Page 28 of His Girl Hollywood
Harry didn’t suffer fools. It was what Arlene liked most about him, if she was honest. And she had been a fool. There was no denying that. But maybe she and Don could get through this as two professionals supporting each other. So long as whatever was going on with his manager didn’t muck things up. For the first time in three days, the ground felt steady under her feet. Because he was standing up for her. For the picture, nothing more, she was certain. She could do this. Direct him, make the picture a hit, and prove herself as a woman behind the camera.
She shot Don a look of silent gratitude and turned to Harry. “Yes, precisely what I was going to say. Nothing is more important to me than this picture.” She meant that with every fiber of her being. She wanted this to be good so badly she’d kill herself trying if that’s what it took. She’d never wanted anything so much. Except, once, maybe Don Lamont. And that was different—a schoolgirl fantasy, an idle crush she’d convinced herself was something more. This was deep, gnawing, adult hunger. The kind that came with a certainty that this was what she was born for, that nothing else made sense.
Harry looked back and forth between them, clearly trying to suss out if someone was playing him. But then he laughed and shrugged. “I clearly was misinformed. Should’ve never doubted Miss Morgan here was anything but on the up-and-up. I keep telling her she needs to have more fun.”
He chortled and clapped a meaty arm around her slim shoulders, the ones she was concerned were not broad enough to carry the weight of all she was facing. Don raised his eyebrows and gave her a look as if he wanted to say something, but she silently shook her head no.
“All the same,” Harry continued, “would you mind if I stuck around for a bit? LB’s been hassling me about putting a woman behind the camera, and I’d love to have some real, anecdotal evidence to shove in his face at our next poker match.”
Arlene desperately wanted to say no. To explain that a closed set was really more conducive to their work. That she wasn’t interested in being a pawn in an ego contest between two studio heads. But how could she? No one said no to Harry Evets. So, she clapped him on the back too, applying a tad more force than was strictly necessary. “Harry, my good man, of course you can.”
She cringed inwardly at how ridiculous she sounded. But if directing was a boys’ club, she’d be damned if she wouldn’t act like she was already a member of it. The surest way to make someone question whether you belonged was to act like you didn’t.
She darted her eyes to Don. He looked panic-stricken. Hardly the self-assured and slick figure he’d been only moments before. Well, that was interesting. She would’ve bet her bottom dollar that Don would jump (or at the least, kick, ball, change) at the opportunity to show off in front of the studio boss. But she couldn’t take another day of his nerves mucking things up. For both their sakes.
“If you’ll just give me a word with my leading man, first?”
“Of course, of course.” Harry took a step back and sat down in her director’s chair. An inexplicable anger rose in her at the sight of it. He may be the studio head, the one who had given her this job, but that washerplace. Her seat at the table that she’d fought to win. But right now, she had bigger fish to fry than asking Harry Evets to choose a different place to sit.
She grabbed Don by the wrist, dismissing the electric shock that pinged the moment she wrapped her fingers around his arm. He wasn’t even flexing and she could feel the sinews of his forearms. She fought back the memory of what it had felt like having themwrapped around her. “Come with me,” she hissed out the side of her mouth.
She started dragging him in the direction of his dressing room, and he obediently followed, keeping pace with her until they were safely backstage. She flung open the door to his inner sanctum, only to find who she assumed must be Eddie Rosso in there. Next to him sat a woman she’d never met but recognized immediately. She’d seen the girl going into Don’s hotel only last week. “Eleanor Lester,” she muttered at the same time that Don squeaked, “Eleanor!”
Eddie was devouring a doughnut and a cup of coffee he’d undoubtedly stolen from the craft services table, while Eleanor was making liberal use of Don’s makeup in the dressing room mirror, powdering her nose. Great, now her set was also a diner and a beauty shop for Don’s friends. She opened her mouth to say something, but Don beat her too it. “Ed, get out.”
“But—” Eddie protested with his mouth full of doughnut.
“Out.”
Eddie eyed Arlene suspiciously, reached for a spare sugar packet he’d left sitting on top of Don’s script, and clambered out of their way.
Arlene looked at Eleanor and then back at Don, but before she could speak, he asked, “Eleanor, what the hell are you doing here?”
The blond woman darted her eyes suspiciously at Arlene. Well, good. Arlene didn’t trust her as far as she could throw her either. “There have been some…developments,” Eleanor replied, giving Arlene a dirty look.
Don blanched. “You’re telling me.” Don eyed Arlene nervously. “Harry Evets is here. Frankie called his secretary with some questions.”
Eleanor looked stricken at the news. “That’s real bad, Donnie.” Don gave her a look, clearly urging her to zip it. “I heard from him today too, and he wants—”
Don made a clicking nose in his throat. A warning it seemed. Because Eleanor stopped talking. Great, they hadn’t even started shooting today, and this woman was getting in Don’s head. With Harry out there waiting for them to impress him. “I can’t deal with any of this right now,” Don hissed at Eleanor through clenched teeth.
Eleanor stuck out her bottom lip and pouted. “But you said you’d help me, Donnie. And it sounds like you’re in trouble too.”
“I can’t help you. Not when I’m on set. You shouldn’t have come here. I’ll talk to you tonight.” For some reason the wordtonightsent a pang through Arlene’s chest. SheknewEleanor and Don were together. She’d seen the woman entering his hotel, and there had been plenty of ink spilled in the papers about them. But seeing her here, hearing him acknowledge that he would see her later, reminded her of what she’d once dreamed of sharing with Don. She was being ridiculous. She didn’t want that anymore. It was no business of hers if Don was involved with his dance partner.
Eleanor pouted a bit more, folding her arms over her chest and harrumphing. But she did seem cowed by Don’s admonishment, and after one more icy look in Arlene’s direction, she stood and started to follow Eddie out the door. As she stood, she tapped a paper on the vanity and told Don, “You should probably read your messages though. Wouldn’t want to miss our engagement.” Eleanor smirked and gave Arlene a look. Then, she turned on her heel and stomped out, slamming the door shut behind her with more force than necessary.
Arlene whirled on him, leaning against the ledge where all of his makeup was laid out in a careful order. “What in the hell was that?”
He looked exhausted. As if the last ten minutes had aged him by twenty years. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know. I didn’t invite her here, if that’s what you think.”
“Good, that’s good.” But that wasn’t why she’d asked to talk to him in private. Arlene didn’t want nor need to talk about Eleanor Lester. Nor did she particularly care what his manager wanted with him or why he was lying about it. There were more pressing matters to attend to. She wanted to know why Don was going out of his way to talk her up to Harry. “But that’s not what I meant. I meant what the hell was all that with Harry?”
“You mean the part where the studio head called you a wet blanket?”
She rolled her eyes. “No, the part where you lied. Acted like nothing happened.” If she had a dollar for every time someone in Hollywood called her dull or told her to live a little, she could’ve founded her own studio. One would think with so much money flying around, people would have a bit more respect for hard work and pragmatism. Things she had always prided herself on. Things Joan Davis had hired her to bring to the table when she was her assistant.
Sure, Arlene had lofty dreams. She liked to think of herself as a romantic, someone who still believed in soul mates, even if she’d been wrong about hers. But that didn’t mean she kept her head in the clouds. She didn’t have time nor the compunction to paint the town red. Hard work had gotten her here. And it was what would keep her here. Besides, she preferred to be with her family. Or at home knitting and spinning ideas for scripts in her head.