“Whenever it’s ready, send it my way.” Newton slapped his shoulder as he stood. “Until then, I’m going to get some rest. You should too.”
“I will,” Jack said. “Right after Saturday night.”
“I’ll see you there. The missus is looking forward to it.”
Jack watched Newton leave the room, and then looked forward again, watching the screen until it went black. Saturday night would be it. The end.
He didn’t like the thought of that, yet hadn’t figured out how to ask Helen to stay longer. It would be simple enough, and she’d probably say yes, yet he hadn’t asked because she didn’t want him to.
Despite the fun they had together, the draw he felt every time he looked at her, she was afraid. Afraid he’d ask her to stay.
He saw that in her eyes.
It wasn’t there all the time, but at certain moments, almost as if she remembered something, she’d clam up, or change the subject. It was odd because at other times, she was so vibrant, so vivacious. Half the men in town were jealous of him. He didn’t mind that. Nor did he let it be known that she belonged to him.
Because she didn’t.
He’d thought long and hard about that, about what he could do about it, but ultimately, realized maybe it was because she didn’t want to belong to him.
He couldn’t blame her for that. This industry, though full of glitz and glamour on the outside, wasn’t the friendliest, or safest, on the inside.
Jack let out a long and slow breath before he stood up and left the darkroom.
Helen was in his office, feeding Grace. His heart welled at the sight. These two had become his world. He didn’t want to disrupt any moment of it, nor did he want it to end. But he couldn’t escape the fact that Grace was his brother’s child. That he was only caring for her temporarily. Neither could he escape the feeling that if Grace left his life, so would Helen—and that thought was beginning to hurt.
“And?” she asked, knowing he and Newton had been viewing the final version.
She was wearing that deep purple dress, the one with a thick fringe that ended just below her knees, highlighting her shapely and sleek legs. The desires that had taken up residence just below the surface sprang to life, as they did every time he set eyes on her. He was still limiting himself to one kiss good-night and one kiss good-morning, and it was killing him.
“Jack,” she said, putting Grace in the buggy. “Quit teasing and tell me.”
He wasn’t teasing her, that would be far too dangerous. “It’s a wrap.”
With a little squeal, she bolted forward and looped both arms around his neck. “Copacetic!”
It was the little things like this, the way she looked at him, the way her eyes sparkled, that tore at his resistance. Unable not to, he hooked her around the waist and before he could stop himself, took her lips in a full, open-mouth kiss. He loved the taste of her, couldn’t get enough of it.
When they separated, more than his heart was throbbing. If only everything was copacetic. Was perfect.
His stomach clenched. Not having these two in his life was going to be hell.
“You’ll be happy to know we’ve finished the letters and playbills,” she said, stepping out of his arms. “One hundred copies of each one. The letters are on your desk to sign.”
He glanced at the pile she referred to sitting in the center of his desk. The invitations had gone out last week. Hundreds of them. “You two must have blisters on your fingers.”
She laughed. “No, we don’t. The envelopes are done, too.” She’d walked over and lifted Grace out of the buggy, and then the bottle off the table. “I’ll stuff them while you’re signing them. As soon as Grace finishes her bottle.”
He’d been racing against the clock to get this film done and ready for Saturday night—now he wanted time to stop. To stand still.
“Let’s go across the street and have lunch first.” He wanted to escape, to not think about how limited their time left together truly was.
She held up Grace’s bottle, showing him that it was empty. “All right.”
He collected the buggy they’d brought to the office for Grace to sleep in during nap times and once Grace was happily settled in it, they left his office.
The diner was busy, but he found a table where he could park the buggy near their chairs. Rosie hurried over to wait on them. Actually, she went directly to the buggy.
“Oh, you’re awake,” Rosie cooed at Grace. “All bright-eyed and bushy tailed. You are so cute in that little bonnet.” She shot a glance their way. “Are you two having the special?”
Helen nodded at him.
“Yes,” Jack answered. “With ginger ales.”
Rosie reached in and scooped Grace out of the buggy. “All righty,” she said. “Coming right up. I just have to go show everyone this little doll first.”
Helen rose, smiling brightly. “We’ll be back.”
He nodded, familiar with the routine. Whenever they brought the baby to the diner, Grace got passed around the workers. Not just Rosie, Greta and Julia, but also Alice and Shirley, the two other dames Julia had hauled home after the raid weeks ago. He didn’t know them, but Helen had made friends with them.
His eyes followed her, taking note of how the fringe of her dress swished and swayed as she walked around the counter. When she disappeared into the kitchen, there were already squeals of delight emitting because Rosie had entered the room first, carrying Grace.
He couldn’t help but grin, and then glanced toward the door when the bell over it dinged. He waved at the man entering. Walter Russell’s list of clients was long, and Jack’s name was on it, as was most every producer in Hollywood. Walter been deemed the best lawyer in town for several reasons. He was thorough, quick and, most notably, honest. That was getting harder to come by.
“Jack,” Walter greeted as he approached the table. “I have your copyright paperwork in my car to drop off to you as soon as I’ve had lunch.”
“Signed, sealed and delivered,” Jack said, which is exactly how it happened every time Walter completed a task for him. He considered that for a moment as something else crossed his mind. A possibility he hadn’t thought of until this very moment. “Do you have time for a quick meeting when you drop it off?”
“Sure? Anything wrong?” Walter grasped the back of the chair Helen had left vacant.
Jack had no idea if there was anything legal he could do or not, but he knew Joe, and Grace’s future needed to have some sort of security. “No, I just have a few legal questions.” He glanced toward the kitchen. “Concerning my niece.”
He’d told only a select few of exactly who Grace was, and Walter was one of them. It would come out sooner or later, and he needed to know what rights he had. Or Grace had.
Walter nodded. “All right. Everything set for Saturday night? Your new film is the talk of the town.”
“All set on our end and the builder says the theater will be ready.”
“Blake Owens is always true to his word. If he says it’ll be ready, it will be.”
“Will you be able to attend?” Jack wasn’t sure if he should ask that or not, but knew Walter had received an invite to the premiere. There had been a time when Walter had attended premieres, but Jack couldn’t remember seeing him at one since his wife died three years ago.
Walter shot a quick glance toward the kitchen, before he said, “Yes, yes, I think I will.”
“Happy to hear it,” Jack said as the bell dinged again.
They both looked in the direction of the door. Chest out and nose up like he owned the place, Karl Van Buren walked in. Jack had considered hiring Karl, once. Newton had refused to work with him, and that hadn’t hurt Jack’s feelings. Karl was too full of himself. Wanted to be waited on hand and foot and thought all he should have to do was walk across the stage shirtless. Other studios paid him
to do just that, and Jack didn’t feel sorry for them. Not in the least. A tit for a tat was true when it came to Van Buren.
The sneer on Walter’s face said he felt the same way about the actor.
Jack waved to the extra chair at his table and asked Walter, “Care to join us?”
“No,” Walter said, pulling his glare off Karl. “I’ll sit at the counter, but thanks, and I’ll be over to your office after lunch.”
Walter walked over to the counter and sat on the last stool, near the wall. A wolf whistle snapped Jack’s attention to the other end of the counter where Van Buren was rising to his feet as Helen walked out of the kitchen.
Jack’s chair nearly toppled as he jumped to his feet and flew across the room. Planting himself between Helen and the edge of the counter, he put an arm around her shoulders and let every ounce of the ire flaring inside him settle on Van Buren.
Karl slowly lowered back onto the stool. “Jack. Good to see you.”
“Karl,” he sneered, letting the actor know the sentiments were not the same.
“I—I hear you have a premiere this Saturday.” Karl shrugged. “My invitation must have been lost in the mail.”
Jack had never purposefully set out to create an enemy, but in this situation, didn’t give a rat’s ass. Nudging Helen forward, he said, “No, it wasn’t.”
“Who was that?” Helen asked as they walked to their table.
He took Grace and settled her in the buggy and then held the back of Helen’s chair while she sat. “An actor.”
“Why do so many of them behave like that?”
He sat. “Like what?”
She shrugged. “Like everyone should fawn over them because they are nice to look at.”
His ire sparked a few new flairs. “You think he’s nice to look at?”
“I didn’t say that.” She laid a hand on his arm. “I can’t say I even noticed what he looked like. It just seems as if that’s the attitude of so many actors.”
“It is,” he agreed. That was just one of the things she probably couldn’t wait to get away from.
“Well, they need to learn that being nice will get them a lot further than looking nice.”
Her smile was coy and the fringe of her purple headband caught on her lashes as she blinked.
“Oh?” he asked.
“Yes. Take you for instance. I have yet to meet a man as handsome or nice in all of Hollywood.”
She was fighting a giggle. The mirth in her eyes said so. “You don’t say?”
“Everyone thinks so, even Julia. She’s putting a double amount of egg salad on your sandwich.”
“She does know I like egg salad.”
Her giggle was soft. “Eggs. You like eggs no matter how they are cooked.”
“Why not? They taste good and they are easy to cook.”
Her eyes were beaming as she leaned closer to him. “And steal,” she whispered.
He had a hell of a time fighting the urge to kiss her. Her eyes danced between his and his mouth, making it all the harder. “I should never have told you that,” he whispered. Movement behind her had him leaning back so there was room for Rosie to set their food on the table. “But I guess when we have nothing to hide, we have nothing to fear.”
He’d meant it to be a joke, but the way all the happiness disappeared from her face said he’d struck a chord.
“Here we are,” Rosie said, setting a plate before Helen. “Two specials and ginger ale.” Once her tray was empty, she added, “The cucumbers are delicious today. I picked them fresh this morning.”
Jack nodded, but kept his eyes on Helen. “Thanks, Rosie. They look good.”
“They’re soaked in vinegar with sugar and salt. You have to try them.” She made a point of tickling Grace before walking away.
“How’s Julia, and everyone else today?” he asked after taking a couple of bites of his sandwich. Helen had barely touched hers.
“Fine. Except for Shirley.”
“Why?” He’d seen Shirley only a couple of times. She was on the tiny side with thick blond hair, and a Midwestern accent that said she’d come to Hollywood straight out of a cornfield. Which was reason enough for him to steer clear of her.
“She thought she was going to get a typing job, but didn’t, so she’s back to washing dishes.” Helen shot a sideways glance over one shoulder. “That man at the end of the counter, he’s the one who didn’t give her the job.”
“Walter Russell?”
“Yes. Do you know him? Shirley is quite upset with him.”
“I know him. He’s my lawyer. We have a meeting this afternoon.”
“What for?”
“He’s dropping off the paperwork for the copyright he filed on Home Bound.”
“I’m so glad you didn’t change the name. I really like that one.”
“I do too,” he agreed. More than that, he liked that she was talking, eating.
“Have you tried the cucumbers yet?” she asked. “They are really delicious.”
“No, I was waiting for you to try them first.”
Mirth once again twinkled in her eyes. “Oh, you.”
“That way we both wouldn’t have to spit them out.” He followed up his statement with a wink.
“Eat your eggs.” She tried to sound stern, but he knew she was giggling inside.
He knew people, and knew that many other women in her position would have asked him to talk to Walter about reconsidering hiring Shirley. That’s how it was. Not so much what you knew, but who you knew. Back-scratching. That’s what it was called and everyone did it. She wasn’t like that, even though she did have him tied around her little finger, and if she’d asked, he’d probably have told Walter to hire Shirley.
* * *
When we have nothing to hide, we have nothing to fear.
Try as she might, Helen couldn’t get that out of her mind. Jack hadn’t meant anything by it the other day, but it had resonated with her. The life she’d been living lately had been so perfect, that she’d forgotten who she was.
Not all the time, but often enough so that when she did remember, it nearly gutted her. She had been focusing on the good, but the good was soon to end.
She had to close her eyes against the sting. There were times when she was certain Jack was about to ask her to stay longer, and each time, she’d stopped him. In different ways, but nonetheless, she’d stopped him. Because if he had asked, she’d have said yes, and she couldn’t do that. Her life the past eight weeks has been a farce. She was a farce. If Jack ever discovered exactly who she was, what she’d been hiding all this time, he’d hate her. Although he might see the mob as a necessary evil, she knew enough that he didn’t like mobsters, didn’t agree with the way they did business.
Both he and Grace would be better off once this was over and she left them.
Forever.
Helen drew a deep breath and swallowed at how hotly her throat burned.
The good. That’s what she had to focus on right now. The was the last thing she could do for Jack.
She lifted her eyes and settled them on the image reflected in the mirror. The dress was the most beautiful one she’d ever seen, and it seemed unreal that she was the person wearing it.
Shimmering gold, the gown was fitted from the off-the-shoulder sleeves to the hips and then flared out in a layered skirt that went all the way to the floor. She tugged on the top of one matching gold glove, making sure it was secure on her upper arm, and then the other one. Then twisted and checked her hair. She’d fashioned it into a roll below her ears that wrapped around the back of her head. The beaded gold headband went across her forehead. She lifted her chin and stared at her reflection a bit harder.
This was Jack’s night, one he’d worked so hard for and she wanted it to be perfect, but still couldn’t squelch the fear inside her.
She had to do this for him. That’s what you did when you loved someone. Despite the fears and worries, you had to do what they wanted. What they needed.
She did love him. That was what made all of this that much harder.
His stories about stealing eggs showed how he’d done whatever he could to take care of his family from a young age. Then after the death of his parents, how he’d moved to Hollywood and created Star’s Studio, and kept it going, despite setbacks that were not his fault, proved how seriously he took responsibilities. Right down to letting her live with him. And he would continue to do so too, which was what she couldn’t let happen.
The pain in her heart was so raw, it upset her stomach to the point she had to keep swallowing to make sure she didn’t throw up.
A knock sounded on the door. “Almost ready in there?”
The sound of his voice made her smile, even as she pressed her hand against the commotion in her stomach so hard she could almost feel her backbone. “Yes.” Turning, she faced the door. “You can come in.”
Appreciation shone on his face, but it was the rest of him that took her breath away. His tuxedo pants and long-tailed jacket were raven black. His shirt gold, so was the pocket square. The tie around his neck was made of black silk. A more handsome, more perfect man couldn’t exist anywhere else in the world.
“You look stunning.”
Warmth filled her cheeks. “You do, too.”
“Turn around.”
Pressing the toes of one heeled shoe into the floor, she performed what she hoped was a perfect pirouette. The back of the dress was low-cut, leaving a large portion of her skin bare, while the front made a straight line from one off-shoulder sleeve to the other.
“Beyond stunning.” He’d stepped closer. “But I think something is missing.”
She pressed her lips together. The open back made wearing a brassiere, corselet or slip impossible without it showing. In truth, beneath the gown she was wearing only a pair of silk bloomers and stockings.
“I have it right here,” he said softly.
Baby On His Hollywood Doorstep (Brides 0f The Roaring Twenties Book 1) Page 18