His Girl Hollywood

Chapter 23

Don was kissing her. Making his way from her mouth to her breasts and down her torso, until he placed his hands on her thighs, spread her legs, and kissed her there, sucking her clit between his teeth and swirling his tongue over it in a way that made her mindless with need. She opened her mouth to scream, to gasp. Instead, a shrill ring emerged.

No, wait, that wasn’t right. Arlene heard it again and jolted up in bed. She’d been dreaming. Nuts. The ringing sound was coming from the phone on her bedside table. She pressed her legs together; the wetness there wasn’t a dream. Even if the rest of it was. She scrubbed at her tired face and eyes and looked at the clock next to the phone. It was 5:30 a.m. She’d only been asleep a little over an hour. The piercing trill of the phone cut through the quiet of the early morning once more, and she fumbled for the receiver. “Hello?”

Her brother’s voice answered. “Lena?” A shiver of dread ran down her spine. He didn’t call this early. He didn’t call ever. Except for one time before.

“Bill, what’s wrong?”

The next words confirmed her worst fears. “It’s Mom. She fell. I found her unconscious.”

Arlene jumped up from her bed and yanked the phone from its spot on the night table to the foot of the bed. The phone pressed between her shoulder and her ear, she pulled open her dresser drawers and began pawing through them to find slacks and a sweater. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. I came over to have our cup of coffee, like I do every morning before I take the boat out, and I found like her this. The ambulance is on its way.”

Arlene’s stomach turned upside down. She suppressed her urge to throw up. This couldn’t be happening. Not again.

“I’m on my way.” She didn’t care if her clothes matched. She fished a pair of underwear out of her top drawer and nearly lost her balance trying to pull them on while she talked to her brother.

“Lena, are you…are you alone?”

Astonishing. Even in a moment of crisis, her face could turn beet red with embarrassment. “I am. Not that it’s any of your business.”

Bill coughed pointedly on the other end of the line. “I only ask because I don’t know if you should drive yourself. You’re distressed. You’re not thinking clearly.”

She wanted to tell her brother where he could stick that idea, but she had to admit he was right. She needed help right now. Support. She needed to be able to worry about her mom and nothing else. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Over the phone, she could hear the whine of the siren approaching in the distance.

“Okay, we’ll be at the San Pedro hospital. And Lena?”

She stopped fighting with the tangled bra strap she was trying to undo. “Yeah?”

“Call Don, please. You need him right now.” The phone clicked on the other end of the line as her brother went to meet the ambulance. He was right. She did need Don. Desperately.

She pulled the phonebook out from under the shelf on her nightstand and began flipping through the pages, frantically hunting for the Hollywood Starlight Inn. God, she didn’t even know Don’s room number. Did this dump even have phones in their rooms? She found the hotel in the yellow pages and dialed the number, pulling the rotary back each time and cursing how slow this process was. Why could she not just push a button?

A sleepy, bored voice picked up the line. “Hollywood Starlight Inn. How can I help you?”

“I need to speak to Don Lamont.” It all rushed out on one breath.

The clerk on the other end of the line paged through a sheaf of papers on the desk. “There isn’t anyone here by that name.”

Shoot. Had she remembered the name of the hotel wrong? Wait. “Could you try Don Lazzarini?”

She held her breath while the clerk looked again. Or at least made the pretense of moving a bunch of paperwork around loud enough for her to hear. “Room 208.” She exhaled. Of course. Don wouldn’t have used his stage name at a dingy Hollywood SRO. “But he’s not here. He never picked up his key. Hasn’t been back all night.”

Her stomach fell. That couldn’t be right. “Are you sure? Did he maybe have a spare on him?”

“No, he left the key for safekeeping. Made a point of it. He hasn’t been here since yesterday evening.”

So, he’d put her in a cab home and gone…where? In her mind flashed a picture of him on the deck of the gambling ship, Eleanor Lester in his arms. Don kissing the top of her head tenderly. Had he kissed Arlene like his life depended on it and gone to Eleanor’s bed? The thought of it made her sick. Don would never do something like that. Would he? But if he wasn’t with Eleanor, where was he?

Her heart sank as she remembered a similar night a few years ago. Her brother had called her in the wee hours of the morning to tell her that her father had died of a heart attack. Lena had wished then that she could’ve called Don. Could’ve gone to him for comfort. Don had been so different these last weeks. Tender. Gentle. Generous with his time and his heart. She had wondered if he’d been going through something while he was in New York and had finally come out the other side of it.

But what if she was wrong? Her mother was dying, and he was probably fast asleep in the arms of Eleanor Lester. Don Lamont wasn’t someone she could rely on. She should’ve known better. Learned her lesson. But her romanticism had won out. Lured her into a false sense of security by the promise of this love story that she’d always wished she could dream into being. But that was all it was. A dream.

She pulled on her loafers, grabbed her car keys, and sprinted out the front door. Alone. Again.

***

Arlene didn’t think she’d sat down in at least six hours. She’d sped her way to the hospital, even running a few stop signs in her panic. But she’d rushed through the emergency room doors to find Bill and his wife entertaining the boys, seemingly at ease. Her big brother grabbed her and wrapped her in a hug, letting her cry all her exhaustion and fear into his chest. “It’s okay, Lena. She’s gonna be okay,” he’d murmured, while patting her back. It had reminded her so much of her father and his reassuring hugs that it had set off a fresh wave of tears.

But when she’d finally calmed down, she’d swiped at her eyes with the sleeves of her cardigan and asked, “What happened?”

“She got a cramp when she got up to go to the bathroom. She fell and hit her head. She’s got a concussion and a bruised hip. But she should be back on her feet within two weeks.” Arlene had heaved a sigh of relief, unspeakably grateful today was not the day she lost her mother. As soon as her mother had been examined, Arlene had driven her home. She had been making coffee and running around the house ever since, trying to ensure her mother wanted for nothing.

“Ach, Lena, sit down. I’m all right.”

She plumped her mother’s pillow again and nestled it in between her mom’s hip and the side of the couch. “There, that should make sure you don’t press on the bruise.”

Her mother rolled her eyes, but Arlene knew it was only because she didn’t like being fussed over.

“I just want you to be comfortable, Mama.” Arlene took her fresh cup of coffee and sat next to her mother on the couch. The couch had a blue toile pattern, but it had worn away so much over the years that you could barely make out the faces of the figures in the design. As soon as she sat, her mother reached out her hand and placed it right above Arlene’s knee, squeezing to give her a bit of reassurance. “You’re a good girl. Always have been.”

Arlene reached for her mother’s hand and gripped it tightly. “I try, Mama.” They sat in a comfortable silence for a moment before Arlene added, her voice choked with emotion, “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Her mother, still fragile from her fall, gingerly wrapped her arms around Arlene and pulled her to her chest. “Me too, Lena, me too.”

Arlene leaned into her mother’s embrace and inhaled deeply, soaking in Pauline Morgan’s familiar scent of dish soap, lavender potpourri, and Irish breakfast tea. It was a smell so uniquely her mother’s that she would never forget it. Her gratitude was immense. Today could’ve gone very differently. But her mother was still here, holding her, comforting her, her smell pervading the room. This was what mattered. Her family. Her career. Not some fly-by-night Broadway romance.

It was as if her mother could read her mind. While she continued to calm Arlene, steady in her embrace—even if her arms felt frailer than Arlene could ever remember them—she murmured so quietly that Arlene almost could’ve believed she imagined it. “Donnie? He didn’t come?”

Arlene shook her head, unable to put words to the disappointment she had felt in the wee hours of the morning when the hotel clerk had told her Don had never come home that evening. Her mother said nothing, merely made a soothing, clucking sound and stroked Arlene’s hair.

Once she’d gotten back to the house, Arlene had called the studio and asked the second unit to handle filming for the day while she made sure her mother was all right. Surely, Don would’ve heard by now that all was not well in the Morgan home. But he hadn’t called. Hadn’t checked in to find out if Pauline was dead or alive. That stung more than the thought that he’d likely romanced Arlene the entire evening before ending it in Eleanor Lester’s bed.

But it was the same as when her father had died. No word, no condolences, nothing. Radio silence and the sinking feeling that she’d been wrong about one of the people she’d loved most in this world. A churning anger swirled in her gut. How dare he! After everything her mother had done for him. Her father. How dare he ignore them when they needed him most! Act as if it didn’t matter to him if they lived or died. None of them had ever expected anything in return for opening their home to Don and giving him the family that the Lazzarinis were incapable of being for their only son. But didn’t they at least merit some loyalty, a stray thought of goodwill?

A pounding at the front door startled them both. Noting her mother’s wince as she jolted in her arms, Arlene apologized quickly. She had no idea who it could be. The neighbors had come by to check in this morning, and Bill had long since headed to work to try to make up for some of the day’s catch that he’d missed. A flicker of hope ignited in her chest. Could it be Don? She’d still give him a piece of her mind. But if he was here, even late, that was something.

But when she opened the door, it wasn’t Don Lamont. It was, frankly, the last person on earth Arlene had any desire to see—Eleanor Lester. Her generally well-coiffed blond hair was a little worse for wear, and Arlene noted that she was wearing mismatching shoes. But the sight only made Arlene realize that her own sweater and slacks clashed in the most horrible way. And she was certain that Eleanor had a more infuriating reason for her state of disarray.

“Go away,” growled Arlene. She moved to shut the door in Eleanor’s face, but Eleanor stuck out her shoe with the brown heel and caught it with her foot.

“Wait, please. Don—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” muttered Arlene. “Maybe he doesn’t know or he hasn’t told you, but my mother took a spill today. I’ve really had about as much as I can take. If he’s sent you to bear his tidings, that’s all well and good, but I don’t want them. Goodbye.”

“He’s disappeared and I don’t know where,” Eleanor spat out in a rush, no breath between each word, trying to beat the snick of the door closing in her face.

Arlene cracked open the door and stuck her head out. “What?”

Eleanor looked over both her shoulders, a stark look of fear on her face. “Can I come in, please? I’m worried I was followed.”

Arlene didn’t know if Eleanor Lester was off her nut or serious. But she supposed it was best to err on the side of caution. So, she opened the door wider and shooed Don’s dance partner—and apparent lover—into her family home. This had absolutely not been on her to-do list for the day. Or ever, for that matter.

Arlene closed the front door, leaning against the panes of glass that were paneled between a wooden trellis. “So, what? He left your place for the studio this morning and he stood you up for a date this afternoon?”

Eleanor gave her a puzzled look. “My place? He wasn’t at my place last night.”

“But he didn’t go back to his hotel last night.”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you!” Eleanor practically shrieked in her thick Jersey accent. Arlene clocked her mother’s distaste instantly. But she knew it wasn’t Eleanor’s grubby appearance or the fact that she had a voice made for silent pictures. No, it was simply because they thought Eleanor had played a direct role in hurting Arlene. Arlene could never call her mother disloyal, that was certain.

“Mama, why don’t you go lie down?” Her mother glared at her, a look that told Arlene that her mother knew exactly what she was doing. But with Arlene’s help, she stood from the couch, took the cane she had propped against it, and made her way to her bedroom.

While Arlene helped her mother, Eleanor made herself at home, removing her hat and gloves and taking a seat at the dining table. “Would you like a cup of coffee?” Arlene asked her begrudgingly. She didn’t like the woman, but her mother would never forgive Arlene for being a stingy hostess.

Eleanor shook her head. “I just wanna know where Don is.”

Arlene crossed her arms and gave Eleanor a hard look. “Look, I don’t know what you’re accusing me of—”

“I ain’t accusing you of nothin’. I want your help.”

Arlene sighed and took a seat across from Eleanor. “You’re telling me Don wasn’t with you last night?”

Eleanor gave her a queer look. “No, stupid, he was with you. I saw ya together on that floating casino.”

Arlene dragged a hand down her face. “And I saw you together. Looking pretty chummy, I might add.”

Eleanor rolled her eyes. “There’s nothin’ between me and Don, never has been, never will be. He’s my dance partner. And a helluva decent guy.”

“That’s not what it looked like.” Arlene might be a hopeless romantic, but she wasn’t dumb.

“Look, believe me or don’t, but I’m telling ya there’s never been anything between us. Don was comforting me last night because I’ve been a little hysterical lately. The hormones, I guess.” Eleanor patted her tummy meaningfully, and Arlene’s eyebrows shot to her hairline.

“You’re having a baby? But you said—”

“It’s not Don’s, ya dum-dum. It’s my boyfriend…well, fiancé’s. Robert. Only he’s a little confused too. He’s been listening to Frankie Martino too much. So, I’m in a bit of a jam.”

Arlene only understood about half of what Eleanor was saying. “Wait, wait, who’s Frankie Martino? And what’s Don got to do with this?”

Eleanor sighed heavily, as if she thought she was dealing with the biggest idiot on the face of the planet. “He really didn’t tell ya nothin?” Arlene shook her head. “Frankie Martino is our manager. He discovered me and Don, made us a team, launched our careers. But he’s a two-bit crook and a cheat, and he’s had a stranglehold on our lives ever since. He used to be a bootlegger, but he decided to expand into the theatrical management racket. Among other things.” Eleanor wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Frankie’s the one who planted all the rumors in the press about me and Don. The ones my fiancé now believes. Frankie’s got us on a leash so short, we can’t do anything he don’t say.”

Arlene’s mind reeled. Don was in business with a gangster? Or worse, owned by him contractually? Was this what he’d been keeping from her? When she’d sensed him holding back when he tried to explain his radio silence, was this why? “But how did Don come to Hollywood then? Where is this Martino character?”

“That’s the thing. Don was trying to pull a fast one on Frankie. Use this Hollywood deal to set himself free. He probably woulda gotten away with it too. But I came to him for help, not knowing what else to do. Donnie was too decent to tell me to take a hike, and now he’s gone missing. Since you were so keen to shut the door in my face, I’m gonna assume that he didn’t stay with you last night.”

“No.” Arlene’s mind was whirling a mile a minute. This was a lot to process. Don was in danger. She could feel it in her bones. But what could she do about it? “He put me in a taxi and sent me home. Said he had to take care of something. Then, my mother had an accident early this morning. I tried to call him around 5:30 a.m., and the hotel clerk said he’d never come back last night. I thought he was with you.”

Eleanor grimaced. “That don’t sound good.”

Arlene resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Obviously, it did not. “Do you have any idea where he could be?”

“I told ya, lady, he wasn’t with me.” Eleanor enunciated each word very slowly.

“No, that’s not—” Arlene bit her lip and mentally counted to ten. Out of all the things she’d imagined Don was keeping from her, the fact he was in thrall to a gangster manager was not one of them. That discovery alone would’ve pushed her to the edge, so Eleanor’s presence on top of it all was straining her nerves to their breaking point. She was struggling to make sense of this new information and how it colored everything Don had told her since he’d come back. But blowing up at this dizzy dame was not going to help Don. “It’s obvious now I was wrong. I’m sorry. But if Frankie got ahold of Don, what could he have done with him?”

Eleanor took on a thoughtful look, worrying her lip and looking up, as if the answer could be found in Lena’s mother’s cracked and worn ceiling. “No idea. The last time I talked to Frankie, he was going on and on about how if Don didn’t get in line, he was gonna be sure to remind him ‘where he came from.’ A reminder to Don that he was nothin’ without him. That’s why I came here. I thought you might know what he meant by that.”

Arlene leaned her elbows on the table and placed her head in her hands, rubbing her temples with her fingers. She was exhausted, worn out by the day’s poisonous cocktail of anxiety and adrenaline. Learning that her leading man had possibly been kidnapped didn’t exactly do anything to ameliorate that.

She wanted to scream. She’d known Don was keeping something from her, but this? This was something that had the power to endanger them all. Her life, the picture, her mother, anything Don touched could have ended up in this man’s crosshairs. But the more she pondered it, the more her anger was replaced by worry. She’d been so quick to judge Don, to assume the worst, to believe that he’d lied to her—when all along he’d been in terrible trouble. Trouble that he’d tried to protect them all from by keeping the truth from her. It was stupid and misguided, but it was noble too. Something the boy she’d known and loved would’ve done. She shoved a sense of gnawing guilt away. There wasn’t time for shame or anger right now. They had to find him.

“He’s from here,” muttered Arlene, trying to piece together puzzle pieces in her brain that didn’t quite fit together. “This is the street and the house where he grew up. And I haven’t seen anything remotely resembling a gangster or goon squad today. Granted, I’ve been a little preoccupied.”

“Nah, Frankie wouldn’t have brought him here. He would’ve wanted to scare him, make him uncomfortable.”

Arlene racked her brain. San Pedro was a family town, but it had always had a seedier element. There were at least a dozen places Frankie could’ve taken Don. There was the back room at the bar on 17th Street. No, that would draw too much notice. You couldn’t turn around in there without bumping into at least four regulars who seemingly lived there. The cliffs at Point Fermin? Too exposed. And if Don was there, he was probably at the bottom of them, which Arlene didn’t want to think about. “‘Where he came from’… What did Frankie mean by that?”

“That’s what I hoped you could tell me,” Eleanor replied, not a hint of irony about her. Arlene followed Eleanor’s eyes around the room as they took in the family photos hanging on the walls. “What about Don’s parents?”

“No, they’re been dead over a year,” answered Arlene. “Besides, there was no love lost between Don and his parents. Is it possible we’re overreacting and he stayed out all night to clear his head?”

Eleanor chewed at her bottom lip. “Anything’s possible. But I found Eddie Rosso passed out in his bed at the hotel this morning. He was barely coherent, nursing a bad hangover. I’ve seen that kinda hangover before. It wasn’t just alcohol he drank last night. Someone slipped him a Mickey. I’d bet my left foot that the dame I left Eddie with at the Frolic Room works for Frankie, and that she put something in his drink. Eddie’s rug was stained with droplets of blood. But he doesn’t have a scratch on him, so it had to belong to someone else.”

Eleanor set her black handbag on the table and opened the pearl-inlaid clasp, fishing around inside it for something. She pulled out a long, black piece of material. “Someone left this in Eddie’s room. It’d been shoved under the bed.”

She handed it to Arlene, and Arlene ran the smooth silky material through her fingers. She stopped when she reached a stain in the middle. “This is Don’s tie. He was wearing it last night.”

“How can you tell?”

“See this?” Arlene held out the stained section to Eleanor. “That’s a stain you made last night. Your lipstick or something.”

“Oh, that. That’s my snot,” Eleanor declared as if that was a perfectly normal thing to have left on a man’s tie.

Arlene dropped the tie distastefully and shot Eleanor a look of disgust. “Nevertheless, this is Don’s. I’m certain of it. Did you find anything else in Eddie’s room?”

Eleanor nodded. “Someone left a message in the rug.”

Arlene’s eyebrows shot to her hairline. “You didn’t think you should lead with that?”

“Listen, if you’re gonna criticize me, I’ll show myself out.”

Arlene balled her hand into a fist and resisted the urge to tell Eleanor to be her guest. “Sorry, Miss Lester. I’m worried, that’s all.”

Eleanor gave her a pitying look and clicked her tongue. “Gosh, you really got it bad.”

Arlene chose to ignore the comment. “The message in the rug. What did it say?”

“It said…” Eleanor squinted, like she was trying to remember a complicated solution to a math problem. “It said D-A-D-C and then had half a circle next to the C.”

Arlene stood to get pencil and paper from the counter in the kitchen and wrote down the letters Eleanor had listed. It didn’t make any sense. Was it supposed to be a code of some sort? She chewed on the end of the pencil and pondered various combinations of the letters. Was it an anagram? No.

“There was also a symbol above the letters,” Eleanor interjected.

Arlene pushed the paper and pencil at her across the table. “Can you draw it?”

Eleanor eyed the pencil with a look of disgust. “You gotta ’nother pencil? You just had that in your mouth.”

“And I had my fingers all over your snot stains. Draw it.”

Eleanor squeaked in surprise and hurriedly snatched up the pencil, drawing a shape with an oval and a triangle beneath it. She slid it back across the table to Arlene. It looked a bit like a rocket ship. Arlene placed her elbows on the table and rested her head against her fists, staring at the drawing as if its meaning would suddenly reveal itself to her. “Space, the moon, rocket fuel? None of those mean anything.” She huffed. “What was he trying to tell us?”

“I don’t know but if you ask me, there’s something fishy about the whole thing.”

“Something fishy! That’s it.” Arlene turned the paper horizontally. Eleanor had drawn the image vertically. But if you turned it on its side, it looked like a roughly drawn fish. And the letters weren’t a code. They were an unfinished message. Dad and C with an unfinished a . It seemed like a stretch, but she knew she was right. She leapt out of her seat and ran into the kitchen to use the phone on the wall. Eleanor was only a few steps behind.

“What’s it ? What did I say? And who are you calling?”

“The police, obviously.” Eleanor extended one carefully manicured finger and held down the receiver, disconnecting the line. Arlene glared at her. “What’d you do that for?”

“I hate to break it to ya, toots. But they ain’t gonna be any help. Half the force is in bed with guys like Frankie Martino. You call them and I guarantee Frankie will know we’re on to him before you hang up.”

Arlene returned the phone to the wall. “Drat.” She chewed her lip. What was she supposed to do if she couldn’t call the police for help? Was there anyone who wasn’t somehow connected to the mob? Wait. Of course there was.

She reached for the address book on the top of her mother’s kitchen counter, flipping through it until she found what she was looking for. The ink was still gleaming black, only added to the book within the last month. She dialed and explained to Eleanor at the same time. “If we can’t call the cops, we’re going to need a foolproof plan, so I’m calling in some reinforcements.”

“But I still don’t understand. What did I say? Where is Don?”

“Fishy. You said ‘fishy.’ That symbol. That’s meant to be a fish. Don was trying to write Dad and Cannery . But he got interrupted.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Don’s parents worked in the canneries on Terminal Island. His mother was a cashier at the cafeteria and his father worked in the warehouse, filleting and packing tuna. Don hated it. Growing up, their whole house, his clothes, his father’s fingernails, it all smelled like fish. Don’s father expected him to join him when he came of age, but he went to New York instead. That’s what Frankie meant when he said he was gonna remind Don where he came from.”

The phone trilled on the other end of the line. “Pick up, pick up, pick up.”

“Hello. Howard and Davis residence.” Arlene sighed in relief. Joan and Dash had moved into a new mansion in Beverly Hills after they got married. For the second time. But they’d taken Dash’s butler with them. They needed the help. Particularly since Arlene was no longer Joan’s assistant. “Martin, it’s Arlene. I need to speak to Joan right away.” She turned to Eleanor, while she waited for Martin to fetch her friend. “I can’t be absolutely certain, but there’s a handful of warehouses down in the harbor that the canneries use. If there hasn’t been a new catch in a while, they sit empty. I’d bet my eyeteeth that’s where Frankie has Don.”

A deep, sultry voice came on the line. “Hello, darling, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Joan, I need your help.”

“Is it Don? I knew it!” She called into the background, “Dash, it happened. I told you the kid was crazy for him.”

Arlene bit back a retort. Having recently been involved in plotting to get Joan and Dash back together, she couldn’t very well scold Joan for hoping for the same for her. “It is Don. But it’s not what you think.”

Arlene quickly explained all she’d learned in the last twenty minutes—Frankie Martino, Eleanor’s predicament, Don’s scheme, and her hunch about where he’d been taken. “I need you and Dash to help me work this out.”

“We’ll be there in an hour.” Joan hung up, and Arlene pressed the phone to her chest. She had no idea what a group of actors, a dancer, and an assistant turned screenwriter turned director were going to do about a gangster and his schemes. But help was on the way. And she could already breathe easier knowing she wasn’t in this alone.

“Ya know, I think I will take that cup of coffee,” Eleanor chirped, as Arlene followed her gaze to the gleaming metal coffeepot, a look of naked envy in her eyes. Arlene said nothing for a moment, just looked at Eleanor and then back at the coffeepot.

“The cups are in the cupboard on the right.”

Arlene turned on her heel and went back to the living room and the sideboard built into the wall to dig for some more pen and paper in one of the drawers. Already intent on her next task, she still could hear Eleanor in the kitchen, as the dancer squeaked, “Well, I never. Without so much as a kiss my foot or have an apple.” Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, this was going to be a long night.