Chapter 29 Ada
Ada
Since resuming publicity for Lady Bella Donna, Ada’s schedule has included interviews, events, articles, all involving her alone. Until today. Today she has an interview
on a radio program with Vince.
The man she has not seen since they kissed in the library.
After an assistant directs her to the recording room, Ada clutches her handbag and matches her breaths to her steps. Vince
won’t be fretting over this interview. When she sees him, he will be as relaxed as always. As if their moment of weakness
never happened.
Her stomach should not tighten at the thought. At how easily he can forget. And her breaths should not hasten when she sees
him approaching the recording room from the opposite end of the hall.
As she walks, she opens her handbag, avoiding the tiny pistol tucked inside—brought along to satisfy Ingrid—and pushes a few
items around her bag, as if looking for something. Surely Vince didn’t notice her noticing him.
“Message for you, miss.”
Ada pauses. An errand boy of perhaps fourteen offers her an envelope. “From whom?” she asks, though a chill is already prickling
across her skin.
“Dunno. The receptionist said she found it on her desk a few days ago.” He flashes a lopsided smile. “So many folks come in
and out, it’s hard to say who left it.”
A few days. Meaning whoever left this message was aware she would be in studio today. Masking her concern, Ada accepts the
envelope, then the boy disappears. Ada ducks into the nearest door, a small break room, drops her belongings onto the sofa,
and extracts the typewritten paper.
Congratulations on your upcoming film. I hope you received my gift, and remember: When I want to find you, I will.
She presses a hand to her chest above the scar. The gift. The brooch shaped like a key.
A chill overtakes her. Whatever Ingrid believes about the messages, about Mother being the one sending them, she is wrong.
Mother has no reason to harass Ada like this, not when Ada has always been obedient and compliant. She would simply win back
Ada’s trust, the same as she’s trying to do now. She would not resort to these measures. Dietrich would.
A sound breaks through Ada’s unsteady breaths. Footsteps getting louder, closer.
When I want to find you, I will.
He knows her schedule, where she is, when she’ll be there, and he’s chosen his time—now, this moment, even though she has not done anything to provoke him since the exclusive. Ada drops the note, snatches the gun from her bag, and whirls, pointing it directly at the man who appears in the doorway.
“Don’t come any closer!”
Except the man who abruptly halts while uttering a sharp “Jesus Christ!” is not Dietrich. It’s Vince.
“It’s not loaded, I swear it’s not loaded.” She quickly lowers the weapon and places it on the sofa, cheeks burning. How is
she supposed to explain this? “It’s . . . a precaution.”
He’s already slamming the door and approaching, his eyes on her, then the gun, then the slip of paper, stark white against
the sofa’s blue-and-green-striped upholstery. Before Ada can stop him, he picks up the note.
Well, now she has much more to explain than the gun.
She should have waited to read the message. There was no reason to read it here, not when she knew who surely sent it, what
it would contain, how it would make her feel. And now that it has just made her jump to conclusions, it’s in the hands of
the man who does not need to be staring at it with such a deep crease in his brow. Not when she is no longer his to worry
about, and he is no longer hers.
After what feels like an eternity, Vince holds up the note. “Who sent this?” His voice is close to a growl, infused with a
rage Ada has never heard from him before. “Someone you’ve worked with? An obsessed fan? Someone you’ve been seeing? How long
has he been harassing you?”
“I’ve got it under control, hence the precautions.” Her voice is remarkably level, surprising even her. She snatches the paper.
“It’s nothing.”
“Nothing. That’s why you’re carrying a goddamn gun.”
“Let’s not miss the interview.” When he doesn’t follow her, she places a hand on his arm, her voice soft. “I’m being overly
cautious, that’s all. You needn’t worry.”
She should assure him she’s fine, that the situation is not nearly as severe as it seems. But she can only endure so many lies. This will have to do for now.
A gentleness resides in his gaze—open, honest, everything he once never withheld from her. Soon they will remember their places,
and his look of indifference will return. Ada releases him. Watching the shift occur is never easy, and right now she can’t
bear it.
When Ada returns home, she hears raised voices from Gordon’s office—his, followed by Beverly’s.
“I wish your television pilot had developed into a series too, and I’m doing everything I can to book auditions for you. This
industry is frustrating, I know, but if you expect the business to be fair—”
“Not the business, my agent. My Communist agent who should remember most people do not look kindly upon that fact. We’re through, do you hear me?”
Ada holds Sowerby to her chest. His little body vibrates with suppressed growls, given his aversion to loud noise. The office
door collides with the wall, then Beverly stomps into the foyer, ignores Ada, and slams the door behind her.
Ada shushes Sowerby while Gordon joins her in the foyer and picks up his suitcase. Though his flight leaves in a few hours,
the profound heaviness filling this room makes her reluctant to permit him to go.
“Cancel your trip. Let’s stay in, watch films, eat chocolate, and have a relaxing night all to ourselves.”
He gives a wry smile. “Stop tempting me.” With a heavy sigh, he smooths his mustache and kisses her cheek. “Don’t work too
hard while I’m gone.”
Ada places a hand on his forearm in silent comfort, then opens the door for him and watches as he climbs into the waiting car. If these hearings don’t destroy them first, everyone in Hollywood might very well destroy each other.
She glances at the clock. Odd that the security guard isn’t here yet. She wanted to extend his presence for the duration of
Gordon’s absence, and she did notify him about Gordon’s trip. Unless she forgot, which is possible given how busy she’s been
with publicity.
She pulls Ingrid’s gun from her handbag and takes it into the library, where she keeps it hidden. Perhaps she should load
it after all. Ignoring the discomfort rippling through her, she carefully pulls ammunition from the cigar box, loads the weapon,
and closes the items inside.
A few hours of daylight remain, so Ada changes into a bikini and takes Sowerby into the backyard. After the day she’s had,
time by the pool will clear her mind. She can’t be distracted when she has a film to premiere in less than two weeks. If Lady Bella Donna fails, Mr. Hendrix will never hire her again—punishment for failing to make him money and for making a statement against
his wishes. A positive reception would afford her more protection and job security, although she’s starting to wonder if either
one really matters. Nothing and no one can protect her, really, and if these issues over politics escalate, will the entertainment
industry hire anyone anymore?
When the sunlight wanes, there is still no sign of security. She pulls on a chenille beach jacket over her bikini and goes
inside to call the guard, but there is no answer. She must have forgotten to notify him, after all, so he’ll certainly arrive
later for his usual evening shift.
In the kitchen, after Ada feeds Sowerby, a sound captures her attention. Rattling. Sowerby’s ears perk, a sign she didn’t
imagine it. The noise comes again—distinct, near the back door. Something disturbing the knob.
Something. Or someone.
A high-pitched yap pulls a curse from Ada’s mouth until she recognizes Sowerby’s bark. She grabs him, preventing him from
charging after the rattling sound. While he squirms against her hold, she peers toward the back door but does not approach.
“Mother?”
No answer. In the increasing darkness, she can’t make anyone out through the glass. And Mother would knock after realizing
the door is locked. Which means she is still in the guesthouse.
Silence. Perhaps it was nothing.
Ada is putting Sowerby down when the sound comes a third time, and she snatches him back into her chest when he resumes barking.
Every breath comes faster while she retrieves the gun, then closes the little dog in her office, much to his dismay. Better
than having whoever is out there find both of them.
She grips the pistol—loaded this time—and approaches the back door, step after cautious step. By now it’s too dark to see
outside. She stops. Listens. No signs of broken glass or forced entry, both of which she certainly would have heard, even
over Sowerby’s barking, so whoever it is cannot be in the house.
Ada tightens her grasp on the pistol as today’s cryptic note echoes in her mind. Enough of these games. If he wants the documents,
he won’t hurt her, not before he gets ahold of them, so she flings the back door open.
“Have you decided to find me yet?” she shouts as she steps out. “Show yourself, you cowardly bastard!”
Silence greets her challenge while a faint breeze tugs the hair falling loose around her shoulders. Whoever was here has gone.
Or is somewhere hiding, watching, waiting.
She could seek refuge with Mother, but the guesthouse is too far, out by the rose garden, and if he is out here, she can’t risk Mother’s safety.
Ada is the one he wants. She does not lower the gun until she’s returned inside and locked the door, then she puts away the weapon, frees a disgruntled Sowerby from his temporary prison, and only makes it a few steps down the hall before she presses her back to the wall and sinks to the floor.
He won’t show himself until he’s ready. Why he’s waiting, she still doesn’t know. Until then, he will terrorize her with notes,