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Mae that she might have made a mistake, that David might not be the man, the ideal husband, she'd envisioned. She must be very careful from now on. She could not be totally trusting and open and vulnerable.
But David had another surprise in store. When she was. finally on her way home, he stopped the train at Barstow and presented himself in the middle of the night, a tender and contrite lover. It was very confusing. He explained that jealousy was part of a man's love. How could he stand being known about the theatre as Mae Murray's husband? Serge was in Europe with Pola; Pola was willing to give up her work. Alex was in London with Louise Van Alen. They all had a married life and what did they have, he and Mae — a married separation. He was right, of course, but what could she do?
The property at Playa del Rey had become very valuable, worth somewhere near a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Now they could build their pink palace! They could use a third of her salary for building costs, keep the other two thirds toward their liquid assets. They would have a roof of Mediterranean tile, a large garden, an olive tree from the desert. David was elated. He would supervise everything, he said. For the first time he seemed at peace and sure of her.
They pored over house plans drawn by Frank Lloyd Wright, architectural pioneer of the century. Wright believed in adapting architecture to landscape and he designed a pink stucco Moorish house that seemed to grow out of the setting. There would be four suites. Mae's dressing room, bedroom and bath would be floored in black tile, Chinese red, white and gold ; the bath would be long enough so that she could swim twenty strokes, and surrounded by a bronze railing so that Koran could not fall in. On the walls great Venetian baskets would overflow with crystal. There must be lounge rooms and a gymnasium and a ballroom, Capri blue rock in the garden and Venetian tile inlays around doors and windows.
They found the house needed deep foundations, a ninetyfoot bulwark against which the sea came spuming, a pier glass
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