Page 32 of His Girl Hollywood
“But you have to stop doing that.” The smile fell from his face, quickly replaced by confusion.
“What?”
“Lying to Harry. Covering for me. That’s twice today. You and I both know the only reason that scene works now is because of you and Mr. Rosso. I wasn’t even brave enough to call ‘cut’ and fix it.”
“But you did call ‘cut’ and fix it. I just helped you along a little.”
Arlene looked confused. “But why? Why are you doing this? You don’t owe me anything. We were friends a long time ago.”
“I’m doing it because we might’ve been friends a long time ago, but I’d like to be friends again.” She turned away, embarrassed. “And because it’s true. You’re the one who put the idea in my head, who made me think about the scene in a new light. It might not have been intentional, but you did. And you’re a smart enough director to let other people’s ideas shine when they’re good ones.”
“You still should’ve taken credit.”
“I did—for the footwork. I meant what I said. You are a genius, Arlene Morgan. I wish you also knew that.” She smiled weakly at the words, but it didn’t erase the haunted look in her eyes. Like she found his presence painful.
Rita called from her place under the lights, “Hey, lovebirds!” Don and Arlene glared back at her. “Sorry, sorry. Ignore me, everyone! I’m being ridiculous. Mr. Lamont and Miss Morgan, we gonna get this show on the road or should I go lie down in my trailer?”
“No, sorry, Rita. If everyone would take their places. We’ll reset for a different angle.” Don wanted to scream. To tell Rita to go lie down for a nap and pull Arlene aside and hash this all out now. To ask her outright what it was about him that she found so objectionable. But it was clear Arlene was done with their conversation, particularly because she was looking at him pointedly now, one eyebrow raised as if to say “You want to get back to work now, buddy?”
Fine. He would. He could do that. He was here to do a job after all. One he apparently could do well. Despite all his fears and misgivings and his shaky start. He hustled to his place beside Rita, but no, he couldn’t leave it like that. So, he sprinted back to Arlene.
“What?” she asked him flatly.
“Just…think about what I said, okay? Promise me.” Arlene shrugged. “I mean it.”
“Okay, okay, if I promise to ponder my own genius, will you go take your place? We’ve got a musical number to finish.” She cracked a smile. Finally. It was like the sunrise on the first day of spring, a beam so sudden and welcome after the cold, gray days of winter. His chest felt fizzy, like he was a bottle of champagne and her teasing had shaken him up and down.
“Cross my heart, hope to die.” He winked at her and he couldtell she was trying not to laugh. He still didn’t understand what made her so gloomy, why she was so determined to hold him at arm’s length, but if he could make her smile, make her laugh… Well, that was not nothing.
“Fine, I promise. Now, go.” He felt lighter all of a sudden. Like the weight of the last ten years was finally starting to lift. His fingers brushed against the familiar indent of the penny in his pocket, and he smiled. Maybe all the penny had needed to bring him real luck was to be reunited with the woman who’d given it to him. He leapt into the air and did a pirouette, dancing his way back to his mark. He could’ve sworn he heard Arlene say something that sounded an awful lot like “He’s absurd.” Maybe he was. But he didn’t care.
Chapter 13
Arlene slid onto a red leather stool in the infamous Back Room at Musso and Frank Grill, as Joan slid a drink in her direction. An Aviation. Her favorite. “Here, kid, you need a drink.”
“That I do.” The rest of the week had passed with relatively little incident. Don had seemed to find his rhythm with Eddie on set, and they’d avoided any more surprise visits from Harry Evets. But Arlene still felt in a constant state of heightened anxiety, worrying about the picture, about what her crew thought of her, and yes, against her better judgment, about Don and the complicated feelings their kiss had awakened.
Joan and Dash were already nursing a gin stinger and a Scotch on the rocks, respectively. “Hey, what about mine?” asked a voice with the dulcet tones of a British accent that could only belong to Flynn Banks, who took a seat behind her.
“You can buy your own drinks, and we all know that very well,” grumbled Dash.
But Arlene swiveled on the stool, leapt up, and threw her arms around her favorite swashbuckler. “Flynn!” He was a cad. And a boozehound. And a womanizer. And a massive thorn in Harry Evets’s side. But she liked him anyway. He was Dash’s best friend, and that had to count for something. They’d only met for the first time three months ago, when she and Flynn had played maid ofhonor and best man for Dash and Joan’s elopement.
Joan had warned her to avoid getting so drunk on the merriment of the evening that she ended up in Flynn’s bed. But Arlene didn’t need the warning. She didn’t make a habit of one-night stands. Or any-number-of-nights stands, if she was being honest. Oh, she’d had boyfriends. She’d even slept with one of them. Because she’d been twenty-five and it had felt like something she should get over with. The experience had been lackluster. With every man she’d entertained letting into her heart, the space occupied by Don always got in the way.
Besides, from the moment they’d met, she and Flynn had been fast friends. Falling into a give-and-take that was like the teasing banter of siblings, with nothing remotely romantic sparking between them.
“Well, at least someone’s happy to see me,” Flynn muttered over her shoulder in Dash’s direction.
Arlene let him go and turned to offer him her drink. “Here, have mine. I can order another.”
“I couldn’t possibly.” He winked and slid onto the stool next to her, waving for his favorite bartender. Charlie knew Flynn’s drink order by heart, and within moments, a sweating martini was propped on the mahogany bar, waiting to be knocked back by Hollywood’s most inveterate drinker.
Arlene sipped at her Aviation, letting the unique blend of the crisp gin and the floral palette of the crème de violette slide down her throat, taking some of her worries with it. She turned to her former boss, now best friend. “You invite Monty too?”
Joan pouted. “Yes, but he’s out of town. Research for a part, he says. But I think he’s still heartsick.”
Dash elbowed her to hush, and she did, but she gave Arlene a meaningful look. It wouldn’t do to spill the matinee idol’s secrets,even if Musso and Frank was notorious for discretion when it came to their starry clientele.