“My God, Ward, you made it! You rotten boy, all these years and not a word if you were alive or dead. Everyone kept asking and I never knew what to tell them …” She threw her arms around him again, her eyes closed, her mouth smiling that smile that made grown men cry from desire as Faye watched in awe. Rita hadn't even seen her she was so happy to see Ward. “Welcome home, you bad boy, you.” She grinned and glanced at Faye, nodded, recognition dawning in her eyes, and then interest as she glanced back at Ward. “Aha, I see …” she teased him. “Does anyone know that piece of gossip yet, Mr. Thayer?”
“Now come on, Rita, for chrissake … I've only been back for two days.”
“Fast work.” She grinned at him, and smiled openly at Faye. “It's nice to see you again.” Polite empty words. The two women had never been friends. “Take good care of my friend here.” She patted him on the cheek, and then rejoined Welles, who saluted Ward with a smile from the distance, and as they left for a table at the far side of the room, Faye almost exploded. Ward led her back to their table, and took a sip of his drink, as Faye grabbed his other arm.
“Okay, Major. That does it. The truth.” She was glaring at him in mock fury, and he laughed openly as he set the drink down. “Before I make a complete ass of myself, I want you to tell me what in hell is going on. Who are you? An actor? A director? A gangster … did you use to own this place?” They were both laughing and he was enjoying the game much more than she was.
“How about a gigolo? How's that?”
“That's garbage, that's what that is. Come on, dammit, tell me. First of all, how do you know Rita Hayworth that well?”
“I used to play tennis with her husband. And actually, I met them here.”
“As a waiter, right?” She was amused now. This anonymous soldier she had met in Guadalcanal had a lot of spirit to him. But she was dying to know more. She forced him to look her in the eye and attempted not to laugh. “Now stop it. Here I am feeling sorry for you taking me out to dinner, embarrassed at having you see my house, and you know lots more important people than I do.”
“That's not what I hear, pretty one.”
“Oh really?” She blushed, and tossed her hair off her shoulders.
“What about Gable?” The blush grew deeper.
“Don't believe everything you read in the papers.”
“Just some things. And that I heard from some of my good friends.”
“I haven't seen him in years.” She attempted to look vague and Ward was too much of a gentleman to press it. And suddenly she looked into his eyes again. “Now don't try and sidetrack me, dammit. Who are you?”
He leaned toward her and whispered in her ear. “The Lone Ranger.” She laughed at him and the headwaiter approached their table with a huge bottle of champagne and the menus.
“Welcome home, Mr. Thayer. It's good to have you back.”
“Thank you.” He ordered dinner for them both, toasted her with the champagne, and proceeded to tease her for the rest of the evening, until finally they sat in the open Ford outside her front door, and he earnestly took her hand in his own. “Seriously, Faye, I am an unemployed soldier. I don't have a job, and didn't have one before I left. I don't even have an apartment anymore, I gave it up when I was drafted. And they know me at Ciro's because I used to go there a lot before the war. I don't want to pretend I'm anyone important. I'm not. You're the star, and I've been nuts about you since the day I met you, but I'd be lying to you if I pretended to be someone I'm not. I'm just who you think I am, Ward Thayer … a man with no home, no job, and a borrowed car.”
She smiled gently at him. If it was true, she didn't give a damn. She hadn't had as nice an evening in years. She enjoyed being with him. He was bright and fun and good-looking. He danced like a dream and there was something so warm and virile and exciting about him. He was knowledgeable on subjects she had never dreamt of, and he was different from all the men she'd known over the years. He didn't have that empty Hollywood superficiality about him although everyone certainly seemed to know him. “I had a wonderful time, whoever you are.” It was almost two o'clock, and she didn't even want to think about how she would feel in the morning. She had to get up in less than three hours.
“Tomorrow night then?” Ward looked hopeful, and suddenly very young as she smiled at him and shook her head.
“I can't, Ward. I'm a working girl. I have to get up at a quarter to five every morning.”
“Until when?”
“Until we finish the picture.”
He looked crestfallen. Maybe she hadn't had a good time after all. And after two years spent dreaming of her, he desperately wanted her to have a good time when she was with him. He wanted to take her out every night, and wine her and dine her, and sweep her off her feet as never before. He didn't want to wait patiently on the sidelines while she finished her movie.
“Hell, I'm not going to wait that long. How about you get a good night's sleep tomorrow night, and we go out again after that?” He glanced at his watch. “And I won't keep you out so late next time. I didn't realize how late it had gotten.” His eyes sought hers and his voice was deep and gentle. “I had a wonderful time, Faye.” He was head over heels in love with her and he barely knew her. But he had been dreaming of her for the past two years, just like a star-struck kid, and he had promised himself he would look her up when he got home. And now he had, and he wasn't going to let her go until she was just as desperately in love with him. And what Faye didn't know was that what Ward Thayer wanted he got. Almost always.
And now his eyes pleaded with her and she couldn't resist him. “All right. But you have to have me home by midnight or I turn into a pumpkin. Is that a deal?”
“Cross my heart, Cinderella …” He sat staring at her, aching to kiss her, but he didn't dare. It was too soon. He didn't want it to be just like every other date she'd had, with someone pawing her because of who she was. There was so much more to it than that for him. He got out of the car, and came around to open her door, and she stepped out lightly, her hand in his.
“I had such a good time, thank you.” She looked up at him and then he followed her up the pink marble steps. She was half tempted to invite him in for a drink, but then she'd never get any sleep at all, and she needed at least a few hours sleep before she went back on the set. He stood in the doorway, looking down at her, feeling like the boy next door, and his lips gently brushed the top of her head, as he tilted her chin up with one hand so he could look into the exquisite emerald eyes again.
“I'll miss you in the next two days.”
And then, without even wanting to say the words, she nodded. “I'll miss you too, Ward …” Just as she had missed him in the beginning, after Guadalcanal. He had a way of getting under her skin, after these few meetings, as no man ever had before. It would have frightened her, except that she was having too good a time to be frightened. Especially by Ward Thayer.
CHAPTER 4
Faye was on the set on time the next morning, and Pearl brought her three cups of stiff black coffee.
“My hair may stand up straight for the rest of the day after this.”
“Yeah, honey, but if you don't drink it all, you may fall asleep in that big dummy's arms during a love scene.”
“That might happen anyway.” The two women laughed. It was no secret between them, even on the second day on the set, that they didn't think much of her co-star. He had arrived late for work again, and had behaved like a complete horse's ass. His dressing room was too hot, and when they set up fans for him, he complained that there was a draft. He didn't like the hairdresser or the makeup man they had assigned him, and he was still complaining about the lighting and the wardrobe, when in desperation the director told them all to break for lunch. And when she went back to her dressing room, Pearl had the paper open for her. Hedda Hopper's column told her everything she had wanted to know the night before. She read the words carefully and sat staring at them for a moment afterwards, as though to digest them, as Pearl
stood watching her, wondering what was in her mind.
“… The playboy heir to the Thayer Shipyard millions, Ward Cunningham Thayer I'V, is safely home from the war, and back at his old haunts, we're told. Ciro's last night, where he got a warm welcome from Rita Hayworth and her hubbie. And it looks like there's a lovely new lady on his arm. Faye Price, with one Oscar and a lot of handsome beaux to her credit already, one of our favorites (and yours) among them, as we all know. In fact, we've been wondering if the lonely widower would come back for more now, but it looks like Thayer has the inside track. Fast work, Ward. He's only been home for three days! Faye, by the way, is working on a new movie with Vance Saint George, and director Louis Bernstein will have his hands full with that combination, no thanks to Faye, we might add … and good luck, Ward! In fact, good luck to you both. And will there be wedding bells in their future? Let's wait and see! …”
“Boy, they work fast, don't they?” She smiled up at Pearl, half amused, half intrigued … “playboy heir to the Thayer Shipyard millions.” … Now she recognized the name, of course, though it hadn't rung any bells for her before. Playboy heir … she wasn't sure if she liked that. She didn't want him to think she was after his money, nor did she intend to be a notch on the belt of a notorious playboy. Suddenly he seemed a little less appealing than he had the night before, a little less ordinary, less “real.” He wasn't like the men in Grove City after all. In fact he was extremely different. It bothered her more than she wanted to admit, and after mentioning it only once, Pearl got the hint and didn't mention it again. It was a difficult day anyway. Vance Saint George made a nuisance of himself all day, and when they all left the set at six o'clock, Faye was totally exhausted. She left her makeup on, and slipped into a pair of tan slacks and a beige cashmere sweater, the honey-colored hair flying loose around her face, and she started the Lincoln Continental, just as she heard an insistent horn behind her. She glanced in the rearview mirror and saw a familiar red car, and sighed to herself. She was not in the mood to talk to anyone, let alone a “playboy millionaire.” She was a working girl, and she'd had two hours' sleep the night before, and she wanted to be left alone, even by Ward Thayer. No matter how attractive he was, she had her own life to lead. And now he was just a “playboy.”
He hopped out and slammed the door of the little red car and ran over to see her with a smile, his arms filled with white tuberoses and gardenias and a bottle of champagne. She shook her head and grinned at him, almost in despair.
“Don't you have anything else to do with your time, Mr. Thayer, except chase poor actresses after they finish a day's work?”
“listen, Cinderella, don't get excited. I know you must be dead. I just thought these might cheer you up on your way home … unless, of course, I could steal you away to the Beverly Hills Hotel for a drink … any chance of that?” He looked like a hopeful little boy and she almost groaned.
“Who's your press agent, by the way?” She sounded a little bit annoyed, and his eyes looked worried as he watched her.
“I suppose Rita did that. I'm sorry … do you mind very much?” It was no secret that Hedda Hopper disliked Orson, but she had always been fond of Rita. And Ward, but Faye didn't know that.
She smiled. It was impossible to be annoyed with him. He was so ingenuous and generous and obviously happy to see her, and she had to admit that, even knowing he was a playboy, he still had enormous appeal. There was something overwhelmingly attractive about him. There had been, even in Guadalcanal. And now, in his own element, he was even more so. He exuded confidence and sex appeal, and Faye was far from immune to him.
“At least now I know who you are.”
He shrugged with a grin. “None of that junk means very much, or is very accurate, as you know.” He made no comment about the “beaux” mentioned in the piece, but he smiled at her in a way that touched her heart. He had a knack for doing that. “Shall we follow their suggestion, Faye?” There was something funny in his eyes and she didn't know him well enough yet to know if it was serious or playful.
“What was that?” She was so tired she couldn't think and he watched her eyes carefully as he answered.
“Remember the bit about wedding bells … we could surprise the hell out of them and get married.”
“What a great idea,” she mocked, glancing at her watch and squinting. “Let's see … it's six twenty-five … how about at eight o'clock tonight, that way it could make the morning papers.”
“Great idea.” He ran around to the other side of her car, and before she could object, he hopped in beside her. “Okay, let's get going, kid.” He sat back against the seat matter-of-factly, and grinned at her, and suddenly she was amused at him too. She forgot how tired she was. Actually, she was happy to see him. More so than she meant to be.
“You mean you expect me to drive? What kind of marriage is this?”
“You read the papers. It said I was a playboy. Playboys don't drive. They get driven around.”
“That's gigolos. That is not the same thing, Ward Thayer.” They were both laughing, and he had moved closer to her on the seat, but she didn't mind it.
“Why can't a playboy be driven too? I'm tired. I had a hard time today. I had lunch with three friends and we drank four bottles of champagne.”
“My heart bleeds for you, you lazy dog. I've been working since six o'clock this morning and you've been drinking champagne all day!” She tried to sound angry but all she could do was laugh as an enormous limousine pulled up for Vance Saint George.
“That's what you need, Faye.” He almost sounded serious and she laughed at him.
“A car like that? Don't be ridiculous. I enjoy driving myself.”
“It's not ladylike.” He assumed a prim expression, and glanced at her. “Besides, it's not suitable for the victim of a playboy.”
“I'm your victim, am I?”
“Hopefully you will be.” He looked at his watch and then back at her. “Now what time are we getting married? You said eight o'clock … we'd better step on it … or would you rather just stop for a drink after all?”
She shook her head, but she was less convincing than she had been before. “No. I'd rather go home, Mr. Thayer. Remember me, I'm the working girl, and I happen to be exhausted.”
“I can't imagine why. You probably went to bed at ten o'clock last night.”
“Nope.” She crossed her arms and grinned at him. “I had a date with a playboy millionaire.” Now that it was out in the open they were both having a good time with it. It all seemed totally absurd, like a joke on them both, and Faye refused to take it any more seriously than he did.
“No, you didn't!” He attempted to look shocked. “Who?”
“I can't remember his name.”
“Was he nice?”
“More or less. Terrible liar of course, but they all are.” “Handsome?”
She looked him square in the eye. “Very.”
“Now you've picked it up from him, lying again. Come on, I've got some friends you ought to meet.” He put an arm around her and she could smell the spicy fragrance of his after-shave, which was masculine and sexy. “Let's go have a drink. I promise I'll get you home early tonight.”
“I can't, Ward. I'd fall asleep on the table.”
“Don't worry. I'll pinch you.”
“Were you serious about meeting friends?” That was the last thing she wanted to do tonight. All she wanted to do was go home. She had some new lines to study in the script, and with Saint George performing so poorly she felt an obligation to work even harder to compensate for him. Otherwise, they'd make a botch of the whole movie.
Ward shook his head. “I was kidding about seeing friends. Just the two of us. I'd take you to my place, if you'd come, but I don't have one.” He laughed. “That makes it a bit difficult.”
“I'll say.”
“I was going to stay at my parents' place, but it's all closed up and it's too damn big. I've got a cottage at the Beverly Hills Hotel until I find somethin
g I like, so I'm afraid all I can offer you is the hotel bar, for the moment.” It would have been highly improper to suggest coming to his cottage for a drink, and he wouldn't have considered suggesting that to her. She wasn't that kind of girl, no matter how big a movie star she was, or how many beaux she'd had. There was still more than a hint of the well-brought-up young lady about her, and he liked it that way. The papers weren't far off the mark as to his intentions. “So what do you say? Half an hour and then I'll take you home. Okay?”
“Okay, okay … my God, you drive a hard bargain. I'm glad I don't work for you, Ward Thayer.”
“Ah, my little chickadee,” he pinched her cheek, “that could be arranged. Now slide over and I';ll drive.” He hopped out and got back in behind the wheel.
“Won't you need your car?”
“I'll take a cab and come back for it after I take you home.”
“That's not too much trouble for you, Ward?”
He looked at her, amused. “Not at all, little one. Why don't you put your head back and rest on the way to the hotel? You look tired.” She liked the tone of his voice, the look in his eyes … the feel of his hand as he touched hers … she watched him through half-closed eyes as they drove along. “How's work?”
“Vance Saint George is an awful pain in the neck. I don't know how he's gotten as far as he has.” Ward knew, but he didn't say anything to her. He had slept with everything that moved, woman or man, and collected favors from everyone in town, but it had to catch up with him someday.
“Is he any good?”
“He would be, if he'd stop worrying about drafts and how much makeup he wears and studied his lines for a change. It's difficult to work with him, he's never prepared, and it delays us for hours.” She sat up and looked out as they neared the hotel.
“I hear you're awfully professional, Miss Price.” He looked admiringly at her.
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