Читать книгу Baby On His Hollywood Doorstep - Lauri Robinson - Страница 11

Helen tucked her chin into her neck in order to see over the top of her glasses and get a clear look at the building out of the car window. It wasn’t tall like the hundreds, maybe thousands they’d driven past, nor was it made of bricks or stone like so many of the ones that had taken up miles upon miles of the streets of Los Angeles. The city was larger than she’d imagined. That unsettled her and she hugged the baby sleeping in her arms a bit tighter while attempting to swallow the lump in her throat.

Made of wood, the building sprawled out along the street rather than upward like those downtown, and there were few windows, almost as if they didn’t want people looking inside. Several tall palm trees grew next to the building, and she had to wonder how trees could grow amongst so much concrete and traffic.

“This is the address, ma’am,” the driver repeated.

The streetcars didn’t come this far out, which is why she’d had to hire a taxi, yet there was plenty of traffic traveling up the road toward a gigantic white sign up on the hill. HOLLYWOODLAND.

Drawing in a deep breath, Helen held it until her lungs burned. She checked the knot of the scarf tied beneath her chin, making sure it was tight, then picked up her purse and twisted to step out of the car without juggling Grace too much. Once on the curb, she shifted the baby farther into the crook of her arm in order to slip her purse onto her wrist under the baby so she could take the small suitcase the driver was fetching out of the black-and-green-checkered cab. That suitcase held all of her earthly possessions as well as Grace’s. A shiver rippled her insides, once again making her wonder if she could do this; yet she knew she had to.

“Would you like me to carry this inside for you, ma’am?”

Every nerve in her body was trembling. “No. No. Thank you.” Helen reached out, took the hard-sided case. “Thank you again for the ride.”

“You’re welcome, ma’am, and good luck to you.” He climbed back in the taxicab and pulled away from the curb.

A horn honked as the taxi cut into the traffic and Helen’s stomach sank. Not in criticism of his skills, but at the departure itself. She was here. In California. Taking the last steps of the journey she and Grace had traveled. Once again, as she had a million times already, she wished there was another choice.

There wasn’t.

Her throat swelled up. Grace was such a good baby. Had barely fussed the entire train ride. Only whimpered a bit when she’d been hungry or needed a diaper change. She was adorable too, with her soft fuzzy blond hair and big dark eyes. The wave of sadness that engulfed Helen made her eyes sting.

She approached the building with caution at first but, remembering that Grace would soon need to be fed, her footsteps grew more purposeful.

It seemed odd that the address was for this—a building rather than a residence, a house or an apartment. But this is where Vera had mailed the letters to, so this is where they’d traveled to. She and Grace. All the way from Chicago.

At the door, Helen paused. Star’s Studio was painted on the glass in sparkling gold paint. She had no idea what that would mean for Grace, and had to hope it would be good.

She took another deep breath and grasped the handle.

The door wouldn’t budge.

She tried again. Jiggled the door.

It was locked. Locked. In the middle of the day.

She peered through the window, but it was too dark inside to see anything.

Flustered she stepped back and glanced down at Grace. The baby was still sleeping, yet Helen whispered, “Don’t worry, I won’t just leave you on the doorstep.”

She wouldn’t, but she had prepared herself for this moment—the time where she would turn Grace over and walk away. It was going to break her heart, but the alternative was worse.

The pain of losing her entire family in the raid by the North End Gang on the restaurant two years ago still lived inside her, as did watching Vera die only a few months ago. Pain like that was crippling, but she’d lived through it, and would this, too. Grace’s safety was far more important than anything else.

“If I could keep you, I would,” she whispered to Grace. “But I can’t. You’ll never be safe with me. Never.”

“Mr. McCarney isn’t booking any auditions right now.”

Helen spun around and had to squint through the glasses she’d taken to wearing two years ago. They were part of her disguise, as was the dull baggy dress. Through the blur of the magnified glasses she didn’t need, she made out a woman walking toward her. She was dressed in a sleek, hip-hugging black-and-white-striped dress, complete with matching head scarf tied on the side, and shoes that clicked against the concrete sidewalk.

Another immense wave of everything from heartbreak to fear washed over Helen. “Mr. McCarney is here?” She glanced at the door. “Inside the building?”

The woman stopped next to the door and frowned as her overly long and hard appraisal went from Helen’s toes to the top of her head before it settled on Grace. “Yes, he’s here, but he’s not taking auditions.” The woman inserted a key in the door.

It took Helen a moment to find her voice. “I’m not here for an audition. I just—”

“Whatever you are here for, Mr. McCarney cannot be disturbed.” The woman pulled the door open. “By anyone.”

Despite the way her heart was breaking and her eyes burning, Helen knew she had to act now, or never might.

“Here,” she said, handing Grace to the woman.

Startled, the woman jostled slightly, but took Grace. Hurrying before she changed her mind, Helen set the suitcase on the ground and snapped it open. She pulled out the flour sack she’d filled with all of Grace’s things as the train had pulled into Los Angeles this morning. Then she reached in her purse and pulled out the bottle full of milk.

Since the woman’s hands were full, Helen set the bag inside the door. Her throat was on fire and she had to fight hard to keep herself from crying. “Her clothes and diapers are in here, and another bottle and cans of milk.”

“What? What are you doing?”

Helen could no longer hold back the tears. They burned her cheeks as she set the bottle full of milk on Grace’s stomach and kissed her soft head one last time. “Her name is Grace and she’s a good baby.” Sobs were stealing her breath away. “A—a very good baby.”

“What? No. Take her back!”

The woman held Grace out, but Helen backed away. The pain inside her was so strong. Her heart was truly breaking in two. She shook her head. “She needs her father.”

“I’m not her father!” the woman said.

Helen grabbed the suitcase off the ground. “Mr. McCarney is.” She couldn’t see through the blur of tears, but she had to get away, so she ran. Ran. Like she had that night back in Chicago, when tommy guns had been spitting out bullets all around her.

* * *

It wasn’t just accomplishment or relief, it was knowing this was some of his best work that had Jack McCarney finally returning to his office from the production lot, throwing down the stack of paper in his arms onto the desk and stretching his hands over his head and popping his knuckles. The last three days had been a hellish race against the clock. Locked in a tiny room at the back of the lot, with his director for almost every single minute of them, they’d finally hashed out the script changes needed to make this film the best it could be.

He loathed script changes as much as he loathed actor changes. But he’d be the first to admit, it would have been impossible to film the script the way it had been originally written. This new version, the reason he’d barely left the studio for over fifty hours, would take Hollywood by a storm.

It was good. Damn good. He’d worked with Malcolm Boyd before, and though the actor wasn’t as well-known as who he’d originally cast to play the role of Walter Reeves, Boyd was now a good fit for Reeves and would play the role to a T with Wes Jenkins as the perfect supporting actor.

Full of exhilaration Jack leaned forward and slapped his desk. This was it. His big chance. He couldn’t wait to start filming.

He couldn’t wait to eat something, either. His ribs were damn near poking out of his shirt.

Jack glanced at his watch, checking to make sure Julia’s diner was still open. She hated Hollywood and everything about it, mainly because of the way Bart Broadbent had swindled her family out of several hundred acres of land. Julia had tried, but couldn’t get the land back. Bart had already sold it to the folks building Hollywoodland. Fancy houses that only the rich and famous could afford. Julia held on to the last few acres of her land with an iron fist, and was making a nice bundle of cash for herself in the process. Her diner had the best food in the neighborhood. Perhaps the city.

He felt bad that Julia’s family had gotten sucked in, but Bart had been known as a dew dropper. The whole lot of Broadbents had been four-flushers, mooching off everyone and anyone.

Recognizing that long ago, Jack had steered clear of Bart and the rest of the Broadbents. He’d warned his brother to steer clear of them too, but like most every other time he’d warned him of something, Joe hadn’t listened. Right before leaving, he’d borrowed money from the Broadbents against his shares in the studio.

Frustration washed over Jack as he pushed away from his desk. The Broadbents had been hounding him, wanting to increase their dividends, ever since Joe left.

He refused, but did send them monthly payments, cleaning up yet another mess that Joe had left behind, because that’s what he’d always done. Cleaned up after Joe.

If his brother hadn’t been such a windsucker, things would be different right now. But that wouldn’t have been Joe. He’d thought he was too big to go down. Too high above the rest. Joe had always thought like that, despite the fact that that had never been the case. No matter how famous one gets, there’s always someone more famous. Richer. With better contacts and contracts.

That was Hollywood, and why you had to be tough to play here.

Joe had been tough, but he’d also been foolish. Too foolish. That’s what had gotten him blacklisted. Banned from ever acting in Hollywood again for immoral conduct.

Jack almost laughed, except it wasn’t funny.

Others were just as immoral, but they didn’t flaunt it. That’s what had brought Joe down, and the reason he’d left. Why he’d been gone for over two years and most likely would never be back.

It hadn’t completely stopped Joe. He was still out there, somewhere, flaunting his Hollywood connections and making promises that would never be fulfilled. The steady flow of women contacting the studio was proof of that. Each one claimed Joe had sent them, promising stardom. Riches. Fame.

There was also a bag full of unopened letters from others who hadn’t been able to muster up the money to actually make it to Hollywood, but wanted the same promises fulfilled.

After opening the first few letters, Jack had simply given instructions to put any other mail that arrived for Joe in the bag. Shattering the dreams of the ones who walked through the studio door was more than enough to deal with.

With frustration rising, Jack stood up. Scooping up the stack of papers that were full of script changes, Jack carried them out of his office and down the long corridor to the front lobby. Beverly Hobbs had done a fine job of following his orders about not being disturbed the past couple of days, and he hoped she was as good of a typist as she was a gatekeeper.

He pushed open the door to the lobby, but froze in his tracks. Front office girls came and went as fast as actors, and right now, even though she’d been working here for only a week, he needed this one. Therefore, he cautiously asked, “You have a baby?”

“No.” She set the bottle on her desk and lifted the infant to her shoulder. “You do.”

Shocked, it was a moment before Jack shook his head. “No, I don’t.”

She stood. “That’s not what the woman who dropped this one off said.”

Jack backed up, half-afraid she was going to hand him the infant. “What woman?”

“The one who was at the door when I came back from lunch.” She pointed to a sack on the desk. “She gave me that bag of diapers and milk and said the baby’s name is Grace and that she needs her father. Mr. McCarney.”

His blood turned to ice. He’d thought he’d seen it all. Women had tried all sorts of things to catch his attention, to make them stars, but claiming he’d fathered their baby. That was a first. “Where is she now? The woman?”

“Can’t say for sure. She took off running like a swarm of bees were chasing her. Last I saw, Julia from across the street ran out to keep her from getting hit.” Miss Hobbs shook her head. “Cars were coming from both directions. It was as if she hadn’t even seen them.”

He should be concerned, ask if the woman had gotten hit, but he wasn’t in the mood to be charitable. “Did she go into Julia’s diner?”

“I don’t know. The phone was ringing. I had a baby in my hands.”

She looked thoroughly flustered. He couldn’t blame her.

He spun around and headed for the door. “I’ll be right back.” Whoever that baby belonged to needed to come and get her. Right now.

“I leave in half an hour.”

“I’ll be right back,” he repeated, almost to the door.

“I have a date!”

“I’ll pay you extra,” he said, marching out the door. He didn’t have time for this kind of baloney. He’d just been given his shot to move Star’s Studio up the ladder and wasn’t about to let anything get in his way. Nothing at all. No one at all.

There was a break in traffic, so he shot across the street.

Grant Collins and Max Houlihan walked out of the diner just as Jack stepped up on the curb. He’d worked with both of them in the past and would again if the time came around that he needed to fill the roles of unsophisticated rubes. They were slapstick funny when they wanted to be. But right now he didn’t have time to listen to them spill.

“Ham’s as good as ever,” Grant said, gesturing a thumb over his shoulder. “But you best get in there if you want any. Terry Jones is bellied up to the counter.”

Terry Jones outweighed all three of them put together and ate as if he was purely dedicated to adding notches to his belt buckle. He was a heavyweight. Had been a boxer at one time, and was now the best set builder in all of Tinseltown.

Jack was no longer hungry, but even in more of a hurry to get inside. “Good to know,” he said, stepping around them to enter the diner.

The tables were all full, so were most of the stools that lined the counter. He had no idea what the woman he was looking for might look like, but recognized enough about the people filling the diner to believe none of them were her. He headed toward the counter and the door behind it that led to the kitchen.

“Hey, McCarney,” Terry Jones greeted from where he sat on the first stool. Jones popped an entire bun in his mouth. Whole. And swallowed it like a Labrador, one gulp, no chewing.

Jack didn’t know if he should nod, or shake his head. Instead of doing either, he grabbed ahold of Rosie’s arm, one of the girls who waited tables, as she walked past. “Where’s Julia?”

“Where do you think she is?” Rosie nodded her head toward the kitchen door.

He’d never been in the kitchen before. Had never had a reason to go back there, before today.

Greta, the other waitress, walked out the door, and he had to step aside so she had enough room for the laden tray she was carrying. Both she and Rosie had come to him begging for an audition at one time. Joe hadn’t sent them. Nor had he sent hundreds of other women. They’d come on their own. The population of LA grew by the thousands every year. People from all walks of life, from all corners of the world, arrived daily, dazzled by the idea of stardom, thinking all they had to do was arrive in Hollywood and all their dreams would come true.

They had reason to believe that might happen. Movie theaters were springing up across the nation, demanding new picture shows daily. Over eight hundred films had been produced last year alone, and more would be this year, giving the public what they were clamoring for. However, it was the magazines and newspapers that suckered people in. They wrote stories of filmmakers on the lookout for talent. Encouraged people to come to LA. Trouble was, those stories were more fictional than the movies being filmed.

He’d long ago grown tired of being the one to shatter the dreams of so many. The truth hurt, and the truth was, moviemaking was a cutthroat industry. Those who were in, were in, those who weren’t, weren’t, and most likely never would be. A very small percentage of the people who’d come to him truly had the talent they’d need to make it in the film industry. Fewer had the resolve. It wasn’t an easy profession, or as glamorous as people thought.

Rosie and Greta had both been upset with him at first, but had gotten over it.

As soon as Greta was out of the way, he pushed open the swinging door of the kitchen.

Julia was at the stove, but it was the woman washing dishes that caught his eye. He didn’t recognize her, and would have if he’d ever seen her before. Although partially hidden behind a pair of glasses, she had an extremely unique set of pale blue eyes. So unique they made him wish the ability to film in color had already been perfected. It would be, some day. And eyes like that would stand out on the big screen. Without the glasses, of course.

“Jack, what are you doing back here?”

He pulled his gaze from the woman and turned to where Julia stood near the stove. Dressed as usual in pink from head to toe, except for the black net that held her dark hair back, she frowned at him.

“There was a woman earlier, running across the street,” he said. “Do you know where she went?”

Julia’s frown increased as she looked at him, then at the woman washing dishes.

A shiver rippled down his spine as he turned in the direction of the sink again. This time he gave her a long appraisal. From the toes of her scuffed brown shoes to the top of her head, where a mass of glistening brown hair was pinned in a soft roll around the base of her head. Except for several corkscrew bangs that hung down and caught on her long eyelashes as she blinked behind those wire-rimmed glasses and settled that unique light blue gaze on him.

Her eyes weren’t the only unique, striking thing about her. The shape of her face was perfect, elegant, her poise graceful, and her skin was flawless. Unblemished and not covered with cosmetics. It was creamy and tinged pink naturally in all the right places. Even her lips had a natural shine about them and were perfectly bowed in the center.

Maybe he should audition her. Even with black-and-white filming, those eyes would stand out. All of her would.

He had to shake his head to get his thinking straight. “You? You’re the woman who dropped a baby off at my studio?”

Shock covered her face as her mouth dropped open.

“A baby?”

“Yes,” Jack said in response to Julia’s question without taking his eyes off the other woman. “A baby.”

“I thought she was just one more wannabe actress, crying her eyes out over not getting an audition,” Julia said.

Anger flared inside him as the woman just stood there, looking at him like he was the oddest thing she’d ever seen. Ignoring Julia’s explanation, he said to the woman, “I have no idea who are you, but you must really think I’m a sap. Let me tell you, I’m not.” He took a step closer and continued in a low, raspy whisper, “I’ve met a lot of two-bit dames looking to make a name for themselves, but never have I had one sink so low as to accuse me of being a father in order to further their own ambitions.” He pointed a finger at the door. “That’s not my child. I know that and you know that, so hightail yourself across the street and collect your baby.”

She blinked several times. Then, shaking her head, whispered, “You aren’t Joe McCarney?”

“No, I’m not, I’m—” Realization hit like a bolt of lightning.

Damn it, Joe! Jack wanted to shout that, several times over. You’ve gone too far this time!