Page 20 of His Girl Hollywood

Mabel was standing over his bed, her scarred face contorted in pain. Her milky white eye unseeing and yet still staring at him accusatorily. “Why, Don? Why did you tell them about me?”

He raised his hands in supplication. “Please, Mabel. I didn’t, I swear. They found out. Frankie always finds out.” He closed his eyes, unable to look at what his love had done to her. What it had cost her.

“Look at me,” she pleaded. There was a desperation in her voice he had never heard before. Even when the accident had happened. When he’d vowed to stand by her no matter what. When she told him that she didn’t want that. That loving him was too dangerous. She hadn’t sounded like that even then. “I’m not here for your guilt. I’m here to warn you.”

He jolted up in the bed. “Warn me? About what?”

“You know what.”

He broke out into a cold sweat at that. Because he did know. He knew all too well. “No, I’ve hardly been here. I need more time.”

Mabel wrung her hands, a look of abject fear on her face. If he’d only been smarter, read his contract more carefully, not been so determined to spit in his father’s eye by getting a manager,anymanager, Mabel would be all right. The collateral damage of his own pride was more than he could bear.

“Your time is up,” Mabel whispered. “He knows. Like you said, he always finds out.”

No, no, no, no. He couldn’t know. They hadn’t even finished a whole week of filming. Frankie could not have gotten wise to his scheme already. He’d been so careful. Don rolled over into his pillow and screamed into it, overcome with fear and frustration. He wanted to scream until he couldn’t anymore. Until his voice was raw. But someone was shaking him, grabbing at his back and jostling him hard.

He rolled back over in fury. “Let me be, Mabel!” But the shaking didn’t stop. He flailed his arms, trying to grab her, to make her stop.

“Lergh megooooo,” Mabel said. Don blinked. No wait, not Mabel, Eddie. Mabel was gone. He searched wildly around the room looking for her.

“Where is she?”

“I’m the only one here, pal. You were having a nightmare.” The words crashed into Don like a wave of relief. A nightmare. He’d been dreaming. Mabel wasn’t here. Frankie didn’t know. It was only a nightmare.

“Thank God, thank God, thank God,” Don murmured, grabbing Eddie and hugging him, noticing only then that his bare chest was soaked in sweat. So was the sheet. Eddie remained awkwardly still, patting Don’s damp bare back once with his hand.

“You’re okay,” he said, waiting for Don to let go of him. Don leaned back against the headboard and ran his fingers through his hair, still trying to make sense of what had happened. He was actually okay. Like Eddie said. For now.

Don nodded. “But why are you in here? Why aren’t you in your own room?”

Eddie looked at him like he was screwy. “You asked me to comewake you up. Said your room’s alarm clock was on the fritz. Didn’t want to be late to your early call after shaving in your dressing room three times this week already.”

“Right, right.” Don vaguely remembered asking Eddie to do that last night. But his mind was still on his nightmare.

Eddie moved from the edge of the bed and Don swung his legs over the side, gripping the carpet with his toes. He was fairly certain the carpet had a spot in the corner stained with some type of bodily fluid. But right now, he had to ground himself. Shake himself from that terrible dream. From Mabel’s haunted, terrified face. It had haunted his dreams every night this week. Every night since Eleanor had come here and asked for his help. Since she’d told Don that she wasn’t the one who had put Mabel on Frankie’s radar. That it had been Don’s fault alone. He had to pull himself together. They were filming the love scene today. Too bad he’d never felt less romantic in his entire life.

***

“Cut!” The camera operator next to her sighed audibly, and Arlene shot him a look of apology. They had made it through the rest of the week with little incident. Don had learned to hit his mark, and he’d only looked at the camera by accident three more times since Tuesday.

If she was feeling charitable, she could even admit he was quite good. Purely from the objective stance of a director observing an actor. When he got out of his head, he really had something. Not just the twinkle in his eye and the crooked charm of that dimpled scar, but something deeper, a latent emotionality she knew he could unleash if he’d only get out of his own way.

She’d thought the love scene would be their easiest scene yet.Don had a reputation as a ladies’ man, even if he’d only ever been seriously linked to Eleanor Lester. There was still no choreography involved. Plus Arlene knew love scenes like the back of her hand. She’d written plenty forReno Rendezvous, and they’d won her an Oscar. But if it was possible, Don was even worse today than he’d been the first day. He hadn’t gotten through a take without flubbing a line, and he looked like a lost puppy with its tail between its legs.

She felt like apologizing to everyone on this set on Don’s behalf. They should’ve had this in a few takes. Arlene looked over at her leading lady. If the way Rita crossed her arms over her chest and was repeatedly blowing a strand of her hair out of her eye with a stream of air from her lips was any indication, she was not impressed with Don Lamont.

To be fair, neither was Arlene. He was nothing like the cocksure boy she’d sent off on a train. Nothing like the suave song-and-dance man she imagined he must be. Instead, he was sweaty and nervous, dropping his lines left and right, and looking at his feet rather than into his leading lady’s eyes. If things continued this way, Rita and Don would have less screen chemistry than oil and water.

Arlene took a breath and called out from behind the camera, “Okay, let’s take that again. Now, remember, Don—your character, Danny, has just come into the dance school where Lee works. You’ve pretended to be a novice to win her over, but just as her manager comes in, you wow him, earning her the bonus she needs to enter the cover-girl contest she hopes will shoot her to fame. The manager has now left and your dance turns into a clinch. You’re charming, you’re handsome, you’re irresistible. Every woman in the audience will swoon at the sight of you. Now, action!”

Don returned to his mark and awkwardly held open his arms for Rita to step into them. Rita obliged and he immediatelytripped on her foot, skidding to the floor. At least this time he hadn’t brought Rita down with him. Arlene bit the inside of her cheek to resist screaming in frustration. “Obviously, that’s a cut,” she muttered.

Don pushed himself off the floor in one graceful movement. It made Arlene’s stomach whoosh, so reminiscent of the times he’d taken a tumble in their backyard only to shoot right back to his feet as if he were made of rubber. He shot Rita a sheepish grin. “I’m sorry, I’m out of sorts today. I swear I’ll get it right on the next one.”

Rita softened and gave him a weak smile. “It’s all right. My first week I stepped on another showgirl’s foot and ripped my costume.”

For the first time since they’d started filming, Don looked relieved. Seizing on the moment, Arlene set them back to one and called “Action” again. This time Don got the moves right and managed not to fall down.