Embark on a journey to 1930s California in Ginny Kubitz Moyer’s spellbinding historical novel in which a woman must choose between friendship and her own secrets.
Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Ginny Kubitz Moyer’s A Golden Life, which releases on September 24th 2024.
It’s 1938, and twenty-five-year-old secretary Frances Healey is ready for a fresh start. Hoping to forget her painful past, she takes a job working for Hollywood producer Lawrence Merrill. She quickly becomes absorbed in VistaGlen Studios’s biggest project: a movie about Kitty Ridley, the legendary stage actress who disappeared from the public eye in 1895. The movie will be the making of Belinda Vail, a beautiful ingenue who is hungry for a breakout role—and also happens to be Mr. Merrill’s love interest.
But the real Miss Ridley has other ideas. Now ninety years old, she writes a scathing letter insisting the studio halt production of the film. Hoping to change her mind, Frances and Mr. Merrill embark on a trip to find the actress—only to land in a Victorian farmhouse in the Napa Valley. But as she learns the truth of Miss Ridley’s life, Frances finds herself confronting the very past she’s been trying to forget. And with the arrival of the ambitious Belinda, loyalties will be tested, bonds will be forged, and Frances will learn where true happiness lies. Set in Hollywood and the sun-drenched Napa countryside, A Golden Life explores friendship, forgiveness, and the power of honoring your own story.
It was a large office, with windows on both sides. Mr. Merrill indicated a seat in front of the huge desk and then seated himself in the leather swivel chair behind it. His hair was brown, lighter than her own, with a hint of gray at the temples. He was tall, over six feet, and had a rather narrow face with brown eyes. He was younger than she had expected: late thirties, perhaps.
“It’s nice to meet you,” he said. “You had a good trip from Santa Barbara? No problems with the train, I hope.”
“No,” she said. “It was an easy trip, thank you.”
Even sitting, he appeared tall. He sat like a successful man, his shoulders straight. “A man who slouches looks like a man who doesn’t care,” she heard Mother Florence say.
He tapped a paper on his desk. “I don’t normally hire secretaries who are new to Hollywood. But you got a glowing recommendation from Cyril. And he’s a difficult man to impress.”
“He was very good to work for. I learned a great deal.”
“You didn’t want to go to Paris with him?”
“I’d have liked that, but he didn’t take a secretary.”
“Probably hiring one there.” He picked the paper up, smiling briefly at it as if picturing Cyril’s face. “I haven’t seen him in years. I’ll have to visit him when he’s back in the States.”
She waited, her hands folded in her lap. He put the paper down, opened a carved wooden box, took out a cigarette, and lit it. He looked at her as he settled back in his chair.
“So why did you decide to become a secretary, Miss Healey? Instead of”—he waved a half circle with his cigarette—“a nurse, say?”
The question surprised her, but she respected it, and him for asking it. It reached beyond the tidy outline of her professional experiences to something more essential and revealing.
“I like working with people,” she said. “Working closely, that is. I like getting to know one person well instead of many people superficially.” His eyes were fixed on her, his expression unreadable. “I’ve always been organized too. I don’t care for loose ends. I make sure things are wrapped up neatly.
“Also,” she added after a moment, “I tend to faint at the sight of blood.”
He laughed, which made him look years younger. She smiled too, relieved that her bit of levity had been appreciated. “Well,” he said, “this office has seen a lot, but we haven’t had bloodshed. Yet.” He tapped some ash into the ashtray. “You worked in a law office, too, before working for Cyril.”
“Yes. Bennett, Ingram and Bennet, in San Luis Obispo. I was there for about three years.”
He scanned a paper on his desk. “They also gave you an excellent reference. What made you leave?”
There was a pause, long enough that he glanced up at her. She said, “I was ready for something new. Something different.”
She expected him to inquire further and was glad when he merely nodded. “Well,” he said, “I’ve no doubt Cyril provided that.” He leaned back in his chair. “I’m willing to give it a go, Miss Healey. You should know that occasionally I’ll need you to work evenings or weekends, sometimes with no advance notice.”
“That’s quite all right.”
“You have a place to stay?”
“I’m at the YWCA at the moment.”
“Ask Miss Ramos. She might know of a girl looking for a roommate.” He leaned forward, bringing his hands together on the desk, the right one still holding the cigarette. His tone became serious. “Another thing, and it’s critical. Cyril made a point of praising your discretion. You’re new to Hollywood, Miss Healey, but gossip is the lifeblood of this town. You’ll be privy to some information that will need to be kept confidential. About projects in the works, or the personal lives of our actors and actresses. I need to have absolute faith in my secretary.”
“I’m not one to gossip, Mr. Merrill. I never have been.”
“Good.” As he stubbed out the cigarette, she took the opportunity to study him. His face was more handsome in profile than it was head-on; he was no matinee idol, but there was a line to his cheek and a downward curve to his mouth that was somehow appealing. It was disconcerting to discover this. She would much rather work for an ugly man.
He looked up and she looked down, embarrassed by her thoughts. He seemed not to notice.
“Let’s do a two-week trial then, Miss Healey,” he said. “If it’s satisfactory to both of us, we’ll make it permanent. All right?”
She was elated but hid it behind a professional smile. “Yes, thank you, Mr. Merrill.”
“Good.” He stood up, and so did she. “Miss Ramos will show you the ropes. She’ll stay on a few more days, just to get you acquainted with the office. So I’ll see you here tomorrow morning, eight o’clock. Be ready for some dictation.”
“I will, Mr. Merrill. Thank you.”
He nodded, giving the same impersonal smile. “Goodbye, Miss Healey.” He had already turned to the pile of papers on his desk, absorbed in the next task.
#
In the outer room, Dina glanced up from her typing as Frances closed the door behind her. She smiled. “Two-week trial starting tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Good. With those references, I’m not surprised. Something tells me you’ll fit in just fine.” She typed quickly, clearly finishing her letter, then cranked the paper out of the machine. “In fact, we can go over some of the basics right now, if you’d like. Or would you rather enjoy your last day of freedom before the job begins?”
“No, I’d love to get started.”
Dina grinned. “Like I said: You’ll fit in just fine.” The phone rang and she picked it up, her voice brisk. “Mr. Merrill’s office.” A pause. “Yes, Mr. Hirschberg.” She sat looking at Frances for a moment as a male voice droned faintly on the end of the line, then she held the phone in place with her shoulder as she reached for a notepad, scribbled something, turned the pad around and pushed it across the desk. Take a walk and come back in ten, it said in shorthand.
Frances smiled and left.
#
She went downstairs to the reception hall, but this time she took the doors that led into the studio. Soon she was walking across a large grassy quadrangle bisected by a cement path, beyond which were paved streets and huge buildings in all directions. The quadrangle reminded her somewhat of a school campus, even to the flagpole at its center, but there the resemblance stopped.
She took one of the streets and walked slowly, passing a small charming bungalow with a white picket fence, then a Spanish-style office building with a red tiled roof, then a huge rectangular building with SOUNDSTAGE ELEVEN printed above the door. And moving in every direction, like busy ants, were fascinating people: an executive in a blue suit; two young women who looked like secretaries; a gray-haired woman with a tape measure around her neck, carrying a hatbox in each hand; a man in a chef’s hat and apron pushing a trolley of cakes and a silver coffee urn; and what must have been extras for a period movie, three men in Renaissance hose and doublets and large hats with feathers, walking toward her and talking about baseball. She laughed aloud at the incongruity of it, and one of them looked at her, startled, then appeared to realize the reason for her amusement. “Those Yankees are errant knaves,” he said with a grin, and she smiled back, delighted with him and the vibrant new world around her.
It would be a challenge, working in the pressure-filled environment of a studio instead of Cyril’s peaceful home, but she was hungry for it. She wondered if he had known even before she did that she was ready to move to a larger, more active stage. It would be like him, she thought with sudden affection, to have intuited that.
As she turned back toward the administration building, she caught sight of a young man by the soundstage. He was in shirtsleeves and suspenders and he was walking by himself, his hands in his pockets, smiling broadly off into the distance. Frances had always loved it when a person was walking alone and smiling with no visible reason to do so, and she paused on the sidewalk to watch him. He continued along, grinning to himself as if some secret delight powered him from within, as if he had just heard some news so good he could not possibly keep it inside.
Normally, she would enjoy speculating about what was making him smile, but she had an appointment to keep. So she quickened her pace, her heels clicking on the sidewalk, as she made her way briskly back to Mr. Merrill’s office.
