Chapter 30
Chapter 30
The yellow car was gone.
Julia breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank God.”
Lena had no time to think about the yellow car or anything else. It seemed crazy that after all this, she had to concentrate on a fitting for an actress, but she did. She had to get to the studio. Once they got there, she didn’t know what to do with Julia.
“Just wait here,” Lena said. “I—I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“You’re just going to leave me here in the car.”
Lena waved toward the back lot. “The commissary’s behind the administration building, if you want. Ask anyone. They’ll direct you. Please, Julia. I really have to go.”
She raced from the car before Julia had a chance to protest. Lena hoped against hope that Claudia Mazur would still be there, but given Claudia’s temperament ... and Lena was half an hour late ... If Claudia decided to complain to Higgy, Lena didn’t know how she’d explain.
“Too late,” Connie said when Lena stepped into dressing room B. “She’s gone.”
Lena sagged. “Damn it.”
The costumes for Claudia were still hanging, and the dressing room looked untouched but for the cigarette butts in the ashtray. The lingering scent of Claudia’s Chanel No. 5 fought with the cloud of not-quite-dissipated smoke.
Lena sighed. “How long did she wait?”
“Twenty minutes. I tried to fit her, but she refused. She said that she’d had you written into her contract, and she wasn’t going to work for any studio that would do such a bait-and-switch. She was going right to Higgy.”
“Wonderful. God, I don’t need this now.”
“I hope this meeting of yours was worth it,” Connie said wryly. She dumped the ashtray into the trash can.
“I should talk to Higgy.”
“Maybe tomorrow. I can smell the gin on your breath.”
Lena made a face. “He won’t be able to tell I’ve been drinking. Claudia will have caught him in the middle of his second bourbon.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing. By the way, Paul dropped by. I’m to tell you he’s coming here when he’s finished today.”
“Damn it.” The curse left her mouth before Lena could stop it, and Connie looked at her in surprise. Lena fumbled for an excuse, though all she could think was What am I supposed to do now? Julia was waiting. Lena had to figure out what to do about Harvey and Charlie and a record they might or might not still have, and Paul knew nothing about Julia, and how was Lena supposed to explain her, not to mention the CIA and dangerous men and couriering secrets or whatever they’d been doing and all the rest of it—he would think her crazy. She’d have thought it, too, except that last day in Rome had been all too real, and the fear she felt wasn’t her imagination.
Lena’s head pounded. The three martinis, no doubt, but there was Connie, her eyebrow still raised, and Lena said faintly, “I haven’t got to the changes for Medusa yet. I’m so late ... I don’t have time to do anything but work.”
Her assistant’s expression cleared. “I made the list you asked for. It’s on your desk—”
“I thought I heard voices.” Paul’s voice came from the doorway. He poked his head inside. “There you are! I was just on my way to your office. Did Connie give you my message?”
“I just told her,” Connie said.
How was it possible for a heart to both sink and rise? Lena forced a smile. “I’m running a bit behind.”
“That makes two of us.” His own smile was strained, and he looked tired, knocked about, and she wondered what he’d been through with Runyon today and realized how far that had been from her mind. “I could use a break. What do you say to La Rue tonight?”
La Rue. Of all the places. Lena had to restrain a laugh of pure disbelief. “Maybe somewhere else? I’m not sure I’m up to so much fancy .”
“Come on,” he said. “We can take my car. I have to be back here in the morning so you can just ride with me. Let’s just stop at my place first so I can get out of this shirt.”
She wasn’t sure how to say no to that, or what excuse to use. She had none. There was no reason why she shouldn’t agree, and so she said, “Okay. Just let me get something out of my car. I’ll be right back,” and then she hurried away before he could protest or say, “ I’ll come with you ,” or anything else. She nearly ran across the parking lot, and when she saw Julia leaning against her car door, lifting her face to the sun and to the nearly nonexistent breeze, Lena hissed, “Just what do you think you’re doing? Someone might see you!”
Julia turned to her lazily. “It’s about time.”
“I can’t go anywhere with you. Not tonight.” She threw Julia the keys. “Take my car. Bring it back tomorrow. The guys at the gate know my car. Tell them you’re bringing it back to me and they’ll let you in. Don’t forget, Julia, and don’t do anything stupid with it. I have to go with Paul. I’m sorry, but I have to.”
Julia let out an exasperated breath. “We don’t have time for this.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“Why not just tell him I’m in town?”
“Because he doesn’t know you exist,” Lena said steadily.
Julia looked surprised.
“He doesn’t know about Rome. He doesn’t know anything. And I don’t want him to know. Not now. Not ever. Do you understand? If you want me to help you, you’ll do this for me now.” Lena was surprised at the viciousness in her own voice, at the sheer intensity of her determination to keep things as they were. “Just go, Julia. Bring the car back tomorrow.”
She turned away, hurrying back to Paul and the fitting room, half expecting Julia to call out for her. But Julia didn’t, and Lena was grateful when she heard the familiar roar of her car engine and realized that Julia was going to do as she asked, and for tonight, at least, her life wouldn’t change.
She stopped at her office and picked up the list of modifications for The Doom of Medusa , which were more extensive than she’d hoped, and then went back to the dressing rooms.
“I’ve got everything,” Lena said. “We should go before Higgy takes it into his head to have a third bourbon and call for me. Are these all the changes, Connie?”
“There are more from today,” Paul said grimly. “But I’ll tell you about those tonight.”
“What has Runyon done, made it into a science fiction movie?” Lena asked.
“He might as well. It’d be closer to the original.”
Connie gave Lena a sympathetic look as she veered off toward the costume design building. “Well, then I’ll wish you both luck. See you in the morning, Lena!”
Lena couldn’t help scanning the parking lot as she and Paul went to his car, but thankfully Julia was well and truly gone, and she relaxed when she climbed into Paul’s Oldsmobile Dynamic, which smelled reassuringly of cigarette smoke and Paul.
Paul, too, relaxed when he started the car, or no, it wasn’t relaxation, it was more as if he released the cool persona he’d taken on for the day and now could be himself, and himself was a mass of frustration and intensity. He took his cigarettes from his pocket and shook one loose, offered her one, which she refused—she felt sick from today’s smoking and drinking, and she didn’t like the look on his face. He pushed the cigarette lighter on the dash with more force than necessary.
Lena forced her own worries and her own very difficult day to the background with a sigh. She didn’t feel capable of managing any more problems, but she reminded herself that to ignore Medusa on top of Claudia Mazur would be a very bad idea. “What happened?”
The cigarette lighter popped. Paul lit his cigarette and took a few puffs before he answered. “Simone is out.”
The character of Simone was Helen’s best friend, and the bookkeeper who convinced the bank to help fund Club Medusa. “What do you mean?”
“Well, they don’t need her, do they, if the mob is going to finance the club,” Paul said dryly.
“But Simone is—”
“Pivotal. Yes. The whole second act revolves around her bringing in Annie and Jess. I have to find another way to do it. Mob related, preferably, though Runyon has no objection to it being related to smuggling.”
Smuggling. Lena squirmed. A little too close. “Smuggling what?”
Paul shrugged. “He suggested drugs, since he wants Helen to end up with an opium addiction.”
“Paul, no!”
“That’s what I told him. At least let her marry Connor and have some kind of a life, if Connor is the one who saves the Medusa, for Christ’s sake, but he says she can get in over her head and Connor can help her overcome her addiction.”
The movie was disintegrating. The triumph of women overcoming all odds to start a successful club together, working as a team, now becoming another sad Hollywood story of women as victims and helpmates, saved only by the love of a good man. Lena wanted to cry.
“Runyon also suggested something with spies, but ...” Paul dragged on his cigarette. “That makes them irredeemable, don’t you think?”
“Spies?” Lena said faintly. The events of the day circled around, one thing feeding into the next, weirdly coincidental. Lena felt as if she were in a movie herself, a bizarre fiction. “You mean ... the CIA?”
He frowned at her. “The CIA? No, of course not. Why would you say that? I mean the Soviets, of course.”
“Oh, of course.”
“I suppose if I put in Soviets it will help ease his suspicions that I might harbor communist sympathies, but ... you haven’t said anything to him about Lipton and all that, have you?”
“No, of course not.” Lena was surprised by the question. “Why would I?”
“I don’t know. He said something today ... I couldn’t figure it out.” A quick sideways glance. “Was anyone in your family a member of the Communist Party?”
“ My family?” She laughed. “Not that I know of. Why?”
“I said something about you being from Ohio today, and Runyon said it didn’t surprise him, because the Midwest was the birthplace of the American Communist Party.”
Which had nothing to do with her, because her parents couldn’t have been further from Red sympathizers. “Not my parents. Why would he say that?”
Paul was quiet for a moment. Then, “He said you had radical opinions, and some of your friends were suspicious.”
“My friends?” Lena went cold, but Michael Runyon couldn’t know about Julia, or Rome, or anyone from her past. “He doesn’t know about Harvey and Charlie. Who else could he be talking about?”
“I don’t know,” Paul said. “That’s why I wondered if you’d said anything about Venice.”
“Michael Runyon is the last person I would tell about Venice Beach,” she said.
“Yeah.” Paul went thoughtful in a way that made her nervous.
“So he wants to turn Medusa into a spy movie now? Does Higgy know? I just got a new script for another one. I can’t imagine he wants two in the schedule.”
Paul made a noncommittal sound. “Watch, they’ll want to turn it into a musical next.”