Page 31 of His Girl Hollywood

“He’s the only one I can do that with. It’s why I wanted him here. I promise I wasn’t trying to subvert you or your set.”

“The only one?” Arlene looked stricken. Damn, what had he said?

“Yeah, I wasn’t half the choreographer I am now without Eddie to bounce ideas off of. It’s like I’m a piano and he’s the virtuoso. I got the instrument, but the second he puts his fingers to the keys something magic comes out.”

“Yeah…magic.” Arlene looked very far away. It frustrated him to no end that she wouldn’t tell him what was wrong. Once upon a time, she would’ve spilled her guts to him. If she didn’t like the routine, she should tell him. And if it was something else, well, hell, she should tell him that too. He wanted to be her friend again. Desperately. But he seemed trapped in a dance that was consistently one step forward, two steps back. And since he wasn’t doing the cha-cha-cha, it wasn’t a dance he took any pleasure in.

“Are you sure you like it?” he tried again. “We can keep working on it. It doesn’t have to be what we made up. We can figure out a wayto adapt the steps we did Monday. Maybe we can get that Herman fella in here and he can change it.”

She cleared her throat and came back to herself, the lost look in her eyes blinking out as she straightened her shoulders and stood taller. “No, Don, it’s perfect. Please, let’s shoot it.”

She went back to her spot behind the camera. She looked much more comfortable there, in the shadows, calling the shots from a distance. Maybe he was being paranoid. Maybe whatever this was had nothing to do with him. It could be Arlene getting stuck in her own head, second-guessing. She had put so much pressure on herself. Hell, so had Harry. The entire crew. But he still wished she would tell him what was making her look like someone had ripped the head off her favorite doll—a look he knew from the multiple times her older brother had done exactly that when they were kids. She whispered something to the cameraman and then called out, “Rita, you have the steps?”

“Sure do, Miss Morgan.”

“All right then, Mr. Lamont, if you’ll take your place.” There was a pinch in the center of his chest at the sound of the matter-of-fact way she saidMr. Lamont. But Don did as asked while Eddie sprinted back to his place in the milieu behind the camera. Don took Rita in his arms and looked her dead in the eyes, mentally running through the new choreography in his head.

“You did good, kid.” She winked at him. He was about to reply to her compliment when Arlene’s voice rang out across the set, a solid steady sound that instantly reassured him. “Cameras rolling, sound speeding…and action.”

The music started to play, and he began to execute his series of trick steps, slipping and sliding as Rita “taught” him how to dance. They came to the moment in the song where he was supposed to step on her foot, and a calm washed over him. Thetrancelike state he entered when he knew every step was the right one, and he just had to dance. Everything else went quiet around him. It was him and Rita Carter and the music. Before he knew it, the dance was over.

“Cut. We’ll print that one, boys.” Print it? Really?

Don looked over at Arlene to make sure it was okay and she smiled, nodded her head, and gave him a little round of applause. He couldn’t help himself. He ran over to her, desperate to give her a hug, but she stiffened at his approach and he settled for a smile. “How was it? Should we fix anything this go-round?”

“It was flawless. You haven’t got a Hollywood nickname yet, but maybe we’ll start calling you the ‘One-Take Wonder.’”

He laughed then. He couldn’t help it. He’d never been someone who could get something on the first try. No, he was the guy who tried and tried, and tried again, and no matter what he did, he still cocked it up somehow. Even when he’d convinced himself he was on top of the world.

“Don’t get too comfortable though. That was only the wide shot. We’ll need to do it a few more times for camera coverage.”

Harry burst their private little bubble, slapping Don on the back. “Well, that was some quick thinking, Mr. Lamont. That scene is a hundred times better than when I got here this morning. Before you know it, maybe you’ll be directing yourself.”

Don wanted to crow, to take a victory lap, to go tell Eddie they were going to get drunk tonight, because he’d finally punched their meal ticket and Hollywood was going to work out. But Arlene’s face stopped him. She looked crestfallen. Hurt. No, worse, she looked like she’d been sucker-punched. Nuts, he was doing exactly what he promised Rita he wouldn’t—making it look like the men on set were the more capable creatures. He felt like a heel; the taste of his victory turned to ash in his mouth. He needed Harry Evetsto understand that Arlene Morgan was as good as the studio boss thought she was. Most likely, far better.

“That’s kind of you, Mr. Evets, but truly this was all Miss Morgan’s idea.” In a way, it was true. If she hadn’t sparked the idea with her words, he and Eddie never would’ve found the solution. What did Harry know? He hadn’t been paying a lick of attention to them while they’d worked out the new moves, and he certainly hadn’t been able to hear them from across the soundstage.

Arlene started to protest, but Don merely grabbed her by the forearm and squeezed her hand, perhaps a bit more forcefully than was strictly necessary. “Now, now, no false modesty. Mr. Evets, Miss Morgan came over to me and Rita and told it like it is. She said the scene wasn’t working and here’s what we were going to do to fix it. Sure, Eddie and I devised some fancy footwork, but the concept was all hers. You’ve got a real genius on your hands.”

Harry’s eyebrows rose and he looked at Arlene, who simply smiled, her face contorted into a grimace of confusion and discomfort. But then Harry grinned. “Now, Mr. Lamont, you don’t need to tell me that. I chose her to direct this picture after all. Miss Morgan, come by my office when you’re done for the day. We should start discussing what your next project will be after this.”

Arlene blinked, clearly shocked. “But—”

“No rest for the weary. I’ll want you ready to start another picture the week after you finish this one.”

She smiled a genuine grin now, though the shock still lingered on her face. “Yes, Mr. Evets. Of course. Um, we’ll discuss it later, Mr. Evets.”

Harry chortled. “All right then, sounds like a plan, Miss Morgan. Oh, and by the way, don’t you think it’s high time you call me Harry?”

Arlene turned a bright shade of pink at the suggestion but she nodded in agreement. “Certainly, Mr…Harry.”

Harry laughed again. “Well, I’ve darkened your door long enough this morning. At any rate, I’ve got to go deal with this swashbuckler who’s in the middle of his third contract suspension in two years. The damned fool can’t seem to understand the carousing and pillaging are only supposed to be make-believe.” Harry stuck out his hand and Don shook it. “Afternoon, Don.”

“Afternoon.”

Arlene stood stock-still until Harry had completely disappeared from view, and then she finally broke free from Don’s grasp. He hadn’t even realized he was still holding her arm. “Thank you.” Her voice was stilted, choked with something he couldn’t put his finger on.

“Any time.” If he smiled at her, maybe she’d smile back. Someone once told him his grin was irresistible. He didn’t like to give in to vanity, but heck, it couldn’t hurt to try.