Chapter 31
Arlene felt warm, the dreamy sensation of champagne bubbles fizzing in her chest, as she looked around the room. The bubbles were matched only by her nervousness as she replayed Harry interrupting her clinch with Don in her head over and over again. But no one else seemed fazed by it.
Harry was relaxing in the leather chair behind his desk. Joan and Dash were snug in the love seat in the corner, while Eddie leaned against the wall. She and Don were across from them, Don in a velvet upholstered chair and Arlene perched on the arm, her hand resting gently atop Don’s, enough to reassure him of her presence but subtle enough to have plausible deniability with Harry. They were all lazily holding half-empty coupe glasses, the alcohol having helped dull their strained nerves.
Harry opened one of his desk drawers and pulled out a box. “Cigars?”
Don waved Harry off, while Dash stood and selected one from the box, going through the ritual of cutting it and using the lighter on Harry’s desk to get it going.
“No cigar for me, Mr. Evets,” Don chimed in. “But there is one thing I want to know.”
“Harry, please. You should all call me Harry. We know each other well enough by now.”
“All right, Harry then,” Don responded, squeezing Arlene’s hand and intertwining his fingers with hers. She resisted the urge to pull away. She wasn’t ashamed of Don, and she didn’t want to make him think anything of the sort. But she still had no idea what Harry was thinking. “What I want to know is how Joan and Dash talked you into this. That was a big risk—and a lot of effort—to save the skin of an actor who has yet to prove himself.”
Harry chuckled and puffed a ring of smoke into the air, a tinge of red rising to his cheeks. “Frankie wasn’t bluffing when he said he had some photos that might get me in hot water with my wife. Blackmail is cheaper than divorce.”
Dash shook his head. “Harry, when are you ever going to learn…”
Joan howled with laughter, which sent Arlene and Don into peals of giggles themselves. It was a few minutes before they recovered enough to hear what Harry had to say. Arlene wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes, as they all looked at Harry expectantly.
“Har-de-har-har, very funny. How was I to know that the hatcheck girl at the Trocadero was one of Frankie’s molls?”
“Oh, Harry,” Joan scolded. “Do you even remember her name?” When Harry didn’t reply, she continued. “So, you saw a head of blond hair and some gams and decided she looked like fun.”
Harry shrugged. “What can I say? I have a type. Is it my fault half the aspiring starlets in Los Angeles think the quickest way to a contract is to seduce a studio mogul?” Arlene looked at Joan and they both rolled their eyes. Harry was a mensch when they needed him, but he was also a notorious womanizer. He’d discovered Joan after spotting her in a stag film. He wasn’t exactly known for his discretion.
Eddie sipped at his drink in the corner as they described the girl who’d bamboozled Harry, the choreographer had suddenly taken an interest in the pattern in the carpet. Arlene suspected that there was something he wasn’t telling, but before she could nudge him, Don burst out, “Jesus Christ, Eddie, was this the same dame that you went dancing with the night Frankie and his goons kidnapped me?”
Eddie lifted one shoulder. “How the hell should I know? Blonds are the drugstores of Hollywood. There’s one on every corner.”
Don shook his head and gave Arlene an exasperated look. Then he turned his attention back to Harry. “Did she have any distinguishing features beyond a peroxide dye job and a nice pair of legs?”
Harry grinned, every inch the wolf in sheep’s clothing. “As a matter of fact, she did. She had a small birthmark in the shape of a heart.”
Eddie choked on his drink and started coughing. They all stared at him while Dash sprang to his rescue and slapped his hand to his back, trying to help Eddie swallow.
“Harry,” Joan drawled, “I hate to ask this, but…where was the birthmark?”
In unison, Eddie and Harry replied, “It was on her left breast.”
Don burst out laughing. “Good God, what a pair the two of you make.”
Harry took a sip of his drink and winked. He was a rogue of the highest order. Arlene had always been a little bit afraid of him for that reason. Not because she was worried that he’d try anything with her. Just that he was unpredictable. A wild card in this industry. She supposed that was why he’d taken a chance on her. First as a writer. Then as a director. Every move she’d made this last month had been dictated by her fear of giving him any reason to second-guess the trust he’d placed in her. But now her head and her heart were at war with each other, knowing that Don deserved to be loved wholeheartedly and openly while fearing what that might cost her. But there were things about this morning she still didn’t understand. “Harry, you said yourself that blackmail is cheaper than divorce. What I don’t understand is why’d you stick your neck out for us if you’d already paid Frankie off.”
“Ah, well, I didn’t pay him off. Billie,” Harry said with a grimace, before adding for Don and Eddie’s benefit, “She’s my third wife.”
“Fourth,” Joan corrected him.
Harry looked sheepish at that. “Er, right, fourth. Well, see the thing is, Billie doesn’t trust me.”
“I can’t imagine why,” drawled Joan.
“So, she’s started going over my accounts, reading my checkbook, making sure I’m not getting into trouble with other girls. If I paid off Frankie, there would have been a lot of questions. So, I was trying to get enough cash on hand to send him. Then I had to wait until he was in Los Angeles, because if I wired him payment, Billie would’ve gotten wise to that too. Then this opportunity presented itself and I realized the most financially sound option was landing my blackmailer in the clink.”
Arlene resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Only Harry Evets would describe the harrowing morning they’d had as an “opportunity.”
“Okay, fine, you helped us to save your marriage,” Arlene clarified. “But Don said you vouched for the cops. How’d you know they’d go for it? Eleanor wouldn’t let me call them for help when Don was in trouble. She said that half of the LAPD is in the mob’s pocket.”
“Exactly.” Harry grinned. They all blinked wordlessly back at the studio boss in confusion. “The studios have a deal, see? We pay Willie Bioff, head of IATSE, one of Capone’s guys, a yearly stipend and in return, he makes sure the unions don’t go on strike. After Joan came to me with Don’s problem, I went to Willie and he called up his pal in the organized crime division at LAPD and told him Evets Studios needed a little help with an unsavory character. Plus, now Bioff and the LAPD don’t have to worry about Frankie pissing off Jack Dragna and starting a gang war. My photos go away. Don is free. The mob stays happy. We all win.”
Don lifted his coupe glass of champagne into the air. “Well, then, I propose a toast. To Harry, may your inability to keep it in your pants always have a happy ending.”
Arlene winced and swatted at Don. They didn’t need to give Harry more ammunition than they already had with their kiss. She’d been caught up in the heat of the moment, needing to kiss Don, to hold him, knowing how close she’d come to losing him. After all they had been through, could she still lose her job? She and Don hardly knew Harry. What was Don doing teasing Harry like that? But thankfully, Harry guffawed and raised his glass in response. “Touché, Mr. Lamont, touché.”
Everyone clinked their glasses together and downed the last of the champagne. Harry reached for the bottle, only to find it empty. He turned in his chair and pressed a panel in the wall behind him. A richly polished door slid to the side, revealing a collection of Waterford crystal glasses and a fully stocked bar. Harry must’ve seen the shocked look on Arlene’s face because he winked at her. “Always be ready for an unpleasant business meeting.”
He stood and reached for the Scotch. It was half-empty in its crystal decanter and located in a prime position, which made Arlene think it was likely Harry’s drink of choice. He set about the task of using tongs to put ice in a glass and poured two fingers of Scotch. “You know, Mr. Lamont, that toast, it got me thinking.” Arlene felt Don tense next to her. “It’s clear you and I understand each other. You’re a man I’d like to have on my team permanently.”
Don swallowed audibly. “Sir, I’d”—Harry gave him a look—“I mean, Harry. Do you… Is this… What I mean is, are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“If you think I’m saying that I’d like to offer you a four-year contract with Evets Studios, guaranteed three pictures a year, then yes.”
“And choreographer credit,” Arlene blurted out without thinking. Harry looked taken aback. Hell, if she was about to lose her job, at least Don should get what he deserved. “He’s earned it on this picture already. The numbers wouldn’t be half as good without him.”
Don nudged her. “Ahem.” She followed Don’s eyes across the room.
“Oh, and Mr. Rosso of course,” Arlene amended. Eddie raised his coupe glass at Arlene and bowed his head, paying her homage. Harry sipped his drink and patted his stomach. As he held the glass, he swirled the caramel-colored liquid thoughtfully.
“Madam Director drives a hard bargain.” The room was silent, waiting for a decision. “All right, fine, choreographer credit.” Arlene couldn’t hold in a little squeak of joy. “But”—Harry raised a finger—“that doesn’t mean I’m paying him more per week.”
Arlene started to protest, but Joan looked at her and mouthed “I’ll talk to him later.”
Don sat beside her, looking a bit stunned. She couldn’t blame him. A few nights ago, it had seemed like he’d never escape Frankie Martino’s clutches. That for the rest of his life he’d be a dancer in a gilded cage, a kept boy, giving most of his earnings to a man who’d talked him into signing his soul away. Now, he was being given a golden ticket. A promise that his talent was worth more than mere dollar signs.
He cleared his throat beside her. “That’s very generous of you, Mr. Evets.” He immediately corrected himself at a look from the studio boss. “Harry. But I have to ask you one thing before I take you up on that.”
Harry rested his elbows on his desk and placed his increasingly ruddy cheeks in his palms. “Let’s hear it, then, Don.”
“What Frankie said about New York on the soundstage earlier—about him cajoling you into sending a talent agent and signing me to this one-picture deal because he put pressure on you. Is that true?”
“You want to know if I thought you were really talented?”
Don nodded somberly, and Arlene itched to take his hand. She knew that if Harry said it had all been some scheme that had brought Don to Hollywood, then Don would walk away. He’d spent his entire life thinking his dancing was something to be ashamed of, that he’d never be good enough on his own terms. She didn’t want any life for him that left room for doubt. Because he was good enough. He had always been. She couldn’t be the only one to see that.
Harry stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I’ll admit,” Harry confessed, “I did send a scout to Pal’ing Around because Frankie told me it would erase a tidy sum that I owed his boss after a game of cards got out of hand on a trip to New York.”
Unable to help herself, Arlene started to protest. “How could—”
Harry held up his hand to silence her. “But—when it comes to the studio, I never make a bet that’s not a sure thing.” Arlene felt Don relax beside her. “If Walter hadn’t had good news to report, I would’ve written a check. No matter how much fuss it would’ve made with Billie. She’s more forgiving of my gambling. But Frankie offered me a way to pay off my debt in a fashion that might be more lucrative for me in the long run. So, I asked Walter to go and see if you were the real McCoy. Luckily, he had nothing to report back but rave reviews of your performance and the audience’s reaction to it. Particularly the female contingent.” Harry gave him a wink that made Arlene bristle.
But Don seemed unable to process it. He bit his lip in concentration and gave Harry a hopeful look that nearly broke Arlene’s heart. “So, you really thought I was good?”
Harry grinned. “Do you think I’d be offering you a contract now if I didn’t? Let’s go to the screening room and watch some rushes if you don’t believe me. You’re gonna knock their socks off, kid.”
Don blushed and was suddenly very interested in an invisible piece of lint on his pants.
Arlene found herself blurting out, “If he’s that good, Harry, you should pay him more for the choreographer credit.”
Harry gaped at her, and for a moment, she thought she’d ruined everything. But she couldn’t stand for Don to not get what he was worth. Not after everything they’d both been through. But as she was about to apologize, Harry broke into a belly laugh that filled the entire room with a convivial air. He knocked back the rest of his drink and shook his head. “You’re a shrewd negotiator, Miss Morgan. Fine, a hundred more a week for Don Lamont’s skills as a choreographer.”
Harry turned and went to pour himself another drink. “Anyone else want one?” he called out.
Both Joan and Dash demurred. The two had once been two of Hollywood’s hardest drinkers, but since they’d found each other, they’d cut back significantly. Arlene admired how Dash had shed the worst of his excesses in the process of becoming his truest self and winning Joan’s heart. But this morning had been stressful. And she still couldn’t shake her fear over kissing Don in front of Harry. Harry hadn’t mentioned it yet, and it was eating her up inside. She needed something a bit more forceful than champagne to take the edge off. “Actually, I’ll take one.”
Harry turned and looked back at her, seemingly sizing her up. He cast his eyes toward Joan. “I knew I liked her.”
Joan lifted her hands in agreement and retorted, “I told you that Arlene was the real deal, Harry.”
Arlene blushed, and Joan winked at her before nodding her head in Don’s direction. Arlene looked down and was touched to find Don staring up at her adoringly. “I’m so glad someone else knows what a wonder you are,” he whispered.
This time, she knew it wasn’t the champagne that sent warmth flickering from her toes to the top of her head. Harry still had his back to them, and his focused movements elicited the sound of ice clinking in glasses. While Harry wasn’t looking, she bent over and kissed Don on the cheek. “I love you,” she whispered in his ear. He preened at the words, and she quickly resumed her more casual pose on the arm of the chair, just as Harry turned back around and passed a glass of Scotch on the rocks to her. She swallowed it in one gulp, and Harry raised his eyebrows.
“It was a rough morning.” She shrugged. Harry chuckled, and Arlene swore he murmured something that sounded like “A helluva woman” under his breath.
At last, the adrenaline that had been coursing through Arlene since the gun had gone off in the middle of the soundstage began to dissipate. Each sip of the drink blunted the effect of the gunshot until her heart rate finally started to slow. It was then that she began to process that their plot had worked. They’d trapped Frankie Martino, getting him to inadvertently confess to his crimes while he was on camera. She and Don had lived to tell the tale. With Don, she’d been nothing but the portrait of confidence, aware that was what he needed to make sure he put on a good show. But privately, she’d feared how easily this could all go wrong. Men like Frankie Martino tended to have itchy trigger fingers. She’d been right. All that stood between her and a life without Don was a silly little penny.
In the moment between when she’d heard the gun go off and when Don had pushed her to the floor, her heart had leapt into her throat. She’d thought of her mother, how heartbroken she would be if Arlene didn’t come home. She’d thought of the film and how terribly she wanted to finish it. Above all, she’d thought of Don—of the fragile happiness they’d found together and how brief that slice of bliss had been. She wanted more time with him. Thank God she’d been granted it. That was why she’d kissed him as if no one was watching. She’d be damned if she’d apologize for it. Maybe it was the effect of the liquid courage, but she couldn’t bring herself to feel sorry for kissing the man she loved.
Harry interrupted her thoughts. “More?”
The Scotch had finally turned off the film projector in her head, the one that had replayed the moment when the gun went off and the moment Harry interrupted their clinch in her mind over and over. “No, I’m all right. Thanks.”
The phone on Harry’s desk rang, and he picked it up. “’Scuse me, folks,” he told the room. “Yes, Ida, yes, what is it? Oh? Oh right. Well, patch him through.” Harry sat silently, while he waited for his secretary to connect the line. “Well, hello there. That so? That good, huh?” He chortled at something the caller said on the other end of the line. “Well, I don’t know, that’s up to her. I’ll pass along the message, yes. But I warn you. I’m not giving up without a fight.”
Harry returned the phone to its receiver, then smiled and leaned back in his chair, swiveling the glass in his hand like it was a coin and he was practicing a magic trick. He smiled as if he knew a secret that brought him intense delight. The look on his face sucked all the air out of the room while they waited to hear what the call had been about. What wouldn’t he give up without a fight? Had something gone wrong with Frankie and the arrest?
But Harry didn’t say. Instead, he looked at Arlene. “While we’re on the subject of contracts, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about, Miss Morgan.”
This was it. He was going to take the picture away from her because she was involved with her leading man. She gritted her teeth and prepared to face it. Not like a man, with bluster and fury. But like a woman, with dignity and grace. “Arlene,” she corrected Harry, a bit more firmly than she intended. “Please.” If he was going to dismiss her, he was going to treat her like any other director. She wanted at least that much from him.
Arlene nervously glanced toward Joan, who was looking at her with enormous pride. Joan winked at her, and it made her sick. Joan had fought for her, but it hadn’t been enough. Arlene turned back to meet Harry’s eyes and take it on the chin. Harry gestured his glass in her direction. “Arlene then. I knew you were a talented woman, but you were a force of nature behind that camera today. I could see you in action behind the facade from my perch on the catwalk.”
Arlene scarcely remembered what had happened behind the camera this morning. When she was directing and completely focused, she entered a near-meditative state. She’d been so worried about getting this right that she’d insisted on operating the camera herself. Her eye to the lens finder, she’d lined up the shot through the glass pane of the door and positioned it just so, ensuring it was trained on Frankie Martino at all times, tracking his every move. She took care that she didn’t flinch and risk missing a second of his confession. She couldn’t leave an inch for Frankie to exploit in the courtroom. But in all the confusion of the arrest and the gun, she’d not had a chance to find out if she’d done enough. If her efforts had come off.
“It wasn’t only the focus and dedication I could see from my place in the shadows,” Harry continued. “I gave the detective the film canister of what you shot today to take back with him as evidence. That was him on the phone just now. He called to tell me that his superiors are certain the negative will make it an open-and-shut case.”
Arlene let go of a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding, and something loosened between her shoulder blades. Thank God. This was truly done then. She and, more importantly, Don could move on.
“As a matter of fact, Detective Briggs was so impressed by the work of the ‘lady director,’ as he put it, that he wondered if you might be interested in coming to work for the force.”
Arlene’s heart sank at the words. Was Harry pawning her off to the police? Instead of dealing with the scandal of a female director dating her leading man, he could send her away. The detective had presented Harry Evets with a simple solution—to resign his unruly lady with a camera to a life on the force. Arlene was happy to have done her part today to catch a dangerous man. But that wasn’t her dream. Making movies, being a part of a team at the studio. That was what she’d been chasing. It was what she thought she’d finally achieved. “That’s very nice of him,” she mumbled, trying to be polite as her mother had always taught her.
“It is, isn’t it?” Harry mused. “He was ready to make quite a generous offer for your talents too.”
“Oh,” Arlene replied. She didn’t know what else to say.
“But if you’re interested, I’d like to tell him that you’ll be much too busy making movies for Evets Studios.”
“I’m sure I would be very happy… Wait, what?” Arlene couldn’t believe her ears. Had Harry Evets offered her a permanent post as a director? Even after he’d seen her in a clinch with Don?
“I was thinking we could put you on a long-term contract starting Monday. I’d like to tell the detective that I’ll outbid him no matter what price he offers.”
Arlene looked at Joan, whose hand was resting absently on Dash’s knee. They both grinned at her. Joan had tears in her eyes. Arlene had done it. She’d really done it.
“I–I don’t know what to say.”
“Say ‘Thank you, Harry, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.’”
A laugh burst from her, and she repeated the words back to him.
“It’s my pleasure.” He chuckled. “Joan has been telling me for months I’d be a fool not to sign you on the spot. I have to be honest, after seeing the rushes these last few weeks, she’s right. Hell, you’ll probably have a brother for that Oscar on your desk before long.”
Arlene’s heart was in her throat. She could barely process the last several minutes. This morning she’d been hoping she could do enough to save Don, to make sure he wasn’t the property of Frankie Martino for the rest of his life. Now, they both were about to become full-time, permanent employees of Evets Studios. Doing the things that they’d always dreamed of. Together.
Don lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm. It sent a shiver of delight coursing through her. But then, she realized something. She didn’t want this without Don. Harry hadn’t mentioned the kiss. Maybe he was being polite, hoping it would go away if he ignored it, chalking it up to a woman being grateful for her life.
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, either of 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.