Page 52 of His Girl Hollywood
Don checked his watch again, pacing back and forth on the pier as another crowd of people pushed past him and clambered down the gangway to the water taxi. It was still ten minutes to nine, but to Lena, being on time was late. He whistled a tune he couldn’t quite place and fidgeted with the penny in his pocket, trying to dispel some of his nervous energy.
This was a bad idea, wasn’t it? He’d heard from Eleanor about the gambling ships that operated three miles off the coast of California, thereby technically in international waters. Frankie’s pal Anthony Cornero ran them, conceiving this loophole to skirt California gambling laws and the ire of the various mobsters and their rackets on land. What was Don thinking, inviting Lena here?
He was desperate to be with her, to woo her, to romance her. He was thinking of that crumpled-up note in his hotel room and his vow to stop letting Frankie dictate his every move. He was thinking of choosing Lena over fear. Of undoing the ten years of shame and neglect he’d been backed into and proving to her he was still the boy she’d known.
Don had thought of asking Lena out every night last week, the wordsRemember Mabelburning a hole in his memory. But he’d been booked solid at the Clover Club with Eleanor. Frankie had apparently decided Don’s weekly studio salary was not sufficient—nevermind the fact he wasn’t seeing all of it—and had extended Don and Eleanor’s week-long engagement at the nightclub into a month’s residency. Tonight was his first night off in a week because the club was closed for a private event. Don might have vowed to stop letting Frankie rule his existence, but he wasn’t stupid enough to not show up for a gig. Not until he’d bought out his contract. Eleanor wanted to have dinner together tonight, but he’d fobbed her off on Eddie, promising him the car for the rest of the week in exchange.
It was Eleanor who’d given Don the idea of the pier in the first place, mentioning the gambling ships offhandedly as another spot Frankie had considered booking them. It had seemed the ideal place to take someone who didn’t want to be noticed. He’d ruled it out at first because of Frankie’s ties to it, but when Lena had suggested they go back to her bungalow, it rankled. He’d been an idle plaything for plenty of socialites in Manhattan. He would not be that for Lena. But her concerns about her position at the studio were valid. This had been the only compromise he could think of. With each passing moment, he wondered if it was the stupidest thing he’d done in a long line of very stupid things. He wanted to keep her away from Frankie and his cronies—and here he was inviting her into their lair. He should take Lena by the arm as soon as she arrived, pull her back up the pier, and send her home in a taxi.
No. That was what Frankie wanted. That was the purpose of that note slipped under his door. To keep him running scared. But Frankie was in New York. Don had talked to him on the phone again on Monday, making his check-in. Frankie had been at his office in Midtown, his “theatrical management” digs. Hell, Frankie hadn’t even mentioned the note, a level of subtlety Don was not used to when it came to Frankie Martino. Frankie was the kind of guy who would have a cook beaten to a pulp because he’d spilled spaghetti sauce on his own shirt. Not the kind of guy who senta message and never mentioned it. But maybe that was a good sign. Maybe Frankie thought the warning had been effective and decided to leave it at that.
Don wriggled his fingers in his pockets and reassured himself that this date was okay. He and Lena could go unnoticed on the ship. People boarded the SSRexto hide in plain sight. Because while Cornero’s business was theoretically legal, it wasn’t entirely aboveboard. Cornero paid the press handsomely to stay away so that everyone from movie stars to crime bosses to police captains could gamble with discretion. Besides, Cornero might’ve been friendly with Frankie, but he answered to Los Angeles crime boss Jack Dragna. Everyone in the City of Angels did. Don had heard Frankie curse Dragna enough times to know that there was no love lost between them.
Don hadn’t been lying when he’d said he wanted to take Lena out on a date. Not only because he was done letting Frankie have the upper hand. There was also another, far less noble reason. Her reluctance to be seen with him was a difficult pill to swallow. The memories of his father’s sneers and jabs at his love of dance were fresh in his mind. Rationally, he knew Lena’s reasons for not wanting to be seen with him were far more pragmatic, but that thread of self-doubt still niggled at him, telling him he wasn’t good enough for her. That she was embarrassed to be linked to him. All in the pitch of his father’s voice that at some point had become the sound of Don’s inner monologue.
“Penny for your thoughts,” trilled a far more pleasant voice. Lena’s query shook him from his anxious internal debate, as he looked up to take her in. The sight of her stole his breath away. She was in a simple evening gown, a metallic emerald green that shimmered in the streetlamps. It was sleeveless with a fitted bodice that accentuated the slim lines of her lithe frame. Her usuallyno-nonsense hair had been swept up into an artfully curled style, and a small pink flower was tucked just above her left temple. She looked, in a word, radiant.
She gave him a nervous smile. “Is this all right? I rarely go out, and I usually prefer more practical ensembles.”
He grabbed her hand. “It’s absolutely perfect.” The nerves disappeared from her face and she smiled so wide, he could see the slight chip in her tooth. A chip she’d gotten trying to cook him her mother’s famous scones when he’d been sick one afternoon. They’d come out as hard as a pile of rocks. He loved that she’d never bothered to cap it or hide it.
He raised his arm with his hand still holding hers, and twirled her around so he could take in the entire dress. A delicate row of buttons lined the back, stopping right in the middle of her pert backside. He suppressed a groan and the sudden urge to undo the buttons one by one, kissing the warm skin underneath as he went along. God, maybe they should’ve gone to her place after all.
She giggled as she twirled, and it was almost as if she were a little girl again for a moment—carefree on a summer afternoon in their backyard. She stopped, facing him once more, and her eyes flitted to the gangway. “Where are we going?”
“You ever hear of the SSRex?”
Her eyes widened like saucers. “The gambling ship?”
“The very one. Unless…you don’t like the idea.”
She bit her lip. He should’ve known better. Lena was not made for seedy floating casinos. She was sunshine and whipped cream and everything wholesome and good. “I have to admit, it’s not my usual haunt.”
“We can do something else if you’d like.”
She chewed at her lip, clearly debating. “I’m already gambling tonight by being here with you. What’s a bit more? Besides,I’d hate to waste the dress. Joan picked it out especially for the occasion.”
He laughed. “That’s very practical of you.” He proffered her his arm. “Shall we, then?” She took it and he led her down the ramp to the water taxi that would take them three miles offshore to the biggest casino west of Monte Carlo. Lena was here, she was radiant, and they were on a date. To hell with anything else.
***
Don sipped at his martini, looking over the rim of the glass at Lena. She had an Aviation in her left hand, the purple cocktail glistening in the panoply of overhead lamps. In her right hand was a collection of poker chips. She bit the edge of one with her teeth, surveying the table as the roulette wheel began its inexorable spin toward wealth or disaster. “Ladies and gentlemen, place your bets.”
She put three one-dollar chips on red and cast a glance at Don as if she was seeking his approval. He winked at her. “It’s your money, Lena. Bet it however you want.”
She grabbed his hand and tangled her fingers with his, the few remaining chips in her hand sweaty between their palms. She squeezed his hand as the small white ball was released by the croupier and began its lap round the roulette wheel, her grip tightening as the ball clattered over a series of numbers before coming to stop on the red eighteen. Lena let out a yelp of pure glee and wriggled in excitement. She was a force to be reckoned with on set. Brilliant and calm and unquestionably in charge of her domain. But he liked seeing her like this too. Unfettered and joyful and utterly present.
Lena had always been a study in contradictions—methodical, pragmatic, and whip-smart but with a latent romanticism and lust for life. He hadn’t realized how much he relished bringing out thatside of her. To give her an evening where she could let her guard down, where she wasn’t responsible for crossing everytand dotting everyi, where the only person she had to keep happy was herself. It was a gift he hadn’t known he could give, and now he found himself wishing he could do it nightly. When he was free of Frankie’s clutches, he would. He was making that promise to himself now.
He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her to his side, leaning down to kiss the spot where her neck met her collarbone. She sighed so quietly that only he could hear, and he grinned into her neck, the smell of her soap and the freesia perfume she wore filling his nose.
She’d been timid when they’d first arrived. Afraid still that she couldn’t be open with her affection where others could see. But now, she leaned against him, welcoming his touch. This was why he’d taken her here. So that they could be alone together in a crowded room.
He whispered in her ear. “Double or nothing?”
She shook her head. “No, I want some fresh air.” She reached for her winnings, stuffing the chips the croupier had stacked on top of her bet into her small clutch. He led her to a glass door near one of the casino’s many bars and pulled her into the night. Out here, the lights of Santa Monica and the cottages that lined the shores and hills of Malibu twinkled in the distance.
She sighed and leaned back against the railing, tipping her head back to look at the night sky. “It’s a full moon tonight.”