He stood, face livid. “Stop saying that!” He held his head as though in more pain than she.
“It’s true.” She’d made five movies and played five parts: a one-minute walk away that made men long to see the whole body beneath the white blouse and tight pencil skirt, a passionate wife to a zombie lover, an ingenue in love with her best friend’s fiancé, a dancing role that had left her unable to walk for weeks, and a mermaid who ultimately pulled the man she loved over the side and down into the depths.
Franklin had done that to her. Pulled her over and down, down, down into the deep, dark world of make-believe.
A flood tide of sorrow washed over her and she felt herself drowning in it. “I’m sorry, Franklin. I’m sorry. I can’t pretend anymore.” How much of her life had she spent doing just that? She no longer knew who she was.
Franklin took her by the shoulders, his eyes adoring. “You’ve never pretended with me. I know you better than you know yourself.” His fingers dug into her. “I’ve poured my heart and soul into you!”
Her body went cold at his touch.
His hands cupped her face, his eyes worshiping. “A thousand men want you, but you gave yourself to me. You love me. I’ve kept every promise I’ve ever made to you. Haven’t I?”
That was the awful truth. He had.
She had just never stopped to count the cost.
Harold Cushing’s open house had been going for an hour when Dave nudged Joshua. “I’d better warn you, Kathy is playing matchmaker again.”
It wasn’t the first time Kathy had tried to fix him up with a friend. Joshua had hoped she’d understood when he told her he wasn’t looking for a girlfriend.
Dave nodded toward Kathy, coming outside with a slender, diminutive, and very attractive brunette. “That’s Merit Hayes, one of Kathy’s college friends. She’s a studio lawyer. Don’t let her size fool you. She might look like a minnow, but she’s a shark.” People mingled, talking and laughing as the catering staff served hors d’oeuvres and replenished drinks. Merit looked like she had come straight from an office in her white silk blouse, black pencil skirt, and shiny black patent-leather pumps. She looked annoyed while Kathy talked and nodded toward Dave and Joshua.
Thankfully, Harold Cushing called Joshua over. Harold introduced him to a middle-aged couple. “Chet works for Walt Disney. He’s impressed with what you’ve done to my office.”
“Walt is always looking for men with imagination.” Chet went on to boast of how Disneyland was bringing in money faster than a harvester bringing in the sheaves. The mind behind the amusement park wasn’t idle, but caught up in ideas of how to expand. Chet laughed. “The irony is Walt got fired once because his boss said he had no imagination. Families are flocking to Disneyland, and it doesn’t look like the crowds are going to die down anytime soon.”
Someone tapped Joshua on the shoulder, and he turned to find Kathy standing behind him, Merit Hayes in tow. “Sorry to interrupt, Dad, but I wanted Joshua to meet an old friend of mine. Merit Hayes, this is David’s best friend, Joshua Freeman.”
Joshua gave the appropriate smile and polite response as he held out his hand. Merit had a small, delicate hand with long, red fingernails, and a grip like a prizefighter. Her eyes turned cool with wry humor. “I should warn you, she’s trying to set us up.”
Joshua chuckled. “I know.”
Merit raised her brows. “Are you a coconspirator?”
“Sorry, but no, not that it isn’t a pleasure to meet you, Miss Hayes.”
Kathy blushed. “Okay.” She raised her hands in defeat. “Okay. I’ve done my best. Have fun.”
Merit winced. “Awkward, I must say.”
“Kathy has the best of intentions.”
She eyed his can of Coke and took a martini from a passing tray, startling the server, who looked ready to protest. “She’s naive.” She plucked the olive from the drink and ate it. “If I wanted a man, I’d find him myself.”
“Dave said you’re a studio lawyer.”
“Guilty as charged. He’s had to deal with me before.” She laughed. “He never gets what he wants.” A waiter offered dainty sandwiches. She took two. “I take that back. He did get Kathy.” She shrugged and gave him a catlike stare as she ate. He knew she was waiting for him to comment. When he didn’t, she nodded toward the house. “I saw Harold’s new office. Impressive work.”
“I didn’t do it by myself.”
“You came up with the concept and did half the work—the finish half, I was told. It was all part of Kathy’s glowing recommendation. So I have to wonder. Why does a man with your obvious talents now do part-time work on a back studio lot?”
He smiled and sipped his Coke. “Maybe I came down here to be discovered.”
“Meaning it’s none of my business.” She plucked a canapé from another tray. “You managed to get your foot in the door without joining the union. Nice that you have such good connections.” She lifted her glass to Dave and Kathy watching them. “Look at them over there, Kathy with such hope, Dave wishing I’d take off on my broom.” She laughed, enjoying herself.
She looked at Joshua. “Kathy told me you’re a churchgoing man.” She sniffed. “And you’ve got them going, too. She calls you the real deal; did you know that?” She made a wry face. “Odd that I think I like you.” She popped the canapé into her mouth and wagged her finger as she chewed and swallowed. “Not that I want to give you the wrong idea. I’m not saying I want to go out with you.”
He grinned. “Have I asked?”
She looked surprised. “I should be insulted.”
“But you’re not.”
She leaned closer and whispered. “Maybe we can pretend we’re attracted to each other. It might serve to distract my dear friend from further matchmaking attempts on my behalf. She has no idea how hopeless that is.” She took his arm and batted her lashes. “I’ll be nice. I promise. Let’s mingle.”
Merit Hayes knew everyone and, like Dave, loved to talk business. People kept coming, and she zeroed in on specific people. Joshua listened, answering questions only when asked. She patted his arm. “I like a man who doesn’t talk more than necessary.” She steered him toward a couple who had arrived late—an older, portly man with shrewd eyes and a beautiful, much-younger woman who looked vaguely familiar. Merit greeted them both warmly, the two women exchanging air kisses on each cheek before Merit introduced Joshua to Terrence Irving and his wife, Pamela.
Joshua told them it was a pleasure. Pamela kept looking at him, and when he frowned, she sighed. “My star fades already.”
Her husband slipped an arm around her waist and drew her a little closer. “You shine with more beauty and light than ever.”
Merit made a soft choking sound, and Joshua noticed the laughter in her eyes. He wondered why until she apologized to Pamela and her husband. “You’ll have to excuse my friend here. He comes from a small town in northern California that probably doesn’t even have a theater. Joshua, this is Pamela Hudson.”
Joshua remembered now, though he’d only seen one movie in which she starred. He could probably dredge up the story line, given the opportunity.
“Pamela gave up acting to marry me.” Terrence Irving smiled at his lovely wife. “And then she gave me the added blessing of two beautiful daughters.”
Merit took the cue and asked about their darling little ones, and if the couple planned to have more. Pamela looked piqued, but Terrence said they both wanted more. Others joined them. Merit slipped her hand through Joshua’s arm and drew him away. “Well, that was a complete disaster! Did you see the look on her face?” She looked at him, laughing. “How could anyone not know Pamela Hudson?”
“We don’t inhabit the same circles.”
“Where are you from? The moon?” She shook her head. “I’m being a witch. I know. The booze is going to my head. I’ve had a long, hard week.”
“Then I suggest we eat.” He steered her toward the elaborate buffet.
She took a plate, handed i
t to him, and moved ahead with one of her own. “Pamela has been in all the Hollywood newspaper columns.”
“I get my news from other sources.”
“Well then, I’ll tell you the story. Pamela came out of nowhere and burst on the scene like a nova.” She picked through the salads and vegetable dishes. “She had a high-powered, brilliant agent who literally built her career. Franklin Moss. Have you ever heard of him? He’s a bit too intense at times, but he knows talent when he sees it, even if it appears in a diner on Sunset Boulevard. Or so the story goes. The Hollywood dream.” Her tone dripped cynicism. “I was the lawyer on one of Pamela’s movies, and I can tell you, that man knew how to fight for his client. Franklin Moss is shrewd, ambitious, and a tough negotiator. Unfortunately, he lost his head and had an affair with Pamela—always a bad idea between business partners. She’s one ambitious honey. She left Moss’s little love nest and jumped into the sack with Terrence. Lucky for her, Terrence has lawyers who can find a loophole in any contract. Every newspaper across the country ran the scandal. Everyone expected to see her star shining in the next Irving movie. I think Pamela banked on that. Instead, her career came to a screeching halt.” She gave a dark laugh. “From the way Terrence talked, he’s going to keep Pamela pregnant and tending babies at home.”
“Maybe it’s what she wants.”
Merit looked skeptical. “Even if she did, she’s got a hard road ahead. Terrence Irving has always loved beautiful women. The leopard might want an heir, but I doubt he’ll change his spots. There you have it. A Hollywood marriage made in heaven.”
“Things aren’t always what they seem.”
“Spoken by a naive romantic. Sorry to disillusion you, but Pamela Hudsons are a dime a dozen in Tinseltown, buddy boy. Franklin Moss lost his head and his job at the agency when he lost her. His wife left him, got full custody of their children, and moved to the big house in Malibu. He disappeared for over a year. I guess he went off to lick his wounds or whatever men do when they come to their senses.” She told the chef she wanted a nice thick piece of rare prime rib. “He’s back now. Franklin, I mean. And giving me another massive headache.” She held out her plate for the slab of juicy meat. “He’s created another Venus and wants an Olympian price for her.” She took a roll and three pats of butter. “I hate negotiating with the man. Unlike Pamela over there, this girl actually has talent and she follows directions. It’s unusual to find a triple threat that doesn’t have an ego the size of Texas.”
“Triple threat?”
Merit explained that meant the girl could act, dance, and sing. “She stole every scene in her last movie. Some drivel about unrequited love.” Her derisive tone changed to briskness. “Giant steps forward from her first speaking role as a zombie. This girl has the potential to become a real star, one who lasts.”
Joshua’s pulse shot up. “A zombie?”
Merit laughed. “You heard me. You didn’t recognize Pamela Hudson, so you’ve undoubtedly never heard of Lena Scott. But take my word for it. If our production company gets her, you’ll see her everywhere.”
Joshua found a telephone number, but no address for the Franklin Moss Talent Agency in the yellow pages. He tried phoning on his lunch hour. A dispassionate woman answered and said Joshua could leave a message. She hung up before he finished. He called back. The woman sighed. “You have the wrong agency, mister. Franklin Moss isn’t handling anyone named Abra Matthews.”
Joshua wanted to hit himself in the forehead. “Abra Matthews is Lena Scott, and I’m an old friend.”
“O . . . kay. Give me your contact information and I’ll pass it along to Mr. Moss. I can’t promise he’ll call you back.”
“Can you give me the office address?”
“Sorry. I don’t have that information. Billing does, but they can’t talk to you. Anything else?”
Joshua called Kathy and asked for Merit Hayes’s phone number. Kathy sounded unduly happy. Merit wasn’t. “I thought you and I had an understanding.”
“I’m calling for information, not a date. Can you give me Franklin Moss’s telephone number and address?”
“Let me guess.” She gave a cynical laugh. “You don’t know Pamela Hudson, but you’d like to meet Lena Scott.” She asked if he had a pencil and paper. “If he won’t let studio execs close, I doubt he’ll give you the time of day.” She gave him the same number listed in the yellow pages. He told her he had that number and had hit a wall. “It’s what I’ve got. No surprise I can get through, but a fan can’t.”
“What was his wife’s name? Didn’t you say she was in Malibu?”
“You are a determined man, aren’t you? Shirley, I think. Or Cheryl. Maybe Charlene. Something with a shhhh.”
He found a listing for Cheryl Moss and dialed. A boy answered and said his mom wasn’t home. When Joshua asked when she might return, he laughed and said she’d gone to the Valley shopping with his sister and he didn’t expect to see them until late. Joshua said he’d call back tomorrow. He’d used up his hour lunch break and went back to work. It was hard to concentrate.
Dave grinned when Joshua came upstairs from showering and changing after work. He handed him a letter marked RETURN TO SENDER in big block letters. “I didn’t know you were a fan.”
The production company address was crossed out and the letter forwarded to Franklin Moss, with a Hollywood Boulevard address also crossed off. The letter had been opened and taped shut again.
Let go, Joshua. She doesn’t belong to you.
It was time to listen. Joshua crumpled the letter and dropped it into the wastebasket.
Dave and Kathy were watching him. Kathy was grave. “You look like you just lost your best friend.”
“I lost her a long time ago.” He told them who Lena Scott was.
Dave gave a soft whistle and said he never would have guessed. Then he told Joshua the last thing he ever wanted to hear. “Rumor is, she’s married to her agent.”
Joshua released his breath slowly.
Kathy went back to peeling potatoes. “You had a couple of calls today.” She nodded toward the end of the counter. “Charlie Jessup wants to talk with you.”
Joshua glanced through the messages. Three job offers. He wanted to go home. “Mind if I use the phone?” He called Jack Wooding, who said he had a full crew. He sure wished he’d known sooner Joshua might be coming home. He’d be glad to let him know as soon as he had an opening.
Joshua rubbed the back of his neck and bowed his head. Lord, are You telling me to stay in Southern California?
God seemed to be giving him mixed messages.
Abra awakened, groggy from drinking too much. Franklin was talking. Was someone in the apartment?
His office door was open. He must be on the phone. She could tell by his tone that he was talking to his son. Something about an Impala and why didn’t he ask his mother? She heard him yank open a drawer and peered in. Franklin had the telephone receiver locked between his ear and shoulder as he read the combination and worked the dial on the safe. He cranked the handle and opened the iron door, wheeled his chair back, and tucked the paper into the drawer. Before he wheeled back, she saw money stacked on a shelf inside the safe, and files just below. She withdrew silently.
Everything she needed to leave him was within reach, but she couldn’t get to it as long as Franklin stuck so close to home. He was never gone for more than half an hour, and then just to pick up a few groceries and come right back.
The only way to be free from him was to play Lena Scott for one more day.
Abra arose early, showered, and took the time to shampoo and dry her hair. She dressed in fitted black capris and a green sweater that accentuated her eyes. She had lost weight and the clothes were a little loose, but she couldn’t worry about that now. She took special care with her makeup. Lena always wore more of it than Abra liked. She brushed her hair and left it loose about her shoulders.
The door to the master bedroom was open. Franklin was still asleep, his bed a shamb
les, blankets kicked aside, half on the floor, half on the bed. He never slept well after talking to his children or his ex-wife. He stirred.
She hurried quietly to the living room. She had a role to play, and it had better be worthy of an Academy Award. What would Lena do when Franklin came into the room? What would Lena say? She wouldn’t confront him for withholding her money. She wouldn’t threaten him with divorce or breach of contract. Lena would tantalize him with hope. She would be cunning, wise enough not to rouse his suspicions.
Abra realized she was chewing her nails and stopped herself.
She’d always been able to set her clock by Franklin’s routine. He got up at five, used the bathroom, and then did a hundred sit-ups and fifty push-ups. He shaved and took a ten-minute shower. He always set his clothing out the night before—dark suit, white shirt, colorful Italian silk tie . . . the uniform of a successful businessman. He kept his wallet, gold cuff links, and watch in a pewter tray on his dresser. At seven thirty sharp, he came down the hall, set his leather briefcase in the entryway, collected Daily Variety and two newspapers from just outside the apartment door, and went into the kitchen to fix himself breakfast: three boiled eggs, two pieces of toast. If his bathroom scale had said anything more than 185, he’d have yogurt and bran. He read fast and scanned everything, his eyes quick to spot any mention of Lena Scott.
Things had changed in the last two weeks.
She heard him in the hall. “Lena?” He must have seen the open door. “Lena!”
“I’m in the living room, Franklin.” Grabbing the script for The Gypsy and the General, she seated herself on the couch, back against the armrest, legs stretched out. She folded pages back, pretending to read.
He came into the living room disheveled and shaken, a look of panic on his face. He let out a sharp breath and struggled to regain control. “I thought . . .” He shook his head, as though to remove the fear from his troubled mind. “You’re feeling better?”