Chapter SixDESCANSO BEACH, AVALON, CATALINA ISLAND, CALIFORNIA,
October 1, 1926
“Say, Cottontop, where’s Edna?”
I hadn’t even heard her approach, but there was Clara Bow right behind me. The world’s most famous redhead was actually more of a deep auburn, with those deep, lively brown eyes that suggested lots of mischief. I’d seen her from afar in San Antonio, but we’d never met. I’d been too nervous to introduce myself.
“Gone,” I said. “That’s all they told me.”
The grapevine was abuzz with talk of Edna’s explosion at Pola Negri the week before. Too much pent-up anger, too much Pola. Word was, she’d picked up her last check two days ago and had already taken a job at the Christie Studios on Sunset at El Centro. It was a step down, but at least she was still working.
I was sad to see
