by Tanya Stowe
Jackson watched as she talked to a friend, apparently someone involved in the theatre management, arranging a private showing. Jackson was pleased that she was willing to spend more time with him. But did she make the effort because she wanted to, or was she simply being a good hostess?
Punching the button on her phone, she looked up and flashed him a bright, winning smile. Like her name, her smile brightened everything, even the dark interior of a black limo. She seemed sincerely pleased, but was she trying to make him happy or really anxious to linger in his company? Jackson didn’t know.
Whatever the reason, he appreciated her generosity. “Thank you, Sunny.” He gave her a slight nod, and his honest feelings must have come through because her bright smile faded, replaced by an open, puzzled expression.
“You are most welcome, Jackson.”
Sincerity. She meant it. But still…
Sunny Bates was a puzzle he was looking forward to solving.
She leaned forward to give Dan the driving directions. The driver moved the car onto a side street, off ever-busy Hollywood Boulevard, and they slid into a seriously narrow alley.
Multi-storied black-faced walls surrounded them, making Jackson feel a little claustrophobic. Up ahead, a ramp ran up to a door. The ramp further crowded the narrow alley. Jackson didn’t think the limo would make the tight squeeze. Then the door ahead popped open and golden light spilled into the alley.
“That’s for us,” Sunny called out.
Dan eased to a stop. Sunny slid out the back door and ran up the ramp before Jackson could pull his long body out of the car. He rose slowly as her jean clad legs crossed in front of him, hurrying up the ramp. He had to skip hop to catch up. A tall man in a white shirt, tie, and black vest gestured them inside before snapping the portal shut.
A lopsided grin slashed one side of the man’s features. “Sorry about the rush, man. We have some fans who hang out in the back looking for stars.”
It took a moment for Jackson to switch mental gears and decipher the man’s Australian accent before he nodded. “No problem.”
“Back in the day there was an underground tunnel from the Roosevelt Hotel to the Chinese for celebrities to use. The Roosevelt was the site of the first Academy Awards.”
Sunny looped her arm through that of the lanky blond with the longish, spiky hair. “Jackson, meet my friend, Clive. Clive…Jackson Maise.”
Clive extended his hand. Jackson grasped it. “Thanks for taking us on such short notice.”
The man flashed another one-sided grin. “Anything for Sunny. She was my first friend when I landed in Hollywood…and still is my only.”
Jackson paused, studying the man’s flat features.
Sunny burst out laughing. “Stop teasing, Clive. He’s new here. He hasn’t figured this all out.” She turned to Jackson. “Clive is a comedian. He’s pretty much a regular at the comedy clubs.”
“That’s right, mate. Regular warmup for all the big names. That’s me. I’m on the fast track to becoming a star. I’m the most requested tour guide here at the Chinese.”
Sunny laughed again. “Be good. Jackson won’t know what to think of you.”
The man was quick, and his dead-pan delivery did have Jackson guessing, but the easy grin was friendly and non-imposing. “That part about the requested tour guide I can believe. You’ve already told me something I didn’t know about the theatre. Is the tunnel still open?”
“Nah. Closed a long time. Not safe.”
Clive led them through the backstage, cutting back and forth until Jackson was completely lost. Clive opened a door, and they practically fell into the lavishly decorated foyer of the theatre. Red drapes and gold flashed in unbelievable abundance. The rich decor even boasted walls painted with delicate trees and flowers. Chandeliers with geometric patterns and gold dragons with scaly backs wove a pattern across the red carpet.
Clive led them from room to room, describing the construction, completed in 1927. He pointed out the beautiful decorations and hand-painted walls. But as soon as he recognized Jackson’s interest in the architecture, Clive dove into details, including the still functioning air-conditioning system, one of the first in the country, with air ducts built into the carved pillars.
For over an hour, the Australian led them through the back rooms and hidden spots in the theatre before he finally wound down. “I think I’ve told you almost everything I know. If you want more I’ll have to call in Rudy.”
Sunny nodded. “Rudy’s first job as a teenager was here as an usher back in the forties. Eventually, he worked for one of the studios in the back lot on scenery until he retired, and then he came back here to lead tours. He’s amazing.”
“This was great, Clive, I appreciate your time.”
“My pleasure, man.” He turned to Sunny. “You should take him to the Egyptian.”
“He’d love it, but I’m afraid the limo would get too much attention.”
Clive pulled keys out of his pocket. “You know where my car’s parked.”
Sunny hesitated. “Are you sure?”
Clive nodded and before Jackson could protest, Sunny grasped his hand and hurried to the door. Her fingers were slender and soft, her whole hand fit perfectly in his. Gripping it tighter, he’d go wherever she led if he could hold her hand just like this.
They ran out another door, down a blank white hall, the back exit of the shopping center next door to its parking structure.
Clive’s economy car was parked close to the doors.
Sunny punched the button to unlock the vehicles. Over the top of the car she smiled. “This is my version of shock and awe. We’ll be in and out before anyone has a chance to recognize you.”
At the gate, Sunny flashed Clive’s parking pass, and they shot out into the street with more speed than Jackson liked. At the light they turned left onto the street. The hour was late and with fewer tourists roaming back and forth, they were able to find a parking place.
Sunny jumped out. “Leave your hat inside the car. It makes you too recognizable.”
Jackson flipped his hat into the backseat and hurried out. Once again, Sunny grabbed his hand, and he liked it even more this time. As she practically jogged up the sidewalk, Jackson gripped her fingers tight.
Soon they turned inside a long courtyard lined by pillars. At the end of the courtyard the words, Egyptian Theatre, flashed in a lighted marquee above the glass doors. Palms formed two rows on each side of the courtyard. Squared pillars bore paintings of ancient Egyptian figures.
Sunny slowed and would have released his hand, but Jackson hung on.
“So this is the Egyptian Theatre.”
“Grauman built it before the Chinese in 1923. It was the home to many premieres, mainly silent pictures. It’s too late to go inside.” She gave a little shake of her head. “Unfortunately, I don’t have an “in” with someone here. It’s just a special place to me.”
The courtyard was empty. A slight breeze blew away the lingering clouds. High above, despite the light pollution, a few stars sparkled in the night sky. The breeze whistled through the palms with a slight swishing, almost like water. Spotlights below lit the palms with bright stripes that only made the shadows seem darker. Those same shadows flickered on the painted Egyptian figures on the wall, making them flare with movement, like something alive.
“This is…surreal. Maybe even haunting. But why is it special to you?”
She tugged his hand and led him to the end of the courtyard.
Lights from the marquee lit a window. Inside were pictures of famous silent stars, most of whom Jackson didn’t know. Sunny pointed to one in the corner. Jackson recognized Rudolf Valentino in his Arabian scarf and cape surrounded by men standing outside the Egyptian Theatre.
“Do you see that man in the white suit, next to Valentino?”
“Yes.”
“He’s my great-grandfather.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No. He was a talent agent in the early day
s. He represented some of the biggest names in silent pictures and helped guide them into talkies. I have some incredible pictures of premieres, private shots taken by my great-grandmother. Someday I’ll put them together and do a showing. My great-grandfather had an incredible life, and my great-grandmother loved to take pictures.” She gave him a quick, sweet flash of a smile.
“Back in the day everyone had a hideaway from the glitz and glamour, including my great-grandfather. Hollywood by the Sea was north of here, almost fifty miles up the coast, far from Tinseltown. It got its name because it was a popular vacation spot for stars like Charlie Chaplin and Greta Garbo. My grandfather bought a beachfront lot. His neighbors were Clark Gable and John Carradine. But as he grew busier and older, he found it harder and harder to escape to his beach home. So he bought a bungalow in Malibu. He retired not long after that and lived there for the rest of his life.”
The breeze ruffled the palms again and lifted Sunny’s hair, gently wrapping one long tendril around her arm. The moonlight touched her cheeks with silver and lit her green eyes with an effervescent glint. She sparkled like an angel. The image fit and seemed so right, Jackson couldn’t shake the whimsical thought.
“You love this town and the industry.”
She gave a slight shake of her head. “It has its good and bad. I love the potential…the good it could do. But I’m smart enough to fear what it does most often. I lived that nightmare. If I can inspire one person or offer a helping hand to someone lost in the smoke and mirrors, then I’ll feel as if I’ve done my job as a faithful person. If I can inspire someone in the audience, then that’s just icing on the cake.”
Was it Jackson’s imagination or did Sunny glow from within? He took a deep breath. He was wrong. She wasn’t an ethereal angel. She was a woman with a mission. A soldier for God. Beautiful. Resilient. Invincible. The image stuck with him even after she turned away.
“We’d better get Clive’s car back to him. It’s about time for him to get off work. I don’t think he’d appreciate us leaving him stranded.” With a slight, almost embarrassed laugh, she hurried toward the entrance of the courtyard, leaving Jackson to follow like a dumbstruck fool.
5
Early the next morning, Sunny drove through a heavy fog. The closer she got to the beach, the murkier it became. The mist settled on the windshield in heavy spots that came close to real drops. She dialed Jackson’s cell number.
In a short few minutes, he slid into her car wearing a dark suit jacket, black jeans, and another white shirt, but he’d left the cowboy hat behind.
“Nice shirt.”
Jackson chuckled. “Thanks. I’ve got about ten more like it.”
“You like white, huh?”
He shrugged. “It saves time.”
After last night, she didn’t think Jackson could surprise her anymore, but she was wrong. She’d never known a star who wasn’t obsessed with how they looked. For some it was vanity. Most of the beautiful people wanted to be beautiful all the time. Some feared not to be beautiful and were expected to look that way all the time.
Jackson definitely fell into the beautiful people category, but he didn’t fall into either of those profiles. Having a selection of the same shirt for convenience just didn’t fit the mold Sunny had come to expect. She was rapidly discovering Jackson Maise didn’t fit into any mold.
He gestured outside the window. “I thought it didn’t rain in Southern California.”
“That’s not rain.” Sunny smiled and looked over her shoulder before she pulled into the traffic on the Pacific Coast Highway. “That’s the marine layer, and it will burn off by noon.”
“Marine layer?”
“Yes. The cooler air over the ocean hits the warmer air on land and voila, we have fog. Happens a lot, especially in the summer time.”
Jackson chuckled. “Weather lessons now. Just when I think things are settling down, you zing me with something new or totally unexpected.”
Sunny glanced his way. “I’m sorry…”
“Don’t be. It’s awesome. I didn’t know what I’d encounter when I came here, but it’s turning out to be a grand adventure.”
He flashed her a winning smile that warmed her from her flushing cheeks to the tips of her toes. “I was just thinking something very similar.”
“Were you?”
He studied her. “By the way, you look nice this morning.”
Nice. A safe, simple word. She’d chosen a dress with a large floral print in spring colors, light blue, pink with a touch of purple and paired it with a short jean jacket. It was bright and comfortable but had a scarf hem with longer tips that flowed when she walked. Burlap wedges completed the outfit and made it one of her favorite things to wear.
But nothing about the way Jackson said “nice” made her feel that way. A thrill shot through her, bringing more heat to her face. Her breath caught, and her pulse picked up. She felt anything but nice. She jerked her gaze back to the road. “So do you,” she murmured. “White is…nice.”
Jackson’s chuckle rumbled through the car. Sunny focused on the road, but she wore a smile all the way to Dorothy’s house.
Her friend was ready and waiting. The door to Dorothy’s Craftsman style bungalow opened as soon as Sunny pulled up to the curb. The older lady was past ninety and used a walker but was determined to be as independent as possible. She started down the ramp leading over the stairs of her porch before Sunny could hop out of the car.
“Good morning, Dorothy.”
“Morning, Sunny.”
Sunny hugged her friend at the base of the ramp.
“Your pretty face is brightening my day already. Thanks for coming to pick me up.”
“I brought a friend, Dorothy, and I think he’ll brighten your day even more.”
Jackson had exited the car and now held it open for the older lady. “Morning, ma’am. I’m…”
“I know who you are, young man. I’d have to be dead not to know.”
Jackson ducked his head. “I think I’ll take that as a compliment.”
He helped her into the front seat before she answered, “You can. I’ve heard your record. You’re a singer not a screamer. Half the young people these days have lost the art.”
Sunny stifled a laugh as she folded the walker and slipped it into the back of her SUV. Jackson met her gaze at the corner of the car and winked just before he slipped into the backseat.
“I’m surprised you’ve heard my music.”
“I retired from the club circuit. I didn’t leave the business. I worked as a background singer for years. I suppose I know just about everybody there is to know. Well, at least those worth knowing.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Even though he tried to hide it, laughter riffled through Jackson’s tone.
Dorothy turned slowly to look over her shoulder. “You’re Dirk Maise’s boy, aren’t you?”
The laughter left Jackson’s face and his lips parted. “Yes…yes I am…ma’am.” There was a newfound respect in his tone.
Dorothy turned back around, a self-satisfied smile on her face. “My husband was a musician, too. A drummer. Worked for the studio longer than I did, and everybody I didn’t know, he did.” She launched into a long explanation of how one of her husband’s friends had done some work with another bluegrass artist who introduced him to the lead singer of Jackson’s dad’s band. For the next few minutes they talked of his father’s group, their latest album, and when they hoped to put out another.
“They don’t make albums much anymore. They prefer playing the fairs and smaller venues. Besides the ranch takes up most of my dad’s time. He talks about leaving the band but it’s just talk. Music’s in his blood. It’s the same with the others. They don’t care about fame and fortune. They just want to play.”
“And the rest of us are happy they do.” Dorothy nodded. “You tell your father I said so.”
“I will. Thank you.”
There it was again. The sincerity Sunny was beginning to adore. Jack
son was real, and Sunny hadn’t realized how much she appreciated…needed…that touch of reality in her life. It was a sobering thought. How empty had her life become? In her business, she needed to have strong armor. She hardly ever missed church and surrounded herself with believers like Dorothy. Servant leadership was her motto and colored every encounter she had. So why was Jackson like a breath of fresh air? A much-needed jolt of caffeine? The thought followed Sunny as she left the car.
Jackson hopped out to help her with the walker. She caught a whiff of his aftershave as he took the walker from her hands and opened it. Pines. Crisp. He smelled like mountain air. That’s how he made her feel…like she was on top of a mountain and could see everything clear and clean and sharp.
He helped Dorothy out of the car, and they walked side by side, up the path to the small church on the corner.
Sunny resisted the urge to grasp his hand. She actually yearned to reach out and hold it. It seemed so right. So natural. But she didn’t.
They sat in a back pew. Dorothy sat between them. Sunny felt safer that way. Everything was happening too fast. Her feelings were raw and almost overpowering. She needed to step back and take a breath. A relationship wasn’t in her future. She was on the fast track to creating a production company. She had a mission. A purpose. Her job in Hollywood was not to get caught up in the trappings. Jackson wasn’t exactly a trapping, but he could derail her if she wasn’t careful.
The pastor’s sermon was simple and just what she needed. A talk on following God’s path, not her own. The words gave her comfort. Eased her concerns. She placed herself in God’s capable hands once more. He would keep her true.
She glanced over once to see Jackson’s eyes closed. He was deep in prayer, and a look of such peace softened his features…she’d done the right thing by bringing him here…no matter what the future held for them.
As the last note of the last worship song rang out, people began to clap.
Jackson brought Dorothy her walker. As he opened it and gently pushed it in her direction she said, “How would you two like to have lunch with me?”