildflowers. For lunch they had barbequed oysters at the Farmhouse Restaurant across from the inn. The next morning Joe went into action. Rondo met him at the bar at the Farmhouse, where he could observe traffic from north and south on Highway One as well as coming in from Sir Francis Drake. Rondo was happy to spend the day eating the oysters and watching over activities at the Olema Inn. 

Back at the Pelican Joe packed Laura's and Matt's things and checked out, telling the receptionist that if anyone asked, Matt and Laura were driving back to Pennsylvania together, taking a long trip via Canada. He arranged to have Laura's credit card used for gas in Mendocino. Government contacts and high security clearance came in handy sometimes.

Joe then checked in with Dr. Frankenstein, who had come back secretly and was enjoying the life of a monk at Green Gulch, working in the extensive organic garden and meeting with his friend Father Max, who had been his introduction to Buddhism many years before. Father Max had driven up to the Olema for dinner the evening before to watch over the three fugitives. Joe, Frankenstein and Father Max considered the pros and cons of installing Matt and Laura in the least likely place—Green Gulch itself—at least until the mystery of the sniper was solved and they were sure the Pelican was secure. 

While at Green Gulch, Joe took time for a ten-mile run along the coastal trail. He then spent several hours with his cell phone and laptop catching up on his day job—monitoring several hotspots in the world. Korea's nuclear shenanigans were particularly troubling. Joe hoped he wouldn’t be called away from California just now. Taking Highway 101 north, he stopped in San Rafael and bought a high definition flat screen television and a DVD player. In a Starbucks he downloaded the 2006 Academy Awards presentations and edited it into fifteen very special minutes for them all to watch that evening. He returned to the Olema about 4:00.

Matt and Laura were sipping sherry in the bar. The late afternoon Marin light gleamed on the polished wood and sparkled on the glassware. Father Max had returned to the Olema and was in the corner also sipping sherry. This time he was deep in his own world, seemingly unaware of Matt and Laura. Joe, ignoring Father Max, sat next to Laura and signaled the bartender that he wanted what they were having.

Putting his hand on Laura's, he said, "Tonight, dear one, you are going to put on that slinky black silk gown. Matt and I are accompanying you to your first Academy Awards.”

Matt noticed the priest was not there after dinner when they went up to their room. Joe closed the curtains. Matt and Joe took off their shoes and aligned themselves in silence on the bed while they waited for Laura to change into a dress that she could have worn to the Academy Awards in 1944. Matt relished the idea that soon he would be able to tell her that she had been nominated for Best Actress in 1945. Maybe even tonight he could do that. When she finally emerged from the bathroom, it was once again as if their Laura had stepped off of the big screen as a three dimensional woman. The floor-length slim black dress was perfect. She had piled her hair into a crown of waves and curls. Matt observed the shadow on the wall behind her. A perfect tableau

"This will be fun. Come, join us," Joe said. Laura looked into the eyes of her lover and relaxed. This slip of protocol made Matt nervous. Joe led Laura to the bed and, after she had taken off her shoes, settled her in beside Matt. He then nestled in beside the two of them, covered them all with the feather comforter, pointed the remote control at the rectangular box across the room and pushed On and then Play.

Laura gasped when an image of the elaborate opening of the 78th Academy Awards ceremony flashed on the screen. After a brief introduction with various actors stepping out of limousines, posturing and slinking down the red carpet, Joe cut sharply to a woman walking across the stage with background music. Laura realized immediately that this was Lauren Bacall and the music was the theme of Laura.

"Joe, she's so old," Laura said as Bacall introduced the segment, a retrospective of film noir. She disappeared as the whole screen was taken over by young Gene Tierney.

Agitated, Laura shook Joe. "Joe, does that mean that Laura lasted over fifty years? That it was a good film after all? Lauren was my age. I remember how beautiful she was.

“Is Gene Tierney still alive? Am I alive, I mean, as her? Is she, am I, are we, alive? Joe, am I old, like her, like Lauren? Joe, did I die?"

 The grand tribute to Laura, film, and Gene Tierney, actress, continued.

Laura's eyes brimmed with tears. Joe, confused and stunned by the turn of events, was silent. Matt, stiff as a corpse on his side of the bed, agonized over the demise of his careful plan to gradually, carefully, reveal to Laura the full story of the life of Gene Tierney--the trauma but the great success as well. That had been his job, his only job, his reason for being part of this high-intensity real-life thriller. In a few minutes of edited television, Joe had destroyed his overly-rehearsed script of compassionate revelation, of the bad news but also the good-- letting Laura know that the movie had not been a failure as she had feared it would be, but such a success that it was being featured fifty years later.

Laura grabbed her shoes and ran from the room. Joe grabbed his shoes and followed her. Matt watched as his favorite scene from Laura played. “I am the police,” he heard McPherson saying for the zillionth time.

Joe found Laura in the parking lot, sitting under one of the huge eucalyptus trees, her arms around her knees. He sat down and waited for her to explain.

“Joe, Lauren. She’s so old. Is that what happened to Gene? Did she, did I, get old and wrinkled like that? I can’t bear finding out what may be waiting for me in my future. If it’s like that. Why did you ever show that to me?”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said.  “I just didn’t think. I thought you would be thrilled to know your movie was such a hit. I know we picked Matt to tell you the rest of Gene’s story, for just this reason. I blew it. C’mon, let’s go have a brandy.”

They went to the bar. Joe went up and got Matt. Jules, Jim and Catherine had their brandies in the bar. No one spoke.

CHAPTER 7-4

Matt woke up at dawn. Outside the window he could see the pretty lawn and garden of the Olema Inn. Laura was asleep beside him, his arm around her shoulder. She was still wearing the black silk dress that was not very different from a nightgown.

He remembered the night before. After Laura ran sobbing from the room, he promised himself to begin telling Laura everything in the morning. Hopefully to repair some damage.

He saw a note on the pillow. He opened it without disturbing Laura. His glasses were out of reach on the night table. By holding the note close to his eyes, he was able to read the blurry writing.

Dear Matt,

Day job calls. The nuclear crisis in Korea is heating up. I should be back in a few days. Too bad, I'd rather be here. You will be safe at the Olema. If anything happens, go to the Vedanta Center which is close by. Ask for Bernard. Here’s the number for Rondo’s burner phone. He'll keep an eye on you. I'm sorry I screwed everything up. I wasn't thinking. I hope you and Laura forgive me and work things out here in the next few days. Rondo will know how to reach Dr. Frankenstein. Please memorize this number and eat this note. Just kidding, I mean burn it. I'm sorry to be such a spy, but there you have it.

Be well. Joe.

For the next two days Matt and Laura talked about anything but the death of Gene Tierney. Matt mauled the topic endlessly, playing various scenes in his mind, each with a worse outcome than the one that came before. Remembering her reaction to the Academy Awards, he feared a complete breakdown when she learned of Gene’s progressive madness.

At dinner Laura graciously solved his problem.

"Matt," she said. "It's time for you to spill the beans." She laughed at his sudden look of misery and put her hand over his.

"It can't be that bad."

His eyes went everywhere but to her face.

"Or," more seriously, "Maybe it can. But at least it can't be as bad as I have imagined."

"What have you imagined?"

"Well, that Gene was hit by a truck and spent the next fifty years in a coma. That she made one hundred more movies, each worse than the one before. That she murdered someone and moldered away in some dreadful women's prison. That she had ten more children with problems like Daria’s. What????"

A pause.

"That she developed chronic acne and never acted again."

He smiled.

"So get it over with."

Trapped, Matt felt all his neat plans slipping away. The pause lengthened. Finally, he said, "OK. Here it is. Gene Tierney went on to live a long life. She died in 1991 of emphysema that she got from smoking. That's why we made such a big deal of your quitting. She made many more movies, tons of movies, wonderful movies, as you will see when we go to her website. We can watch them all together. Lauren Bacall honored her at the Academy Awards for Laura but you didn’t see the rest last night--honoring her for her long and successful film career. She had another daughter, a very healthy, happy little girl, Tina. Christina. With Oleg. They remarried and then divorced again. And then she married a man named Howard Lee and was very happy with him.

Laura was now very quiet. "So, no mass murder, no acne, no coma. And the bad news?"

Matt finally looked directly at her. "Laura, Gene had some mental instability over the years. She spent time in mental institutions. She had electroshock therapy. And she considered suicide. She wrote about this in her autobiography."

There it was, hanging in the air between them. Blunt, gauche, mismanaged-- but out there at last.

He pulled the tattered paperback out of his pocket and laid in on the table between them. On the cover was a portrait of a young Gene Tierney, looking wistfully to the right. Self-Portrait, Gene Tierney: The bestselling story of the woman too beautiful for love.

She turned the book over and read out loud: "The most heartbreakingly candid true star story ever told. She was already a star at 18 and for two decades she soared, pursued by the world's most glamorous men: Aly Khan, Howard Hughes, John F. Kennedy. She found wealth, fame—everything but happiness. And at 38 she found herself on a window ledge high above New York, holding her life in the balance. In her searing Self-Portrait Gene Tierney tells it all. The triumph, the tragedy, the intimate story of a woman too beautiful to be loved, trapped in the public heaven and private hell that was Hollywood's Golden Age."

Before he could stop her Laura slipped the book into her purse. She couldn’t do that! He grabbed her purse. She pulled it back. They fought. Would he hit her to get it back?

“Laura, please. You have to let me do this my way.”

Finally she relaxed.

“All right. But I get to read it as soon as possible. Promise me that.”

“I promise.”

She put the book on the table and stared at him.

CHAPTER 7-5

When Laura reacted so splendidly, with such equanimity, to the harsh news of Gene’s later years, Matt felt such enormous relief he almost hooted with glee. He had feared having a hysterical, suicidal actress on his hands when Laura found out that Gene had been mad as a hatter. Still, when he returned to the room and the bathroom door was closed, he felt a thrill of fear that she had slit her wrists. You're over-reacting, he lectured himself.

"Go away," she yelled.  "I'm taking a bath."  To make the point, she splashed water.

The room was too small. Matt took his laptop downstairs to the bar, lit only by a nightlight.  He sat on the green velvet couch and turned on the computer. The bright blue fish of his screensaver swam through a puddle of water in the darkness. There was an icon for his Pelican Inn novel. How thin, how pathetically dumb, that project seemed now. He was afraid to read even a paragraph. Matt was now his own worst critic. Resisting the urge to delete the file completely, he slipped back to thinking of Laura.

Something from their conversation bothered him. She would certainly ask what had become of  Daria and of Gene's healthy daughter, Tina. Matt, Gene Tierney biophile, realized he hadn't a clue.

Tina Tierney? No, it would be Tina Cassini. He googled Tina Cassini and up popped a strange artifact: a doll in a red checked raincoat for sale on Ebay.

You Are Bidding on An All Original 1960's Tina Cassini. Tina is a Rare Fashion Doll By the Ross Toy Company from the 1960's.  She was the Daughter of The Famous Designer Oleg Cassini and the Actress Gene Tierney. Oleg designed all the Ensembles for this Doll. Vinyl Head . Painted side glancing eyes. Face Flawless. Slight Green eye shadow. All Tinas have a different look to them.

Should he buy a daughter-doll for Laura? Too creepy. How he told Laura about her second daughter would be delicate. He would have to find out more about her. He read that Tina had four children and had lived in Paris. What would their ages be? Would Laura be the same age as her grandchildren? Of course she could never meet them.

CHAPTER 7-6

 Laura was asleep when Matt went up to the room. He crept quietly into bed. After a long, miserable sleepless night, he got up at 6:00 and went for a walk. The dining room opened at seven but a pot of coffee was ready. He had two cups and waited, expecting Laura to be in any range of bad moods, but mostly depressed—or angry. What would it be like to know you could be on a course toward a suicide attempt and madness? But when she showed up, she looked radiant, almost gleeful. She was wearing the cow tee shirt, as was he.

 She kissed him on the cheek.

 He imagined himself once again looking like Matthew Perry. He, Matt, could not handle the expression needed here, but Matthew Perry could. Sometimes lately he expected to look in the mirror and see Matthew Perry looking back. Sometimes pretending to have an actor persona helped when reality got too strange.

 Laura was excited about something.

 "OK, we're going to play a game. Watch this."

 Her face changed in an instant to steely, imperious.

 Matt felt a chill. A long moment passed.

 Then she said, "If you don't leave right away, I'm going to call the police."

 Matt almost leaped from his seat as Laura became Gene Tierney in the movie.  He didn't even think of the usual response: "I am the police." He remained still.

 Laura held his eyes for a long moment. And then she broke out laughing. Matt was lost.

 "Matt, dear, Gene was not always a very nice person. And not happy. That's what I realized from what you said. The tone I just took was not acting. That's what she was like. She had a miserable crap cheating husband, a severely handicapped daughter who would never recover, not to mention guilt about that. She was pretentious and full of herself. I’m not sure I even like her. And she slept with men to get what she wanted."

 Darryl Zanuck? Somewhere he had read she had slept with Zanuck.

"The only time she ever had fun was with Howard,” Laura said, adopting the third person, “until jealous Oleg started chasing him around with the two-by-four. Acting was constant stress. And she had to starve herself to stay thin. She didn't have friends, real friends. So maybe it's not a surprise she ended up on a ledge ready to jump, or that she had electroshock therapy."

 Matt was lost.

 "Here I have the potential for a new life. Happiness. If I show signs I'm going crazy, I bet Dr. F will know what to do, and it's not electroshock.

 Would it be syphilis treatment? Matt wondered.

 Not your usual born-again routine, Matt thought.

 "So I have you to thank you, dear Matt, for doing a splendid job of the education of Laura.”

 Matt was off the hook but only for now. The job was not at all done. Never mind that unknown, dark, shadow militant forces might be trying to kidnap or kill her. Never mind that she would never be a movie star with a long line of award-winning credits. Never mind that she would always have to live a secret life. She had a second chance to live a good life. And now he could tell her the details about Gene’s later life.

With much of the bad news out of the way, Matt and Laura continued their work. They moved aside the bowl of tulips that separated them, ordered coffee and croissants and got started.

“Sometimes people face crossroads in their lives," Matt said. "If they choose one path, they become one person. If they choose the other, they become someone else. In a sense Gene Tierney lived one life. It is as if you left her at such a crossroad. She led her life. You can lead yours.”

Laura was in high spirits, ready to play.

"OK. Give me an example of a crossroads."

"Well, once I had to choose whether to become a professor or to join the Peace Corps."

"Peace Corps?"

"The Peace Corps gives people a chance to volunteer to help others in foreign countries. It was started by President John F. Kennedy."

 Seeing an opportunity, Matt rushed ahead.

 "You and Jack Kennedy dated. You loved him."

 Laura clapped her hands.  "I had an affair with the President of the United States!!"

 "You met him in 1946, before he was President. He had just come back from the war and was running for Congress."

 "Matt, I assume we won the war?"

 Matt smiled. "Yes, we did. Hitler killed himself in 1945."

 "Good news. Ok, so I dated Jack Kennedy. Did I sleep with him?”

 Matt was embarrassed. "I don't know. You spent a week at his home on Cape Cod with him."

 "Of course I did then. How exciting.  But what about Oleg? Wasn't I married to Oleg?"

 "You were separated. You asked for a divorce right about then."

 "Not surprised. Not a great marriage. Cheating over-controlling scumbag."

 "Yes. But remember you got back together and had a lovely child named Tina.” And Daria lived to 67 and when she died Tina Cassini wrote her obituary. Too much information for now.

 "Tell me about my second child another day. I want to savor thinking of her, abstractly before she becomes real to me. Good, then. So what happened with Jack?"

 Matt smiled. “You dumped him."

 "Why, if I loved him?"

 "Because he couldn't marry you. He was a Catholic and you were a soon to be divorced Episcopalian. And a Republican. His family wouldn't have stood for it and he wanted to be a politician. You didn't even vote for him. You voted for the other guy-- Nixon. But you sent Jack a note congratulating him.”

 "How disloyal of me. Is he still alive? Maybe he'd like to see that I never aged."

 Matt became serious. "I’m afraid he was assassinated, Laura."

 "So this isn't going to be all happy love affairs with presidents, is it?"

 "No. We have more rough patches to get through. And be sure to say ‘Gene’ from now on instead of ‘I’. If we are going to get through this, we have to establish some boundaries."

CHAPTER 7-7

The next morning Matt engaged in his favorite activity: observing Laura. He was in their room on the second floor. She was sitting at a table on the lawn in the garden wearing a flowered dress and a sunhat, pouring tea from a teapot covered with flowers that matched her summer dress. She was alone. And pensive.

A man came out of the inn and walked toward her. Matt recognized the old priest who had observed them at dinner and then had been sitting in the bar, seeming to ignore them. To Matt's astonishment, the priest walked right up to Laura, who stood and extended her hand. He kissed it. They sat together and talked, almost intimately, certainly with animation. Should he race downstairs and find out what was going on? If he did, then he would miss what happened next. What if he got downstairs and the priest was gone? What if Laura said, "What priest?" She wouldn't. Or would she? Matt clenched his fists and paced with agitation. What to do?

Just then Rondo came lumbering across the lawn, gesturing at Laura. She laughed and acknowledged him. Then the priest walked across the lawn toward Rondo. He turned. Laura waved at him, and yes, she put two fingers to her lips and blew him a goddamn kiss. He nodded to Rondo as they passed each other. The ancient priest looked absolutely smitten. Damn her, what is going on?

This priest would have something to confess tonight. So that his God could forgive him those thoughts. If this particular priest had a God who was logging in confessions in West Marin.

Matt was racing down the staircase to go to the garden to ask Laura what the story was with her little rendezvous when he felt a vibration on his hip. He still wasn't used to the burner phone Joe had given him for secret conversations.

Joe's voice was so warm that he seemed to be whispering in Matt's ear. Matt was glad to hear from him. He didn't know that Joe was calling from a mountain village in Afghanistan or that he had made sure the call could not be traced by anyone, especially his own team. He had thought the next assignment had to do with Korea but there he was in Afganistan. Such was his job. One of Joe's areas of expertise was setting up phone tracking systems. His voice bounced all over the globe before landing so intimately in Matt's ear.

"Jim," he said, using the codename they had agreed upon before he left.

"Jules."

"I'll be back tomorrow. Just to let you know it's ok to go back to the Pelican."

"You took care of the problem there?"

"Yes. Turns out it was a local lovers’ quarrel. A guy with a rifle took a shot at his girlfriend. He missed her and broke the window in the inn. Nothing to do with us. But it’s ok. It pays for us to be very cautious and besides, we had our little vacation at the Olema, which I expect you’ve been enjoying. How is Catherine?"

"She's doing fine. High spirits. Everything seems ok there."

"See you soon."

"Yep."

Matt sat down on the steps and tried, unsuccessfully, to sort out his feelings. And wait for Laura.

When she returned he said, “Who’s the priest?”

“I suppose I can tell you.”

“I rather not have more secrets, thank you very much.”

“Ok, fair enough. That was Father Max. A friend of Dr. F. He hangs out at Green Gulch. He and Dr. F have been close for decades. Both have an interest in Buddhism, immortality, spirits, energy fields, animation of the flesh—things I don’t understand.”

“What was he doing here? Spying?”

“No, silly, he was watching out for us, like Rondo. Dr. F suggested he check in here. I met him when I first arrived at the Pelican. He’s a sweet guy, and very smart. You should hear conversations he and Dr. F have.

“Why didn’t you introduce us at the restaurant? He was there. And in the bar the following night.”

“I guess I’m learning from Joe to think like a spy. But then it seemed ok to talk to him in the garden, briefly. And you saw Rondo was right on it.”

So much intrigue around here, Matt thought.  But he did enjoy it, there was that. Something to type in his laptop.

CHAPTER 7-8

Matt continued to dole out information to Laura about the life of Gene Tierney. She asked if she could now read the autobiography. She said she was ready. Matt wasn’t sure. He gave in. She took it and went to read in the garden. The project had begun to depress him. Perhaps it was a good idea to let Laura read the book. Strange idea to read a book you would write, or have ghost-written, in the future. Or rather a future that was now the past.

Another unhappy topic: he had agreed with the university to return mid-sabbatical for a late summer session. What if something happened and he was not able to return to the Pelican after? What if this greatest adventure would seem in retrospect to be a dream? How could he bear it?

When Laura came down to breakfast for their next meeting, she was somber.

“Matt, I’ve read about my mental illness. If I’m to avoid that path in the future, I have to begin now, being very honest and observant. And to have you and Dr. F and Joe observe me for signs. To begin, I would like to repeat to you what I’ve read. An exercise in facing the truth. Ok with you?”

 Matt nodded.  She began, speaking in a monotone, looking down. Matt held his breath, When she spoke in the first person he didn’t correct her.

“I was filming The Left Hand of God with Humphrey Bogart. He noticed there was something wrong with me and helped me on the set. His sister was mentally ill. He knew the score. He told the studio bosses I was sick and needed help. I was paranoid. I thought people were trying to poison me. I quit the movies. I hallucinated. I couldn’t read. A doctor sent me to Harkness Pavilion where I had electroshock treatments. You’ve read my book. I won’t talk about them now. They were terrible. No one told me before about what would happen, or how the results would be temporary. The fear and depression came right back. I was committed to an asylum. I fought to escape and they brought me back. I didn’t want to be there. They gave me nineteen more electroshock treatments. All together I had thirty-two. They locked me in a small room. Finally I was released.” She looked up.

“I wrote that when I got out of the asylum, it was like beginning life all over again. Isn’t that strange, Matt? Here I am, beginning my life all over again. And this time there will be no shock treatments.”

“Sweetheart, you may count on that.” Matt was overwhelmed with compassion.

The next day was slightly easier for Laura. She continued the story.

“The depression came back. I slept around the clock. I lived with my mother and Tina. We moved to New York. One day when my mother was gone, I walked out on the ledge and considered jumping. Marilyn Monroe’s apartment was across the street, though I never saw her. That’s not relevant. I was sent to the Menninger Clinic. I told my brother the Russians were going to blow up the sun and we would all be killed. I believed that. Fortunately, they did no more electroshock treatments there but instead they did something called a cold pack. They strapped me down and wrapped me in icy sheets. I prayed twenty times a day. Finally I was released again. I was really whacko.”

“Enough for today?” Matt felt it was enough for him.

“Let me finish this, please, Matt. I thought I could return to the movies. I agreed to begin filming in December.”

“What year?”

“It was 1958. But I panicked. Instead of going to Hollywood, I signed myself back into the Menninger and agreed to stay a year. That was Christmas day. I was sicker than I had ever been. They gave me art supplies. I painted beautiful pictures, ones I never could have done when I was well. I did needlework. Two rugs, forty sweaters, more. When my mood was high, I seemed buoyant, smart; I had secrets. Once I could see God in a light bulb. Howard Lee visited me.”

“Your next husband. Your happy marriage to a Texan.”

“Yes. I married him in 1960. I gave the Menninger Clinic their year. And Karl Menninger himself released me and wished me luck. You know, Matt, reading this book is strange. I have to keep reminding myself this isn’t my future. Parts read like a novel about someone else and I was eager to turn the page and see what happened next. Other parts felt like me and I was terrified. I read that I took more drugs than any other patient. What did all those drugs, and the electroshock therapy, do to me? I was an activist against electroshock after I got out. It’s barbaric.”

“So your book was published in 1979,” Matt said. You know your daughter Tina had babies. You were a grandmother. You were occasionally depressed, but not, well, flat-out crazy anymore. Excuse me for that word.”

“Yes. And listen to this. I ended the book with ‘Life is not a movie.’ How odd. To be here with you. I have to slow down and just accept this very strange reality.”

“And you are doing that splendidly, Laura.”

CHAPTER 7-9

Matt threw himself back into research. He lived online, reading everything he could about Gene, watching YouTubes, interviews. He cast a wider net—reading beyond just Gene to all of Hollywood, then to now, tracking people she knew then and some that she didn’t. He found a long Vanity Fair article reporting on Tina Cassini’s successful lawsuit against Oleg Cassini’s estate, walking away with millions of dollars. The article was so full of intrigue-- and cast Oleg in such a horrible light—that Matt tucked it away for later. Way too much information.

 “Do you miss acting?” Matt asked—a loaded question.

 “I do think about what it would like to be in a blockbuster. Maybe a new James Bond or something. I’d have to get in shape for the new movies.“

 “In shape? What better shape could you be in?”

 She was joking with him. “I’d want to do all my own stunts.”

 “Dearest Laura, I’d like to see you in a serious dramatic movie, set today. We just don’t have movies of the quality of what you, oops, she, made back then. OK, maybe you could make a science fiction movie. About Gene Tierney and the new Laura. You would play the young Gene Tierney, since you’re her age. And then cast an older actor to play the rest. Kind of opposite how it usually works—finding a young actor to play the earlier years.”

 “You mean actress?”

 “Everyone is called an actor today.”

 “And I suppose you’ve cast this masterpiece?”

 “Sure. How can you even ask? Brad Pitt as Joe, but I’ve told you that. Max von Sydow as Father Max.”

 “And you?”

 “Matthew Perry.”  He expected Laura would see him casting himself as a romantic lead, not comic Matthew Perry. So Matt was being realistic, but still—Matthew Perry was very handsome and clever. 

 “Ok, not bad. And Dr. F?”

 “Charles Dance. Absolutely.”

 “I’ll spend some time getting familiar with your choices, these twenty-first century actors then.”

Matt watched for the third time the hour-long portrait of Gene subtitled “A Shattered Life.” This time he noticed footage of an interview with Christina Cassini. When should Laura watch this film of her grown-up daughter? The film, divided into five YouTube segments, featured an interview with an older Oleg Cassini. Matt’s dislike notched up. Skinny little mustache, cheating weasel. When Oleg said, “She’s my wife now. She has to do what I tell her to do,” Matt hissed. Oleg called her the unluckiest lucky girl in the world. “At some point her luck ended.” “Yeah, when she met you, scumbag.”  Or was it when she got syphilis from Howard?

 Matt wondered if his dislike was all jealousy, but no: Oleg was not good to Gene. But then it appears she cheated on him, too, with Howard who wanted her to leave Oleg. Howard who slept with everyone, female and male. Hardly a step up in the loyalty department. Come to think of it, Jack Kennedy was never much of a winner there either. When Cassini told of smacking Howard Hughes with a two-by-four, Matt found himself cheering for Howard. And then Howard paid for baby Daria’s medical expenses. Did Gene and Oleg have money then? Gene was working. At some point she was supporting Oleg’s business. Howard was a scuzzilionaire.

CHAPTER 7-10

Matt went for a walk and pondered why he had liked Howard—until he got more data on how he treated women. And he wasn’t very likable at the end when he turned into a ninety-pound lunatic with curling fungus-laden finger and toenails. Oleg said Gene was more beautiful in life than in film. Maybe he was right. Lucky me, thought Matt. Oleg said that Gene was “an extraordinary genetic model” (Matt hooted—have to tell Frankenstein that one) and continued that he wanted to possess this genetic model because it was a masterpiece.”  IT !! He called her an “it.” Matt googled and found Oleg had died in 2006. Did he dare admit that he was glad? At least he never had to face taking Laura to see a very old Oleg.

Matt knew he would sooner or later have to discuss Tina. The number of articles that popped up when he googled meant he had a lot of work to do. He started with the Vanity Fair article he had put aside—Tina’s court battle with Oleg Cassini’s secret wife of many years over his estate. That was already a lot to unravel. Dislike for Oleg, which he hoped was more than just jealousy for his marrying young Gene, kicked up a notch when he read that Oleg said he had seduced--no, he had “conquered”—the “top top girls” of his day. He was engaged to Grace Kelly who dumped him when she decided she’d rather be a princess than a countess. Marilyn Monroe was described in his ghost-written memoir as “a little polo pony.” Polo pony! What an asshole. Then: in 1942 he “captured the breathtaking 20-year-old” Gene. Oh please.

Reading on, Matt noted that Oleg’s wife, Marianne Nestor, filed a lawsuit in California trying to overturn a New York court decision in Tina’s favor. In it “a bombshell”: she proposes that Tina is not Oleg’s daughter. “The papers allege that around the time of Tina’s conception Tierney had affairs with Howard Hughes, Tyrone Power, J.F.K., and the Hollywood agent Charles Feldman.”

What a muddle. Tina not Oleg’s daughter? DNA tests? They could use Laura’s DNA. No, wait. That’s backwards—Gene was her mother, that’s not contested. It’s this list of alleged lovers. Matt tried to remember chronology from the Hughes biographies and realized he’d have to go back and make a better timeline. Tyrone Powers was Howard’s lover. Gene divorced Oleg and then married him again and had Tina in 1948. So this legal document suggests Howard could be Tina’s father. Laura wouldn’t know anything about that—or anything after 1944. But here was something else: could Howard also be Daria’s father? Could he be the father of either daughter—or both daughters? Howard had the expensive specialist flown out from New York to examine Daria. Gene was grateful. Could Howard have been taking care of Daria because he knew he was her father? Laura would know the answer to that, but not to the paternity of Tina, which was later.

Matt didn’t have a clue what to do with all this information, all these questions. It was a big muddle, but a fascinating one. He would have to slow down, read more, be suspicious of all sources, and be very, very careful with what he said to Laura. His face burned again remembering when he had bluntly asked Laura if she had slept with Howard. Hopefully he had developed some finesse since that mortifying day.

As always, when he got into one of these mental mazes, Matt returned to the present. Laura was with him now. Period. He googled a bit more and came up with the cute factoid that Oleg Cassini had designed Jacqueline Kennedy's wardrobe. His creations hung on manikins in the John F. Kennedy Library and Museum. And Cassini had written a book: A Thousand Days of Magic: Dressing Jacqueline Kennedy for the White House. Had Cassini designed the pink suit and pillbox hat Jackie wore when Jack was assassinated? Did Oleg know Gene had been Jack's lover as he designed clothes for the First Lady? No matter. He shut down the machine and curled up on the couch. Almost immediately, he fell asleep.

 CHAPTER 7-11

 The Sheriff of Bolinas read the ten-page recap of police calls.

Nothing had happened in the area since the sniper at the Pelican that turned out to be nothing more than a kid off his meds stealing his father’s rifle and trying to shoot his girlfriend.

Since then, things were pretty much back to normal and he was bored.

In Tomales two drunk men got into a physical fight and tried to place each other under citizen's arrest. Both were taken to jail.

In Bolinas a mother took her eyes off her toddler for ten minutes. A family friend found him with the family dog in tow a block away.

In Point Reyes a large Holstein was reported on the roadway. The cow was gone when an officer arrived.

 The Sheriff put his feet up on his desk and continued reading the tedious infractions while dreaming of being a homicide detective in New York City.