Page 25 of His Girl Hollywood

He craned his head and watched Joan go down the steps at the end of the hall.

“I believe you wanted to see me about something,” Arlene drawled. He turned back to face her and was delighted to see her suppressing a grin. “Don’t worry, Joan has that effect on people.”

He blushed and looked at the floor. This was not a good start. “No, I wasn’t. I didn’t…”

“It hardly matters since I doubt you came to my office to talkabout Joan Davis. Who, as it happens, is very happily married to Dash Howard.”

“I know that,” he retorted. Oh God, he was digging this hole deeper. “I needed to talk to you.” He looked up and caught her eyes. There was a flicker of something there, a strain of hurt. It surprised him. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the mask of professionalism Arlene seemed determined to maintain around him.

“I’d really prefer we never speak about this afternoon again, if you don’t mind.”

Don’s face flared red at her remark. Out of embarrassment or a tinge of regret, he couldn’t say. He cleared his throat. “Actually, that wasn’t what I came to talk to you about.”

A furrow of confusion wrinkled Arlene’s brow before her face returned to smooth indifference.

“Though I do owe you an apology for that.” Don didn’t want to apologize. He wanted to understand. Why he hadn’t been able to resist kissing her in the heat of the moment. Why she’d given in, kissed him back. The kiss had rattled him. He’d never once thought of kissing Arlene before today. Now, he was starting to wonder why he hadn’t. She was attractive. Hell, who was he kidding? She was gorgeous. And capable and smart. Far more than he would ever deserve in a woman and yet so many things that he had always wanted. How had he not seen that before? Had they both changed that much?

But maybe it was for the best he hadn’t noticed. If he had, she’d be caught up in Frankie Martino’s web right along with him. It would be her haunting his dreams instead of Mabel Snyder.

But it wasn’t only his attraction to her that was new. It was her detachment, her constant need to point out the ways in which he was falling short, her inexplicable ire at the sight of him. All hewanted was to fix that. Right the wrong he’d done her, despite having no idea what it was. He could master the attraction. After Mabel, he’d learned to sideline his desires. It wasn’t worth the risk to whatever dame caught his eye. But he wanted to be friends with Arlene at least. Like they once had been. He was thousands of miles away from Frankie. Surely, he could have a friend. At least to make life on set easier, if nothing else. That shouldn’t be so hard. All she had to do was meet him halfway. But her opinion of him seemed appallingly low, given that his attempt to apologize had surprised her.

Or so it seemed—because she was leaning forward on the desk now, a more casual pose than the all-business rectitude she’d assumed the second he entered her office. “An apology? Whatever for?”

He was unsure how to respond. “Uh, well, I mean,”—he coughed—“I should think it would be obvious.” Had his collar suddenly ignited into flame, or was that the heat of his discomfort creeping up his neck?

She blushed and looked determinedly at the floor. “While I have no doubt you’re more experienced than I am, Mr. Lamont, it’s my understanding that it takes, what’s the expression, two to tango?”

If he’d had anything in his mouth, he’d have choked. There was no way he didn’t look like he was suffering from a terrible sunburn. And she’d called him Mr. Lamont again. The warmth and familiarity they’d shared for that brief moment on set had been extinguished with that kiss. “Well, at any rate, I am sorry…for getting…carried away.”

He could’ve sworn he saw the hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth, but it was gone in an instant. “As am I. But as I said, I’d prefer we pretend it never happened. I’m sure you would as well.”

He wanted to ask why she assumed that. He wanted badly toknow if she’d felt even a flicker of what he had. He could’ve sworn she did. The way she’d melted in his arms and opened for him. In that moment, the set, the crew, everything had faded away, and it had been her warm, supple curves in his arms. That wasn’t the response of a woman who was indifferent. But hell, what did he know? It wasn’t like he had heaps of experience. No matter what Arlene seemed to think. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe it had been entirely one-sided.

She leaned back in her chair once more and steepled her hands under her chin. “Have a seat, Mr. Lamont.”

He did as he was told, pulling out the lumpy brown leather chair directly across from her. It had cracks in it and was misshapen. The studio might have given her a directing job and an office, but it was clear they’d filled it with cast-off furniture. It made him indignant on her behalf. The woman had an Oscar; it was sitting right there. They couldn’t have given her a new chair?

He sat down and perched on the edge of the brown chair, unable to sit back and relax in any sense of the word. A small crack in the leather niggled at his backside, but he tried to ignore that. It wasn’t any more uncomfortable than anything that had occurred in the last few minutes.

“Now, what was it you came to see me about?”

Right, yes. He’d nearly forgotten. He rolled his shoulders back and sat up straight, trying to project an image of confidence. “Uh, well, it seems like Rita’s ankle is doing better. So, as you know, next week we’ll be going back to the first number from Monday—the one where I pretend to not know how to dance and Rita teaches me and then we show off for her boss?”

“Yes, as it happens, I made the schedule. And Ihaveread the script.”

God, what a mess he was making of this. “Of course, I didn’tmean—” What was it about this new version of Lena that made him turn into a gibbering idiot?

“What did you mean then?” She was stone-faced, and he was overwhelmed by the sensation that he was a naughty schoolboy sitting in the principal’s office.

He gulped. “I’m sorry. I’m trying to get this right.”

She didn’t smile, but her face softened ever so slightly. “So am I.” She said it so firmly that he was sure that was her way of dismissing him, but then she continued. “What did you need to discuss? Surely, you didn’t come here to tell me the shooting schedule.”

He closed his eyes and inhaled, trying to recover from what had been an utter disaster from the moment he entered the room. Best to spit it out. “I’d like permission for my assistant choreographer, Eddie Rosso, to be on set.” He exhaled it all on one breath.

“Okay.”

“He’s really important to me, and I’m a better dancer when he’s with me. I think we could really add some nice flourishes to the dance and boost the comedy in the moments where I’m pretending to be inept. And I trust him more than I trust my own mother. Well, maybe notmymother, God rest her soul. But, erm, well, more than I trust your mother, which you know when I say that is really saying something. I’ll be a lot more confident if I have him here, so with your blessing… Wait, did you say okay?”