Page 81 of His Girl Hollywood
But if she and Don were going to work here, be on full-time contracts here, they had to do it with their cards on the table. This offer wouldn’t mean anything if she wasn’t completely open. She’d be back where she started, stealing furtive nights in her bungalow with him. That wasn’t enough anymore. Not if she couldn’t love Don with the joy and acknowledgment and pride he deserved.
“I accept wholeheartedly,” she replied, casting a glance at Don. “But there’s one last thing I need to make clear first.”
She looked across the room. Eddie looked confused at best,if not utterly disinterested. But Joan and Dash were watching her like proud parents. Joan nodded at her, encouraging her to go on.
“Don and I, we… That is, I mean to say—”
Don squeezed her hand. “Lena, don’t. You don’t have to—”
But Harry interrupted them both. “You’re hopelessly in love with each other, and you don’t want to have to hide it from anyone at the studio. Or anyone else for that matter.”
Arlene blinked owlishly back at Harry. Whatever she’d been expecting, it wasn’t this. “Um, actually, yes.” She laughed in disbelief. “How did you know?”
“You kissed him this morning like he was manna from heaven, and he looks at you like the sun shines out your ass. You’re not exactly subtle.”
Don and Arlene looked at each other, smiling at each other like idiots. Could it really be this simple?
She looked back to Harry. “You…don’t think that’s a problem? That people won’t take me seriously if they know I’m in love with my leading man?”
“Or that people won’t think that I’m a gigolo who slept my way into Hollywood?” Don added.
Harry shrugged. “They might. And if you were at another studio, it might be a genuine concern. But as long as you’re working for me, it won’t matter. In my opinion, your work speaks for itself. But if that’s not good enough for gossips and naysayers, rest assured that you’ll always have a place at Evets Studios. You’ve proved yourself ten times over. There won’t be a need to do it again. I promise to shield you from even the slightest whiff of a scandal the second I sniff it out, because there’s nothing scandalous about two talented people loving each other. If anyone wants to start trouble, I’ll shut them down. Anyone that questions you,eitherof you, will have to answer to me.”
“And me,” Joan piped in from across the room. “Me three,” added Dash.
They all looked expectantly at Eddie, who blinked back at them cluelessly. Don coughed. “Oh, uh, yeah, and me too.”
Don rolled his eyes, and Arlene laughed. Her heart was fit to burst. The love in this room was overwhelming. She’d always loved her family deeply. They’d been her touchpoint, her rock, in the madness and heartbreak of Hollywood. But she realized sitting here that somehow she’d become a person who was extraordinarily lucky to have two families. The one she’d been born to, and the one here in this room that she’d chosen who had chosen her in return. Here, in the wood-paneled walls of Harry Evets’s office, she had a boss who believed in her, a best friend who would always have her back, and a man whom she’d understood, from the minute she’d clapped eyes on him as a girl in pigtails, to be the truest home she’d ever known.
Don wouldn’t abandon her again. But neither would Harry, or Joan. Hell, neither would Dash or even Eddie Rosso, for that matter. She’d earned the right to call herself so many things she’d longed for—director, Oscar winner, lover, and the partner of Don Lamont. No, Don Lazzarini. Because to her, he would always be that starry-eyed boy jumping from trees and making up dance numbers in their backyard. Only now the world would see his genius and her creativity. Because they were a team. In every way possible. The world tilted on its axis, and with shocking clarity, she realized that for once, for this brief moment, everything was exactly as it should be. It was all too much. And yet somehow it was just right.
Chapter 32
Arlene stepped out of the car behind Don, his hand tightly gripping hers. The flashbulbs were practically blinding. She’d been to at least a dozen premieres and Hollywood galas as Joan’s assistant. Heck, she’d attended the Oscars and won! But it had never felt like this. Because this time, the attention was all on her and on the man currently pulling her onto the red carpet beside him.
They hadn’t made any official announcement about their relationship, so this was technically their first public appearance as a couple despite being together for nearly four months. Anyone who Lena or Don cared to know about them already did. A gust of wind blew down the palm-tree-lined forecourt of the Egyptian Theatre, and she shivered, hugging the sea-green capelet draped across her shoulders tighter to her. It was cold, even for an early November night.
A red carpet ran from the street on Hollywood Boulevard down a long, narrow courtyard to the pillars carved with hieroglyphics that marked the entrance of the movie house. The carpet was a gauntlet she and Don would have to run before they could see their finished picture. He looked back at her, still standing on the sidewalk, with a question in his eyes, and she nodded. She wasn’t ready; she didn’t think she ever would be. But with Don by her side, she felt better prepared to face the part of the job she loathed—theglamour, the press, the fake posturing. She fell into step beside him, and they began to pose for the cameras and screaming throngs of fans corralled behind a velvet rope.
“Miss Morgan, Miss Morgan,” a reporter in a fedora yelped from the front of the line. “Do you thinkThe “It” Girlwill win you another Oscar?”
She laughed. “I don’t worry about that. I just hope people enjoy the picture.”
Don grabbed the top of her arm and pulled her closer to him, so that there was no space between them. “If she doesn’t, the Academy’s screwy.” He winked and a woman with a large feathered hat that seemed pulled directly from Leda Price’s closet tittered. The reporter who had asked the question chuckled and wrote down Don’s response in his notebook.
Don was a natural. He could go back to Broadway anytime he liked, even without Frankie Martino. But Hollywood was where he belonged. They’d done something special on this picture. It was a musical like no one had ever seen before—one made for the square box of the screen, not the proscenium arch of the stage. Don and Eddie knew innately how to make a dance cinematic, and she wanted nothing more than for them to keep getting to push and prod the genre to new heights. For Don’s sake, she hoped the picture was a hit. It was good. No, it was better than good. That she knew for certain. But there was a difference between making a fantastic picture and making a picture that the audience thought was fantastic. Tonight, she’d find out if they’d managed to do both.
They had made it about ten more feet down the carpet when a photographer yelled out, “Mr. Lamont, ditch the dame.” It didn’t offend her. She knew they wanted a clean shot of him. In fact, she’d expected to have to wait for him inside while he took an endless stream of photos. She’d told him as much at home.
But Don gave the man a wolfish smile and squeezed Arlene’s hand so tightly she could barely stand it. “We’re a package deal.” He wrapped his arm around Arlene and smiled for the camera, staring the man down, daring him to question it. The guy shrugged his shoulders and snapped the shot.
Arlene huffed, trying to be stern and failing. “You shouldn’t do that. They want to see you as an unfettered movie star, the guy all the girls back home can dream about. It’s good for your career. I told you already this would be part of it.”
Don grinned. “So? It can be part of it on my terms. I want everyone to know I’m spoken for.” Arlene blushed deeply and narrowly avoided tripping over the hem of her shimmering skirt. “I told you—I won’t leave you behind again. That includes on the red carpet.”
Arlene bit her lip and resisted the urge to kiss Don right there in front of everyone. He hardly needed to go through his first big movie premiere with his face covered in red lipstick. It was as if he could read her mind though, because he bent down and pecked her on the cheek before whispering in her ear, “You’re the most beautiful woman here tonight. Anyone who doesn’t want you in their photographs is a fool.”
She knew that was not true. Not when genuine silver-screen goddesses like Joan Davis were here. But she also knew that Don believed it was true. And suddenly, she wasn’t the slightest bit cold anymore.