Colin looked hurt, but nodded his understanding. “I see,” he said as he looked down at the ground. “I don’t deserve any more than that. I’ll try to go see him. But…” He looked up at her, making eye contact for the first time in several minutes. Then he reached into the pocket of his coat and took out a business card, saying, “If you change your mind?”
Against her better judgment, she took the card. It had his name and a phone number, but no business name or other indication of his profession. Without acknowledging that she would call him, she turned to leave, but stopped short, looking back at Colin once more. “I don’t know what Father Joe will tell you. But you want to know what I believe?” Colin nodded meekly. “If you want to get right with God, you won’t do another thing else to help them. Julian Piedmont won’t like it, but it’s about time you told him to go to hell.” Then she strode away, not looking back or paying any attention to the famous footprints she walked across on her way to her car.
Chapter Six
Laura Tremaine never had a problem juggling plates and trays of drinks as she worked her way across the floor of the Brown Derby. Tall and blonde with a wide smile and gentle eyes, she had waited tables at the restaurant for more than a year and had never made a mistake more serious than the occasional switched order. But as she carried two glasses of iced tea toward a table along the back wall, she stumbled in the middle of the restaurant, and both glasses flew out of her hands. The tea, the ice, and the glasses all fell across the back of a man seated before her. She gasped as the man jumped from his chair and spun around to face her. Mortified at what she had done, when she saw the man’s face, she wished she could just disappear.
She had just spilled tea all over Cary Grant. Apparently in shock, he simply stared at her, tea dripping from his jacket and ice scattered around his shoes. Laura could feel the eyes of everyone in the restaurant on her, and for several seconds she could do nothing more than stand there, her hand covering her mouth and tears welling up in her eyes. Though the Derby had been abuzz with conversation and laughter moments ago, it was now completely silent with every diner and employee taking in the spectacle.
“Oh my God,” came her manager’s voice from behind her as he flew across the floor with a towel in his hand. “Mr. Grant, I’m so sorry.” He handed the actor the towel and then turned to Laura. “Out!” he barked. “Get your things and go!”
Shocked, she turned away from Cary Grant and toward her boss. “But Jerry, I—”
“I don’t want to hear it, Laura!” Jerry said. He waved a thumb toward the door. “You’re through!”
“Now, now, now,” the actor said in his distinctive accent. He held up a hand like a cop stopping traffic. “The young lady made a mistake. It could happen to anyone.”
“Not at the Brown Derby, Mr. Grant,” Jerry said. “There’s a hundred other girls just as good at what she does just waiting for this job.” He turned to Laura, a venomous look on his face.
When the actor had spoken in her defense, Laura had thought she was saved, and she felt incredibly grateful for his generosity. But the look on Jerry’s face told her there was no saving her, and she had to fight back tears as she started turning away. Now she noticed that everyone in the restaurant stared at her, and she wanted to run from the building.
“I insist,” Grant said. “I don’t want her fired on my account.”
Laura stopped, her gaze shifting from one man to the other.
“In fact,” the actor said, “I’d like it very much if the young lady would join me at my table.”
Jerry looked dumbfounded, and Laura suddenly felt a buzzing in her ears.
“You want…what?” Jerry stammered.
Grant pulled his billfold from the inside pocket of his soaked jacket. He took out two twenty-dollar bills and handed them to Jerry. “What do you think?” he asked. “Will that cover the cost of getting someone else to fill in the rest of her shift? And a little more for the trouble?”
“I…yes, I suppose.” Jerry took the money and then turned to give Laura another hate-filled glance that Cary Grant was unable to see.
The actor met her stunned gaze and gallantly indicated the chair across from him. “Please, Miss. It would be my pleasure.”
“Oh Mr. Grant, I couldn’t,” she protested.
“Shush,” he said. “I was just thinking before you spilled those drinks on me that eating alone was going to be no fun at all. If you don’t sit down with me, you really will have ruined my meal.”
“Well…” She gave Jerry a questioning glance, and when he gave her a reluctant nod, she moved forward and around Grant’s table. “Okay, I guess,” she said uncertainly.
“Wonderful, Miss…?” he said as he pulled a chair out for her.
“Tremaine,” she said, a tremor in her voice. “Laura.”
“Laura,” he repeated. “Lovely.” Then, before Jerry could step away from the table, Grant turned toward him. “Why don’t you send us over two porterhouse steaks, Jerry?” He looked back to Laura. “Medium rare?” When she nodded with a smile, he turned again to Jerry and repeated, “Medium rare with all the trimmings. And…” His smiled broadened. “Two iced teas.”
“Yes, sir,” Jerry said, sounding as though he would choke on the words.
The handsome actor sat down beside Laura, and she felt her heart fluttering. It all felt like a dream. He leaned across the little table to say, “He’s a bit angry, I think.”
“I think so,” she agreed.
She was about to add that it wasn’t necessary for him to buy her dinner, but Grant spoke instead, his voice just above a whisper. “He’d be even angrier if he knew I wasn’t really Cary Grant.”
The accent was gone, and Laura felt the blood drain from her face. Now she saw that the man looked slightly different from Cary Grant, his nose a bit more angular, his eyes a bit wider. He smiled broadly at her.
“Oh my God,” Laura said. Again, she covered her mouth, but now it was to suppress a giggle. At the thought of how this imposter had fooled Jerry and everyone else in the restaurant—herself included—she wanted to laugh out loud. “What in the world?” she was finally able to say.
He reached a hand across the table, offering it for her to shake. “Taylor Thompson,” he said. “At your service.” He spoke with an American accent, and though he was not Cary Grant, he was still terribly handsome and looked amazingly like the actor.
“Do you do this often?” she asked quietly. Once she had sat down, the rest of the diners in the restaurant had gone back to their conversations, so the buzz of voices was now loud enough to allow Laura and Taylor to talk freely without being overheard.
“Not on purpose,” he said as a waiter brought their iced teas. When he left, Taylor continued. “You’d be surprised at how often I get treated to free meals, though.”
“And you don’t say anything?”
He shrugged. “Why should I? It’s not my idea, after all.”
Laura smiled and shook her head. “It’s a bit risky, isn’t it? I mean, what if the real…you-know-who was to be in the same place?”
He threw his hands up. “It’s a big town. I don’t think he and I move in the same circles.”
“But the Brown Derby? We get a lot of actors in here.”
“Like I said, it’s never my idea. If I ever get found out, I’ll just plead innocence and pay my bill. You watch. Your friend Jerry won’t charge for the steaks.”
Laura sipped her tea. When she had thought she was sitting across from Cary Grant, she had felt giddy and almost speechless. But now that she knew the man was just a good-looking rake with a quick wit and a sharp eye for opportunity, she felt more confident. The man was flirting with her, and she didn’t mind.
“Now,” he said, leaning forward and folding his hands in front of him. “I’ve told you a secret. What’s one you can tell me?”
She raised an eyebrow. “I hardly know you, Mr. Thompson.”
“Please,” he said. “Taylor.”
“Taylor, then,” she acquiesced. “I hardly think it’s proper of me to be sharing secrets with you.”
“And why not? I’m down forty dollars and a dry cleaning bill, aren’t I? I saved your job. And I expect this’ll be a nicer steak than you’ve had in some time.”
She smiled at his cockiness and looked down at her hands on the tablecloth. “All right,” she said after a few more seconds. “I’ll tell you something no one else here knows about me.” She paused and met his gaze again, pleased to see him smiling in anticipation. “My name’s not really Laura Tremaine.”
He leaned back against his chair, a look of enlightenment on his face. “Ahh, I see. An aspiring actress?” She nodded in response. “And what, may I ask, is your given name?”
She smiled shyly. “It’s Esther. Esther Funderburke,” she said.
He winced. “A wise choice, Laura Tremaine.”
They both laughed, and soon their steaks arrived. As they ate, they traded stories, and she found out that he worked in the accounting office at Piedmont Pictures, that he had been in Hollywood for three years, and that he lived in a little bungalow high in the hills. Working at the studio, he insisted, was hardly glamorous.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said when the meal was about finished. “I think just being on the other side of the gates would be better than being stuck on the outside looking in.”
“And you want to be on the inside looking out?”
“More than anything.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And no luck yet?”
She shook her head. “I’ve been to some casting calls, but…nothing yet.”
“Why not, do you think?”
She shrugged. “I suppose it’s because I haven’t got an agent yet. But all the ones who’re willing to give me the time of day are just in it for themselves.”
Taylor nodded his understanding. “You know,” he said, clearly thinking through his idea as the words formed on his lips, “I could talk to some people. I do have the chance to rub elbows with a few actors in the commissary. Maybe I could float your name around, see if I can’t get a connection to an agent who might do you some good.”
Laura grew flushed. “Do you really think?”
“All I can do is try.”
“That would be…I don’t know what to say.”
He smiled, and she saw that it was the Cary Grant smile again—as though he somehow looked more like the actor than he had a moment ago. For a while during the meal, she had wondered how she and Jerry had been so easily fooled into thinking he was the actor, but now she saw again that the resemblance was uncanny. And when he said, “Say you’ll come dancing with me,” she felt herself blush more deeply at the attention he heaped upon her.
Uncertain of herself and feeling flustered at his flattery, she quietly said, “Sure. Sometime.”
“How about tonight? Now?”
She shook her head, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. “I couldn’t,” she stammered, looking down at her uniform. “I’m not dressed for dancing.”
“You can change,” he said. “Surely you have more than uniforms in your closet. And some dancing shoes.”
“I do, but…why? I mean, we just met.”
“And I’m mighty glad of it. Look, Laura,” he said, leaning forward. “I’m not trying to suggest anything. If you say no, I’ll still talk to the people I know. I just thought it might be nice.”
He seemed completely natural and honest with her. And as he gazed at her, awaiting her reply, she told herself she had nothing to worry about. Any other woman in the room would give up a limb to be invited out by a man this good looking, she knew. She would be an idiot to pass up the opportunity. “All right, then,” she said.
“All right, then,” he repeated, beaming.
* * * * * * * *
For the first time since she had moved to Hollywood, Laura felt embarrassed by her small apartment on the steep hill that was Ivar Street. The building itself, a small Tudor revival, was charming enough from the street, but the apartments themselves were small and shabby, accessorized with utility furniture like murphy beds and sparse kitchenettes. She had had other people visit her, including a few men, but they had always been people like herself—no one rich or classy, but rather friends from the Derby or others whom she met at casting calls. They all lived in similar places, or worse, and there was never a reason to apologize for where she lived. With Taylor, though, it was very different.
“I’m not planning on being here long,” she lied once she had unlocked the door. She turned to him with a smile, still captivated by his good looks.
“Shall I wait here?” he asked.
For a moment, she wanted to say yes to save herself the embarrassment of having him see inside her apartment, but then she thought of how it would look to her neighbors to have this man standing in the hallway waiting for her. “No, no,” she said. “Come on in. I can run down to the bathroom to change.”
She pushed the door open and led the way inside. The apartment had two small windows, but they opened onto an alley and let very little light into the room, something that had never pleased her about the place. Now she was grateful, hoping the dim interior would keep him from thinking poorly about her. A dressing screen divided the single room in half with her bed and dresser on the other side and her little kitchenette and tiny dining table near the entrance. Looking nervously around the room, she felt relieved that the place was not too messy.
“Here,” she said, pushing a few scraps of mail away from the edge of the table and pointing toward a chair. “Go ahead and have a seat while I figure out what to wear.”
“Delighted,” he said and pulled the chair out.
She gave him what she hoped was a playful look and then went behind the screen to open her closet door. A pair of black shoes on the floor would do fine for dancing, but she looked at the dresses that hung before her and wrinkled her brow. None of them seemed right, not fancy enough, not pretty enough.
“I’m afraid nothing seems quite right,” she said.
“Don’t worry about it,” she heard him say. “I still have tea all over the back of my jacket, remember.”
She laughed in spite of herself. “All right,” she said. “Fair enough.” She pulled a black and white dress from its hanger and considered it for a moment. Though it was the sort of thing she would more readily have worn to a casting call, she decided it would have to do for dancing. It had a matching jacket, and if she left it behind, the dress would look casual enough for whatever nightclub Taylor had in mind.
With a deep breath, she stepped around the screen, the dress draped over her forearm. Taylor was still seated at her little dining table, and when he saw her, he stood immediately. “I’ll just pop down to the bathroom and be right back,” she said.
He stood between her and the door, and though he half stepped aside to let her pass, he also reached out to take both her hands to stop her. It was the first time she had felt his touch. The sensation was like electricity running up from her fingertips. Instantly, she forgot about dancing or changing her clothes, but just gazed into the eyes that looked so much like Cary Grant’s.
“Laura,” he whispered huskily. “I think I’ve gotten lost in your eyes.”
He bent to kiss her, and she tipped her head back, letting the dress slip from her grasp as she put her arms around him. She felt the same tingling in her lips that she had felt in her fingers, and she moaned as he pulled her to him. Desire flooded her mind, consuming her. She wanted nothing now but the man in her arms. Everything else about her existence faded into the back of her mind like a barely remembered dream that grew more and more hazy with each passing second.
For a brief moment, he broke away from her. Her eyes had been closed, and she opened them now to see that he stared at her with an animal hunger. He wanted to consume her, and for a moment, she felt afraid. She had never been looked at with such animal desire before. Before long, though, the fear turned to excitement, and she let him back her
up against the little dining table. It was as though he couldn’t wait for the bed to be folded down, but lifted her instead onto the table, which creaked a bit under her weight, and ran a hand up her skirt and between her legs.
Laura had always told herself she was a good girl, and had sometimes convinced herself that it was true. Today was another story altogether. She had felt daring bringing him to her room, but now—with one of his hands roughly holding her by the hair and another tugging at her underwear—she no longer felt merely naughty. There was urgency to her desire that she had never known before. Warmth built in her loins as she felt herself beginning to be overcome not with sexual desire, but sexual need. It was a physical need, stronger than any she had ever had, stronger than the need for food, water, sleep or warmth. Never in her life had she felt such a sense of sexual abandon, free of intimidation, shame or guilt.
Her hands were at his belt, pulling and twisting at the leather to unfasten the buckle. She pulled his zipper down with one hand while using the other to lift herself off the table, just enough for him to pull her underwear off. Then she was reaching into his pants as he laid her back and pulled one of her legs up. His hands were soft, his touch somehow electric on her thighs. Something fell off the table, hitting the floor behind her with a thud that sounded incredibly far away; she was conscious of a humming in her ears, and realized she had been hearing it for a while, maybe since he had started kissing her. She felt a moment’s panic, but desire overpowered her fear. Then he was in her, and the buzz in her ears no longer meant anything to her, nor was she alarmed by the sensation that the tabletop beneath her had melted away and that she was somehow floating above the floor.
The Devil You Know Page 7