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
