His Girl Hollywood

Chapter 30

Don tugged at his tie, trying to loosen the knot. His collar felt like it was choking him. It was nerves. He rubbed absentmindedly at that penny in his pocket. If he’d ever needed luck, this was the time for it. He tucked the penny into the inside breast pocket of his sport coat and tried to steady himself.

He stood alone on the soundstage, the New York street where he, Arlene, and Eddie had choreographed their new number only last week. It seemed like a year had passed in that time.

A single light from the rafters illuminated Don. He stood under one of the dozen streetlamps lining the set, waiting. If anyone had walked in right now, he would’ve appeared the portrait of calm. Just a guy out for an early morning stroll…on a fake street.

But his stomach was doing choreography of its own as he smoothed his hair down and waited for the moment that would determine the course of the rest of his life. Frankie Martino would be here any second, with Eleanor Lester in tow, and then, this was it. Their last chance to fix this. He hoped the man had followed instructions and come alone. Or he was about to have a much bigger problem on his hands.

The heavy soundstage door slid open. He heard it before he saw the shaft of light. Then, there was Eleanor’s voice, high-pitched and squeaky. “He’s in here, Frankie. I told ya, he’s eager to work this all out.”

“He’d better be,” growled Frankie.

Don threw his shoulders back and straightened up, gaining another inch as he tried to make himself look imposing in the cavernous room. “Leave her be, Frankie. Your business is with me.”

Frankie came around the corner of the set, alone thankfully. His hands were in the pockets of his pin-striped suit, and there was a menacing sneer on his face. If the wardrobe department had produced a gangster of this ilk, Lena would’ve sent them back for looking too obvious. “My business is with the both of ya, always has been, always will.”

Don stepped further into the light, careful not to throw a nervous look over his shoulder. Frankie couldn’t know how frightened he was right now. How even one wrong move could send this entire thing toppling like a house of cards. He took a breath and made his opening bid. “Then, this is a good time to mention the first part of my offer. I’ll be yours, under contract to you until my dying breath. If you let Eleanor go off and marry the man of her dreams. God help him.”

Frankie slunk toward him, a jungle cat on the prowl, and poked his finger hard into Don’s chest. “Let’s get one thing straight. You don’t set the terms. I do.”

Don took a step back, away from Frankie’s probing fingers. “And why is that?”

“Because I’ve got the power in this here town. I kidnapped you once, I can do it again. Maybe next time I’ll break your ankles for real.”

Don winced, the welts on his wrists and ankles still raw from the ropes that had held him to the chair. If he inhaled too deeply, his bruised ribs flared in protest. It’d be weeks until it wasn’t painful to breathe. “You won’t break my ankles. Because then your meal ticket will be gone.”

Frankie stepped into Don’s personal space, shoving his face into Don’s. His breath smelled of day-old coffee and cigarettes, the hint of gin lurking underneath the rancid blend. Don held his breath. “You and Eleanor, you ain’t my meal ticket no more. I’ve been busy while you were…” He paused for dramatic effect. “Tied up with other concerns.”

Don resisted the urge to roll his eyes at Frankie’s ham-handed reference to the kidnapping. He gripped the piece of pipe he’d slipped in his pocket. He’d found it near one of the sandbags lining the edge of the soundstage. Would it be enough to knock Frankie out? To get himself and Eleanor clear if things went south? It was more important to keep Frankie talking. The pipe was a last resort. “Why do you want to keep us so badly then?”

Frankie laughed. The sound was cold and frightening, devoid of human emotion. “Because like I keep tellin’ ya, ya need to remember who’s boss. You get yourself a little Hollywood picture, and suddenly ya think you’re in charge. Well, ya ain’t. You’re a two-bit hoofer. I made ya and I can break ya.”

Don swallowed, pushing away the memories of Mabel, of Frankie’s control and all it had cost him. “That may be. But I still want you to let Eleanor go. We’ll find someone else. Dance partners are a dime a dozen.”

Don’s eyes darted to Eleanor. He hoped she knew he didn’t mean it. That he was hunting for any foothold he could find. She was the most irritating woman he’d ever known, but she was a helluva hoofer. She squeaked in protest and crossed her arms over her chest, but when Frankie looked back to him, he watched her wink over the gangster’s shoulder. It stopped the shaky feeling in his knees and encouraged him to plow ahead.

“This is my best offer.”

“What would I do with half of a dance team?” Frankie had never been the most imaginative or creative guy.

“I’ll give you what you wanted.” Don gritted his teeth together. It pained him to say it. “Sixty percent of any contract I sign. In perpetuity.” The opposite of what he’d planned when he’d arrived in Los Angeles only a month ago.

Frankie paused, seeming to consider this idea. A muscle in his jaw pulsed and Don nearly laughed, watching the visible effort it took the man to think through the very basic proposition. But then, Frankie cracked his neck and flicked his hand at Eleanor. “Go on then.”

She looked between Frankie and Don, uncertain. “I can stay if—”

“Go!” Frankie yelled, the rage that always simmered under the surface unleashed. “He’s giving ya your freedom. Now, take it. Before I change my mind.”

Eleanor gave Don a breathless “Thank you” before turning on her heel and scurrying from the soundstage. Don exhaled minutely, happy that Eleanor was at least safe. For now.

“It’s a tempting proposition,” Frankie drawled. “But that means you’re gonna do whatever I want. Make appearances when I ask ya to.”

“What kind of appearances? Isn’t soaking me dry for every penny I earn enough?”

Frankie smirked. “I got big plans for this city. You think you’re so smart, mentioning Jack Dragna to me like that was gonna scare me or somethin’. All it did was give me ideas.” Frankie tapped the side of his head with his finger to emphasize the point. “When I’m through with Los Angeles, Jack Dragna and his cronies ain’t gonna know what hit ’em.”

Don bit his tongue, resisting the urge to tell Frankie he was having delusions of grandeur. Jack Dragna wasn’t the kind of guy to roll over and die when someone threatened his outfit. “What does that mean?”

“That little casino boat you took a ride on with your girlfriend the other night—”

The mention of Arlene made Don see red. He lunged and grabbed at Frankie’s lapel, hauling him up to his toes. “Don’t you dare drag her into this.”

He felt the barrel of Frankie’s gun press into his gut. Don had reacted without thinking. But he needed to stick to the plan. It was the only way to keep her safe. To protect them all—Arlene and Joan and Dash and Flynn. As Frankie pressed the gun into him with increasing force, Don let go of Frankie’s lapels. Frankie smirked. “Ya just gave me more leverage, ya idiot.” The lug was right, but Don wasn’t going to let him know it. All he had to do was trust that this was going to work out. Then leverage wouldn’t matter. He rubbed at the penny in his pocket again, trying to calm down. Flying off the handle wasn’t part of the plan.

“That gambling ship, it’s nothing. I’m gonna put Anthony Cornero out of business with a whole fleet. I’m gonna line the pocket of every politician and powerful man in this town, string them along until they lose their shirts. They’ll have no choice but to go along with my plans. By the time I’m done, Sunset Boulevard will be lined with casinos instead of mansions and movie stars. It’s already started—a handful of police captains, the editor-in-chief of the Examiner , they all want a piece of what Frankie Martino is selling. Give these guys a deck of cards, a pair of dice, or the promise of a big check, and their eyes turn to dollar signs.” Frankie shrugged. “Or if not, I’m good at finding other ways to persuade them.”

Don knew what that meant—blackmail and threats of bodily harm. “Hell, I even got your new boss, Harry Evets, slobbering over my business plans like a dog.”

“Harry Evets is a better man than you’ll ever have a prayer of being.”

Frankie laughed. “You think making a movie was your idea?”

Don recoiled as if Frankie had shot him. “No, that’s, no…a talent scout saw me in Pal’ing Around. He came backstage to meet with me.”

“Who do you think invited the talent scout to the show? Encouraged them to cast you as the lead in a picture when you’d never made one before?”

“Nebbs said it was Harry’s fiancee. Besides, I made the contract deal. The money was coming straight to me for once. Me and Eddie.” The room was suffocating now. The stage lights making Don sweat. The rug had been ripped out from under him. This one thing he’d thought was his alone, that he’d earned through sheer talent and hard work, was a lie. Another milestone reached only because he was the pawn of a gangster.

“I needed to test ya. I thought you were getting restless. I was right.” The truth hit Don like a ton of bricks. Frankie never would’ve let him go willingly. Never would’ve taken any amount of money Don offered him to buy out his contract. Frankie Martino owned him, no matter how hard he strained at his leash. His plan, Arlene’s plan, was slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. “That was just the beginning, sending ya out here. It showed me that there’s an awful lot of business opportunities I’ve been missing in sunny California.”

“Harry’s a good man. He wouldn’t have agreed to…to whatever this is.”

Frankie flicked his fingers, picking dirt out from under his nails as if this was another business meeting for him. “It wasn’t exactly skin off his teeth to cast you in a movie. If it didn’t work out, he could chalk it up to the cost of doing business. Particularly with a dame directing. There were a thousand things he could have blamed your failure on, if it came to that. Now, though, now I have some other ideas for our Mr. Evets.”

“He’ll never agree.” Don’s hands were curled into fists now, his fingernails digging into his palms so hard, they were nearly drawing blood. But it was the only way to keep himself from beating Frankie to a pulp. Or from trying to, anyway.

“Oh, but he already has,” Frankie sneered, his teeth exposed like a dog ready to make a kill. “Harry Evets might be a good man, but I reminded him that his new wife would be very interested to see some photographs I have of him enjoying the talents of the girls at my club.”

Don dragged his hand down his face and sank to his knees. “That’s it then?” He struggled to suppress a quiver in his voice. A sob was building in the back of his throat. “You own me. For the rest of my life?”

Frankie snickered, took a step back, and kicked Don in the side. Don doubled over. Frankie had caught him right in his bruised ribs. “Ya know your problem, kid? Ya always think you’re smarter than me.”

Don started laughing then. He clutched at his side and grit his teeth, the effort sending a wave of pain through him with every chuckle. But he couldn’t help himself. He looked up. The reaction had wiped the cruel grin from Frankie’s face, replacing it with confusion. But all Don could do was laugh.

“I think we got it! Cut, everyone.” Arlene’s voice rang out from behind the door atop one of the stoops lining the fake New York street. A bell rang and the lights went up, revealing a row of cameramen in the rafters. Perched above, looking like royals surveying their kingdom, were Joan, Dash, Eddie, and Harry Evets.

Arlene stepped out from behind the door, the lens of a camera visible behind her. Frankie’s head swiveled between them, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. His tough-guy sneer had given way to a look of utter shock and horror. “Did you…have you been—” Frankie spluttered.

But he didn’t finish as they all heard Eleanor’s voice from behind the row of flats. “Right this way, officers.”

She stepped onto the set of the New York street, a bit like a sheriff preparing for a shoot-out, flanked by three LAPD officers and a detective Harry had personally vouched for.

“Mr. Martino?” the detective asked as he moved forward. Frankie nodded, still disoriented by the scene before him. “You’re under arrest for extortion, aggravated assault, kidnapping, and racketeering.”

The detective produced a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and strode toward Frankie, who drew his gun, something wild in his eyes.

“I’ve been tricked! Bamboozled,” Frankie shrieked. “They’re the ones blackmailing me. They set me up.” He waved his gun haphazardly in the air, and Don moved forward, ready to tackle him. But the detective caught his eye and shook his head with a move that was almost imperceptible.

“Boys,” the detective called. A shot rang out. The soundstage erupted into chaos as Don leapt toward Arlene, tackling her to the ground, trying to protect her from any stray bullets. His shoulder and chest seared with pain as he hit the floor, placing his body over Arlene’s. He lay still, trying to avoid getting hit by a bullet. Joan screamed from her perch high above them.

“Quiet!” bellowed the detective. The soundstage went silent at his order. The smoke from Frankie’s and the officers’ guns was clearing, and the detective wrestled Frankie into handcuffs. The danger was through. But that didn’t mean everything was okay.

“Lena, are you all right?” Don ran his hands all over her, looking for anything that was bleeding or hurt. If Frankie had harmed even a hair on her head, he’d tear him limb from limb. Personally.

“I’d be fine if you got off me,” she mumbled, her voice muffled by the weight of his body atop hers. He exhaled in relief. If she was making sarcastic retorts, she was fine. He met her eyes.

“I thought you liked this position,” he whispered.

She rolled her eyes, but he could see the upturned curl at the edges of her lips, a telltale sign that she was barely suppressing her smile. “You’re impossible.”

He chuckled and rolled to the side, letting her sit up. His hand reached for hers, and she took it, squeezing it tightly, indicating she’d been more scared than she was letting on. He was startled to find her eyes glassy with tears.

“I told you before that I was afraid that you’d abandon me again. That I had to be careful with my heart because I didn’t want to give it to someone who’d been so careless with it in the past. But you protected me. You physically knocked me down to push me out of harm’s way. You were ready to risk your life for mine.”

He tugged at her hand and pulled her to his chest, embracing her. She clutched at his back, burying her face in his shirt. He murmured into her hair, “I’m sorry I ever gave you cause to doubt me. I will never abandon you. I will throw myself in harm’s way every day if it means keeping you safe. Because I love you.” She answered by nuzzling at his neck.

She snuck her hand between the space between his coat and his shirt, wanting to embrace him, but he winced as she grazed his side. “Oh, God, your ribs, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t think it’s my ribs,” he said, looking down at the clear mark of a bullet hole in his jacket with a look of horror on his face. “It must’ve happened when I jumped in front of you. I thought the pain was from the impact of hitting the ground.”

She gasped and tore his jacket open, looking for the entry wound to stanch the flow of blood. He followed the path of her hands in confusion. There was nothing there. Not a hole in his shirt. Not so much as a drop of blood. All they could find was a hole in the back of his jacket. He felt around and found the bullet on the ground, a foot or so away from where they’d landed. Arlene looked at him utterly perplexed.

It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible. Don reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out Lena’s lucky penny. The penny, once flat and solid, was now bent at the top, nearly curving in half. It seemed the bullet had hit it and changed direction, passing through Don’s jacket and landing on the floor without hurting anyone. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

He held it out to Lena so that she could see, and she burst into hysterical giggles. “It couldn’t be!” He dropped it into her hand and she examined it, peering at the worn silhouette of Abraham Lincoln faded from years of his touch. “Lord, this man has terrible luck with actors and guns.”

Don burst into laughter at that. She, hell, they must be okay if she could crack such a terrible joke. “I guess it really was lucky.” He bent over and kissed the top of her head, eternally grateful that they’d both been spared in the confusion. Thankful that none of the people who’d put their life on the line today to help him trap Frankie had been hurt.

Another officer approached Don and Lena, still on the ground. “Did the bullet hit that?” They both nodded. “I’m going to need that for evidence.”

The officer held out a small paper envelope, gesturing for Don to drop it in. “But—” he started.

“Don, give it to him,” said Lena.

“It’s my good-luck charm,” he protested. And so much more than that. A tether to Lena; he hadn’t even realized how much it had meant to him until the other night in his parents’ old bedroom. All that it had signified to him subconsciously.

The officer cracked a smile. “Seems like it’s done its job.” Lena and Don both laughed at that.

“I’ll get you another one,” she told him. Finally, he begrudgingly relented and dropped it in the envelope. The officer thanked him.

He watched with satisfaction as the detective led a scowling, handcuffed Frankie to the police car parked outside the soundstage. They’d done it. Frankie Martino was going away. Hopefully for a long time. He wouldn’t ever threaten them or any other unsuspecting dancer with a head full of dreams and a song in their heart with his predatory ways again.

Content that Frankie had been effectively disarmed and carted away, Don looked down at Arlene. She was so beautiful, the light dusting of freckles across her nose more visible as her face was still pale with fear. Her green eyes reminded him of spring grass, freshly cut.

He brushed his thumb across her jaw and leaned down to dot her face with kisses, moving across the gentle slope of her brow to her eyelashes, the tip of her nose, and then dotting a line of kisses along her jaw.

She entwined her fingers behind his neck and moved her head, bringing her mouth to meet his. He opened for her and groaned as her tongue found his. But then, he broke away and searched her eyes. “Lena, no, your crew, your boss—I’d never forgive myself if I ruined things.”

She cupped his cheek with her hand and stole a quick kiss, murmuring against his mouth, “If anyone asks, I’m thanking you for saving my life.” He grinned against her lips and she seized the opportunity to capture his bottom lip between her teeth, tugging ever so gently. She tasted of cinnamon and shortbread. No, it was something more ineffable than that. She tasted of home. A home he couldn’t deny and would never turn his back on again. Because he’d finally realized that home wasn’t a place. It was a person. Arlene was, and had always been, his true home.

He returned her kiss passionately, cradling her in his arms until an amused cough interrupted their clinch. They broke apart and looked up from their spot on the stoop’s steps to see Harry Evets’s rotund and jocular figure casting a shadow over them. Nuts, this was what Don had been afraid of.

Harry cleared his throat. “Much as I enjoy a good love scene, shall we retreat to my office for a celebratory drink?”