Page 36 of His Girl Hollywood
“So, don’t argue then. Say yes.”
He pondered his options. Saying yes meant telling Eddie what was up, which would open a whole can of worms. Not to mention the fact that he was already struggling to keep things strictly professional with Arlene. That kiss last week still haunted him, the ghost of her lips against his reminding him how she was not at all the girl he’d left waving at him on a train platform.
But this was a business dinner between a director and her leading man. There were probably a dozen other people in the restaurant doing the same thing at this very moment. There was no reason it needed to be anything else. And he could use a good meal. Or three.
“Okay, let me go ditch Eddie.”
Arlene laughed. “Tell him I need to give you notes on your performance.” Don raised his eyebrows and pressed his hands to his heart, as if she had wounded him. Her warm chuckle erupted into a full-throated laugh. “What? It’s notthatoutlandish.”
“Careful, you might bruise my ego.”
“I don’t know, from what I hear from New York, your ego could use an uppercut or two.”
“Ouch. You have grown up, haven’t you?”
“What does that mean?”
“You’ve learned to use your claws.” He winked at her when he said it, hoping she knew he was joking. That he was proud of her and her sassy retorts. She’d been a sensitive kid, romantic and gentle to a fault. He’d always worried that the movie business would be too rough-and-tumble a place for her kind heart. But he shouldn’t have doubted her. Hell, maybe her sensitivity had been an asset. Afterall, his arrogance had blinded him and landed him in a bigger mess than Arlene could possibly imagine.
Don wanted to know more about what she’d heard about him from New York. What she knew about his life there and his career. And if she’d heard any rumblings of Frankie, of the questionable company he kept because he had no choice. Guilty by association. He hoped not. The less she knew about Frankie, the better. The memory of his nightmare the other evening, of Mabel’s scarred face, sent a chill down his spine.
Was this dinner a terrible idea? Was he putting her in Frankie’s crosshairs by breaking bread with her in a public setting? No, he was being paranoid. Because he had a second chance to start fresh with her. That’s what he’d been hoping for since that first night when he’d walked on the soundstage—ready to feel like a kid again, like the boy he’d once been with her—and found her less than thrilled to see him. He couldn’t ask more of her. Hell, he couldn’t risk more. But surely, this was all right. He realized he’d been standing there saying nothing for a few seconds too long. “Erm, I will go tell Eddie then.”
She seemed to shrug off his strange behavior. “I’ll go get us a table.”
Don watched Arlene as she went, grabbing the purse she’d left at the bar and heading to the maître d’.
He girded his loins and found Eddie, who was in the midst of arguing with a waiter about why they didn’t serve chocolate egg creams here. Don resisted the urge to roll his eyes and tapped his friend on the shoulder. “Hey, uh, I can’t eat with you anymore.”
Eddie scrunched up his face in confusion. “What do you mean? If it’s the money, I’ll spot you. You can pay me back once you’re a big movie star.”
Don sighed. Ever the optimist, Eddie. “No, it’s not that. I needto have dinner with Arlene.” Eddie waggled his eyebrows, which made Don’s eye start to twitch. “It’s not like that. She wants to go over next week’s scenes with me. Strictly professional.”
Arlene had given him the lie, why not use it?
“Sure, okay, the drugstore has better food anyway.” Eddie downed the last of the fizzy concoction sitting in front of him and sprang from his chair, clapping Don on the back with a bit too much force. “Good luck with your ‘business meeting.’” Don could swear Eddie chuckled as he walked away, but at least he’d left with little fuss.
He turned around to see Arlene nestled in a booth at the back. She fluttered her fingers at him, making sure he saw her, and he dodged the busboys and red-jacketed waiters clogging the narrow walkways to reach her.
“I took the liberty of ordering for both of us.” She scooted over as he slid in the booth. “I got us both prime rib and a baked potato, best thing on the menu.”
“But that’s—”
“Don’t you dare say it’s too expensive. I had a feeling you wouldn’t order it yourself, which is why I ordered for you. Remember, it’s all on Harry’s dime. And believe me, he can afford it. Maybe he will have to skip buying his latest wife some jewelry this week.”
Don smiled. Arlene seemed much more comfortable here than she did on the soundstage in director mode. Particularly when it came to the subject of Harry Evets. “You’re sure he won’t mind? You seemed afraid of the guy on set.”
Arlene bit her lip, and he could tell she was weighing what to say. “I owe everything to Harry. Well, to Joan really. But to Harry via Joan. And so, I feel comfortable joking about his foibles among friends. But on set, he could make or break me—and I have to geteverything right. You’ve seen the crew, how they barely tolerate me. If I lose Harry’s respect, I’m done for. They’ll mutiny. So, I have to prove to him that I’m capable and up to the challenge. Because as I said before, it’s not just about me.”
Don wanted to point out that she’d called him a friend. But he didn’t want to ruin the moment. “Is our work ever just about us?”
She looked thoughtful at that. “No, I suppose not. We’re all trying to prove something. To ourselves. To the world.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” He laughed, unable to keep a bitter note from his voice. But Arlene had it a lot tougher than he did. “You’ve got higher stakes though. If I make a hash of things, it’s not going to ruin the chances of every Italian guy who likes to dance.”
She threw her head back and laughed. For a moment, he was in their backyard, telling her a joke and watching her entire body flush and shake with mirth. He hadn’t missed much about California. But he realized now how much he’d missed her. She reached for her drink, which she’d brought with her from the bar, and sipped from it.
“You know, a week ago, I would’ve said that in your case, your work is only ever about you.”