Chapter 12
“And 5, a 6, a 5, 6, 7, 8!” Eddie bellowed from behind the camera. Don launched into his dance, slipping and sliding in Rita’s arms, pretending to be a terrible dancer.
“No, Mr. Garnett! Ouch, you’re stepping on my feet!” Rita pretended to grab at her foot, and the number ground to a halt as she hopped up and down. From here, the music was supposed to change and Don would transform, his Danny Garnett turning into an expert hoofer, taking the lead and dazzling both Rita’s character, Lee, and her boss—the stern Mr. Offenheimer, watching from the corner.
But it wasn’t working. All the comedic business with stepping on Lee’s feet was stopping the action dead in its tracks. The gag of Danny only pretending to be a bad dancer to win Lee over, when he was actually a professional, didn’t work if the number wasn’t fluid. Don looked desperately over at Arlene, standing sentinel at her post next to the camera. He moved his eyebrows up and down, trying to plead with his eyes to get her to cut. They had to work this out. He knew she wanted to look good in front of Harry—and it was his job to make sure she did.
She shook her head, her eyes darting to Harry, still sitting in her director’s chair, the fabric straining under him. Damn. This wouldn’t work. Couldn’t she—and Harry Evets for that matter—see that the scene would never come off if they continued in this fashion? Fine. He’d promised to stop doing things that appeared to undermine her, but desperate times called for desperate measures. “Hold on,” he whispered in Rita’s ear.
“What?” But he didn’t answer and she gripped him tighter, as he spun her into a circle and then carefully maneuvered them into a fall that brought them both crashing to the ground in an artful move that allowed him to cushion the blow by landing on his backside, dragging Rita down on top of him. It was a choreographed version of the real spill they’d taken last week.
“Cut,” yelled Arlene.
“If you wanted to feel me up, you could at least buy me dinner first,” Rita drawled, trying to extricate her limbs from the tangle they’d fallen into on the floor.
Don started to protest, but she patted him on the arm and winked at him. “You and I both know this wasn’t working.”
Don was still on the ground when Arlene rushed over to them. “Are you two okay? Is there something wrong with the floor? What happened?”
“We’re fine. Don just needs to talk to you.” Rita smirked.
Arlene’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What?”
“Did you really think the scene was working as it is?” Don asked, peering around her to make sure Harry couldn’t hear what they were saying. The studio head was engrossed in talking to a wardrobe assistant that bore a striking resemblance to Greta Garbo. Well, at least he was distracted.
“No, but—”
“No buts! I was eyeing you and you wouldn’t call cut. I told you last week that it didn’t work with these steps.”
Arlene huffed and ran her fingers through her hair, tousling a strand so it fell over her eye. Had she always been so effortlessly seductive? “So, you were taking matters into your own hands again? Exerting your own authority on my set?”
Damn it, this was not what he wanted. But the scene wasn’t working—and Arlene was too afraid of Harry to do anything about it. “Fine. You like the scene as is? Rita and I can reset then.”
Arlene glared at him as if she was daring him to change his mind. Well, he wouldn’t. He’d protected her with Harry, told a white lie to keep the studio boss off her back. Hadn’t he proved that he was on her side? Why was she still so distrustful? He’d realized his mistakes, charging into the soundstage that first night, bubbling over with his ideas for her picture. He’d miscalculated. Worse, he’d been a boor. As domineering and overbearing as every other man on this set. But once he realized, he’d tried to be the portrait of contrition. Eddie was here because she’d said it was okay. But what was the use if she wasn’t going to listen to either of them? Don wasn’t her adversary, so why did she insist on treating him like one?
He bristled as she continued to stare him down. Something else was wrong. It had to be. This felt personal. But he didn’t have the emotional capacity to pick at it until the truth oozed out. Especially not with Harry here. All he wanted was to make this scene the best it could be and to show Harry what a brilliant director Arlene was. That’s why he was trying to fix the number. It wasn’t about him. But for some reason, Arlene could only assume the worst. Fine then, he wasn’t going to make her look bad. If that meant shooting the scene in a way that made it lackluster, so be it. He had bigger fish to fry anyway. Like the note Eleanor left in his dressing room informing him that Frankie had booked Don and Eleanor at the Clover Club on the Sunset Strip. His shooting schedule be damned.
He stood and dusted off the seat of his pants, resigning himself to the scene as it was. But as he turned to go back to his mark, Arlene hissed, “Stop.”
He did, but he didn’t turn around. “You’re right. It’s not funny because you slow everything down stopping for Rita to hop up and down.”
The words sparked a flash of inspiration in Don. “Say that again.”
“What? You’re right? Honestly, I don’t have time to soothe your ego here. You’re right. You’re right. You’re right. Is that want you want to hear?”
He couldn’t suppress a grin. “I must confess it’s nice to hear you say those words. But no, the other part, the second bit.”
She looked at him like he was off his nut. Maybe he was. But the seedling of an idea sprouted in his mind at her words. He called out, “Eddie, come over here.” His trusty choreographer sprinted over from the shadows, where he was observing the crew’s every move. Eddie had always been a sponge. Don had a feeling his friend would be itching to direct his own film by the time this was over. But right now, he needed to put that big brain and those powers of observation to use.
“Yeah, Don, what’s the problem? You pull something when you fell?”
Don waved him off. “No, nothing like that. Arlene, tell him what you just told me.”
Eddie was chewing gum, his favorite vice. Besides leggy brunettes. Eddie smacked his lips together and raised his eyebrows at Arlene. “Well, Miss Morgan, give it to me.”
Arlene rolled her eyes, and Don swore he heard her mutter something like “I knew this was a bad idea.” But she did as he’d asked. “I was telling Don that the scene isn’t working because the action and the comedic timing are punctured, having to stop for Rita to hop up and down.”
“See, I think that’s it, Eddie,” Don chimed in. Eddie grinned. From the moment they’d first worked together on Pal’ing Around on Broadway, they’d shared a near mental telepathy when it came to choreography and how to fix a number that wasn’t gelling.
“Yeah, yeah, that’s it.” Eddie started to trace a pattern on the floor with his feet, the soles of his shoes tapping out a beat that matched the song they’d been playing on set for Don and Rita to dance along to.
“See, I was thinking something like this.” Don smiled at Arlene and went and grabbed Eddie’s hand, placing the short and stocky man in his arms and holding him as if he were as beautiful as Rita Carter. He whirled Eddie onto the dance floor, launching into a series of intricate dance moves that mirrored a fox-trot, only with far more hopping and bouncing involved. His worries receded for a moment as he gave himself over to the joy of creating a dance with Eddie.
“Yeah, that’s it, exactly that. But now step on my foot, like you do with the lady.” Don mimed stomping on Eddie’s foot, only this time, Eddie didn’t grab for his leg and start jumping around the way Rita had been. He winced, made a decisive movement with his leg, and turned the hop of the accident into a dance move, continuing to spin in Don’s arms, but adding in more swift little jumps to nod to his wounded toes. Don then twirled Eddie around, transitioning from their herky-jerky dance to a subtler, smoother ballroom number before picking up the choreography Rita and he were meant to execute as the grand conclusion to the scene.
Rita had been lingering behind Arlene, letting the two of them face off, but she stepped forward now, a wide grin on her face. “That’s it! That’s perfect. Let me try.”
Don looked at Arlene, hoping she was pleased. They’d figured out a way to fix this, and it had all been thanks to her sparking an idea in his head. They still made a good team. Even when she resisted. Ten years and God knows how much water under the bridge, and they still brought out the best in each other. But she only looked sad.
“Eddie, teach Rita the steps,” Don murmured. He dropped his arms, leaving his choreography partner to get Rita up to speed on their new concept.
Arlene turned away from him, appearing to be very interested in the rafters of the soundstage, so he slunk alongside her and knocked his shoulder against hers. “You don’t like it? We can find something else.”
“No, I do.” She finally met his eyes. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a pill about allowing Mr. Rosso to be here. You were right. He is an asset. That was quite something—watching the two of you improvise that on the fly.”
“He’s the only one I can do that with. It’s why I wanted him here. I promise I wasn’t trying to subvert you or your set.”
“The only one?” Arlene looked stricken. Damn, what had he said?
“Yeah, I wasn’t half the choreographer I am now without Eddie to bounce ideas off of. It’s like I’m a piano and he’s the virtuoso. I got the instrument, but the second he puts his fingers to the keys something magic comes out.”
“Yeah…magic.” Arlene looked very far away. It frustrated him to no end that she wouldn’t tell him what was wrong. Once upon a time, she would’ve spilled her guts to him. If she didn’t like the routine, she should tell him. And if it was something else, well, hell, she should tell him that too. He wanted to be her friend again. Desperately. But he seemed trapped in a dance that was consistently one step forward, two steps back. And since he wasn’t doing the cha-cha-cha, it wasn’t a dance he took any pleasure in.
“Are you sure you like it?” he tried again. “We can keep working on it. It doesn’t have to be what we made up. We can figure out a way to adapt the steps we did Monday. Maybe we can get that Herman fella in here and he can change it.”
She cleared her throat and came back to herself, the lost look in her eyes blinking out as she straightened her shoulders and stood taller. “No, Don, it’s perfect. Please, let’s shoot it.”
She went back to her spot behind the camera. She looked much more comfortable there, in the shadows, calling the shots from a distance. Maybe he was being paranoid. Maybe whatever this was had nothing to do with him. It could be Arlene getting stuck in her own head, second-guessing. She had put so much pressure on herself. Hell, so had Harry. The entire crew. But he still wished she would tell him what was making her look like someone had ripped the head off her favorite doll—a look he knew from the multiple times her older brother had done exactly that when they were kids. She whispered something to the cameraman and then called out, “Rita, you have the steps?”
“Sure do, Miss Morgan.”
“All right then, Mr. Lamont, if you’ll take your place.” There was a pinch in the center of his chest at the sound of the matter-of-fact way she said Mr. Lamont . But Don did as asked while Eddie sprinted back to his place in the milieu behind the camera. Don took Rita in his arms and looked her dead in the eyes, mentally running through the new choreography in his head.
“You did good, kid.” She winked at him. He was about to reply to her compliment when Arlene’s voice rang out across the set, a solid steady sound that instantly reassured him. “Cameras rolling, sound speeding…and action.”
The music started to play, and he began to execute his series of trick steps, slipping and sliding as Rita “taught” him how to dance. They came to the moment in the song where he was supposed to step on her foot, and a calm washed over him. The trancelike state he entered when he knew every step was the right one, and he just had to dance. Everything else went quiet around him. It was him and Rita Carter and the music. Before he knew it, the dance was over.
“Cut. We’ll print that one, boys.” Print it? Really?
Don looked over at Arlene to make sure it was okay and she smiled, nodded her head, and gave him a little round of applause. He couldn’t help himself. He ran over to her, desperate to give her a hug, but she stiffened at his approach and he settled for a smile. “How was it? Should we fix anything this go-round?”
“It was flawless. You haven’t got a Hollywood nickname yet, but maybe we’ll start calling you the ‘One-Take Wonder.’”
He laughed then. He couldn’t help it. He’d never been someone who could get something on the first try. No, he was the guy who tried and tried, and tried again, and no matter what he did, he still cocked it up somehow. Even when he’d convinced himself he was on top of the world.
“Don’t get too comfortable though. That was only the wide shot. We’ll need to do it a few more times for camera coverage.”
Harry burst their private little bubble, slapping Don on the back. “Well, that was some quick thinking, Mr. Lamont. That scene is a hundred times better than when I got here this morning. Before you know it, maybe you’ll be directing yourself.”
Don wanted to crow, to take a victory lap, to go tell Eddie they were going to get drunk tonight, because he’d finally punched their meal ticket and Hollywood was going to work out. But Arlene’s face stopped him. She looked crestfallen. Hurt. No, worse, she looked like she’d been sucker-punched. Nuts, he was doing exactly what he promised Rita he wouldn’t—making it look like the men on set were the more capable creatures. He felt like a heel; the taste of his victory turned to ash in his mouth. He needed Harry Evets to understand that Arlene Morgan was as good as the studio boss thought she was. Most likely, far better.
“That’s kind of you, Mr. Evets, but truly this was all Miss Morgan’s idea.” In a way, it was true. If she hadn’t sparked the idea with her words, he and Eddie never would’ve found the solution. What did Harry know? He hadn’t been paying a lick of attention to them while they’d worked out the new moves, and he certainly hadn’t been able to hear them from across the soundstage.
Arlene started to protest, but Don merely grabbed her by the forearm and squeezed her hand, perhaps a bit more forcefully than was strictly necessary. “Now, now, no false modesty. Mr. Evets, Miss Morgan came over to me and Rita and told it like it is. She said the scene wasn’t working and here’s what we were going to do to fix it. Sure, Eddie and I devised some fancy footwork, but the concept was all hers. You’ve got a real genius on your hands.”
Harry’s eyebrows rose and he looked at Arlene, who simply smiled, her face contorted into a grimace of confusion and discomfort. But then Harry grinned. “Now, Mr. Lamont, you don’t need to tell me that. I chose her to direct this picture after all. Miss Morgan, come by my office when you’re done for the day. We should start discussing what your next project will be after this.”
Arlene blinked, clearly shocked. “But—”
“No rest for the weary. I’ll want you ready to start another picture the week after you finish this one.”
She smiled a genuine grin now, though the shock still lingered on her face. “Yes, Mr. Evets. Of course. Um, we’ll discuss it later, Mr. Evets.”
Harry chortled. “All right then, sounds like a plan, Miss Morgan. Oh, and by the way, don’t you think it’s high time you call me Harry?”
Arlene turned a bright shade of pink at the suggestion but she nodded in agreement. “Certainly, Mr…Harry.”
Harry laughed again. “Well, I’ve darkened your door long enough this morning. At any rate, I’ve got to go deal with this swashbuckler who’s in the middle of his third contract suspension in two years. The damned fool can’t seem to understand the carousing and pillaging are only supposed to be make-believe.” Harry stuck out his hand and Don shook it. “Afternoon, Don.”
“Afternoon.”
Arlene stood stock-still until Harry had completely disappeared from view, and then she finally broke free from Don’s grasp. He hadn’t even realized he was still holding her arm. “Thank you.” Her voice was stilted, choked with something he couldn’t put his finger on.
“Any time.” If he smiled at her, maybe she’d smile back. Someone once told him his grin was irresistible. He didn’t like to give in to vanity, but heck, it couldn’t hurt to try.
“But you have to stop doing that.” The smile fell from his face, quickly replaced by confusion.
“What?”
“Lying to Harry. Covering for me. That’s twice today. You and I both know the only reason that scene works now is because of you and Mr. Rosso. I wasn’t even brave enough to call ‘cut’ and fix it.”
“But you did call ‘cut’ and fix it. I just helped you along a little.”
Arlene looked confused. “But why? Why are you doing this? You don’t owe me anything. We were friends a long time ago.”
“I’m doing it because we might’ve been friends a long time ago, but I’d like to be friends again.” She turned away, embarrassed. “And because it’s true. You’re the one who put the idea in my head, who made me think about the scene in a new light. It might not have been intentional, but you did. And you’re a smart enough director to let other people’s ideas shine when they’re good ones.”
“You still should’ve taken credit.”
“I did—for the footwork. I meant what I said. You are a genius, Arlene Morgan. I wish you also knew that.” She smiled weakly at the words, but it didn’t erase the haunted look in her eyes. Like she found his presence painful.
Rita called from her place under the lights, “Hey, lovebirds!” Don and Arlene glared back at her. “Sorry, sorry. Ignore me, everyone! I’m being ridiculous. Mr. Lamont and Miss Morgan, we gonna get this show on the road or should I go lie down in my trailer?”
“No, sorry, Rita. If everyone would take their places. We’ll reset for a different angle.” Don wanted to scream. To tell Rita to go lie down for a nap and pull Arlene aside and hash this all out now. To ask her outright what it was about him that she found so objectionable. But it was clear Arlene was done with their conversation, particularly because she was looking at him pointedly now, one eyebrow raised as if to say “You want to get back to work now, buddy?”
Fine. He would. He could do that. He was here to do a job after all. One he apparently could do well. Despite all his fears and misgivings and his shaky start. He hustled to his place beside Rita, but no, he couldn’t leave it like that. So, he sprinted back to Arlene.
“What?” she asked him flatly.
“Just…think about what I said, okay? Promise me.” Arlene shrugged. “I mean it.”
“Okay, okay, if I promise to ponder my own genius, will you go take your place? We’ve got a musical number to finish.” She cracked a smile. Finally. It was like the sunrise on the first day of spring, a beam so sudden and welcome after the cold, gray days of winter. His chest felt fizzy, like he was a bottle of champagne and her teasing had shaken him up and down.
“Cross my heart, hope to die.” He winked at her and he could tell she was trying not to laugh. He still didn’t understand what made her so gloomy, why she was so determined to hold him at arm’s length, but if he could make her smile, make her laugh… Well, that was not nothing.
“Fine, I promise. Now, go.” He felt lighter all of a sudden. Like the weight of the last ten years was finally starting to lift. His fingers brushed against the familiar indent of the penny in his pocket, and he smiled. Maybe all the penny had needed to bring him real luck was to be reunited with the woman who’d given it to him. He leapt into the air and did a pirouette, dancing his way back to his mark. He could’ve sworn he heard Arlene say something that sounded an awful lot like “He’s absurd.” Maybe he was. But he didn’t care.