Baby On His Hollywood Doorstep (Brides 0f The Roaring Twenties Book 1)

by Lauri Robinson

  He nodded. “Well, then, have a good day.”

  “You, too,” she said once again, anxious to lock her and Grace inside, away from the outside world. Like it or not, that was her life.

  He stepped out of the way and closed the door.

  Helen hurried into the kitchen and found the key. After returning and locking the door, her entire body seemed to relax. She stood there for a moment, thinking about Jack. He certainly was far more handsome than other men, especially when he smiled. Not only did that dimple form, but his eyes shone. Sparkled. Much like Grace’s did.

  She glanced down at the baby, who was smiling up at her. “Your uncle Jack is a nice man,” Helen whispered. “Don’t you think?”

  Grace giggled.

  The sound filled Helen’s chest with glee, smoothing over her earlier fear. She’d started out taking care of Grace out of necessity, but almost immediately, she’d recognized the joy it gave her. She’d promised Vera that she’d love Grace for her, but now, she loved her for herself as well.

  “Because you are so easy to love, little lady,” she said, pressing her lips to the top of Grace’s head. “So very easy to love.”

  Another sense of relief filled her. If Joe was anything like his brother, Grace would be well taken care of, have a good life.

  * * *

  A few hours later, Helen decided the little apartment was exactly the type she wanted someday. A lovely breeze blew in through the windows, drying the diapers and few other articles of clothing she’d washed and draped over the string she’d tied between two kitchen chairs. She’d also scrubbed the floors and all the kitchen appliances. They hadn’t been dirty, she just wanted to do something for Jack for letting them stay there.

  That is what drove her to examine the contents of the cupboards, and upon finding a supply of canned foods that would work with the contents of the fridge, she determined what to make for an evening meal.

  She seemed to have an endless supply of energy today. It could be because she’d slept remarkably well, despite waking up to check on Grace a couple of times. Or it could be because for the first time in a very long time, she wasn’t looking over her shoulder all day. No one knew she was here, in this apartment, except Jack.

  Feeling completely safe, and at ease, she’d taken a bath and washed her hair, leaving it hanging loose to dry. Someday, when she had the freedom to, she’d have it cut short, like the women she’d seen on the train.

  At six o’clock on the dot, just as he’d said, Jack arrived home. The meal was complete and the table set. An odd, but not uncomfortable, nervousness wrestled inside her as he walked through the door.

  “Good evening,” he said, removing his suit coat and hanging it on the coat rack that stood beside a small table near the door. “How was your day?”

  “G-good. How was yours?”

  “Very productive. Got several scenes shot.” He pointed toward the bedroom. “Is Grace sleeping?”

  “Yes, she ate a short time ago.”

  He grinned. “I hope she left some for me. It smells delicious.”

  Her nerves wouldn’t settle. She clasped her hands together, hoping that helped. She also hoped he’d like the canned ham she’d baked. She’d stocked them at the grocery store, but had never cooked one, or even tasted one. “Grace doesn’t eat table food yet.”

  He chuckled. “I know, and I haven’t even read that book of yours yet.”

  His teasing made her grin. “Well, I assumed you’d be hungry.”

  “You assumed correctly. Do I have time to peek in on Grace?”

  The fact he already cared so much for Grace warmed her heart. That was exactly what she’d hoped for. Of course, when she’d been hoping that, she’d thought it would be Joe, not Jack, but either way, it made her happy. “Yes.”

  “Be right back.” He winked one eye before walking to the bedroom.

  Her heart did a complete somersault. With cheeks burning, she hurried into the kitchen to remove everything from the oven.

  “You did go to the grocer.”

  Helen carried the platter of sliced ham to the table. “No, I didn’t.”

  Jack’s brows were furrowed as he stared at the various foods on the table. “Then where did all this come from?”

  “Your cupboards and what was left in the fridge.”

  “Nifty.” His tone held disbelief.

  Disbelief filled her, too. “Don’t you know what’s in your cupboards?”

  He pulled out a chair and nodded for her to sit in it. She did, but kept her gaze on his face, waiting for his answer. Everyone knew what was in their cupboards. Or what was not in them.

  “No,” he said, sitting in the chair across from her. “I don’t eat here very often. Eggs for breakfast is about it.”

  “Then where do you eat?”

  “Julia’s a lot of the time.” He shrugged while filling his plate. “Other places when she’s not open. This looks fantastic.”

  Too distracted to say much more than “Thank you,” she sat on a chair. Then, curious, she asked, “How did the food get in your cupboards?”

  He chuckled. “I go shopping every so often, just in case I’m too busy to go out.”

  “Too busy doing what?”

  He took a bite of ham before answering, “Working on a script.”

  She bit her lips together, watching his face as he swallowed, hoping the food tasted as good as it smelled. The aromas had been making her stomach growl for the last hour.

  “You must have been a cook back in Chicago,” he said, cutting another piece of ham off the slice on his plate. “This is delicious.”

  Happiness bubbled in her stomach. “No, I stocked shelves in a grocer.” She quickly forked food into her mouth, having said more than she should have. More than she’d told anyone, even Julia.

  “Your mother must have taught you, then, and she must have been a good cook.”

  He was smiling, and eating as if he was truly enjoying the food.

  “She was a good cook,” Helen admitted, refusing to let her mind go any further down a road that wouldn’t do her any good.

  “Mine wasn’t.” He forked another slice of ham off the platter in the center of the table. “I think the only times I saw her pick up a frying pan was to chase my father with it when she thought he was paying too much attention to another actress.”

  Although the image he’d just described was a bit horrific in her mind, he was still smiling, his eyes sparkling. “Your mother was an actress?”

  Chewing, he nodded. “We all were,” he said after swallowing. “But don’t let that fool you, it wasn’t nearly as wonderful as people think.” He shook his head. “I was so glad when I got old enough that I no longer had to go on stage and could work behind the scenes instead.”

  “Like you do now?”

  “No, I was merely a prop boy then, and it wasn’t in a studio.” He didn’t appear repulsed, but there was a tone of disgust in his voice.

  “Where was it?”

  “Theaters or playhouses once in a while, but usually barns, community halls, churches, even open fields. Wherever we could set up a stage and hang a curtain.” His plate was empty and he set down his fork. “My parents were vaudeville actors. We traveled the nation, stopping wherever and whenever to put on a performance. If my father thought there were enough people willing to shell out the money for tickets, we stopped. If not, we moved on to the next town. Both Joe and I performed, too. Dancing and singing when we were little. The opening act. I look back now and laugh at how awful we had been. How awful I’d been. Joe would get so mad at me. He loved performing as much as my parents did, especially afterward, when people would crowd around to meet the actors. I hated that and couldn’t wait to pack up and leave.”

  Helen couldn’t remember being so interested or fascinated by someone, and wanted to know more. “Yo
u don’t like crowds?”

  “I don’t mind crowds, I just don’t like being crowded. I didn’t like all the attention either.” He propped his elbows on the table and clasped his hands together. “It was hard on a kid. Being hugged and kissed by women of all ages and sneered at by other kids. It wasn’t so bad when we traveled with larger shows. Then there were enough people that I could slip away, but when it was just the four of us...” He shrugged. “There was no place to hide then.”

  Her heart went out to him, fully understanding. “Where are your parents now?”

  “They died when Joe and I were in our teens. Mother from pneumonia in Idaho and a few months later, father from a couple of roadway robbers in Northern California.”

  A flash of alarm had her pressing a hand over her heart. “Roadway robbers?”

  He nodded. “They followed us after a performance, to steal the money we’d made. They got it, and Dad died two days later from a blow to the head that he’d taken. We’d been on our way here, to Los Angeles, so that’s what Joe and I did, came here.”

  Helen stared at the plate in front of her. She didn’t know what to say, how to express the sorrow she felt for him.

  “How did your parents die?”

  “A fire,” she replied out of habit. It was a lie. One she’d created out of necessity. An explanation of how she’d ended up alone on the streets of Chicago. “I wasn’t home, but my mother, father and brother had been.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “How old are you now?”

  She let the air out of her lungs. Lying to him was harder than it had been to others. A part of her wanted to tell him the truth. That had never happened before. Not even with Vera. “Nineteen.”

  “You’ve had a tough couple of years.”

  Needing to move the focus off herself, she said, “You did too. More than a couple.”

  “Everyone does in one way or another, but life goes on.”

  She couldn’t help but stare at him. For all he’d just said, how hard all that had to have been, he sounded so optimistic.

  “All we can do is go forward, look toward the future and leave the past behind.” He stood up and picked up his plate. “Thank you for all of this. It was delicious.”

  A bit surprised by his change of subject, she stood. “You’re welcome. It’s the least I could do for letting us stay here.”

  “You don’t owe me anything, I owe you.” He set his plate on the counter and stood there for a minute. “I have to tell you something.”

  He turned around and the seriousness of his expression sent her heart to her throat. A dozen things flashed through her mind, before one settled on Grace. “Did you find Joe?” She held on tighter to the dishes in her hands, bracing herself for his answer.

  “No.” He stepped forward and took the plate from her hand. “But I did talk to Julia.”

  Relief, along with a bout of guilt for having forgotten about the police at the diner this morning, washed over her. “Did they find Rosie?”

  He set her plate on the counter by his. “The police, no. Because Julia hid her in a cabin in the woods until things cool off.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “Rosie got herself mixed in with the wrong crowd. Called Julia from a dope den last night.” He shook his head. “That stuff is as deadly as coffin varnish.”

  She knew how deadly that was. Prohibition laws hadn’t stopped people from drinking, it only made it more dangerous. Bootleg liquor was made from anything people could find, and often proved poisonous. Her father had prided himself on knowing the good stuff from the bad. That’s what he’d specialized in. Bootlegging for the family. She’d heard about opium dens, too. How people walked in and were carried out, straight to the morgue. If she’d needed proof Los Angeles was as deadly as Chicago, she had it now. Just like liquor, mobs were behind the dens. They had been in Chicago and probably where here, too.

  “Julia said she picked up Rosie before the raid happened, along with three other girls, but somewhere along the line, it spread that Rosie had called in the bulls.”

  “Did she?”

  “Julia said Rosie only called her, but it doesn’t matter. Rosie needs to lie low for a while because someone did make that call. The owners of those places are in tight with the police, and neither one of them want to get caught with their hands in each other’s pockets. If they can make a patsy out of Rosie, they will.”

  Further proof hadn’t been needed, but she got it anyway. No rock unturned. Helen’s entire being grew jittery and to combat it, she started clearing the table. “Is Rosie all right?”

  “Yes, but she’ll be staying in the cabin for the time being. The other girls Julia got out of there are staying with her, too.”

  Helen carried a stack of dishes to the sink. She didn’t know Rosie well, but knew she wouldn’t like hiding out. Neither had she, but it had suited her better than it would one as vivacious as Rosie. From her dyed red and permed hair to her bright lipstick and flashy clothes, everything about the waitress had shouted look at me, and that’s exactly what Rosie had wanted. To stand out. Get noticed. Become famous.

  The exact opposite of her.

  “You know what that means, don’t you?”

  Helen didn’t move away from the sink, not exactly sure what he was talking about.

  “You and Grace will need to stay here.”

  That hadn’t even crossed her mind. It would have eventually. Probably.

  “I picked up your suitcase. It’s down in my car.”

  She turned and walked to the table for more dishes. Why didn’t that upset her? The idea of staying here? With him? It should.

  As if she’d heard her name, a sound came from the bedroom. It wasn’t a cry, just more a call out from Gracie saying she was awake and ready to be picked up. Helen set down the dishes she was holding.

  “I’ll go see to her,” Jack said.

  Helen merely nodded. Her mind was too cluttered for anything else. She was no longer the naïve girl who had thought that a typing certificate and a job would change her life. That had been nothing more than a silly notion, because at the time she’d still been in the dark about so many things. Mother had run a strict household. It hadn’t been until after the raid that Helen had realized how sheltered she’d been. How she’d been molded into a quiet and shy child who didn’t ask questions.

  Her mother had been diligent about not having her exposed to the world outside of their house. She’d grown up knowing the streets were full of bad people. It hadn’t been until she was fourteen and Amelia, who had been older by several years, had been mugged by members of the North End Gang that she’d come to understand her family constituted a large number of those ruling the streets.

  The North End Gang had been encroaching on the Outfit’s territory, and the mugging of Amelia had been a warning of what was to come. An all-out war between the North End Gang and the Outfit. There had been no one to stop it. The police precincts on the North End belonged to that gang, just as thoroughly as the precincts the Outfit oversaw.

  It had been during those months that Helen had decided she wanted out. A naïve thought for sure. Even if the raid hadn’t happened, and she’d gone to work typing at the laundry, she’d have still been as embedded as ever because the Outfit owned the laundry, which is why she’d been offered the job in the first place.

  Helen huffed out a breath and glanced around. Is that why she didn’t mind staying here, at Jack’s apartment, because just like back in Chicago, when she’d wanted out, all she’d really done was hide?

  She had Grace to worry about now. Did that make staying with Jack more appealing? That the protection he would be providing his niece, also extended to her?

  * * *

  Jack lifted Grace out of the drawer, smiling back at the big grin she displayed. He’d w
ondered how Helen would take to the news that Julia didn’t have room for her and Grace right now. Even if Julia did have room, he’d have had to stop them from going back there. He had enough going on without worrying about who might be looking for Rosie and what they might do to anyone who got in their way.

  Dope was a big thing out here right now, growing bigger due to prohibition laws. People would forever search for something to alter how they felt. That’s what it came down to. Booze. Dope. People drank it, smoked it, because they wanted to feel different. But Jack had never been tempted to try the stuff himself, instead finding that euphoric feeling others got from booze and dope by focusing on something he could do, something he could achieve. That had become the studio, and he’d dedicated his life to it.

  Joe had too. They’d worked hard getting it off the ground, building it up from nothing.

  Looking down at Grace, who was still smiling up at him, he had to admit that today had been the first time he’d looked forward to locking the door of the studio at the end of the day. Matter of fact, this morning had been the first time he’d had any sort of pangs about going to work.

  The second time he’d left the apartment, when he’d had to leave Helen and Grace here alone. He’d felt torn at the idea of wanting to be in two places at one time.

  He pondered that for a second, looking down at the grinning baby in his arms. The future he dreamed about hadn’t ever included others. Not even Joe. He’d been the responsible one for so long, the idea of being accountable only for his own actions appealed to him. He couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t been the one following others, because he was the one cleaning up what was being left behind. Even the campsites when they’d been traveling as a family, while the others loaded up to move on, he’d been the one making sure the fire was out and snatching up belongings others had forgotten to put away.

  As the age-old sense of resentment rose up inside him, he squelched it, telling himself dwelling on the past would get him nowhere. The future, what lay ahead, was where he’d always kept his attention, and would continue to.