Chapter 11
On Monday, Arlene walked onto her set and found everyone in a bit of a frenzy. Rita Carter was already there and in costume, the same burgundy swing dress with a wide white collar she’d worn last week.
“Morning, Rita,” Arlene called out, pulling off the round sunglasses she’d worn across the lot.
Rita stopped and smirked. “Morning, Miss Morgan. Have a fun weekend?”
Arlene gave her a bemused look. “Not really. I spent it going back over the script and then I had dinner with my mother and my brother’s family. Nothing out of the ordinary. Why? What was… Oh, ohhhh…” She realized then what Rita was getting at. The kiss. Damn, she’d really hoped everyone had forgotten about it over the weekend and she could pretend it never happened.
Rita waggled her eyebrows at her. “I don’t blame you. He’s a handsome one. If a little bit dim.”
Arlene needed to nip this in the bud before it was the talk of the entire lot. Hell, it probably already was. But she could try. “Rita, I don’t know what you thought you saw on Friday, but I was only doing my job. Directing Don and helping get him where I needed him for the scene. He got a bit too into character, but I’ve spoken with him, and it won’t happen again. I assure you there’s nothing going on between me and Mr. Lamont.”
“That’s a shame.” The hint of a Spanish accent emerged as Rita drawled the last word. Rita was of Spanish descent, although you’d never know it since the studios got done with her and scrubbed her of her heritage. But her roots came out from time to time if Rita was angry or teasing. “Though I suppose that’s a good thing since we have a visitor on set today.”
“Oh, I already know about Mr. Rosso. Don asked if he could bring him along.”
Rita gave her a blank look. “I don’t know any Mr. Rosso. Harry’s here.”
Arlene’s stomach plunged. Harry Evets was here? The head of the studio? She and Don must be the talk of the whole lot if Harry was here. She’d wager her Oscar that John Sidell had called him up Friday evening to give him a play-by-play of the kiss. But like she’d told Rita, Don had been carried away by the acting exercise. There was nothing more to it than that. Best to enter the lion’s den and accept her fate. Prolonging things wouldn’t help. “I should see what he wants. We’ll get started in about ten minutes.”
Arlene turned to walk behind the assortment of lumber that was stacked behind her set, ready to be used as bracing or a new flat if need be. But Rita grabbed her by the arm and stopped her. “Miss Morgan?”
“Yeah?”
“I hope you don’t take anything I said the wrong way. I was only teasing. I’m rooting for you. We need more gals like you behind the camera.”
Arlene fought back the urge to cry. She hadn’t been sure if her leading lady had any faith in her, especially after a rather disastrous first week. It meant the world to have this vote of confidence. “That means a lot, Rita. But I’d better go.”
Rita squeezed her arm in a gesture of good luck, then let go. But as she walked off, Arlene called over her shoulder, “And call me Arlene.”
At least she had one ally on this set. With that knowledge at the front of her mind, she squared her shoulders and prepared to face whatever was to come.
She turned the corner and her eyes went straight to the studio boss. Harry Evets was a difficult man to miss. He was only five foot six, but he was built like a house and his authoritative presence dominated any room he entered. If Harry brought a hurricane with him wherever he went, he was the eye of the storm. Arlene wasn’t looking forward to potentially being swept up in it. But Harry seemed…fine?
He was standing by the camera and his shoulders appeared to be shaking with laughter. Arlene peered to the side and realized Harry was talking to Don. Shit. Was he asking about the kiss? Was Don making a fool of her? He’d seemed repentant the other night. Like he honestly hadn’t realized how anything he’d done appeared to undermine her. But if he’d proved anything in the last decade, it was that nothing meant more to him than his work.
She kept striding toward them, and she knew something was off the moment Don saw her. His smile fell, smoothing the dimple in his scar and dimming the twinkle in his eye. Harry apparently noticed too because he turned around and saw her. “Miss Morgan,” he boomed. “How’s my little Oscar winner?”
She gave Don a questioning look and he shook his head. “I’m fine, Mr. Evets. Eager to get started. We’re filming the first musical number today.” She didn’t remind Harry that they’d attempted it last week and it had been a disaster. He knew all that already. Hell, he probably had a cockeyed view of the whole thing if Sidell had been the one feeding him reports from the set.
“I was just telling Mr. Evets about how I first met Eddie Rosso,” Don interrupted.
Harry chortled again. “I hope you haven’t told Arlene that story. It’s hardly fit for a woman’s ears.”
Don turned the color of a tomato, and Arlene arched her eyebrow as if to ask him “What the hell is going on here?” He coughed and scuffed at the floor with his saddle shoes, the ones their wardrobe department had tailor-made to be more flexible for his dance moves. “Well, now, Arlene—I mean Miss Morgan—is made of tougher stuff than you realize, Mr. Evets. She is whipping me into shape after all.”
Harry gave him a sly look and darted his eyes back and forth between them. God, here it was. He was going to bring up the kiss. But Harry refrained. Instead, he said, “Well, I didn’t come over here for dirty stories. Though I always enjoy a good one, mind you. I came over to talk to Don. His manager called Ida with a list of questions a mile long. Questions we absolutely went over with Mr. Lamont when we wrote up the contract.”
Don blanched and Arlene briefly wondered what was wrong. Surely, Ida could answer the manager’s questions and that would take care of it. Don piped up, his voice coming out strangled. “Uh, you tell Miss Kosterman not to worry about that. I’m sure he just misplaced it. He’s a bit absent-minded. I’ll call him tonight and make sure he has his answers.”
Harry nodded, clearly not fazed by Don’s answer. But Arlene could tell Don was lying through his teeth. First, she finds out he’s at a fleabag hotel per his own request? Then this? What was going on with him? Whatever it was, she did not have time for it. Particularly because of what Harry said next. “At any rate, I thought it’d be good to come by and observe. I hear things have been getting a little hot on the set.”
Arlene sighed heavily. So, she was right. The story of the kiss had already reached Harry’s office. She should’ve known better than to think it would elude him. Mostly, he was an understanding man. He’d protected Joan in the midst of a terrible scandal, and Arlene was fairly certain Harry would give up his life for Joan Davis. But that didn’t mean he welcomed recklessness or unprofessionalism on his films. Particularly not when it was a first-time, unproven director. She’d seen the headlines, heard the whispers, felt the disdain. Every other studio head thought Harry Evets was off his nut assigning a woman to direct a film. It was clear most of her crew thought the same. She was determined not to let them get to her, to prove them wrong, to silence them.
She should make her excuses, the same way she had to Rita. But would that be enough? Would Harry believe her? That it had been a teaching moment that had gone too far?
“Yes, about that—” she started.
“I don’t know what you’ve heard, Mr. Evets,” Don interjected. “But I can promise you it’s not true. Miss Morgan has been nothing but the picture of professionalism since we started. If anyone’s messed up, it’s me. I needed some extra help to work through my first week jitters and she gave me exactly what I needed.”
Something mischievous sparkled in Don’s eyes at that, and Arlene reluctantly noted the flutters that twinkle in his eye elicited in her stomach. No, this was absurd. Don was saving her hide and flirting with her at the same time. She shouldn’t allow it. But he blazed ahead with his argument. “Now she’s graciously allowing me to have Mr. Rosso on set. Because she understands how crucial he is to my process—and nothing is more important to her than making this picture a success.”
Don’s words wiped the smirk right off of Harry’s face. Arlene hated to admit that it shot a thrill of pleasure through her, a sense of satisfaction she had yet to experience on this picture. Don didn’t have to do this; he could’ve complained, begged for another director.
Harry didn’t suffer fools. It was what Arlene liked most about him, if she was honest. And she had been a fool. There was no denying that. But maybe she and Don could get through this as two professionals supporting each other. So long as whatever was going on with his manager didn’t muck things up. For the first time in three days, the ground felt steady under her feet. Because he was standing up for her. For the picture, nothing more, she was certain. She could do this. Direct him, make the picture a hit, and prove herself as a woman behind the camera.
She shot Don a look of silent gratitude and turned to Harry. “Yes, precisely what I was going to say. Nothing is more important to me than this picture.” She meant that with every fiber of her being. She wanted this to be good so badly she’d kill herself trying if that’s what it took. She’d never wanted anything so much. Except, once, maybe Don Lamont. And that was different—a schoolgirl fantasy, an idle crush she’d convinced herself was something more. This was deep, gnawing, adult hunger. The kind that came with a certainty that this was what she was born for, that nothing else made sense.
Harry looked back and forth between them, clearly trying to suss out if someone was playing him. But then he laughed and shrugged. “I clearly was misinformed. Should’ve never doubted Miss Morgan here was anything but on the up-and-up. I keep telling her she needs to have more fun.”
He chortled and clapped a meaty arm around her slim shoulders, the ones she was concerned were not broad enough to carry the weight of all she was facing. Don raised his eyebrows and gave her a look as if he wanted to say something, but she silently shook her head no.
“All the same,” Harry continued, “would you mind if I stuck around for a bit? LB’s been hassling me about putting a woman behind the camera, and I’d love to have some real, anecdotal evidence to shove in his face at our next poker match.”
Arlene desperately wanted to say no. To explain that a closed set was really more conducive to their work. That she wasn’t interested in being a pawn in an ego contest between two studio heads. But how could she? No one said no to Harry Evets. So, she clapped him on the back too, applying a tad more force than was strictly necessary. “Harry, my good man, of course you can.”
She cringed inwardly at how ridiculous she sounded. But if directing was a boys’ club, she’d be damned if she wouldn’t act like she was already a member of it. The surest way to make someone question whether you belonged was to act like you didn’t.
She darted her eyes to Don. He looked panic-stricken. Hardly the self-assured and slick figure he’d been only moments before. Well, that was interesting. She would’ve bet her bottom dollar that Don would jump (or at the least, kick, ball, change) at the opportunity to show off in front of the studio boss. But she couldn’t take another day of his nerves mucking things up. For both their sakes.
“If you’ll just give me a word with my leading man, first?”
“Of course, of course.” Harry took a step back and sat down in her director’s chair. An inexplicable anger rose in her at the sight of it. He may be the studio head, the one who had given her this job, but that was her place. Her seat at the table that she’d fought to win. But right now, she had bigger fish to fry than asking Harry Evets to choose a different place to sit.
She grabbed Don by the wrist, dismissing the electric shock that pinged the moment she wrapped her fingers around his arm. He wasn’t even flexing and she could feel the sinews of his forearms. She fought back the memory of what it had felt like having them wrapped around her. “Come with me,” she hissed out the side of her mouth.
She started dragging him in the direction of his dressing room, and he obediently followed, keeping pace with her until they were safely backstage. She flung open the door to his inner sanctum, only to find who she assumed must be Eddie Rosso in there. Next to him sat a woman she’d never met but recognized immediately. She’d seen the girl going into Don’s hotel only last week. “Eleanor Lester,” she muttered at the same time that Don squeaked, “Eleanor!”
Eddie was devouring a doughnut and a cup of coffee he’d undoubtedly stolen from the craft services table, while Eleanor was making liberal use of Don’s makeup in the dressing room mirror, powdering her nose. Great, now her set was also a diner and a beauty shop for Don’s friends. She opened her mouth to say something, but Don beat her too it. “Ed, get out.”
“But—” Eddie protested with his mouth full of doughnut.
“Out.”
Eddie eyed Arlene suspiciously, reached for a spare sugar packet he’d left sitting on top of Don’s script, and clambered out of their way.
Arlene looked at Eleanor and then back at Don, but before she could speak, he asked, “Eleanor, what the hell are you doing here?”
The blond woman darted her eyes suspiciously at Arlene. Well, good. Arlene didn’t trust her as far as she could throw her either. “There have been some…developments,” Eleanor replied, giving Arlene a dirty look.
Don blanched. “You’re telling me.” Don eyed Arlene nervously. “Harry Evets is here. Frankie called his secretary with some questions.”
Eleanor looked stricken at the news. “That’s real bad, Donnie.” Don gave her a look, clearly urging her to zip it. “I heard from him today too, and he wants—”
Don made a clicking nose in his throat. A warning it seemed. Because Eleanor stopped talking. Great, they hadn’t even started shooting today, and this woman was getting in Don’s head. With Harry out there waiting for them to impress him. “I can’t deal with any of this right now,” Don hissed at Eleanor through clenched teeth.
Eleanor stuck out her bottom lip and pouted. “But you said you’d help me, Donnie. And it sounds like you’re in trouble too.”
“I can’t help you. Not when I’m on set. You shouldn’t have come here. I’ll talk to you tonight.” For some reason the word tonight sent a pang through Arlene’s chest. She knew Eleanor and Don were together. She’d seen the woman entering his hotel, and there had been plenty of ink spilled in the papers about them. But seeing her here, hearing him acknowledge that he would see her later, reminded her of what she’d once dreamed of sharing with Don. She was being ridiculous. She didn’t want that anymore. It was no business of hers if Don was involved with his dance partner.
Eleanor pouted a bit more, folding her arms over her chest and harrumphing. But she did seem cowed by Don’s admonishment, and after one more icy look in Arlene’s direction, she stood and started to follow Eddie out the door. As she stood, she tapped a paper on the vanity and told Don, “You should probably read your messages though. Wouldn’t want to miss our engagement.” Eleanor smirked and gave Arlene a look. Then, she turned on her heel and stomped out, slamming the door shut behind her with more force than necessary.
Arlene whirled on him, leaning against the ledge where all of his makeup was laid out in a careful order. “What in the hell was that?”
He looked exhausted. As if the last ten minutes had aged him by twenty years. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know. I didn’t invite her here, if that’s what you think.”
“Good, that’s good.” But that wasn’t why she’d asked to talk to him in private. Arlene didn’t want nor need to talk about Eleanor Lester. Nor did she particularly care what his manager wanted with him or why he was lying about it. There were more pressing matters to attend to. She wanted to know why Don was going out of his way to talk her up to Harry. “But that’s not what I meant. I meant what the hell was all that with Harry?”
“You mean the part where the studio head called you a wet blanket?”
She rolled her eyes. “No, the part where you lied. Acted like nothing happened.” If she had a dollar for every time someone in Hollywood called her dull or told her to live a little, she could’ve founded her own studio. One would think with so much money flying around, people would have a bit more respect for hard work and pragmatism. Things she had always prided herself on. Things Joan Davis had hired her to bring to the table when she was her assistant.
Sure, Arlene had lofty dreams. She liked to think of herself as a romantic, someone who still believed in soul mates, even if she’d been wrong about hers. But that didn’t mean she kept her head in the clouds. She didn’t have time nor the compunction to paint the town red. Hard work had gotten her here. And it was what would keep her here. Besides, she preferred to be with her family. Or at home knitting and spinning ideas for scripts in her head.
Don had the audacity to look chagrined. “The part where I saved your job, you mean?”
“We should’ve told him the truth. You practically implied that we didn’t kiss. Now if rumors keep flying, he’ll think we’re both liars.”
Don ran his fingers through his hair, mussing it in a way Arlene had once found irresistible. Who was she kidding? She still did, no matter how much she wished she didn’t. “I didn’t tell him anything that wasn’t true! I just omitted the parts he doesn’t need to know about. You said yourself you’d rather pretend it didn’t happen. And you did give me exactly what I needed. I was making a hash of things, and you helped me work through it.”
She raised her eyebrows at him, crossing her arms. “I helped you work through things…with my mouth?” She couldn’t suppress a smirk.
Don blushed deeply. “Yes, well, I must admit it was a rather unconventional method…but it worked!”
This man! He was impossible. “Well, there won’t be any more of that line of assistance from here on out. Let’s forget it.”
“That’s what I was trying to do! By assuring Harry that everything was fine and there’s nothing to see here.”
She sighed and slumped down. “You’re right.”
Why was it that every conversation with Don since he’d jeté’d back into her life left her feeling so wrong-footed? Why couldn’t she forget what he’d meant to her and treat him like any other actor, with respect and a healthy degree of skepticism? She knew who she was. She knew what she wanted. Yet it seemed to get all jumbled around Don. But was that his fault?
She patted the segment of the countertop next to her. He eyed it suspiciously as if to ask “Who, me?” but crossed and took a seat next to her. She turned to face him, fighting against the fluttering situation in her chest every time she looked into his warm brown eyes. It was too much, so she looked at his scar instead. That perfect imperfection. Strangely, it calmed her.
“Thank you. For protecting the picture.”
“I did it to protect you.”
She dared to look away from the scar, flitting her eyes back to his face. He looked as serious as the grave. She felt the beginnings of the involuntary little crinkle she often got between her eyes when she was trying to work out a difficult problem. He reached his hand out and smoothed it with his thumb, making her shiver.
She hadn’t asked him why, but he answered all the same. “I’ve been a bad friend. I know that. But I do still care about you. I’ve always cared about you. Even when my actions didn’t make it seem like it. And I’m sorry that I didn’t understand the kind of pressure you were under from the moment I arrived. I’ve been so wrapped up with my own problems, my own fears, my own need to make this a success, that it didn’t occur to me that you would feel the same. You’ve won an Oscar. You’ve got the world at your feet.”
He looked at her meaningfully, and it occurred to her that it would be so easy to lean over and kiss him again. To forget Eleanor Lester, to forget that they had a movie to make and sink back into that cloud of warmth and desire. But no, she couldn’t do that. Losing him before, seeing how little she and her entire family had actually meant to him, had hurt too much. She couldn’t let him break her heart again. The old scars were enough. Only a fool would invite fresh wounds.
And what if someone walked in right now and saw them sitting side by side so cozily? It would only add grist to the rumor mill. She’d avoided serious repercussions for the kiss by some sort of miracle. But she wouldn’t be so lucky twice. She had a job to do. She’d pulled him aside to talk some sense into him, to remind him that with Harry observing there was no margin for error or nerves today.
She stood abruptly and crossed back to the door, putting as much distance between them as she could manage in the tiny space. “The thing about being a woman in Hollywood is that no matter how many times you prove yourself, you have to start over the next morning.”
“I see that now.”
She needed to tell him what she’d come here to say and then get out. Settle her mind before they officially began filming. “I need you to not make that harder for me.”
He gulped and nodded, and she continued.
“I know you’re nervous. I know you’re new to all this. But Harry Evets is out there watching us. And any mistake you make is my mistake too. You told me you want to prove yourself. So do it. Go out there and prove to Harry Evets that he didn’t make a mistake taking his new wife’s advice that he sign you to this picture. We both know he didn’t. But you need to show him why.” She turned to go, calling over her shoulder. “Be back on set in ten minutes.”
She should look back at him, give him some reassurance, remind him that they were in this together. But she couldn’t shake the suspicion that if anyone was capable of ruining everything, it was Don Lamont.