Free Stars Over Sunset Boulevard by Susan Meissner

phone and answering what questions she could. A few minutes before five she went in search of Audrey for the commute home together.
    She found her roommate sitting at her typewriter with an ample pile of dictation in front of her. Most of the other secretaries had finished for the day and were already gone. An understated, steady staccato echoed in the room as the typewriter keys hit their targets.
    â€œSelznick is writing his own damn book on the hell of love and war,” Audrey grumbled, nodding toward the thick stack of pages.
    â€œWant to give me some of those?” Violet took a seat at the unoccupied desk next to her.
    Audrey handed over a handful of her notes. “Your Miss Myrick went home early?”
    â€œShe’s off teaching Leslie Howard how to talk like a proper Georgian.”
    Audrey looked up from her work, regarded Violet for a moment, and then continued tapping away. “You should offer to go with her when she does that so they can get to know you,” Audrey said quietly, mindful of the two remaining secretaries in the room. “You could coach on the Southern voice. Doesn’t Miss Myrick have more important things to do?”
    Violet couldn’t imagine asking Miss Myrick such a thing. “The coaching
is
important. Mr. Cukor and Mr. Selznick trust Miss Myrick. I don’t think they want anyone else coaching the cast.”
    â€œWhat they don’t want are details getting lost in the maelstrom because they’ve given that woman too much to do. If they trust her, then they would trust her judgment if she told them you can coach as well as she can.”
    â€œI’ve never coached dialogue before!” Violet exclaimed under her breath.
    â€œAnd you think she has? How hard can it be? The actors read off a line of dialog; you show them how a Southerner would say it. They practice mimicking you. Simple as that.”
    â€œI suppose.”
    â€œI just think you have a lot to offer, Violet,” Audrey said. “That’s all. You should do what you’re already good at.”
    Another ten minutes had passed when Audrey suddenly yanked out the memo she had been working on and slapped it onto her desk. “Let’s get out of here and do something fun. I’m tired of this.”
    â€œBut your dictation . . .”
    â€œI’ll come in early tomorrow. No one wants to read his memos, anyway. Come on. Let’s go see what Bert’s up to. I hear Scarlett’s dress for the opening scene is finished. I want to see it.”
    Violet handed the dictation sheets back to Audrey, who tossed them into the wire basket on her desk.
    â€œAre you sure you want to leave those undone?” Violet asked as they both rose from their chairs.
    â€œAbsolutely.” Audrey reached for her purse off the back of her chair and smoothed the peplum of her jacket over her skirt. She looked especially pretty in the shade of rose that she was wearing, and Violet wished she hadon something more colorful than a featureless gray skirt and white blouse.
    They exited the back door of the Mansion and passed a few soundstages and people heading for home after the long workday. They stepped inside the expansive building where the costumes were kept, and Violet marveled at the rows upon rows of waiting racks and shelves. From the many memos she had typed she knew five thousand separate pieces of clothing would be housed there when all the costumes were complete. She also knew that at the moment few were done. Two workers on their way out smiled at Audrey and greeted her by name.
    â€œBert’s in the back,” one of the men said.
    They found Bert in a staging area, cataloging a load of Confederate uniforms that had just come in but that still needed to be altered to look weathered and worn. His eyes lit up when he saw Audrey.
    â€œWell, hello there,” he said, smiling wide. “What brings you two down here?”
    â€œMay we see the dress for