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Can't Buy Me Love

Page 26

by Abigail Drake


  ~*~

  What made Lara the way she was? Why did Finn suddenly stop talking with her? What happened with Audrey?

  Want to read more of Finn and Lara’s story? Be sure to pick up your copy of Country Roads! Coming March 2018, it is the first in a new series by Grea Warner, that follows the lives of reserved Lara Faulkner and country music super star Finn Murphy. Reconnections will be made, revelations will be revealed, and a few tears will be shed.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  There really wasn’t any other path. Grea Warner knew from a young age that she wanted to write. She was born to write. First it was in diaries with little metal keys and in written tales that she slipped to friends in study hall. School newspapers, a college television drama, and internships in the soap opera world were next. After producing and writing a local show, she decided to delve into the world of the novelist. When her fingers aren’t tapping out her latest book filled with angst and romance, Grea can be found hiking the trails or jamming to her favorite country artists on the radio.

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/grea.warner.7

  Twitter:@grea_warner

  Me and Tillie

  Lisa Hahn

  Other Books by Lisa Hahn

  A Dream Come True

  Believe in Me

  Sweet: Book One of The Bretton Falls Ballet Series

  Not Today in Valentine Kisses

  Me and Tillie

  Copyright © 2017 Lisa Hahn

  All rights reserved.

  DEDICATION

  To Nana. Thank you for introducing me to I Love Lucy and sparking my interest in the 1950s.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Two tuna melts and fries.”

  The greasy-haired cook slammed two plates on the counter before turning to flip a row of sizzling burgers. The scent wafting out from the kitchen made Tillie’s stomach growl. She placed a hand over her abdomen and willed the ache away, at least until she had a few minutes to spare. A busy lunch crowd had followed a busy breakfast crowd, leaving no time for her meal—a grapefruit half and a scoop of cottage cheese—usually eaten between double shifts.

  Arlene, another waitress and one of Tillie’s roommates, moved behind the pink and blue bar, snapping her gum as she jotted something down in her order pad. “Those burgers yours?”

  “They’re for table twelve.” Tillie took a swig of coffee from a cup she’d already refilled at least four times, then reached for the plates. “I’ve got ‘em.”

  She pasted on a smile and approached the two middle-aged men in fashionable suits at table twelve. Plenty of Broadway types—make-up artists, stage managers, chorus singers, and the like—ate at the Centerstage Diner regularly. If they didn’t, working there wouldn’t be worth the long bus ride from her Lower East Side apartment.

  “Here are your burgers.” She placed the plates down on the pink tabletop. “Can I get you anything else?”

  One of the men opened his napkin and dropped into his lap. “That’ll be all for now, thank you.”

  “Enjoy your meal.”

  Tillie stopped to collect her tips from two baby blue booths in the back corner, glad for the busy day. She’d be able to afford a fan for her bedroom, a necessity now that summer had arrived and the heat made it difficult to sleep at night. Happily, she whistled as she walked across the black-and-white checkered floor to join Arlene and their other roommate Norma at the bar.

  Norma lifted the coffee pot off the burner. “Need a refill?”

  Tillie grabbed her cup and held it out. “Thank you.”

  “Have either of you seen this Me and Juliet review?” Arlene peered out over the top of a newspaper. “A customer left this on the bar, and I couldn’t let a perfectly good entertainment section go to waste. Especially since it has this review. It’s the first one that’s come out since the play opened.”

  Me and Juliet was Roger and Hammerstein’s latest musical. It starred Oren Cooper, a bonafide Hollywood star with several musical film credits under his belt and a career that rivaled Gene Kelly’s. He’d announced his homecoming a few months ago, claiming a desire to return to Broadway and reconnect with his family in New Jersey.

  His parents had missed him. At least, that’s what they’d told Tillie when she ran into them at the Ridgefield Market..

  She peeked over Arlene’s shoulder and around her friend’s blonde bubble cut. “What does the review say?”

  “The show’s lacking a strong story, but—” she paused to look up and waggle her eyebrows, “the wonderful Oren Cooper was wonderful as always.”

  Norma let out a dreamy sigh. “Of course, he was.”

  Arlene folded up the paper and slapped it down on the bar. “I don’t know which he has more of—talent or charm.”

  “Neither matter with a face as handsome as his.” Norma turned toward the mirror lining the back wall and patted her short, black curls. “Do you think he’ll ever come in here? Sometimes, the famous ones do.”

  Tillie emptied a sugar packet into her coffee and tipped her chin toward the paper. “Mind if I take that? I’d like to read it on my ride home.”

  “Sure.” Arlene bopped Tillie on the shoulder with it before pointing to the end of the bar. “But first, you’re up.”

  A customer had slipped in while they were talking and had taken a seat at the counter. With his face stuck behind a newspaper, only his dark hat peeked out over the top.

  “Put the paper in my bag for me?” Tillie asked.

  “Will do,” Arlene said before disappearing into the back.

  Tillie walked to the end of the bar, armed with her well-practiced smile. “Hello there. My name’s Tillie, and I’ll be your waitress—”

  She stopped abruptly when the man looked up at her with the most captivating blue eyes she’d ever seen.

  “Oren Cooper!”

  “Yes, yes. Can you keep it down?” He glanced over both shoulders, shrinking into himself like a turtle into its shell. “I’m trying to keep a low profile.”

  “Sorry.” Tillie covered her mouth with her fingertips and lowered her voice. “I was just so surprised to see you. Oh! And you probably don’t remember me.” She pinched her name tag. “I’m Tillie, from Ridgewood.”

  Oren squinted. “We’ve met?”

  His question stung, though he could be forgiven for not recognizing her. She had been only nine when he left town. She’d also been too shy and inexperienced to talk to him much back when he was a high school heartthrob and she was a little girl with a crush. Still, she’d hoped her name would ring a bell.

  “Guy Parker’s younger sister.”

  Oren’s expression lifted with recognition. “Guy Parker! How the hell is he?”

  “Good.” Tillie wiped a few crumbs from the front of her powder blue uniform, then straightened her shoulders. “He married Susie Miller. They have three kids.”

  “That’s great.” Oren tipped his hat up an inch higher and met her gaze. “Sorry for not recognizing you. It’s been damn near a decade since we’ve seen each other.”

  “Of course. I’ll tell Guy you send your best.”

  “Please do.” He put the paper down and rested an elbow on the bar. “How about you, Tillie? What are you doing in New York?”

  Her smile spread. “Trying to make it in show business, of course.”

  A spark of interest lit Oren’s eyes. “What do you do? Sing? Dance? Act?”

  “All of it. I have training in ballet, piano, drama, and vocal performance. I’ve landed a few chorus girl gigs, but nothing more, yet. I’ve only been out here for six months.”

  “Yet.” Oren nodded and wagged his finger at her. “I like your optimism.”

  Tillie clasped her hands loosely behind her back, pleased with the way she’d redeemed herself after a fumbling re-introduction. “If I didn’t have my optimism, where would I be?”

  “Waitress!” A customer sitting in a booth near the door shook a ketchup bottle overhead. “This one’s empty. We need another.”

 
; Tillie held up one finger up and called out, “Just a second,” before reaching into her pocket and fumbling for a pencil. “Sorry about that. We were busy earlier, and no one had time to refill the bottles.” She tapped her pencil tip to the pad. “What can I get for you?”

  “I’ll have a hamburger, fries and a cola.”

  Tillie scribbled down the order, then dropped the pad into her pocket. Looking back to Oren, she flashed the same smile she did at every Broadway face she recognized in the diner, except this time it didn’t feel forced. “I’ll be right back with your cola.”

  ***

  Tillie Parker was the breath of fresh air Oren had been looking for when he impulsively turned down a MGM film for a return to Broadway. Her bubbly personality energized him, and her drive to succeed reminded him of why he was back in New York—to find pleasure in his work again.

  Life in Hollywood had gotten stale. It was all the same movies, the same parties, the same women. The monotony and excess of it had driven him to the bottle. He’d laid awake night after night, while the room spun and a different woman slept beside him, wishing he could be the bright-eyed, breakout Broadway star he one was—when everything was new and exciting… just like it was for Tillie.

  He glanced up from the paper to watch her at the soda fountain. With her long blonde bob, big blue eyes, and bow shaped lips, she had the look of an ingénue. America would fall in love with her once she landed a big role. There was no doubting it.

  Tillie would be the perfect girl to have on his arm at parties. He could introduce her to all the movers and shakers while her infectious enthusiasm kept him from the bar. Undoubtedly, most of the women he’d been chasing away since he arrived in New York would leave him alone once they saw, young actress.

  But that was all this time with Tillie could ever be. He couldn’t bring a woman into his life, at least, not how it stood now. Not when feared his career might fizzle if he couldn’t find joy in his work again. He was hiding it well—he was a professional actor, after all—but soon he feared someone would notice how listless he’d grown.

  When Tillie came back with his soda, he pretended to read the paper. She placed the tall glass on the bar before lifting the lid to the straw dispenser. “Your food should be up soon, now that things are slowing down.”

  “Great.” He plucked a red-and-white striped straw from the many fanned out before him. “Do you want to go to a bash with me tomorrow night? It’s an after party for the cast and crew.” With a tip of his head, he gestured toward the paper. “To celebrate the good review.”

  With a dazed look, Tillie continued to hold the straw dispenser open. “A party? With you?”

  “Of course.” Oren laughed, enjoying her doe-eyed naiveté, then sipped his cola. “You’ll come to the show, and then we’ll go to the party together. What do you say?”

  Tillie closed the straw dispenser then smiled. “I’d love to go.”

  Oren felt a rush of genuine excitement, not unlike what he’d hoped to feel when he stepped on stage again in New York. “Wonderful. I’ll have a car pick you up at your apartment at seven.”

  Her eyes widened. “A car?”

  “Of course.” He stood to retrieve his wallet, hoping to find an old business card he’d been slipped at a party and knew he would never need. He took one out and slid it across the bar to her with two fingers. “Jot down your address and I’ll set the whole thing up.”

  “I appreciate the gesture, but I could take the bus,” she objected, but she wrote her address down anyway. When she finished, she passed the card back to Oren. He looked at what she wrote.

  “On second thought, I’ll have the car get you at six-thirty.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Tillie adjusted the ribbon wrapped around the waist of her red circle dress before reaching up to run her gloved fingers through the curled ends of her hair. She’d repeated both actions at least a dozen times while she’d been waiting at the stage door. The play had been a pleasant distraction from her determination to make a good impression, and she found herself agreeing with the critics—Oren’s performance as Larry was remarkable.

  To think, she would be attending a party on his arm. Though she’d been in love with Oren as a girl, she had no delusions about what this date may or may not lead to. The party was an opportunity for her to spend time with industry professionals and nothing else. She’d heard stories about Oren’s romantic conquests, and she knew she wouldn’t be a good match for man with his experience and expectations. She doubted he saw her like that, anyway. Likely, Oren thought he was doing an old friend a favor in taking his little sister to a fancy Broadway bash.

  When the creaky, gated stage door swung open, Oren stepped out wearing a charcoal suit, black tie, shiny wing-tipped shoes, and the narrow-brimmed hat he had on the other day. It was the same outfit everyone wore, but somehow it looked better on Oren. Maybe, it was the way his broad shoulders tapered off into his narrow waist. Or maybe, it was the way his backside filled out the seat of his pants.

  “Tillie, doll.” He extended a hand when he noticed her. “I’m so glad you made it.”

  She placed her hand in his as he leaned in to brush a feather light kiss on her cheek.

  “The play was lovely.”

  “Thank you.” He led her to the same black Studebaker sedan she’d ridden to the theatre in. “What was your favorite part?”

  “When you sang ‘The Big Black Giant’, of course.”

  “Ah, my song in the opening act. Tonight’s performance didn’t quite have the panache of last night’s.”

  The driver opened the door to the backseat and gestured for her to get in, and she did.

  Her voluminous red skirt spread across the leather seats as she settled. “Well, I liked it.”

  Oren sat beside her and the driver shut the door. “That’s a well-educated student of the theatre’s opinion, yes?”

  “Of course. As I said yesterday, I have training in piano, ballet—”

  Oren cut her off. “Drama and vocal performance.” He tapped a finger to the side of his head. “I remember.”

  “Yes, well, I think all of those things would qualify as a judge of good theatre.” When he raised an eyebrow, she added, “Better than the untrained eye, at least.”

  Without being told where to go, the driver pulled out onto the street. He’d done the same thing when he’d picked Tillie up, waving her off as she attempted to give him the address for the theatre.

  Oren draped an arm over the seat and turned to her. “And when could I see your good training on display? Any upcoming gigs?”

  “I’m between gigs right now.” Tillie smiled brightly and hoped he wouldn’t understand her response to mean she hadn’t worked in over a month, which was the truth.

  Oren patted her shoulder. “Starting out isn’t easy. If it was, it would be harder to weed out the ones that aren’t made for the business.”

  “That’s not me.” She smoothed the wrinkles in her skirt. “I’m meant to be an actress.”

  “I’m sure you are.” Oren pulled a cigarette case from the inside of his suit jacket, flipped it open, and offered one to her. She held up a hand—to which Oren’s forehead wrinkled. “You don’t smoke?”

  Before she’d left New Jersey, Tillie had practiced with a few of her mother’s cigarettes. Practically everyone smoked, especially in show business, and she worried she might find herself in a situation where it would be expected. Unfortunately, she couldn’t take a puff without coughing.

  “A few years back a surgeon wrote an article about how smoking can cause lung cancer.”

  “That article was a bunch of baloney.” Oren struck a match to light the cigarette dangling from his lips. “Tobacco companies and doctors said the study was anecdotal.”

  A plume of gray smoke filled the backseat as he exhaled, and the scent of burning tobacco met Tillie’s nose.

  She batted it away. “I don’t care for the taste either.”

  Oren laughed as he rolled d
own the window a crack and flicked ash outside. “And what will you do when you’re at a rehearsal and the director you’ve been dying to talk to offers you a weed?”

  “I’d smoke it, of course.” Tillie chewed her bottom lip. “Or pretend to at least.”

  “No, don’t take it.” Oren flicked more ash out the window. “You’ll be the girl who doesn’t smoke. People will remember you for it.”

  “That’s good advice.” Tillie relaxed a little, enjoying Oren’s companionship more than she’d hoped to.

  The car slowed as it approached the infamous Algonquin Hotel. The twelve-story building was a mecca for painters, writers, and performing artists alike. In the twenties, a group of influential artists—including Dorothy Parker and George S. Kauffman—met for lunch daily in the hotel’s restaurant and called themselves The Vicious Circle. Though they’d since disbanded, Tillie felt the magic of their comradery every time she walked by the stately, old building.

  After the door had been opened for them, Oren exited the car then extended his hand to Tillie. She took it and stepped out as well.

  “Ever been here before?” Oren asked as he offered her his arm.

  “No.” She slipped his arm through his, feeling the warmth emanating from him despite his thick wool jacket. “Are we going to The Blue Bar?”

  Oren smiled at her as they passed through the glass doors. “You’ve heard of it, I see.”

  “Of course.” She tried to keep up with Oren as they floated through a sea of well-dressed people, but she kept succumbing to her impulse to look around and gawk at all the beautiful things. “I’ve always dreamt of going to a party here.”

 

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