Chapter 32
Arlene stepped out of the car behind Don, his hand tightly gripping hers. The flashbulbs were practically blinding. She’d been to at least a dozen premieres and Hollywood galas as Joan’s assistant. Heck, she’d attended the Oscars and won! But it had never felt like this. Because this time, the attention was all on her and on the man currently pulling her onto the red carpet beside him.
They hadn’t made any official announcement about their relationship, so this was technically their first public appearance as a couple despite being together for nearly four months. Anyone who Lena or Don cared to know about them already did. A gust of wind blew down the palm-tree-lined forecourt of the Egyptian Theatre, and she shivered, hugging the sea-green capelet draped across her shoulders tighter to her. It was cold, even for an early November night.
A red carpet ran from the street on Hollywood Boulevard down a long, narrow courtyard to the pillars carved with hieroglyphics that marked the entrance of the movie house. The carpet was a gauntlet she and Don would have to run before they could see their finished picture. He looked back at her, still standing on the sidewalk, with a question in his eyes, and she nodded. She wasn’t ready; she didn’t think she ever would be. But with Don by her side, she felt better prepared to face the part of the job she loathed—the glamour, the press, the fake posturing. She fell into step beside him, and they began to pose for the cameras and screaming throngs of fans corralled behind a velvet rope.
“Miss Morgan, Miss Morgan,” a reporter in a fedora yelped from the front of the line. “Do you think The “It” Girl will win you another Oscar?”
She laughed. “I don’t worry about that. I just hope people enjoy the picture.”
Don grabbed the top of her arm and pulled her closer to him, so that there was no space between them. “If she doesn’t, the Academy’s screwy.” He winked and a woman with a large feathered hat that seemed pulled directly from Leda Price’s closet tittered. The reporter who had asked the question chuckled and wrote down Don’s response in his notebook.
Don was a natural. He could go back to Broadway anytime he liked, even without Frankie Martino. But Hollywood was where he belonged. They’d done something special on this picture. It was a musical like no one had ever seen before—one made for the square box of the screen, not the proscenium arch of the stage. Don and Eddie knew innately how to make a dance cinematic, and she wanted nothing more than for them to keep getting to push and prod the genre to new heights. For Don’s sake, she hoped the picture was a hit. It was good. No, it was better than good. That she knew for certain. But there was a difference between making a fantastic picture and making a picture that the audience thought was fantastic. Tonight, she’d find out if they’d managed to do both.
They had made it about ten more feet down the carpet when a photographer yelled out, “Mr. Lamont, ditch the dame.” It didn’t offend her. She knew they wanted a clean shot of him. In fact, she’d expected to have to wait for him inside while he took an endless stream of photos. She’d told him as much at home.
But Don gave the man a wolfish smile and squeezed Arlene’s hand so tightly she could barely stand it. “We’re a package deal.” He wrapped his arm around Arlene and smiled for the camera, staring the man down, daring him to question it. The guy shrugged his shoulders and snapped the shot.
Arlene huffed, trying to be stern and failing. “You shouldn’t do that. They want to see you as an unfettered movie star, the guy all the girls back home can dream about. It’s good for your career. I told you already this would be part of it.”
Don grinned. “So? It can be part of it on my terms. I want everyone to know I’m spoken for.” Arlene blushed deeply and narrowly avoided tripping over the hem of her shimmering skirt. “I told you—I won’t leave you behind again. That includes on the red carpet.”
Arlene bit her lip and resisted the urge to kiss Don right there in front of everyone. He hardly needed to go through his first big movie premiere with his face covered in red lipstick. It was as if he could read her mind though, because he bent down and pecked her on the cheek before whispering in her ear, “You’re the most beautiful woman here tonight. Anyone who doesn’t want you in their photographs is a fool.”
She knew that was not true. Not when genuine silver-screen goddesses like Joan Davis were here. But she also knew that Don believed it was true. And suddenly, she wasn’t the slightest bit cold anymore.
Don started pulling her more quickly down the carpet. She tried to dig her toes into the plush carpet. “Darling, slow down. Don’t you want to talk to the reporters? This is your big night.”
He pulled her toward him and gently pressed his hand to her back, close enough to take her in his arms if he wanted to. “It’s our big night. All I want is to get to my seat and watch my first picture while I hold my girl’s hand. There will be plenty of time to talk to the press later. Hell, Harry’s got me lined up for the cover of at least three different magazines with the word ‘screen’ in the title.”
She laughed at that. “The public relations office at Evets Studios is quite good.” She meant that too. So far, they’d prevented any scuttlebutt about Don and Arlene’s on-set romance from reaching the press.
“So, I’ll let them do their job. Tonight, let’s enjoy the movie we made together.”
She blushed and looked down again, and he quickly ghosted a kiss to her forehead, which only made her smile harder. Someone from the press line yelled out, “Hey, lovebirds, give us a kiss.”
Don put his hand under her chin and tipped it up to search her eyes, looking for approval. They’d agreed not to hide. Harry had promised he’d handle any nasty headlines or gossip that even so much as intimated Arlene hadn’t earned her place as a director twenty times over. But here Don was, still making sure this was okay, still respecting her career.
She had told him she would love him unashamedly, the way he’d always deserved to be loved—and the flashing lights of dozens of cameras didn’t change that one bit. Let the PR department deal with it. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his, enjoying the puff of air that escaped his mouth in surprise before he returned the kiss, wrapping her in his arms. His hand wandered to her behind, and she broke apart from him, hoping he hadn’t noticed she wasn’t wearing any underwear. That was a surprise for later. They looked at each other, at the camera, and then back at each other and both giggled.
She felt someone snap a photo of them—with his arms around her, holding her like she was more valuable than any treasure to be found in an Egyptian pyramid, her looking up at him like he was Ra, the god of the sun. She made a mental note to ask Ida to track down the negative on Monday. She knew without even seeing it that she’d want to frame this picture and put it on her mantel. Right beside the picture she’d taken of Don the day he left. A portrait of a boy, ambitious and headstrong, beside a picture of a man, back where he belonged, giving and receiving the love he’d been hoofing for thousands of miles away.
He kissed her cheek again and started pulling her to the entry doors. “Let’s go get our seats,” Don said.
She let him tug her, giving herself over to the joy and giddiness of the moment. “You know they reserved our seats, right?”
He looked back at her and laughed, and she followed him through the pillars into Hollywood’s temple, the sacred home of the motion picture, his laughter echoing off the colorful painted pharaohs on the walls.
***
The moment the lights went down, Arlene’s stomach started somersaulting. A hush fell over the crowd, and she held her breath as the title card with a calligraphed The “It” Girl filled the screen. She whooped and Don cheered as the next card read Starring Rita Carter and then Introducing Don Lamont . She reached over and squeezed his hand. She was so proud of him, she could burst.
Suddenly, there it was: Directed by Arlene Morgan . The words blown up to the size of a football field. She’d dreamed about this for as long as she could remember and now it was here, in black and white. Don put his fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly before erupting into thunderous applause. She smiled so hard it made her cheeks hurt.
After a few expository scenes introducing the characters of Lee and Danny to the audience, it was time for the first love scene—when Lee “teaches” Danny to dance, and he impresses her boss, eventually asking her out to dinner and kissing her. Throughout the dance sequence, she could see Don smiling, counting the steps under his breath. “You were right,” she leaned over to whisper. “This choreography is much better than what I tried to make you do.”
He preened a bit, reveling in her praise. But all the color drained from his face as the dance ended and it came time for the love scene. He needn’t have worried. As Danny leaned in to kiss Rita Carter’s Lee, Arlene heard little gasps and intakes of breath from around them in the theater. Someone in the back wolf-whistled. Don was a matinee idol now, whether he liked it or not. “You’re a natural,” she whispered.
“Nah,” he murmured back. “I had an excellent teacher give me a very instructive lesson.” She bit her lip and crossed her legs, trying to stifle the sudden rush of heat that came with the memory of that first kiss on set. God, she really should’ve worn underwear.
The rest of the film passed smoothly, and before she knew it, they were at Don’s big number—his dance with his alter ego. She crossed all her fingers together in her lap and then sat on her hands. This number was revolutionary. Unlike anything that had ever been done before. And she had no idea how the audience would react. Would they think it was hokey? Would it make sense to them, this notion of Danny wrestling with himself through dance?
She could scarcely breathe as she watched Don and his reflection execute a perfect series of steps across the screen. The music swelled and Don’s larger-than-life self jumped up onto the streetlight and then down into the puddle, banishing his reflection with a few kicks of his feet. The audience around them burst into uproarious applause, a few scattered people even leaping to their feet. She couldn’t stop the sudden rush of tears that swam in her eyes, turning the movie screen into a watery impressionist painting. It was a hit. Don was a star. And he loved her. It was a Hollywood happy ending she’d never dared to imagine could actually be hers.