Chapter 18
Sometime around 2:00 a.m., Don had finally fallen asleep. He didn’t know what to do, so he’d rolled over and pretended to sleep. Avoiding things was easier. That was what he’d always done, hadn’t he? Run off and put his problems in the rearview mirror, hoping they’d disappear? Well, Frankie had proved that problems didn’t suddenly evaporate. That you had to take action, do something. Or the next time you turned around, they’d be waiting to hit you like a ton of bricks.
But he couldn’t say all of that to Lena. He’d wrestled with himself—Lena’s disappointment, his fear of taking this too far and putting her in Frankie’s crosshairs. He wanted her, God, so much. Enough to banish Mabel from his thoughts, to throw caution to the wind. Funny how when it’d been make-believe on set, the memory of Mabel had paralyzed him, making it impossible to make love to Rita without tripping over himself.
But when it was real—when Lena had kissed him, looked at him with those big green eyes, and invited him back to her place—he couldn’t resist her. They were good together. He’d never come like that from a woman’s mouth before. Never seen a gal relish it so much. And the taste of her? Jesus, it was so sweet, so good. It tasted like home. But he hadn’t been able to make love to her. He’d wanted to. Desperately. But when it had come to that moment, Mabel had been there again. Her burnt face swimming through his mind.
So, instead, he’d rolled over and pretended to fall asleep. When he finally did, dreams of him and Lena tangled up in each other, making good on what they’d started, haunted his sleep. Dreams so good that he wanted to make them real as soon as he woke up. He’d held himself back. But why? Couldn’t he let himself go just this once? No one had made him feel this way since Mabel. No, not since Mabel. No one had made him feel this way ever. Things had never been this intense, this all-consuming.
He’d never let anyone get that close. He’d locked his heart away and swallowed the key, telling himself it was for everyone else’s sake. To protect them. But now he wondered if that was true. If maybe his heart had always been guarded. Even before Mabel. He’d never trusted that anyone could love him. Not when the one person who should’ve, his father, had made it clear he held nothing but disdain for him. So he’d refused to give anyone else that chance. And he was still holding back. When Lena had reached for him, wanting all of him, he’d flinched and retreated into himself. But in his dreams, there was no fear. No concern that someone else would find him wanting. He imagined telling Frankie to go to hell. Taking Lena in his arms every night, for as long as she wanted. In his dreams, he could have this. During one such dream, the ghost of a smile dancing across his face, his subconscious bliss was interrupted by a sharp poke in his side. He kicked out with his foot.
“Ow, you kicked me!”
Oh nuts! He had been protesting being rudely awakened in the middle of the lovely dream. The figure beside him crawled out from under the sheet and switched on the light, blinding him. He threw his arm over his eyes. “What’d you do that for?”
“You have to go.”
He cracked open an eyelid and looked at the small clock on her nightstand. “Lena, it’s five o’clock in the morning.”
She kneeled on the bed beside him and sighed heavily. “I know.”
He pulled her toward him and kissed her stomach, trailing his mouth down her belly. His dick stirred, eager to bring his dreams to life. Who was he to deny it? But as he was getting to the good part, she gently pushed him away.
“Don, no, you have to go.”
That extinguished his desire and he leaned up on an elbow. “Why?”
“Because this, us, no one can know. You have to go back to your hotel and come to the studio with Eddie like nothing happened. Like you’ve been there since the end of a friendly dinner last night. The whole world thinks you’re in love with Eleanor—and that’s how it needs to stay.”
He ran his hand down his face. He wasn’t awake enough to process this. “What? Why? Last night you said—”
“Last night was…”
“Don’t say it was a mistake. You know it wasn’t.” His heart was racing and there was a ringing in his ears. What was Lena playing at? She’d invited him here. Now, she regretted it?
Her shoulders slumped and she leaned back against the headboard. It was unfortunate how inviting that made her breasts look. “It wasn’t. It was…everything. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted that, Don.” He’d never seen her look more vulnerable. Or more beautiful. His breath caught in his throat at her words. He’d never realized. Never understood that she saw him as something more than a big brother figure. But her next words punctured his joy. “But even if it wasn’t a mistake, we can’t do it again.”
He reeled back as if she’d slapped him. Rationally, he knew that she was right. That this one stolen night had been risky enough. But it still hurt. Because even Lena, who’d known him since he was a boy, found him wanting. She was deciding to hide him and what had passed between them. She was rejecting him, just like his father had done.
She reached for his hand, tangling her fingers with his. “I want to. I do. But—” She bit her lip and looked pensive. There was something she was afraid to tell him. Maybe he wasn’t good enough. Maybe he’d changed too much in the intervening years and she’d decided she didn’t need him. Not for more than a few hours of pleasure anyway. She took a breath and continued. “It could look… The press, Harry—”
The press. The studio. Was that truly the reason? Or did they just make for a convenient excuse so she wouldn’t hurt his feelings? He opened her palm and pressed a gentle kiss to it. “Say no more, Lena. I understand.” He couldn’t let her see how her sudden change of heart had hurt him. They still had to work together. And it wouldn’t do to appear to be pining after his director.
He looked up at her and was surprised to see her eyes glossy with tears. “I’m sorry. It’s silly, I know. I wish things were different.” She didn’t know how much he wished for the same.
There were shadows under her eyes, and a trickle of dread crept down his spine at the stray thought that she was holding something back. Like the fact that this would never work. Because she was a goddess and he was a chump.
But he pushed the thought aside and hushed her with a kiss. “It’s not silly. I know how much, how long you’ve wanted your shot. I’m not gonna be the guy who ruins it for you. I just wish things were different too.”
His words seemed to relax her. She leaned in toward him and gave him a quick kiss that turned into something more languid. “On second thought, maybe we don’t have to stop…altogether.”
He chuckled, a laugh with no heart behind it. But his dick betrayed him, springing to attention at her ministrations. “Can’t resist me, can you?” he joked and pressed his hips into her leg, knowing she could feel him against her thigh.
She threw her head back and laughed, her titian curls framing her face like it was a Renaissance painting, the lines in her neck more perfectly crafted than a Roman statue. How had he never noticed how utterly stunning she was before these last few weeks? He supposed it was a good thing. If he had, he would have never left home. Never made good on his dreams. And he was proud of that. Proud that he’d done the things he’d said he would. His hand wandered to her breast, and she swatted him away. “You’re incorrigible.”
He groaned. She was so soft, and he was eager for more of her. Particularly if this was all he was going to get of her. Which he was increasingly afraid was the case. “We could play hooky. Call in sick to the studio and spend the day in bed.”
She sighed. “As lovely as that sounds, we can’t. We’re already behind schedule after the first week, and we need to come in under budget or they’ll never give me a second chance.”
He lay back on the pillow. She was right, of course. But he could hear the part that she didn’t say. That they were behind schedule because of him. Because he had needed so much hand-holding those first few days. Because he hadn’t been able to get out of his own way.
She leaned over, her hair creating a curtain around their faces, and took his mouth with hers, plundering it as if she were a pirate queen ransacking him for treasure. She wasn’t making this easy. She broke away and laid her head on his chest. “You’re not upset, are you? We have to be practical about this.”
“No, Lena. I’d never forgive myself if I did anything to cost you your career. Not when you’ve worked so hard. It’s safer this way.” She didn’t need to know the full truth of that statement.
He gave her one last kiss and threw the sheets off, enjoying the brief moment her eyes darted to his dick before averting her gaze. “You can look all you want, sweetheart,” he teased, with a cocksureness he didn’t feel.
She rolled her eyes. Now, that was the Lena he knew.
He grinned and pulled on his boxers and trousers, digging around the foot of the bed to find his undershirt, which had been kicked under the dust ruffle in the heat of the moment. His sweater was still hanging, in pristine condition, on the hanger he’d left on the doorknob. Thank God. It was one of the only shirts he had without a hole in it besides what the wardrobe department had supplied him with. He pulled it on and gave her a wink. “I’ll see myself out. See you at work, Madam Director.”
Don stopped when he got into the living room, taking a minute to straighten his clothes and flatten his hair before stepping out onto the street. More than likely, no one would be out at this time of the morning—but better safe than sorry. He meant it when he told Lena he didn’t want to be the cause of any trouble for her at the studio. Much less expose her to Frankie or his goons.
His eyes wandered around the space, taking in the things he’d missed in his hurry to embrace Lena last night. They landed on the photographs on the mantel—her father, his back to the camera, looking out at the horizon from the fishing boat Don had spent his summers working, Lena and her brother in the backyard as kids, and a photograph of Don. His heart caught in his throat and he stopped breathing for a second.
In the picture, he was looking over his shoulder, a cocky glint in his eye, a kid who believed he was about to have the world at his feet. He’d forgotten this photograph. Lena had snapped it while he was packing, the day before he left for New York. Had she had it all this time? Framed in a simple gold frame and placed alongside her family, as if he was equally precious. The notion was staggering.
He shoved his hand in his pants pocket and grasped hold of the penny he’d carried every day since Lena had given it to him. For luck, she’d said. Maybe he hadn’t needed luck. Maybe all he’d needed was her.
He’d always considered Lena and her folks his real family, a soft place to land when his father was on one of his tears. A place where he could be himself and be cherished for it. He’d feared only moments ago in the bedroom that all of that was no longer true. That Lena had realized he was no good—and was dismissing him from her bed because of it. But this picture suggested otherwise. Because while he’d been off dancing in nightclubs and hoofing his way toward Broadway, she’d been here—and she hadn’t forgotten him. Hadn’t given up on him. If he’d felt lousy for turning his back on his life here so completely before this, now he knew for certain that he was a heel who didn’t deserve her. Hell, he should’ve never come here in the first place. Not only because of Frankie, but because he wasn’t worthy of her.
Sure, he’d had his reasons for leaving. For not looking back. He still did. Lena had hers now too, and he should take her at her word, not let his self-doubt ruin what they’d shared. He knew he’d turned out to be a disappointment to her. To the entire Morgan family. But he wouldn’t fail them this time. He’d never leave her behind again, never forget how much she meant to him, how much she believed in him when no one else had. He didn’t know how or if she would even want him to, but he would find some way to make it up to her, to wipe away those ten years where he’d been too busy, too proud, and too mired in a mess to look back. Ten years where Lena had done the opposite, making him a part of her past that she wanted to remember every day. Keeping the memory of him here on her mantel.
***
The streets had been quiet in the early morning on the short drive from Lena’s bungalow to his hotel. He had slept fitfully, and he was tired. It was barely five thirty. He could collapse into his bed and get a couple more hours of sleep before his call time. He needed to be his best today. And every day hereafter. He owed Lena that. Hell, he owed himself that. He jimmied the key in the lock, leaning into it with his shoulder, irritated that he was staying in this dive. Not for the first time he thought wistfully of the Chateau Marmont and the cozy room he could’ve had there on the studio’s dime. They probably had down pillows and satin sheets. Here, he was lucky they didn’t have bedbugs. He sighed, imagining what could’ve been if he didn’t need that money for himself.
The door suddenly gave under his weight, and he stumbled into the dark room, his foot slipping on a piece of paper in the doorway. He cursed as his groin pulled, afraid he had strained a muscle that would put him on the back foot on set yet again. He had to be in dancing shape.
Leaning down, he picked up the offending scrap. Someone had slipped it under his door while he was out. He could barely make out what it said in the dim morning light with the blinds pulled on his window. It was an assembly of letters cut from newspapers and magazines, like a ransom note in a movie. He flipped the switch on the wall next to the door, and his heart plunged into his stomach. “ Remember Mabel ,” the note read. He looked over his shoulder out of habit, expecting one of Frankie’s goons to emerge from the shadows. But no one was there. Whoever had left this was long gone.
He slammed the door behind him in fury and leaned back against it. Remember Mabel. How could he forget her? Forget any of what Frankie had taken from him? He was angrier than he could ever remember being. Had someone followed him? Eleanor had warned him Frankie always had eyes on them, but that didn’t apply when he was on the other side of the country. But what if someone had tailed him? Realized he’d gone to dinner with Lena and not come home? He should be scared, concerned for Lena’s safety, if not his own. What did this warning mean? Was it about Lena? Was it a sign that Frankie was getting wise to his plan? Or was it simply a scare tactic placed here for no other reason than indulging Frankie’s need for control to the point of sadism?
Well, it wasn’t working. At last, Don had moved past fear. Instead, he was furious. How much longer could he live this way? With someone watching and dictating his every move. He thought of his reluctance to bed Lena last night when the moment had arrived, the niggle of dread that had held him back from fully consummating things. His head swirled with years of shame and anxiety, a cracked mental foundation laid by his father and sledgehammered in by Frankie. A wave of bile rose up the back of Don’s throat and he crumbled the accusatory note in his fist. Whoever had left this for him had meant it as a warning. But to hell with that. This wasn’t a warning; it was a call to action. He was going to end this, once and for all. He was done being Frankie Martino’s lap dog, done being kept in a cage and trotted out only when Frankie wanted.
If Frankie was wise to his plan, so what? He’d find another way to free himself. Look at what Arlene had done. Defied the odds. Thumbed her nose at the men who didn’t believe she deserved to be where she was. All while never turning her back on her family. Never turning her back on him. Even when she’d been cold and distant, she’d kept that photograph on her mantel. Believing the boy she’d once known was still in there somewhere. And he was. He would prove it to her. To the world. From now on, he was living his life the way he wanted. Frankie and his warnings be damned.