Julia adored launch parties, especially when she not only starred on-screen but also played the role of hostess, entertaining dear friends and colleagues at her hillside mansion in Malibu. The mood was festive and full of anticipation that September evening, the air humming with conversation and laughter as about four dozen members of the cast and production crew, their plus-ones, and a select few members of the press mingled in her elegantly appointed great room, a paradigm of California Coastal design in warm earth tones, clean lines, and simple silhouettes. The two sets of glass doors to the broad balcony had been thrown open, the gossamer drapes gracefully drawn back, the soft ocean breezes beckoning guests outside to admire the breathtaking panoramas of the Pacific and stunning views of the Santa Monica Mountains.

Sipping champagne as she mingled among her guests, Julia graciously accepted air-kisses and congratulations and offered plenty of the same. She paused by the Steinway baby grand in the corner to murmur her thanks to the handsome young assistant from set design who had claimed the bench upon arrival and had been enchanting everyone with deft renditions of jazz classics ever since. Uniformed catering staff circulated with trays of enticing canapés, the savory aromas vying with the fragrance of lush flowers artfully arranged in the elegant earthenware vases Julia had collected on her world travels. A few subtle yet intriguing contemporary artworks adorned the walls—oil paintings, watercolors, and one antique Prairie Rose quilt she had acquired while filming on location in Kansas the previous winter. Photos and memorabilia from her decades-long performing career were displayed on the shelves flanking the fireplace on one end of the room, but she kept her Emmys and Golden Globe out of sight on a discreet shelf in the master suite. Anyone who might visit her already knew she had won the awards. Flaunting them would suggest a desperate craving for approval that really should be beneath her.

Yet her deliberate modesty didn’t extend to her late husband’s honors. Her gaze traveled to the bespoke art nook in the archway between the great room and the foyer, where Charles’s two golden Oscars gleamed softly beneath the museum- quality lights she’d had installed a few months after his death in 1993. At the time, she had been debating whether to leave the home they had shared for most of their marriage, suddenly achingly empty without him. Now, eleven years and a few months later, she was thankful she had stayed. The sharp anguish of mourning had receded over time, and fond memories of Charles lingered in every room, bringing a smile to her lips at unexpected moments throughout the day.

“Seems to me there’s room on that shelf for your own statuettes,” a familiar, gravelly voice rumbled just behind her.

Drawn from her reverie, Julia turned to find her longtime agent at her side, his wife smiling beside him. Maury’s face had grown wizened through the years, his shoulders stooped, his nearly bald pate fringed by thin wisps of gray hair, but his eyes were as knowing and kind as ever. Belying the stereotypes of his profession, Maury was honest and straightforward rather than ruthless, one of Hollywood’s last true gentlemen. He and Evelyn had seen Julia through the bleak aftermath of Charles’s death and the two foolish, utterly regrettable, mercifully swift marriages and bitter divorces that had followed. Maury had unraveled hundreds of management snarls and eased countless disappointments on her behalf throughout the years. Although he had officially retired five years before, he had resumed representing Julia, his sole remaining client, after a disastrous experience with his replacement proved that she couldn’t manage without him.

“Don’t tempt me to brag about myself,” Julia scolded him playfully. “You know excessive pride is my fatal flaw.”

Evelyn, lovely with her upswept silvery hair, fine features, and effortless grace that recalled her years as a dancer and choreographer, regarded Julia fondly. “But you should be proud of yourself, tonight of all nights,” she said. “The fifth season premiere of any television series is a remarkable milestone, but A Patchwork Life is that elusive dream, both critically acclaimed and exceptionally popular. Enjoy your success, Julia. You’ve earned it.”

“Oh, Evelyn, stop before you make me blush.” Raising her glass, Julia inclined her head toward Maury. “You’re very kind, but we both know I owe it all to your husband.”

“Hardly,” Maury demurred.

“You brought A Patchwork Life to me,” Julia pointed out. “When I rolled my eyes at the title and scoffed at the premise, you insisted I take the part anyway.”

“No, I merely urged you to read the script before you rejected the role,” said Maury. “But that script was for the movie. Need I remind you that was an utter disaster?”

Evelyn shuddered dramatically. “As if we could forget. But that wasn’t your fault, dear, nor yours, Julia. Who could have foreseen that Stephen Deneford would transform your feminist historical drama into a preposterous action flick? Prairie Vengeance, indeed.”

“You stood by me when I quit the film with no notice,” Julia reminded Maury. She had never stormed out of a director’s office like that before, but the ludicrous changes to the script and the humiliating reduction of her role had become intolerable. “You got me out of my contract with a minimum of fuss and no lasting damage to my reputation or my finances. That was no small feat.”

“Fair enough,” Maury conceded. “I did that much.”

“Everything worked out for the best,” said Julia, as Evelyn patted her husband’s arm and smiled up at him affectionately. “If the movie hadn’t failed, Ellen wouldn’t have reworked her movie script into a television series. I wouldn’t have been invited to reprise my role as Sadie Henderson, and we wouldn’t be gathering here tonight to celebrate our fifth season premiere.” Pausing to sip her champagne, Julia couldn’t resist adding, “An episode, by the way, I not only starred in but also directed.”

“All the more reason to celebrate such a tremendous achievement,” Evelyn declared, clinking her glass lightly against Julia’s.

“It certainly isn’t my achievement alone. Ellen’s writing has been consistently brilliant, and I couldn’t have asked for a better cast or crew. We’re more than colleagues. I know people say this all the time without meaning it, but I sincerely believe we’ve become a family.”

Maury and Evelyn looked so happy for her that Julia felt a catch in her throat. They had known her too long not to be well aware that she hadn’t always been so generous, sharing praise rather than claiming all the credit for herself. Once she would have hoarded every compliment, but she had learned humility from late- career disappointment, and wise friends had taught her empathy. She knew now, mere days away from her seventieth birthday, something most people learned at a much younger age: Everyone deserved respect and kindness, and she would find no joy in achievements won by clawing her way to the top and kicking those below her to keep them down.

It chagrined her, looking back, to realize how much time she had wasted in the absolute conviction that she could win only if someone else lost. This very party was a sign of how much she had changed since the Cross- Country Quilters had befriended her at Elm Creek Quilt Camp. The old Julia would have supplemented the guest list with several carefully chosen, perpetually envious frenemies, but not as an overture to reconciliation. Instead she would have wanted the doubters and the haters to see for themselves how gloriously she had thrived after they had dismissed her as a faded, irrelevant has-been, with nothing to contribute to the industry except the occasional unflattering photo in the tabloids or the scandal of yet another failed marriage. Her rivals’ barely concealed envy would have added a deliciously exciting spice to the gathering, and oh, how she would have savored it.

But that wasn’t who she was anymore. If she had any frenemies, she couldn’t name them, and she hadn’t issued a spite invitation in years. She genuinely liked and admired every person she had welcomed into her home that evening, and she had every reason to believe the feeling was mutual. She remained a work in progress, but she had come a long way.

She sighed, momentarily wistful. Her party would be absolutely perfect if only the other Cross- Country Quilters were there. She owed so much of her recent success to her generous friends, who, five years before, had helped her learn to quilt to play Sadie Henderson, a role she’d desperately hoped would resuscitate her faltering career. She had won the lead in A Patchwork Life only because Maury had implied that she was an experienced quilter, which the director insisted was essential for convincingly portraying a woman homesteader on the Kansas frontier. After the contracts were safely signed, Maury had enrolled Julia at Elm Creek Quilt Camp in rural central Pennsylvania, far from the paparazzi and gossip columnists who might have exposed her deception. The camp’s excellent faculty had taught her well, and after the surprisingly wonderful week ended, the new friends she had made had tutored her and offered long-distance encouragement through frequent letters, emails, and phone calls. Their friendship had sustained her as A Patchwork Life morphed into Prairie Vengeance and Julia found herself diligently perfecting her quilting skills for a role that no longer resembled what she had signed up for. The whole dreadful movie had fallen apart by the time the Cross-Country Quilters had reunited at quilt camp the following summer, but as Julia had told Maury and Evelyn, its failure had been a blessing in disguise.

Close