Page 65 of His Girl Hollywood
No one was coming to rescue him. Eddie wouldn’t know where to start—and the studio, well, they wouldn’t want to get their hands dirty. Not when he hadn’t even released a picture yet. The only person who had a chance of figuring out where he was would’ve been Arlene. He prayed that someone had seen the message he’d tried to leave, found his tie, and had enough sense to get it to Lena.
It had seemed like she was willing to take a leap with him. To be with him in spite of the risk to her career—even if he had to stay her dirty little secret until the picture was finished. He’d tried to tell her how much he cared for her, how he wanted to protect her. He’d needed to show her he was serious. That he wasn’t going to abandon her again. But she’d looked stunned. Confused. Not exactly the reaction he’d hoped for.
In the hours he’d sat here alone in the dark, he started towonder if he’d miscalculated. Maybe that wasn’t what she wanted. Maybe she was just having some fun while they made this picture. Maybe she didn’t want him at all. Not in the way he wanted her to. What if they finished the picture and she insisted he stay her secret? Or worse, wanted to call things off entirely? Because she could do better than him and she knew it.
He’d fought so hard to shake off his father’s shame, his disgust. To rid himself of every reminder that he wasn’t good enough. The last step had been freeing himself from Frankie’s grasp. But it occurred to him in this moment, tied to a chair and inhaling the fetid stench of fish and dock water, that he’d been fooling himself. He hadn’t left this behind. Here he was, drenched in it. He could hear his father now.See what you’ve done—got yourself in with the wrong sort because you’re too weak for a real man’s honest day of work. I wouldn’t come for you if I had the chance. I hope you rot there.
An angry tear trailed down his face, and he winced as the salt made contact with his split lip, his latest trophy from one of Frankie’s henchmen. Don had only deluded himself into believing he’d escaped his father’s cruelty. Trading one bully for another, Frankie Martino for Michael Lazzarini. He could change his last name, he could slick his hair, and dance on the world’s biggest stages. But he’d always be Donald Lazzarini, the son of a bitter cannery worker and the meek woman he’d kept under his thumb. Arlene had been the answer once. The Morgan household was the only place where he could truly be himself—and be loved for it. But even Arlene wouldn’t claim him as her own. Not to the world. Because aligning herself with Don Lamont was too great a risk for her. For anyone.
No, no one would come. Which meant he had a choice to make—to die here, surrounded by the stink of his father’s memory, or to let Frankie have what he wanted and eke out his days in thrall to a tyrant. Either way, Don’s soul would never be his own again.
Chapter 26
“Park here,” Arlene directed from the passenger seat, pointing to a spot on the pier in Fish Harbor near her family’s boat. The light from a nearby buoy cast the dock in shadows, making it hard to see. But Arlene recognized the looming shadows of the Van Camp Seafood building and the American Tuna Company across the water. This tiny stretch of harbor was home to eight canneries in all, including the French Sardine Company where Michael and Marie Lazzarini had met and worked.
Dash had driven them across the single narrow and rough-shod road that connected the San Pedro mainland with the port’s Terminal Island. Arlene had navigated, the road as familiar to her as the back of her hand, while Eleanor, Joan, and Flynn were stuffed into the back seat of Pauline’s Buick. Arlene’s car was too small for all of them plus, hopefully, a rescued Don. And Dash’s Cadillac was far too flashy to remain incognito on the waterfront in the wee hours of the morning.
Dash parked, and Arlene let out a breath. This was it. They had to get Don out. She knew this was foolhardy, possibly even the stupidest thing she’d ever done. But their options were limited. “Okay, let’s go over the plan again. Bill said he’s noticed a lot of guards and funny business around Warehouse 6, so odds are that’s where they’re keeping Don if this is where he is. We need to get in and get him out without getting caught. Joan, you’ll—”
“Create a diversion down here on the pier to draw as many of Frankie’s henchmen away as possible.”
Arlene nodded. “Dash, Flynn, and Eleanor, you’ll come with me. Eleanor, you’ll try to distract any of the stooges that don’t immediately run to Joan’s side. Flynn, you’ll take care of the rest.”
He gulped. If circumstances were different, Arlene would’ve laughed. It was rare to see Flynn Banks in a state of anything other than a cocksureness so abundant that she was convinced he might choke on it.
“Dash and I will climb the fire ladder and enter through the roof. If anyone is inside besides Don, Dash will fend them off. The goal is to get Don and get out of there with as minimal trouble as possible. Any questions?”
Joan spoke up. “What happens if the diversion doesn’t work?”
Arlene grimaced. “Improvise?”
Joan nodded, and they opened the car doors, stepping out into the early morning light. Arlene raised her sleeves to her nose and inhaled deeply. “Help me, Dad,” she whispered. She had borrowed her father’s old trousers and black fishing sweater. He’d been a small man, and with the assistance of a belt, they fit all right. Enough to help conceal her and allow her to move swiftly on this rescue mission. The clothes, which her mother had kept hanging in the closet untouched in the three years since Frank Morgan had died, still smelled like him—a mix of cloves, diesel, and pomade. She hadn’t smelled it in so long. Having it surround her once more, filling up her senses, it was like he was here with her.
He would’ve come too. Probably gone in single-handedly, outraged at the idea that anyone would threaten or hurt Don. He’d always called Don his “bonus son.” She blinked back tears and rolled up her sleeves. This was not the time for sentimentality.
She looked around at the ragtag crew they’d assembled, allkitted out in their disguises to avoid being recognized by Frankie’s men. Dash, wearing jeans and one of her brother Bill’s flannel shirts, far from his slicked-back, elegant look as the King of Hollywood. Joan was in one of Pauline’s old house dresses, at least three sizes too big for her and far dumpier than anything Joan Davis had ever worn in her life, Arlene was certain. She suppressed a grin at how beautiful Joan looked even in such unflattering garb.
Flynn looked the most ridiculous of all. He’d found a pair of breeches in Arlene’s old costume box and insisted on wearing them. Said he would be more useful if he felt in character. Thankfully he’d agreed to wear one of Bill’s flannel shirts, but he had it halfway unbuttoned down his chest. Arlene had no idea what practical use that served, but she knew better than to ask. To top it all off, Flynn had borrowed a bandanna from her mother’s things and tied it around his head like a pirate. Dash had pointed out that this was the opposite of a disguise in Flynn’s case, but the man was insistent. As for Eleanor, well, she was still in the same low-cut dress from last night. All of Frankie’s boys already knew who she was anyway.
Dash wrapped a length of rope around his arm, while Flynn grimly clenched a heavy flashlight in his left hand and the wooden handle that they’d sawed off her mother’s shovel in his right hand. Turns out, it wasn’t all that easy to find a rapier that could do real damage on short notice. A sawed-off shovel handle would have to do. Joan and Eleanor flanked the car, each fixing their lipstick in the side mirrors.
Probably no group more ill-equipped had ever attempted to pull one over on a crime boss and his cronies. But Arlene was counting on the element of surprise to give them an upper hand. Her watch said it was nearly five in the morning. They’d better get going or they’d lose the cover of darkness entirely. “Everyone ready?”
They all nodded their heads grimly.
“Thank you. All of you.”
Joan reached for her and gathered her up into a tight hug. “We’ll get him out, I promise.” Arlene swallowed down a well of emotion and nodded.
“Let’s go.” She, Flynn, Dash, and Eleanor crept along so they could hide farther down the dock. Waiting in the shadows cast by another warehouse, they watched as Joan prepared herself. The movie star ran her fingers through her hair, mussing it, and reached down and tore a rip in the hem of her skirt. Then, she began screaming.
“Oh God, help! Someone help me! Help, please!” Arlene had to hand it to her. If she didn’t know better, she would’ve believed the performance.
Suddenly, she heard footsteps and three men toting Gatling guns and wearing pin-striped suits emerged from the shadows that lined the walkway leading to Warehouse 6. They were Frankie’s men. They had to be.
The men looked at each other in confusion before approaching Joan. Flynn moved toward the walkway that would take them to the warehouse, but Arlene grabbed him by the sleeve. “Wait, we have to make sure they buy it.”
The three men had surrounded Joan, and Arlene felt Dash tense behind her. She knew he didn’t like how close they were to his wife. “She can take care of herself,” whispered Arlene.