Page 75 of His Girl Hollywood
She nuzzled his back. “What is it?”
“We still have to deal with Frankie.” She put her hand to his shoulder and kissed his neck before wrapping her arms around his waist and pulling her gently to him, careful not to hurt his ribs.
“Well, that’s easy.” A plan was already forming in her mind.
“Easy? He’s going to be hopping mad after this morning. I’m surprised he hasn’t burst in here and killed us both already.” He started to fumble with the bedsheets. “Arlene, where did Joan and Dash and Flynn go after you brought me here? Shit, they’re in this now too. If Frankie’s got to them, I’ll never forgive myself.”
“Relax, they’re holed up together at the studio. I told them to go there and lie low until they heard from us.”
“Eleanor?” he squeaked.
“Running interference with Frankie already. She cooked up a story about how she was there to try to talk some sense into you.” Arlene kissed a line across the back of Don’s shoulder, working her way to his neck, his jawline scratchy with stubble, his dimple, and finally, his mouth. “We’re working on it. And everything will be easier now because we’re together.”
She kissed him fiercely and then pressed her forehead to his, stroking his cheek with her thumb. She stared into his eyes, losing herself in their depths, the kind assurance of them. They’d always reminded her of licorice. “And don’t you remember?” He gave her a blank look. “There’s nothing we can’t do together.”
Chapter 30
Don tugged at his tie, trying to loosen the knot. His collar felt like it was choking him. It was nerves. He rubbed absentmindedly at that penny in his pocket. If he’d ever needed luck, this was the time for it. He tucked the penny into the inside breast pocket of his sport coat and tried to steady himself.
He stood alone on the soundstage, the New York street where he, Arlene, and Eddie had choreographed their new number only last week. It seemed like a year had passed in that time.
A single light from the rafters illuminated Don. He stood under one of the dozen streetlamps lining the set, waiting. If anyone had walked in right now, he would’ve appeared the portrait of calm. Just a guy out for an early morning stroll…on a fake street.
But his stomach was doing choreography of its own as he smoothed his hair down and waited for the moment that would determine the course of the rest of his life. Frankie Martino would be here any second, with Eleanor Lester in tow, and then, this was it. Their last chance to fix this. He hoped the man had followed instructions and come alone. Or he was about to have a much bigger problem on his hands.
The heavy soundstage door slid open. He heard it before he saw the shaft of light. Then, there was Eleanor’s voice, high-pitched and squeaky. “He’s in here, Frankie. I told ya, he’s eager to work this all out.”
“He’d better be,” growled Frankie.
Don threw his shoulders back and straightened up, gaining another inch as he tried to make himself look imposing in the cavernous room. “Leave her be, Frankie. Your business is with me.”
Frankie came around the corner of the set, alone thankfully. His hands were in the pockets of his pin-striped suit, and there was a menacing sneer on his face. If the wardrobe department had produced a gangster of this ilk, Lena would’ve sent them back for looking too obvious. “My business is with the both of ya, always has been, always will.”
Don stepped further into the light, careful not to throw a nervous look over his shoulder. Frankie couldn’t know how frightened he was right now. How even one wrong move could send this entire thing toppling like a house of cards. He took a breath and made his opening bid. “Then, this is a good time to mention the first part of my offer. I’ll be yours, under contract to you until my dying breath.Ifyou let Eleanor go off and marry the man of her dreams. God help him.”
Frankie slunk toward him, a jungle cat on the prowl, and poked his finger hard into Don’s chest. “Let’s get one thing straight. You don’t set the terms. I do.”
Don took a step back, away from Frankie’s probing fingers. “And why is that?”
“Because I’ve got the power in this here town. I kidnapped you once, I can do it again. Maybe next time I’ll break your ankles for real.”
Don winced, the welts on his wrists and ankles still raw from the ropes that had held him to the chair. If he inhaled too deeply, his bruised ribs flared in protest. It’d be weeks until it wasn’t painful to breathe. “You won’t break my ankles. Because then your meal ticket will be gone.”
Frankie stepped into Don’s personal space, shoving his faceinto Don’s. His breath smelled of day-old coffee and cigarettes, the hint of gin lurking underneath the rancid blend. Don held his breath. “You and Eleanor, you ain’t my meal ticket no more. I’ve been busy while you were…” He paused for dramatic effect. “Tied up with other concerns.”
Don resisted the urge to roll his eyes at Frankie’s ham-handed reference to the kidnapping. He gripped the piece of pipe he’d slipped in his pocket. He’d found it near one of the sandbags lining the edge of the soundstage. Would it be enough to knock Frankie out? To get himself and Eleanor clear if things went south? It was more important to keep Frankie talking. The pipe was a last resort. “Why do you want to keep us so badly then?”
Frankie laughed. The sound was cold and frightening, devoid of human emotion. “Because like I keep tellin’ ya, ya need to remember who’s boss. You get yourself a little Hollywood picture, and suddenly ya think you’re in charge. Well, ya ain’t. You’re a two-bit hoofer. I made ya and I can break ya.”
Don swallowed, pushing away the memories of Mabel, of Frankie’s control and all it had cost him. “That may be. But I still want you to let Eleanor go. We’ll find someone else. Dance partners are a dime a dozen.”
Don’s eyes darted to Eleanor. He hoped she knew he didn’t mean it. That he was hunting for any foothold he could find. She was the most irritating woman he’d ever known, but shewasa helluva hoofer. She squeaked in protest and crossed her arms over her chest, but when Frankie looked back to him, he watched her wink over the gangster’s shoulder. It stopped the shaky feeling in his knees and encouraged him to plow ahead.
“This is my best offer.”
“What would I do with half of a dance team?” Frankie had never been the most imaginative or creative guy.
“I’ll give you what you wanted.” Don gritted his teeth together. It pained him to say it. “Sixty percent of any contract I sign. In perpetuity.” The opposite of what he’d planned when he’d arrived in Los Angeles only a month ago.