Page 16 of His Girl Hollywood
She did as she was told, pulling a chair up to the table. “Mr. Evets, hello, didn’t expect to see you in a place like this.” That was an understatement.
He chortled. “Love the food. Reminds me of my mother’s cooking.”
“Same here.” She smiled. Okay, this wasn’t so bad. Maybe she could say hello, exchange some pleasantries, and go back to her table.
“I hear things didn’t go well today.” Harry turned his head to the side to avoid blowing cigar smoke in her face.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Just some first-day jitters.”
Harry sucked on his cigar thoughtfully. “John Sidell told me it was a bit more than first-day jitters. That you didn’t even get a reel of usable footage. You sent Rita Carter home with an injured ankle and couldn’t seem to keep your leading man in line.”
Arlene silently cursed John Sidell. He was her cinematographer, and she’d known from the look on his face that day in Harry’s office that he was jealous. She was certain he was angry that she’d been given a chance to direct while he’d been passed over. She’d expected him to be a problem—to refuse to take direction. But he had done what she’d asked him. Even if he’d been cold and condescending. It seemed his tactic was going to be reporting every misstep she made back to Harry Evets instead.
What could she say? It was true they hadn’t managed to get a single complete scene in the can. That Rita was injured. That Don had openly questioned her authority. Sidell hadn’t lied. He didn’t need to. “Mr. Lamont is having some trouble adjusting to working with the camera.” There. That was something, at least.
Harry stroked his chin. “Hmm, I cast him on a talent scout’s advice and gave him a screen test. But maybe he’s not meant for the movies.”
That was not what she wanted. She was upset with Don. Annoyed at his presumptions, his arrogance. Frustrated that his failings reflected back on her. Sure, he could run back to Broadwayas if nothing ever happened. Maybe he wasn’t meant to be a screen star. But if Don Lamont failed in Hollywood, it wasn’t going to be because of her. Not the least because they might throw the baby out with the bathwater and fire her too. “Oh, no, I don’t think that’s it.”
The waiter came and placed her sandwich in front of her, wordlessly. She wasn’t hungry anymore and pushed it to the side. “It’s a learning curve, certainly. But Mr. Lamont is a talented performer. I’ll make sure he gets things right tomorrow.”
Harry pursed his lips and nodded as if to sayI don’t like it, but I’ll take it. “Tell me something, Miss Morgan.”
“Yes?” she squeaked, unable to hide the fear in her voice.
“Do you like pickles?”
“What?”
“Pickles? Do you like them? Or can I have that one sitting so forlornly on your plate?” Jesus Christ, she thought Harry Evets was going to fire her before she’d even had a chance to prove herself, and all he cared about was a stupid pickle.
She shoved the plate at him. “No, it’s yours. You can have the whole sandwich if you want. I’m not hungry.”
He gave her a queer look. “You know, Joan Davis insisted I wouldn’t regret this. That you were a born director. That you’d surprise me. But the day I told you I was giving you this chance, you fainted in my office. Now, I hear you’ve already wasted a day of your production budget, and all of a sudden, you’ve got no appetite. Miss Morgan, is everything all right? Is there something I should know?”
“No, Mr. Evets. I promise you things are fine.”
She didn’t like lying, but what choice did she have? She needed to find Don tonight. Apologize for being so casually cruel. Explain to him what was on the line here for her. Why she needed him to get his act together. He owed her this, at least. He might not havegiven her a thought in the last ten years, but growing up together had to count for something.
Harry Evets seemed to have a sixth sense for these things because then he asked her, “Is there a history between you and Don Lamont?”
She was shocked. That Harry had guessed. And that he would come out and ask her. She didn’t think he’d ask a male director if there was any history between him and his female star. But hell, probably most male directors didn’t cock up the entire first day and put the whole shoot behind schedule. “He was my next-door neighbor growing up. That’s all. Until today, I hadn’t spoken to him since he moved to New York a decade ago.”
That wasn’t the whole of it. Not even close. But it was all that Harry needed. Neither Harry nor Don would ever know what he’d once meant to her. That part of her life was over.
Harry gave her a hard stare and she gulped, wishing she hadn’t already finished her whiskey back at her table. But he didn’t question her. Instead, he reached for her sandwich and said, “Just do better tomorrow.”
“I will.” She meant it too. She would do better. She wasn’t going to let this opportunity slip through her fingers so quickly. And she sure as hell wasn’t going to let Don Lamont be the reason it did.
Arlene said goodbye to Harry, leaving her sandwich in his hungry hands. She paid her bill and snuck to the pay phone at the front of the bar, nestled in a wood-paneled box as cozy as the rest of the place. She picked up the receiver and said, “Operator, Ida Kosterman at Evets Studios, please.” Harry’s secretary often worked late, staying long past the studio head’s departure for the evening. It was understood around the lot that without Ida, the entire enterprise would come crashing to the ground.
The phone rang only three times before Ida picked up. “Hello, Harry Evets’s office.”
“Ida, thank God you’re still there.”
She could feel the woman brighten at the sound of her voice. “Arlene, what a pleasure to hear from you. I heard you had a rough first day.”
Arlene leaned her head back against the phone booth. God, had everyone at the studio heard about their terrible day of filming? Studio lots were worse than knitting groups when it came to how quickly gossip traveled. She massaged the bridge of her nose. “I did, but listen, Ida, that’s not why I called. Can you tell me where Don Lamont is staying while he’s in town?”