Chapter 6 #2
We were in the parlor set of Orchard House.
Vicky sat in a chair, darning a sock as Meg.
Annette, as Beth, sat at the piano. I had a fake mustache and a script in hand.
In this scene, Jo had written a play and was trying in vain to get Amy’s character to act properly.
Lydia, wearing a crown and a lace veil, was playing Amy to perfection.
Her natural abilities shined through, and the camera loved her.
It was hot under the stage lights, and sweat was smearing my makeup.
The brown wig I wore itched, and the corset made me feel breathless and irritable.
I felt like Louisa, who often complained about the confining feminine fashion.
What would she think if she knew her book was being turned into a movie?
She and her sisters loved acting and would have enjoyed the whole filming process.
Mama walked up to Papa and whispered in his ear. He glanced at me and then at the clock and said, “Fine. That’s a wrap for today, everyone. Call time tomorrow is seven, and we’ll begin shooting at eight sharp.”
Several people mumbled their complaints, but everyone had been warned we would work almost around the clock.
Our producer, Cal, probably wouldn’t go home to sleep for the next few weeks, and the film editors, sound engineers, camera operators, production assistants, set builders, and lighting technicians would continue working long after the actors left.
The fact that Papa was letting us go this early was probably because Mama had reminded him I had a date with Spencer at eight.
But where was Spencer?
Lydia fell dramatically onto the chaise lounge, her blond hair in ringlets. “This is so much harder than acting in a play.” She grinned. “But I love it. I want to be in movies for the rest of my life.”
“You’re doing a wonderful job,” I told her as I scanned the soundstage, looking for Spencer.
“He left an hour ago,” Vicky said as she stabbed her darning needle into the pincushion. “Papa was done with him, so he said he was going to take a nap in his dressing room.”
“You’re talking about Spencer?”
“Of course Spencer.” She studied me. “Is it true he’s taking you to the Hollywood Bowl tonight?”
I needed to wash my face and touch up my hair, which would be flat from being under a wig all day. I didn’t have much time, so I walked off the set toward my dressing room as I answered, “Yes.”
She followed me. “He’s a playboy, Ally. I wouldn’t think you’d want to be seen with someone like him, let alone spend time with him. It doesn’t even seem like you like him. How did he convince you to go on a date?”
I would need to work harder on pretending.
“I like him just fine,” I said, continuing through the soundstage and opening a side door.
“You could have fooled me. You hardly tolerate him.”
“Do you need something, Vicky?” I stopped on the sidewalk connecting the soundstage to the wardrobe and makeup department. Thunder rumbled in the distance as gray clouds covered the darkening sky.
“I need to know why you’ve agreed to go out with Spencer Hayes.”
“Why does it matter?”
She lifted her chin, blue eyes sparking. “Because he’s not the type of man you date.” Her shoulders were stiff as she crossed her arms. “He’s more my type.”
Vicky and I had never fought over men, because she was right.
We weren’t attracted to the same kind. She liked bold, overly confident men with a chip on their shoulders.
Someone exactly like Spencer. I liked confident men, as well, but I didn’t like ones with attitude or pride.
A quiet, self-assured, intelligent man who could talk about deep subjects was more my preference.
“I’m sorry,” I said as I continued walking, hoping it didn’t rain. “I don’t know what to tell you.”
“I’m just saying that it doesn’t make sense.” She pursued me. “I don’t know why you’re wasting your time on him.”
Vicky and I had never been chummy. I rarely confided in her, and I wouldn’t now. Even if she was trustworthy, I had signed a contract to keep the details of the relationship between Spencer and me private, and I would honor that agreement. The less people who knew, the better.
“I need to get ready.” I entered the dressing room we shared and walked to the sink to wash the thick makeup off my face.
Even though this wasn’t really a date, nerves bubbled in my stomach at the thought of being alone with Spencer and being seen in public with him.
After tonight, the rumor mill would start spinning stories and speculations about our relationship, and then there was no going back.
Not that I could go back after signing the contract, but it would be different when others knew.
I was supposed to positively impact his reputation, but what if people looked at me the way Vicky did and Spencer’s negative public image wore off on mine?
The worry niggled at the back of my mind, but there was nothing to do about it now. I had to make sure things worked out as we hoped.
After washing my face and combing my hair, I put a little rouge and lipstick on and reshaped my marcel waves.
The Los Angeles Philharmonic Orchestra was a fancy event, so I chose a blue silk and chiffon gown that matched my eyes.
It had thin straps and a dropped waist, with a sheer cape of the same blue.
I wore it in a movie, and it had been in the wardrobe storage room, along with a pair of black heels and a black clutch.
Vicky pretended not to watch me as the others entered the women’s dressing room and prepared for their evening jaunt to Santa Monica.
By the time I was ready to join Spencer, my stomach was in knots, and I had to force myself to breathe deeply.
I left the women’s dressing room and followed the sidewalk to the men’s dressing room, where I knocked on the door.
“Wow.” Spencer’s voice came from behind me.
I turned, my heart beating fast.
He was leaning against a lamppost, wearing a tuxedo, his face freshly shaved and his hair slightly damp. He was so handsome, it took my breath away. And, if the look on his face was any indication, he liked what he saw, too.
But I wouldn’t let it get to my head. We were playing a part.
I would have to keep telling myself that if I wanted to protect my heart.
Because, despite what I wanted to believe, Spencer was confident and intelligent—a dangerous combination that intrigued me.
“You clean up nice.” I smiled.
Thunder reverberated closer than before, and we both looked up.
“I hope the rain holds off.” He returned his charming gaze to me. “I have a pretty date to show off tonight.” He motioned me to join him and offered his arm.
We walked to the parking lot, and he led me to a cream-colored Rolls-Royce. The car was sleek and expensive, and exactly what I would have expected him to drive.
Spencer opened the passenger side door for me. I slipped into the automobile, lifting the train of my gown so he could close the door. Then he walked around to his side of the car and jumped in, grinning.
“This could be fun,” he said.
“As long as you play by the rules.”
“Rules were meant to be broken.”
“Not when there’s a legal contract involved.”
“Especially when the law’s involved.” He laughed as he pulled out of the parking lot, turning onto Sunset Boulevard, going faster than necessary.
“You sound like you have some experience with the law.”
“More than I’d like to admit.” He sighed as the first drops of rain hit the windshield.
“Will they cancel if it rains?” I asked.
“I guess we’ll see.”
It took us less than fifteen minutes to get to the Hollywood Bowl.
The venue was built in a natural amphitheater nestled in the Hollywood Hills and could seat over seventeen thousand people.
We’d spent each Easter morning there for the past seven years, attending their beautiful sunrise service.
From the top of the spectator seating, there was a good view of the large white Hollywoodland sign several miles away.
By the time we reached the Hollywood Bowl, we were caught in a downpour. Spencer had slowed the Rolls-Royce to a crawl, unable to see the road in the deluge of water.
“I don’t think we’ll be listening to the philharmonic symphony tonight,” he said, pulling to the side of the busy road, his windshield wipers unable to keep up with the demand.
“Will we get in trouble with Mr. Fellbaum if we don’t show up and mark our attendance sheet?” I couldn’t help but smile.
Spencer returned the smile. “We can do something else. Have you eaten?”
“I’m starving. I didn’t eat anything for supper.”
“How about we get something to eat?”
My stomach growled at the thought, and my cheeks grew warm.
Spencer chuckled. “It’ll have to be somewhere close, since it’s raining too hard to drive.” He frowned, as if he was thinking, and then said, “I know just the place.”
He slowly pulled onto the road again. The rain pounded the top of the automobile, amplifying the sound.
Thankfully, Spencer didn’t have far to drive and was soon pulling into a parking lot.
A neon sign flickered above a modest storefront, proclaiming “Miller’s Malt Shop” in bright, cheerful letters.
Spencer stepped out of the Rolls-Royce first and rushed over to my side, pulling his coat off.
He opened the door and held the coat over me as we dashed for the entrance, where a small bell chimed as we pushed open the door.
Inside, the air was warm and thick with the scent of hamburgers and chocolate.
Red vinyl booths lined the walls, a black-and-white-checkered floor gleamed with a recent polish, and a long counter stretched across the room, dotted with chrome stools.
A man in a crisp white apron with a white paper hat stood behind the counter while a waitress served their guests.
Every eye in the room turned to us with immediate recognition. It was hard to go anywhere in Hollywood without people recognizing me and asking for autographs—but standing next to Spencer Hayes, in an evening gown and tuxedo, made it even more difficult to go unnoticed.
A young woman rose and ran over to us. “This is the bee’s knees! Spencer Hayes and Ally Bennett in the same room! My friends will never believe me when I say that you were here! Can I get your autographs?”
“Sure.” Spencer guided us to the counter as I shook the raindrops from my dress.
“Can I get a piece of paper, Mack?” Spencer asked the counterman.
He nodded and pulled a slip of paper from his order pad. Spencer scrawled his signature and passed it to me. I did the same and then handed it to the girl.
“Oh! Thank you! Thank you!” She ran back to her table, where she showed her parents.
“What can I get you tonight?” the counterman asked.
“We’ll take a couple of burgers and two chocolate malts, please,” Spencer responded.
The man nodded and wrote the order down. As he did, I noticed a subtle sign pass between him and Spencer—a tilt of the head, a raised eyebrow.
The counterman tore off the piece of paper and handed it to Spencer, then turned away to start making the malts.
Spencer took my hand as if he’d done it a hundred times, his gaze finding mine.
My heartbeat escalated at his touch and the intense look in his eyes.
He tugged me toward the back of the malt shop. I went along, uncertain and wary, but he only grinned and turned a corner, where a narrow cement staircase descended into a dimly lit space below. He leaned in close and whispered, “Are you hungry for something really good?”
My pulse raced for an entirely different reason. “Where are we going, Spencer?”
“Somewhere that no one will bother us.”
At the bottom of the stairs, we stopped at the door, and he looked at the scrap of paper before knocking with a specific pattern. A moment later, the door opened, and we emerged into a lavish underground lounge.
I had never been in a speakeasy before. Spencer still held my hand, and my surprise made me helpless as he led me to a small booth in the back of the crowded room.
Dozens of people laughed, smoked, and drank as jazz music filled the dimly lit space from the stage at the front of the room.
The women wore drop-waisted gowns, low-cut and dangling with glittering beads, while the men were in tuxedos.
Some of the couples were in intimate embraces as others flirted and danced.
A waiter arrived with a white towel draped over his arm. “It’s been a while, Spence,” he said. “The usual drink?”
Spencer glanced at me and then said, “Not tonight. We’ll have a couple burgers and chocolate malts instead.”
“Sure thing,” he said and walked away.
I leaned forward, my jaw tight as I asked, “What are you thinking? We can’t be seen here.”
“Relax. Look around, Ally. Everyone comes here to get away from the public. No one is going to rat on each other.”
There were several actors and actresses I recognized, as well as other community leaders, but that didn’t mean I wanted to be there.
“I’m leaving.” I stood, clutching my purse.
“It’s raining cats and dogs out there,” he said, taking my hand. “Where are you going to go? And how are you going to get there?”
I removed my hand from his grasp as the song ended and another began. People cried out in excitement at the new music. The Lindy Hop had become a popular swing dance after Charles Lindbergh’s flight across the Atlantic two years before, and several couples started dancing it.
“I’ll use a pay phone and call my parents to pick me up. And I’ll let Mr. Mayer—”
“Know that you are canceling your contract with him.” Spencer sighed and shook his head. “Sit down, Ally.”
I slowly lowered into the chair, but my back was stiff.
“Look.” He leaned forward. “I know you don’t like my lifestyle, but I can’t say that I like yours either. It seems so boring and a waste of time to sit at home every night and knit.”
“I don’t knit.”
“All I’m saying is that if we have to spend so much time together, you have to meet me halfway.”
“A speakeasy is not halfway.”
“You don’t have to drink. The waiter is bringing that milkshake and burger down here.”
“What about your promise to me?” I asked, crossing my arms. “You said you wouldn’t touch alcohol.”
“Who said I am? I brought you down here to get away from the fans, stay warm and dry, and get something to eat. I don’t see how it’s any different down here than upstairs. Just a little more comfortable.” He nodded at the band and the dancers. “And more entertaining.”
Spencer was right. The room was comfortable, no one was paying attention to us, and the music was enjoyable.
“Fine,” I said, “but as soon as we’re done eating, I’d like to go home.”
He winked. “You got it.”
I hoped I didn’t regret staying. But I had a feeling Spencer Hayes was going to make me regret a lot.