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

by Lauri Robinson

  The good. She could focus on the good.

  Happiness nearly exploded inside her as she shot away from the door and hurried to the closet. She chose to wear the green dress he’d bought her. It had several layers of silk thread fringes that started at the neckline and ended just below her knees.

  A euphoric, almost dreamlike, sense swirled around her, filled her, as she changed her clothes and settled the matching headband around her forehead. An ostrich feather was attached to the side of the band, and she twisted it, positioning the feather directly above one ear.

  There were things she could be thinking about, things that she’d have to face soon, but she refused to let them in. Right now, today, tonight, she was going to do what Jack said he did. Focus on the good. The good things she was experiencing right now.

  That proved to be so easy. Mainly because of Jack. From the moment she stepped out of the bedroom, his manner kept her thoughts from going in any other direction. He was so jubilant, she couldn’t help but feel that way, too.

  The party was once again downtown, in a beautifully decorated private club that was at the very top of a building so tall they could see the ocean outside the window.

  “Seriously, this is the first time you’ve seen the ocean?” Jack tugged her a little closer to his side as they stood near the window, looking at the setting sun cast a rainbow of colors across the water. “We’ll drive down there, to the beach, you, me and Grace. Tomorrow.”

  If he said he would, he would, which is why she shook her head. “You will be too busy filming tomorrow, but another day, when you have time, going to the beach would be nice.”

  “I’ll find the time. We’ll have Julia pack us a picnic lunch and go to the beach to eat it. Sit in the sunshine and watch the waves.”

  Helen took a moment for the beauty outside the window to form a lasting memory in her mind before she turned and smiled up at him. “All right.”

  His smile grew. “Good.”

  She bit her bottom lip as his gaze settled on her mouth. Kissing him had done several things to her. Number one being the desire to experience it again. She drew in a deep breath and glanced over his shoulder. At one of the huge sparkling glass chandeliers that hung from the ceiling. There was a dozen or more of them, and more people than she could count mingling beneath those lights. Once again, dressed in flashy outfits, sparkling jewelry, they were carrying drinks, puffing on cigarettes and laughing. Filling the room with a joviality that grew with each new couple or group that sashayed through the huge double doors.

  Behind her, people were dancing to music that was provided by a band wearing black tuxedos. As she watched, the roaring, swift beats of the music seemed to enter her, fill her with a sense of excitement. Her life had certainly changed the past few weeks. All because of Jack. He filled her with that same sense of excitement.

  “Want to dance?” he asked.

  “If you do.”

  He chuckled and then whispered close to her ear, “I’ll always want to dance with you.”

  Her insides melted, even as her mind forced her to remember that her life may have changed, but she hadn’t. There were dozens upon dozens of beautiful women in the room, several of whom were casting glances their way. He didn’t seem to notice them, but she did, and she knew why. Jack McCarney was a sought-after man. He could make any one of them a star, but they wanted more. They wanted him.

  Maybe she had changed, because she wanted him, too. Or maybe she’d just become an actress, like the others. This couldn’t last forever. But it could last for the night. And tomorrow. And every day thereafter until it was time for her to leave.

  She’d never wanted to be an actress, but that’s what she’d become. For now at least.

  A shiver tickled her spine. She stiffened, ignoring it, and smiled up at Jack. “Let’s cut a rug.”

  He laughed. “You are one amazing doll. One amazing doll.”

  They danced several times, ate from the platters of fancy foods on tables with more ice sculptures, and visited with a variety of jovial people throughout the evening, including the actors from the movie Jack was making. When Jack introduced her, she made a point of remembering names and faces. These were his friends, and she was happy to meet them. Happy to be here with him.

  Simply happy. In and out.

  Later on, after using the powder room, Helen made her way back down the hallway to the set of double doors leading into the room and nodded at Malcolm Boyd standing just inside the doorway, while scanning the crowd for Jack.

  Malcolm handed her a glass. “Here’s your noodle juice.”

  She took the glass of iced tea, having no desire to drink anything stronger. “Thank you, very much, but why aren’t you on the dance floor?” For most of the evening he’d had nearly everyone in laughter and awe with his dancing.

  Malcolm nodded toward the side of the room. “Because I told Jack I’d watch for you, let you know where he is.”

  “That was very gallant of you.” Her heart flipped a tiny and excited somersault as she caught sight of Jack near the bar. He was so handsome. So amazingly handsome.

  Jack turned just then, and the scowl on his face made her stomach sink. “Who is Jack talking to?”

  “Roy Alfrods, and it looks like he must have ticked Jack off.”

  Helen agreed with a nod even as concern made her frown. Jack looked very mad, was marching toward them like he was on his way to a battle.

  “I gotta see a man about a dog,” Malcom said, shooting into the crowd.

  Jack arrived a moment later and took ahold of her arm. “It’s time to leave.”

  Helen didn’t even have the chance to put her glass down until they arrived at the elevator. She set it on a table there before stepping into the cage. “What’s wrong? Who were you talking to?”

  He shot her an angry glare. “Don’t pretend you don’t know.” Nodding at the elevator attendant, he snapped, “Ground floor.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jack had been pissed before, numerous times, but he’d never been this downright angry. He’d had only half a mind on what Alfrods had been saying, because he’d caught sight of one of the men that had demanded Helen attend the party that night. But his concern about that had quickly been cut through when Alfrods’s words had fully registered. Then, all he could think about was getting Helen out of there to find out exactly what she’d been thinking. The ride to the ground floor had to have been the slowest elevator ride on earth. When the attendant finally slid back the cage door, Jack grabbed Helen’s arm and pulled her out.

  “Why the hell would you go to Alfrods for a job?” he hissed while pulling her toward the lobby door.

  “Who is Alfrods?”

  His anger had every muscle tight, and her denial made it worse. “Don’t lie to me, Helen. He told me you were at the magazine office yesterday, looking for a job.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh?” He pulled her into one stall of the revolving door with one hand and shoved the door around with his other. “Is that all you have to say? Oh?”

  Squished up against his side, she didn’t respond until the door revolved to the outside of the building.

  Fury snapped in her eyes as she pulled her arm out of his hold once they both stepped outside. “They are hiring typists.”

  Momentarily speechless, he stared at her, then grabbed her arm and walked toward the car. He’d wanted to punch Alfrods in the nose when the man had said Helen had been at his office yesterday. Still wanted to punch him.

  “I have a secretarial certificate.”

  “Alfrods told me, that, too.”

  “He wasn’t there yesterday. I only spoke to his secretary. She said she’d contact me—”

  “At my address. Alfrods told me all about it, and how he recognized you from the party the night before.” Of all the people he knew, he hadn’t expected her to
be the one to ridicule him. “Everyone who is anyone is at these parties. And they talk to each other. Were you trying to make me the laughingstock of the town?”

  “No!” She dug her heels into the pavement like the old mule that used to pull his parents’ wagon. “I only wanted to help.”

  “Help?” He drew in a breath, withholding the anger that wanted to spew out.

  “Yes, help. You said this movie was taking all your money. If I had a job, I could pay for anything Grace needs and—”

  “You have a job! Taking care of Grace is your job!”

  Chin up, she took off toward the car. “A job I get paid for.”

  “I offered to pay you.” He pulled out his billfold. “How much do you want?”

  “I don’t want your money!”

  “You’d rather have everyone thinking I’m so broke I can’t provide for my family?”

  She wrenched open the car door, and shot him a nasty glare as she plopped onto the seat. “We aren’t your family.”

  He caught the door as she tried to pull it shut. “Yes, you are. Grace is my niece.”

  “But she’s not your responsibility, and neither am I.” She released the door handle and stared at the windshield.

  He slammed the door shut and stormed around the car. Damn it. She was right. She wasn’t his family. But she was his responsibility and he sure as hell didn’t need the entire town thinking he was so short on cash that he was forcing her to work. Once in the driver’s seat, he started the car. “What did you expect to do with Grace while you went to work?”

  She stared straight ahead. Didn’t so much as blink.

  He bit back another internal curse. They’d been having such a good time he’d even forgotten about the two thugs from last night. He didn’t claim to know everyone in LA, but ninety percent of the people at the party had been familiar. The Wagner brothers had been there, and may very well have sent those two men to his office as a scare tactic. He wouldn’t put anything past them.

  Nothing they did would surprise him. What Alfrods had said had though. It had damn near knocked him off his feet.

  He was still flustered, but his flat-out anger was dissolving more and more, especially when he saw her swipe at her cheeks. At the tears that trickled out of her eyes.

  She didn’t say a word all the way home. Neither did he.

  The way Helen greeted Beverly as if nothing was wrong was almost believable, except for the fact that Beverly saw through it and eyed him curiously.

  “I’ll walk you to your car,” he said.

  “No,” Beverly answered, watching Helen walk into the bedroom where Grace was asleep. “You need to stay here. Clear up whatever went wrong.”

  “Nothing went wrong,” he said.

  “Tell it to Sweeney.” Beverly opened the door. “I know tear-stained cheeks when I see them.” She walked out and shut the door with a solid thud.

  Sweeney wouldn’t believe him, either. He locked the door and removed his jacket. After clicking off the lights, he walked to the sofa, sat down and removed his shoes and socks, then flipped down his suspenders and took off his shirt.

  Not a sound came from the bedroom.

  He knew tear-stained cheeks too. Real ones. Not fake. Some women could do that. Cry on cue. That wasn’t Helen.

  She wasn’t an actress.

  Nor did she know the ins and outs of Hollywood. She wouldn’t know the repercussions of looking for a job, and he had told her that he was putting every penny he had into this movie.

  He was. To a point. Having grown up hungry more than not, he’d sworn that would never happen again. Therefore, he was putting every penny of the studio’s money into this movie, but he still had some of his own. Would still be able to eat. To live. His savings weren’t enough to make another movie, that took thousands, hundreds of thousands, but he had enough to get by for a while. Enough to take care of Helen and Grace.

  Guilt swarmed inside him, growing bigger, and getting stronger with every tick of the clock on the wall. He pushed off the sofa and walked to the bedroom door. As he grasped the knob, he changed his mind, and walked to the kitchen.

  “Aw, hell,” he muttered, and turned back around, crossed the living room again.

  This time he didn’t pause at the door. He turned the knob and opened it. Moonlight filled the room, showed him how Helen was lying on her side, her face buried in the pillow.

  He walked around to the other side of the bed and climbed on top of the covers. Sliding a hand beneath her pillow, he curled his body up against her back and rested his chin atop her head. It wasn’t her fault. None of this was her fault.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  “So am I.” She sniffled. “I just wanted to help.”

  “I understand that, and I appreciate it.” He wrapped his other hand around her waist, wishing the blankets weren’t between them, but knowing it was a good thing they were. “I should have explained things better. Movies cost hundreds of thousands to make. A few dollars here or there won’t make a difference.”

  “I just... I just wanted to be good for something.”

  Her words hit home. For most of his life, knowing he couldn’t act, not like his parents, not like Joe, he’d felt the same way. “You are good for many things. No one could ever take better care of Grace than you do.”

  “Yes, they could. Beverly already does.”

  Like him, Grace, as much as he loved her, as much as Helen loved her, had been thrust upon her. “If you really want a typing job, I’ll give you one.”

  She sniffled again. “You don’t need a typist.”

  “Yes, I do. Ask Beverly if you don’t believe me. She’s barely keeping up, and once the filming ends, she’ll be working nearly around the clock.”

  Helen shifted, rolled onto her back and looked up at him. “Why?”

  The puffiness of her eyes tugged at his heart. “Because there will be letters, advertisements, invitations, playbills, and all sorts of things that need to be typed up. Good typists are hard to come by. They are in high demand.”

  “You aren’t just saying that?”

  He pressed his lips to her temple. “No, I’m not just saying that. You can come to the studio tomorrow and I’ll show you.”

  A hint of a smile tugged at her lips as she laid her head against his shoulder. “All right.”

  He swallowed a growl at the predicament he’d now put himself into. That of lying on the bed next to her, because there was no way that he could make himself leave it now.

  She let out a tiny sigh. “I truly am sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “I know you didn’t,” he said. “And I’m sorry too. Very sorry.” It was a twofold statement, and it was going to be a long night.

  The next day wasn’t a whole lot better. He’d never had a hard time concentrating on work before, but did today. He couldn’t take his eyes off Helen. He’d finally found a second desk in storage and had it placed up front, next to Beverly’s. His excuse had been so that the two of them could work together on projects, but in truth, it was so he could get some work done. When she was in his office, all he could think about was kissing her. Lying next to her all night long had left a need inside him boiling.

  He had limited himself to one good-night kiss in that bed. And to one good-morning kiss this morning. And sincerely wanted more. It was a game of Russian roulette because one wasn’t enough. Would never be enough.

  Last night had proven exactly what he’d already known. Helen wasn’t Hollywood material. She was too innocent, and he didn’t want her to ever lose that innocence. It was what made her her.

  Those thoughts hung with him as the days and nights rolled by. Helen came with him to work every day, and home with him every night. He made the time to take her to the beach, more than once, to Julia’s for lunch several times, and there were more parties.
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br />   The pride that welled inside him when he walked into one of those parties with her on his arm was like none other. He’d called Alfrods the morning after the party, and they’d come to an agreement. He bought an ad for his movie in the upcoming magazine, in exchange for Alfrods forgetting Helen had ever inquired about a job. That had been no loss for him. He’d budgeted to buy ads long ago.

  Joe hadn’t called again, but the weeks were still rolling past. His eight-week timeline was almost up. The movie almost done. Soon, the premiere would be over and Helen would need to be released from the commitment she made to him.

  “Jack?”

  He looked over at Newton.

  “What’s wrong?” the director asked. “What part didn’t you like?”

  Jack shook his head. They’d been watching the final product, and truth be, although his eyes had been on the screen, he hadn’t seen most of the last reel. “Nothing. No part. You?” He’d depended on the man’s opinion in the past, and really was right now.

  “I can’t think of anything that would make it better.” Newton leaned back and crossed his arms. “Slowing down the speed during the snow scene was great thinking on your part. I like it.”

  “Me, too.” His mind had been on Helen, so he hadn’t really seen if the slower speed had worked or not, but trusted Newton’s judgment. Filming had long ago ended, so had the editing.

  This was week eight.

  “Then it’s a wrap,” Newton said, waving a hand over his head so the projector man, Adam, would know to snip the film at the end of the credits. “Is the theater ready to open this weekend?”

  Jack nodded. “I talked to Blake Owens yesterday. He said it would be. That they’ll have crews working around the clock, putting on the final touches, so it’s ready for people to walk through the door on Saturday night.”

  “Well, then, I’d say my job is done.” Newton popped his knuckles. “How’s that next script coming along?”

  “I have a rough draft penciled out.” It was an older script that he’d wanted a shot at putting together, and if all went well, he’d have it. The new script had a few scenes that would need to be shot off site, on the sea, and that would be expensive.