If I Can't Have You

by Patti Berg

  He’d rather act, though.

  What was it Stewart had said? Paul Dorn had auditioned for a part in a movie about Trevor Montgomery? Trevor smiled inwardly, realizing that the perfect opportunity for finding a job had just presented itself. Surely he’d stand a chance if he tried out for the role. All he had to do was get into the studio and be himself.

  He thumbed a ride from a trucker and was deposited at a bus depot not far from the Warner Bros. lot. He changed clothes in the rest room, washing and shaving in a sink coated with dark gray grime, dressed up in the suit and shirt Adriana had so carefully folded, then deposited the rest of his belongings in a beat-up metal locker.

  It wasn’t exactly home, but he’d once lived in worse places.

  Standing in front of the dingy mirror, he adjusted his navy-and-white silk tie, straightened the white handkerchief in his pocket, and buttoned the double-breasted navy pin-striped suit. He combed his hair, wetting it down and hoping it would stay put, just the way it had in the thirties. He wished he still had the mustache. That one added detail would probably clinch the role. It didn’t matter that he was the genuine thing—he had to look the part.

  With all the preliminary work out of the way, he walked toward the studio and stood outside the gate, hands in his pants pockets, waiting for just the right person.

  She was pretty, blond, and young. She had on an obscenely short skirt, heels that looked like lethal weapons, and breasts that Mae West would have envied. She was perfect, and she was walking toward him and the gates as if she belonged inside.

  “Good afternoon,” he said, smiling his movie-idol smile.

  She seemed a bit hesitant as she passed, and Trevor thought for sure she’d keep on walking, but he noticed her steps slow, and when she was at least ten feet away, she turned around and frowned. “Do I know you?” she asked.

  Trevor shook his head. “No, and I’m not going to feed you a line about being someone famous. I’m a nobody who needs to get past those gates.” He smiled again. His smile had won him favors before, he hoped it would do it again. “Think you can help me out?”

  “What, no offer to buy me lunch or dinner? No twenty-dollar bribe?”

  “I’m broke.” He winked. “You get a smile and a thank-you.”

  “At least you’re honest.”

  “I try.”

  Her name was Jen and she worked as a secretary to one of the producers who had offices at the studio. The guards at the gate knew her and didn’t blink an eye at seeing her bring in a guest.

  “You wouldn’t by any chance know who’s producing the picture about the life of Trevor Montgomery, would you?”

  She stopped and gazed at him, from head to toe and back again. “I knew you looked familiar. At least ten men have auditioned for that part already.”

  “So you know about it?”

  “A friend of mine, Andy Howell, auditioned yesterday. He wasn’t right, though. Seems the producer’s picky.”

  “You know the producer?” he asked.

  “Not well, but I’d be happy to show you his offices.”

  She swung her purse as they walked. There wasn’t as much activity on the lot as there’d been when he was one of the studio’s biggest stars. He’d been here just a few weeks before, checking out the filming of Dodge City. Errol Flynn had been wearing a cowboy hat and a six-gun strapped to his hip. Alan Hale was riding a horse and Olivia de Havilland was playing Errol’s lady love. A year before the same group were sporting tights and hats with feathers, filming Robin Hood.

  Trevor had had lunch with David Niven and, using invisible swords, fenced with Basil Rathbone. He’d never shared the screen with either man, but he’d admired their work and found it an honor to be their friend.

  But he knew no one on the lot today. He felt just as vulnerable as he had as a teen when he’d sneaked into the studio in much the same way. His smile had gotten him through many locked doors; he hoped it would do the same today.

  He parted company with Jen and entered a bungalow with an unfamiliar production company name on the door. In the thirties he could walk straight into Jack Warner’s office, sit down and chat. Of course, he’d been a star back then, and as he’d told Jen earlier, now he was a nobody.

  Getting into the producer’s office wasn’t going to be as easy.

  Trevor knocked lightly on the door and smiled at the red-headed secretary as he peered around the edge. “Excuse me...” He peeked at the nameplate on her desk. “Miss Erickson. I was hoping to see the producer.”

  Miss Erickson rolled her eyes when he closed the door and stepped in front of her desk. “What do you want, Mr. Dorn? I thought Mr. Castle asked you not to come back again.”

  Trevor smiled. He had the right place. Paul Dorn had already left his mark, but the pretty young redhead was too savvy to succumb to his devious charm.

  “I’m afraid you have me mixed up with someone else.”

  Miss Erickson raised a doubting brow. “You can change your voice, Mr. Dorn, but that doesn’t fool me.

  “We’ve never spoken before. How could you possibly know my voice?”

  “Stop teasing. Why are you here?”

  “I’ve come to audition for the role of Trevor Montgomery.”

  “You’ve done that before, and, I’m glad to say, the part’s already been filled.”

  “With the wrong person, I’m sure. If you’d tell your boss...” What was the name she’d used? “If you’d tell Mr. Castle that Trevor Montgomery’s son is here, perhaps he’ll give me a moment.”

  “You’ve tried that already, Mr. Dorn. Mr. Castle’s a busy man.”

  “Too busy to talk to the perfect actor for his movie?”

  “Too busy for you.”

  Her phone rang and Trevor leaned against the corner of her desk, smiling while she talked, her gaze flicking from him to Mr. Castle’s door and back again. She continued to frown. He continued to smile, but she wasn’t falling for it.

  Maybe he should just walk through that door and make his own grand entrance. No, that wouldn’t work. He’d learned a long time ago it was better to humor the secretary, get on her good side, before trying to speak with the boss. Trevor knew who ran the show.

  “You know, Mr. Dorn, I could call security,” she said, frowning at Trevor when she hung up the phone. “They’d be happy to escort you out of here, especially since you don’t have an appointment.”

  “Yes, I suppose you could. But then you might feel guilty for sending me away when Mr. Castle hasn’t had a chance to see me act. Would you like me to act for you?”

  The woman shook her head, but Trevor ignored her, took a deep breath, and removed all expression from his face. He loosened his tie, mussed his hair, and rubbed his eyes until they reddened and teared at the corners. He slumped down in the chair next to Miss Erickson’s desk and buried his head in his hands, letting his Oscar-winning lines from One More Tomorrow enter his mind.

  “I have nothing left to offer you. I’ve squandered everything on too much booze, too much gambling, and, God forbid, too many women,” he said, his voice filled with anguish. Slowly he raised his head and looked into the secretary’s mesmerized green eyes. “I have no right to ask your forgiveness, no right to ask for your help.” He reached across the table and took the secretary’s now-trembling hand. “You loved me once. I’m begging you to love me again.”

  “Quite impressive.”

  Trevor jerked around at the sudden applause behind him. A man in blue jeans and a T-shirt stood just outside Mr. Castle’s door, eyeing him up and down, just as Miss Erickson had done earlier. Trevor swept his hair back and straightened his tie, then stuck his hand out.

  “I’m Trevor Montgomery. You must be William Castle.”

  ‘Trevor Montgomery, huh?” The producer’s eyes narrowed, creases formed in his brow as he studied Trevor’s face. “I don’t know if I buy that line, but I know you’re not Paul Dorn. Although, I must say, the resemblance is extraordinary.”

  “That’s w
hat people keep telling me. I understand, though, that he’s not much of an actor.”

  Mr. Castle grinned. “Let’s just say he won’t be appearing in any of my productions.”

  “I’d like to appear in one, although Miss Erickson informs me the role of Trevor Montgomery is already filled.”

  “I’m always open to discussion, Mr. Montgomery.”

  “And I’m always willing to listen.”

  Mr. Castle peeked around Trevor and addressed his secretary. “Clear my calendar for the next hour or so. I have some negotiating to do.”

  oOo

  Trevor stood just outside Adriana’s memorabilia shop, fingering the gold doubloon he’d carried in his pocket since the premiere of Captain Caribe. He had three dollars left, he needed a place to stay, and he needed to find an agent. Shooting of Shattered Dreams was scheduled to start in another week. William Castle had offered him the role of Trevor Montgomery, but he knew full well that he needed an expert to handle all the contractual ins and outs. He hadn’t accepted—not yet.

  He’d located Jen hard at work in her office, taken her out for a cup of coffee, and got the names of several agents she said she couldn’t recommend strongly enough, and then he’d found a phone booth and started making calls.

  The first two weren’t looking for newcomers. The third, Ron Epstein, was interested and wanted to meet for dinner. Trevor planned to treat, but he needed money first.

  Tomorrow, in the light of day, he planned to check out Paul Dorn, the impostor and the cause of all his misery. He’d sweet-talked Dorn’s address out of pretty Miss Erickson, and he planned to give the man a piece of his mind. But money was an issue.

  He hated parting with his doubloon; he didn’t even know if it would bring much cash, but considering some of the staggering prices Adriana had paid for old Hollywood props, like two hundred dollars for the insignificant patch he’d worn over his eye in Captain Caribe, or ten thousand for an original theater poster from Douglas Fairbanks’s Robin Hood, he thought he might stand a chance of being on easy street for a while.

  Looking at the memento one more time, he stepped into the memorabilia shop.

  A flood of memories came rushing back. The way Adriana had lovingly touched one of his tuxedos when she’d shown him the locked cabinet where she kept what she’d called her most precious belongings. The way she’d stood in front of him and expertly tied his black-silk tie, while the sweet scent of her perfume wafted about him. The way she’d stepped out of her office in that long, shimmering white gown, and how her eyes sparkled when he draped ropes of pearls about her neck. She’d looked young, innocent, and completely beguiling.

  She’d mesmerized him the first time he’d seen her, when he thought she was an angel. He’d fallen hopelessly in love with her when he’d held her in his arms and taught her to dance.

  He loved her. He had to get her back.

  “May I help you?” a woman asked, stepping out of the back room, her arms laden with a stack of what looked like old photo albums.

  “I hope so,” Trevor said, and watched the woman’s eyes flick upward when she heard his voice.

  She stared at him for the longest time, her eyes narrowed. Suddenly, they widened. “Oh, my!”

  “Is there a problem?” he asked, taking hold of the woman’s arm when she dumped the albums and gripped the counter.

  “It’s the most amazing thing, but you look exactly like Trevor Montgomery,” she muttered. “When you work in a store like this, your mind has a tendency to step back in time. I thought I might have done it for real.”

  “I assure you, you haven’t gone anywhere.”

  She took a deep breath, one hand to her chest, as she attempted to regain her composure. “Now,” she said, exhaling, “what is it I can do for you?”

  “I understand the owner of this store is highly interested in Trevor Montgomery memorabilia.”

  “Most shops are. Of course, it depends on the item.”

  Trevor held his palm out and the gold doubloon twinkled in the late afternoon sun shining through the window. “Jack Warner gave this to Trevor Montgomery at the premiere of Captain Caribe.”

  She laughed lightly. “Yes, I’ve seen a few just like it over the years. Fakes, every single one.”

  That was something he hadn’t expected to hear. “I assure you, this one’s real.”

  “I suppose you’re the real thing, too. Trevor Montgomery come back to life?”

  Trevor shook his head slowly. “Close. I’m Trevor Montgomery’s son,” he told her, sticking with the story he’d used with Stewart and then again with Mr. Castle, Miss Erickson, and with Jen. “My father carried this doubloon around with him everywhere.”

  She looked at him skeptically. Slowly her expression softened into a smile. “May I take a look?” she asked.

  Trevor took the coin between his index finger and thumb, held it up to the light until it sparkled, then deposited it in her hand.

  “The profile on the front is of my father in his most famous role,” he told her. “Captain Caribe is inscribed at the top, the premiere date is at the bottom, and if you’ll turn it over, you’ll see Jack Warner’s thank-you to Trevor Montgomery.”

  “It’s a very interesting piece. May I ask where you got it?”

  “From my father, as I already told you. It was in the pocket of a pair of tuxedo trousers.”

  “I believe we might want to purchase this from you, but I’ll have to discuss it with the owner. Is there any possibility of my holding on to it for a day or two?”

  A day or two? He needed the money now.

  She must have sensed his thoughts. “I could give you a deposit of, say, five hundred until we can determine its value and whether or not we want to make the purchase.”

  “I believe five hundred will be fine.”

  “Let me just fill out some paperwork, sir.” She set the doubloon on the counter and pulled a form from underneath. “Now, what did you say your name is?”

  “Trevor Montgomery.”

  She shook her head, obviously still not believing his story, but wrote the name on a sheet of paper.

  “And your address?”

  “The bus depot. Locker number 372.”

  Her brows furrowed together in a much deeper frown than before.

  Trevor winked at her. “I’m a little short of funds at the moment, but this advance should change my circumstances a bit.”

  She lowered her pencil. “Maybe I’m being too hasty.”

  “It’s the genuine thing,” Trevor insisted. “I’m sure another dealer would be happy to buy it”

  “Well,” she sighed in frustration, tapping her finger on the counter next to the doubloon. Her eyes flickered up to Trevor, back to the doubloon, then toward Trevor again. “I’m sure Ms. Howard will be interested in seeing this. Since you don’t have an address...”

  “I’ll be back day after tomorrow to see how much your boss is willing to give me for the piece.”

  “I’ll be sure to tell her.”

  “Would you give her a message, too?”

  “And what’s that, Mr. Montgomery?”

  “Tell her if she’ll watch Captain Caribe very closely, there’s a scene where he’s taking off his boots. Ask her to take a look at his ankles and see if she notices anything odd.”

  oOo

  Adriana flipped through book after book, studying the photos of Trevor Montgomery. She touched the cleft in his chin, the dimple to the right of his mouth, and remembered how a real cleft and a real dimple felt.

  Did it matter that he wasn’t really Trevor Montgomery? She’d fallen in love with the man who’d been in her house, in her arms, in her bed. She’d fallen in love with a man who’d fed her rich cheesy omelets and her very first Big Mac, a man who’d licked butter from her lips and salt from her fingers.

  She’d fallen in love with a man whose eyes and smile mesmerized her, devoured her.

  She hadn’t fallen in love with the man on the screen. She’d idolized a
myth-—nothing more.

  A tear fell from her eye and dropped just below Trevor Montgomery’s eye. She wiped it away and closed the book. She hadn’t dreamed about Trevor Montgomery the movie star in over a week. She hadn’t seen him swinging from a yardarm or floating in a pool. Instead, she’d seen a man in white boxers and a ribbed undershirt, eyes red and rimmed with dark circles. A man who needed a shave. A man who’d bruised her wrists, who drank too much, who’d promised to stop and had, as far as she could tell.

  A man who was very, very real, who had too many faults and too much passion.

  And she loved him.

  Where had he gone? Would he come back? She shouldn’t care about either, but she did.

  She loved him. It didn’t matter if he was a fraud or not.

  The ringing doorbell startled her from her thoughts, and she ran to answer it.

  Maybe he’d come back.

  Disappointment filled her when Hannah, the manager of her Hollywood store, burst inside.

  “Wait till you see what came into the shop today.”

  “What is it, Hannah?”

  “The gold doubloon Jack Warner gave Trevor Montgomery.”

  Adriana gripped the edge of the door. She’d been looking for that piece for years, and all she could determine was that it had disappeared right along with Trevor Montgomery.

  “Take a look at it,” Hannah said, holding the gold piece out for Adriana to inspect.

  Adriana closed the door, took the doubloon from Hannah, and went to her desk. She flipped on the light, pulled out a magnifying glass, and scrutinized the front, the back, the edges. She’d seen many fakes over the years, but not this time. It didn’t take a jeweler to know the value of the piece.

  “Did you buy it already?” she asked.

  Hannah shook her head. “I gave the owner a deposit. It looked like the real thing, I just wasn’t sure.”

  “It’s real all right. My guess is we could purchase it for fifteen... no, closer to eighteen thousand.” She ran her fingers over the piece, noting the slight wear in the engraving, as if it had been carried in a pocket for quite some time. That’s how she’d always known the fakes. According to Harrison, Trevor had always carried that coin in his pocket. It was bound to get worn over the years, and the fakes had been much too perfect.