Page 1 of His Girl Hollywood
Prologue
Los Angeles, 1927
Train stations were made for heartbreak. Happiness was possible on a train platform, of course—reunions, chance meetings, the promise of embarking on a trip. But there was something about the chugging engines, the mournful train whistles, and the conductors’ calls of “all aboard,” that was deeply melancholy. This was all Arlene Morgan could think about on this particular autumn morning, standing on a platform in the brisk early morning air in Los Angeles’s La Grande Station, waiting for the only man she’d ever loved to board the train that would carry him out of her life forever.
Well, the only thing on her mind besides what a picturesque setting the station’s Moorish architecture would make for a film. Her eyes darted from the tip of the central dome’s spire to the palm tree out front to the structure that resembled a castle turret that they’d passed on their way to the platform. She pondered the assembly of shots she’d make to film the most mournful lovers’ farewell the world had ever seen.
“Lena,” a deep masculine voice to her right called. “Have you heard a word I’m saying?”
Arlene shook herself from her reverie and turned to face the man standing beside her, Don Lazzarini. “Hmmm?”
He chuckled, the scar in his right cheek, a souvenir of a rowdychildhood accident, sinking into his dimple. Her heart somersaulted in her chest. She’d always loved that jagged dimple, from the moment his once-pristine face had healed with that perfectly imperfect blemish. It reminded her that he was human. “Making movies in your head again?”
She blushed and looked at the ground. While other girls might dream of being Mary Pickford or Florence Lawrence, Arlene wanted to make movies, not star in them. “Maybe,” she mumbled.
Don playfully punched her arm. “That’s my gal. The next Lois Weber!”
Arlene waved him off. “That’s a long way off. I’m only seventeen after all. If it ever happens. But what were you trying to tell me?”
“Just that my train is on time, according to the gal at the ticket counter.”
Arlene’s heart sank. She was hoping it would be late. She needed more time. Because she had to tell Don how she felt, admit to him that she’d fallen in love with him. No, not fallen. There’d been no falling. It had simply been true since she was four years old and he and his parents had moved into the other half of the duplex she shared with her own family.
If she didn’t tell him this morning, she might never get the chance. Or work up the courage again. She gave him a brave smile. “Well, you’ve been waiting for this day for forever, it seems.”
He kicked at the ground with his scuffed shoes, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Sure have. Working on your father’s boat, I didn’t think I’d ever save enough for the fare.”
“I knew you would. It’s your destiny.”
He pushed back a lock of his chestnut hair, smoothing it back into the styled coif of his new haircut. Arlene hadn’t decided if she liked it yet. She missed his boyish mussed hair. This lookeddifferent—like a man ready for his life to begin.
“You really think so?” He was jangling his hands in his pockets, and she could see him itching to move. Don hated standing still. He had danced before he’d walked, according to his mother. Now, freshly graduated from high school and all of eighteen years old, he was about to do what he’d talked about since he was a kid—get on a train to New York and chase his dreams of becoming the world’s most renowned dancer, the toast of Broadway.
“Broadway won’t know what’s hit it.”
He smiled brightly and pulled her into a hug. “I’ll miss you though.” She pressed her face into his overcoat and sniffed, searching for the faintly familiar smell of brine and fish that had lingered on him these last four years of high school as he’d spent every summer and weekend working on her father’s fishing boat. But it was gone. Now, he smelled like something else. Like allspice and a hint of soap.
This was it. The moment she should tell him. It was now or never. Because things were already changing. He was already not the Don she’d known. “Don, I—”
The whistle of his train blew, and he let go of her, kneeling to pick up his timeworn suitcase. He’d spent every cent he had on this ticket. Arlene had given him her old suitcase for the journey because he couldn’t afford to buy one. Goodness knows his parents would’ve laughed in his face if he’d asked them. Not that he would’ve. He was much too proud for that.
“No, it’s… You can’t go yet. I have to tell you…” she started, the words getting stuck in her throat.
He put a newsboy cap on his head, the one she’d given him for Christmas last year, and turned back to face her. “Tell me what?”
Her eyes pooled with tears and she swiped at them frantically. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.
“Oh, Lena, don’t cry. Please. I can bear anything but your tears.”
She shoved her hands in the pockets of her wool coat and was searching desperately for a handkerchief when her fingers brushed against cold metal. It was a penny. She pulled it out and pressed it into the palm of his hand, curling his fingers over it and leaning down to brush a kiss to his knuckles.
She straightened and he gave her a funny look. “What was that for?”
“For luck,” she mumbled, her voice watery with her tears. He reached into his pocket and fished out a handkerchief, dabbing at her eyes for her.
The whistle blew again and the conductor started walking up and down the platform, calling out, “All aboard.”
Don kissed her on the cheek, muttered, “That’s for luck too,” and turned to step onto the train. He disappeared for a moment and then the window nearest her slid down, and he leaned out. She dabbed at her eyes and gave him a helpless wave, so he made a funny face in return, pulling out his ears and sticking out his tongue. She giggled in spite of herself, and the train began to move.