The Cinema of Lost Dreams

by Alli Sinclair

  “Carpe diem—seize the day.”

  “Then do it.” Yvonne’s perfect red lips formed a large smile. “Do you want to be second fiddle? Haven’t you always said your time to make it big is limited?”

  Lena scrunched her napkin. “I’m not getting any younger, I know. But going to this party feels dishonest, and I don’t want to win a role because I was in the right place but not invited.”

  “Well, Jeanne’s never had a problem with gate-crashing parties to meet people who will further her career,” said Yvonne.

  “Jeanne and I are different people,” said Lena.

  “You two used to be peas in a pod,” said Yvonne.

  Lena concentrated on pushing the salad around the plate. “Just leave it be.”

  Yvonne looked at George.

  Lena dropped her fork. “Seriously, you two! Why are you ganging up on me?”

  Yvonne faced Lena. “You deserve just as much as Jeanne—and then some. You are a good person, and you should take advantage of the opportunity that has landed in your lap.”

  “An opportunity that was forged.”

  “Creatively added,” George said.

  Despite her somber mood, Lena laughed. “Thank you.”

  “For?”

  “Thank you both for looking out for me.”

  Yvonne put her arm around Lena and pulled her close. “We’re family.”

  “We are indeed.”

  Chapter Four

  1950 – Hollywood

  George held out his hand and helped Lena out of the car. Her friends had done a brilliant job convincing her she should attend the party, although now, dwarfed by Stuart Cooper’s towering pink mansion, she doubted her decision. Since arriving in Hollywood three years prior, Lena had tried to get over feeling like an imposter and acknowledge that she was finally living her dream of being an actress. Some days it was harder to believe than others. Today was one such day.

  Lena smoothed her mint-green dress and took a moment to calm her nerves. When she’d initially put it on at Yvonne’s she’d loved the way it hugged her curves, but now she felt like a boa constrictor was slowly wrapping around her torso, suffocating her. Lena’s ribs hurt, her head felt like a pincushion and her makeup felt three inches thick.

  George offered his arm and she took it. He said, “Cary Grant would be envious of me right now.”

  “You are such a charmer.” Her laugh was light, like the steps she took in the heels that pinched her feet.

  “Yvonne did well to get you this ensemble.” He tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “Look, I know you’re not comfortable with this, but mark my words: you won’t regret it.”

  “I’ve heard that before. Remember last New Year’s Eve when you tried to get us into the party at the Chateau Marmont?”

  “That was so last year.” George’s gaze followed the length of her body. He let out a low whistle. “You do scrub up all right, don’t you, Cinderella?”

  She adjusted the thin strap on her shoulder. “Well, if Cinderella can gate-crash a ball, I guess I can go to a party under false pretenses.”

  “That’s the spirit!” George slapped her on the buttocks and she punched him in the arm. “Come on, Cindy. There are some people I want you to meet.”

  They climbed the steps to the large double doors made of filigree iron and solid mahogany.

  Lena stopped. She sucked in her breath.

  “What’s up?” asked George.

  She shook her head. “I can’t do it. It’s wrong.”

  “Do you think everyone deserves to be at this party? Most are only here because they know the right people. They haven’t earned their place. But you, my darling friend, deserve the chance to shine. You’ve been in Jeanne’s shadow way too long.”

  “Is that so?” Jeanne Harris’s voice came from behind them, more like a growl than a purr.

  Lena tightened her grip on George’s arm as Jeanne walked up and stood in front of them.

  “Hello, Jeanne.” Lena forced out the words.

  Lena’s once-friend ignored her and turned her attention to George. Her perfectly painted lips twisted into a half smile. “A word of advice, Mr. Barrett. There are many eyes and ears in this town who are more than willing to share information with me. Anyone who gets in my way or speaks badly of me will incur my full wrath. It would do you well to remember what happened to your old friend Oscar Connor after I discovered what he’d been saying.”

  George’s body tensed under Lena’s hand. Oscar had been George’s secret lover until Jeanne had overheard Oscar calling her a diva, among other things. Although not as powerful as other stars—yet—Jeanne’s skills of manipulation were second to none, and the right words in the right ears saw Oscar’s job as director’s assistant quickly disappear. Oscar’s further efforts to gain employment in Hollywood had been met with myriad rejections, so he’d returned to Atlanta to work in his father’s printing company. After George had lost the man he’d once shared his hopes and dreams with, he disappeared into a permanent cloud of romantic misery.

  George drew himself up to his full height. “Jeanne, just because—”

  “That’s a really lovely dress, Jeanne. I like that shade of yellow on you,” said Lena, almost choking on her words.

  Jeanne narrowed her eyes and allowed the mink coat to fall slightly to show off her perfect milky-pale shoulders. “Just watch yourself, Barrett.”

  Jeanne stalked to the doors and a couple of butlers opened them for her, bowing as she breezed past in a sea of Dior and…whiskey?

  Lena turned to George. “There’s no way I’m going in now.”

  “Seriously?” George pointed in the direction Jeanne had sashayed. “You’re going to let the likes of Jeanne Harris stop you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, please. That witch thinks she can walk over everyone to get what she wants.”

  “She’s dangerous, George. Look at what she did to…” Lena didn’t have the heart to finish the sentence.

  “I will never forgive her for what she did to Oscar. And to me. And I darn well won’t let her ruin your career because she feels so inclined. We are going in there, you will meet the right people and you will finish this evening not just with your foot in the door, but your whole curvy body and that very clever business brain.” George fixed his eyes on her, daring her to argue.

  “I’m still not convinced.”

  “You don’t need to be,” he said.

  “I’m only doing this because I trust you, George Barrett.” Lena hitched up her dress so she could navigate the stairs to the main doors and the steps that led down into the foyer. She stopped and looked around. Sparkling high above was a chandelier that appeared bigger than her kitchenette, the brilliant crystals shining like diamonds. Beneath her pinching heels was a magnificent marble floor with the Coopers’ initials in the center. A marble horseshoe staircase snaked around both sides of the expanse, and an army of servants carrying drinks and hors d’oeuvres wove between women in ball gowns and tiaras and men in jet-black tuxedos and pristine white shirts. Some faces she recognized, many of them studio investors, other artists, musicians or journalists she’d read about or seen from afar.

  In the middle of some men and women stood a man who had the group’s full attention, their laughter raucous. He wore a red velvet suit that complemented his dark, slicked-back hair.

  “Who’s that?” she whispered.

  “Reeves Garrity. He’s worked in radio but, as you can see, it would be a waste to keep him behind the microphone.” George grabbed two champagne glasses off a passing tray. He handed one to Lena, who couldn’t take her eyes off this Hollywood newcomer. His height, broad shoulders, beautifully styled hair and strong jawline were the classic clichés of a movie star, though he didn’t appear to have the arrogance—yet. Time would tell, however. Just look at what happened to
Jeanne.

  George said quietly, “You’d do well to stay away from him.”

  “I’m not… I…” Her cheeks flushed with heat.

  “I know you, Miss Lee.” He gave her a gentle nudge. “Although he is rather easy on the eye.”

  “Shh.” Lena looked around, hoping no one had heard George. “Those things are fine to say to me in private, but you can’t risk anyone else hearing you.”

  George’s smile disappeared. “It’s ridiculous, and it’s wrong.”

  “Of course it is.” She moved in close and said, “No matter how much you and I believe that people should love who they want, things won’t change.”

  “Maybe one day.”

  Lena sipped the champagne. “Yes, maybe one day.”

  “What will happen one day?”

  Lena turned around to find Lawrence Doherty, her director, standing behind them. How much of that conversation had he heard?

  “Hello, Mr. Doherty. We were… uh…”

  He held up his hand. “No need for formalities. So, Cooper deems you important enough to be here?”

  “I…” Words! Where were the words? “I…”

  “Lena Lee is very important,” said George. “Have you ever heard her sing?”

  “No.” Lawrence looked at Lena like she’d come from the moon.

  “She has the sweetness of a nightingale. Her voice will bring you to tears and make you feel like your broken heart will never mend.”

  Lawrence’s smile seemed far from genuine. “She’s just like every other actress in Hollywood. Sorry, Lena, but you just don’t have that je ne sais quoi like Jeanne.” He took a moment to study her face. “And aren’t you a little more mature than Jeanne?”

  Mortified that her age had been brought up in such a public place, Lena struggled to find a reply—but she couldn’t let the comment go unacknowledged.

  “Age is just a number,” she said, praying she hadn’t jumped across the line.

  “Exactly,” said George. “Besides, mature women have a natural elegance and grace that these young actresses can never imitate. Everyone knows Lena Lee is a star in the making.”

  “She is an excellent actress, I’ll give her that,” Lawrence said.

  “Then why doesn’t she get bigger roles?” asked George.

  “Okay, that’s enough!” Lena grabbed her friend’s arm. “Let’s leave Mr. Doherty in peace. I’m sure he has people telling him someone is a talented singer and the next big thing all the time.”

  “Prove it,” Lawrence said.

  “Pardon?”

  “Prove you have what it takes.” He pointed at the white grand piano in the next room. “Sing me a song.”

  “Uh…” Oh no. She’d hoped to keep a low profile, at least for the first couple of hours of the party. “Sure.”

  She straightened her spine and held her head high as she walked over to the piano, where a gentleman with gray hair had been playing classical tunes. Her heart raced as she approached the pianist. “Would you mind playing ‘Over the Rainbow,’ please? I’ve been asked to sing for our host.”

  He looked up and asked, “Which key?”

  Lena eyed the main doors. If she took off her heels and pulled the dress up past her knees, she could run a lot faster…

  “C,” she finally answered.

  A small crowd had gathered around the piano, and she recognized a lot of faces, many of whom she hadn’t ever had the courage to speak with: director Henry Newman; scriptwriter Lloyd Ferrier; Charles Boyd, who was a devastatingly handsome leading man and the faithful husband of the elegant Cassandra Cleary; and eternal bachelor and rogue Gregory Silva.

  “Ready?” asked the pianist. Lena nodded, terrified she’d landed herself in this situation. Well, George had, though she shouldn’t have been surprised. George never played by the rules.

  The pianist stretched his hands, then set to work, his fingers dancing across the keys in a flurry of creativity.

  Her mouth was dry.

  Her head was foggy.

  Perspiration pooled at the base of her spine.

  She swallowed hard.

  The lump in her throat wouldn’t dislodge.

  She missed the opening notes.

  People stared.

  The pianist circled back to the beginning.

  She opened her mouth, and at last her voice cooperated. She closed her eyes, losing herself in the music, feeling the words about longing, of wishing for something that may never be.

  Looking up, she spied Reeves Garrity, who stood apart from the growing crowd. His eyes were fixed solely on her. Heat raced across her skin and she looked away.

  A wave of anxiety tried to drown her, but she stood firm. The eyes and ears of Hollywood’s elite were now on Lena, and one missed note could destroy her chances of being something more than a minor character.

  The song’s crescendo grew. She had to get that high note. It had never been a problem before, but the stakes were the highest they’d ever been.

  Lena glanced at Reeves Garrity. He offered a slow, warm smile, and the confidence she’d been grappling with now raced through her with full force.

  She hit the last note, her voice strong. Her heart connected to the music and her ears filled with applause and shouts of “Bravo!” George handed her a glass of champagne and she was swarmed by men and women congratulating her on such a beautiful rendition of Judy Garland’s most famous song. Lena thanked each person, unable to comprehend what she’d just done. She mouthed “thank you” to George, who leaned against the piano, a smug I-told-you-so smile on his face. Lena looked over to where Reeves Garrity had been standing, but he’d disappeared.

  “Well then,” said Lawrence as he shooed the well-wishers away. “You and I need to talk. Monday, ten o’clock.”

  Lena looked at Lawrence. Her words wouldn’t connect with her brain.

  “What do you have to say?” he asked, his tone one of amusement.

  “Thank you?” Why didn’t she have the self-assurance Jeanne had? Even before she’d become a starlet, Jeanne had the amazing ability to convince even the most powerful people that she was someone important, someone who should be noticed, someone who was going places.

  “Don’t be late.” Lawrence shoved his lit cigar in his mouth and walked into the foyer to talk with a group of men with pockets deeper than the South China Sea.

  “That was wonderful, Miss…?” Stuart Cooper appeared beside her.

  Where had he come from?

  “Miss Lee. Lena Lee,” she said.

  “Miss Lena Lee.” He let the words roll around his mouth. “That’s a very Hollywood name.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And that was a mighty fine performance you just gave. Here.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. “Call my office and we’ll set up a screen test. I’d like you to join my studio. Can you act?”

  “I’m…” How could she say this without making him look bad? “Thank you, but I already have a contract.”

  “You do? Who snapped you up?”

  “Uh…Fortitude Studios.”

  “What?” His shocked expression appeared genuine. “Oh, Miss Lee, I sincerely apologize. Why have we not met before?”

  “Probably because my roles to date haven’t been very big.”

  “We need to do something about that. Which film are you working on now?”

  “We’ve just wrapped up Parisian Dreams so I’m waiting to hear what’s next. I’m meeting with Lawrence Doherty on Monday.”

  “Good, good. I’ll have a word with Lawrence. Perhaps we can find you a singing role.”

  She tried to contain the excitement that threatened to spill out. “Thank you. I would be forever grateful.”

  “Wonderful. Ah!” His attention diverted to an older couple, and he saluted
Lena as he walked away.

  Lena’s feet felt like they were cemented to the floor. Stuart Cooper had just made an effort to talk to her. It didn’t matter that he’d had no idea who she was; with so many actors and actresses swarming the studio lots it would be impossible for him to know everyone.

  Jeanne stood on the stairs, surrounded by a group of male admirers. Her fake laugh stabbed the air as she flicked her blond locks then narrowed her eyes when she spotted Lena.

  A desperate need for fresh air overcame Lena, and she made her way through the crowd and slipped out a side door. She found herself in a small courtyard surrounded by lush, perfectly manicured hedges. Taking a seat on an elaborately carved marble bench, Lena let out a long breath. She glanced at her shaking hands on her lap.

  “You have the voice of an angel,” came a deep baritone.

  Lena looked up to find Reeves Garrity casually leaning against the doorframe. In a few swift steps, he was in front of her.

  He held out his hand. “I’m—”

  “Reeves Garrity,” she said, then chastised herself for sounding like a fan.

  His laugh was warm. “I do hope that is all you know about me.”

  “I know you worked in radio and you’re currently filming your first role—as a leading man, no less.”

  “I don’t know whether I should be flattered and continue talking, or if I should run away because you know more about me than I do about you. One thing I do know, however, is you have a beautiful voice. Where did you learn to sing like that?”

  “My mother says I was singing before I spoke.”

  “I can believe it. So, tell me, mysterious nightingale, what is your name?”

  “Lena Lee.”

  “Miss Lee, I am very impressed with your talent. Can you dance?”

  “Yes. And I can act,” she added, finally finding some confidence.

  “A triple threat.” Reeves looked around, making sure no one was near. He whispered, “I’ll let you in on a secret. I’m not a very good actor.”

  “But you’re with one of the biggest studios in Hollywood! Surely they wouldn’t hire you if you couldn’t act.”

  He gave a crooked smile.