Another Kind
of Love
Books by Paula Christian TWILIGHT GIRLS
ANOTHER KIND OF LOVE
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation Another Kind of Love
Paula Christian
KENSINGTON BOOKS
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KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by Kensington Publishing Corp.
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Copyright © 2003 by Kensington Publishing Corp.
“Another Kind of Love” copyright © 1961 by Paula Christian “Love Is Where You Find It” copyright © 1961 by Paula Christian All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
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Printed in the United States of America With grateful thanks to our beloved sister; she knows who she is.
Contents
Another Kind of Love
1
Love Is Where You Find It 149
vii
Another Kind of Love
Chapter 1
Laura stood at the massive front door, her slim fingers twisting the polished knob, not daring that final quick turn, which would open the door and betray her eagerness to leave. She had been poised for flight for the last ten minutes.
But Saundra, serenely oblivious, held her in a conversation that showed no signs of waning.
Desperately Laura tried to concentrate: it was not prudent for anyone in her position to reveal impatience with an important personality like Saundra Simons. Movie stars were the bread and butter of the fan magazine writer, and a notorious, glamorous actress like Saundra was a frosted seven-layer cake. So Laura straightened up and arranged her face in a fresh smile of attention. Fortunately, Saundra was far too mesmerized by the sound of her own voice to notice Laura’s impatience.
The sound of a car coming up the drive was a merciful interrup-tion.
Saundra glanced quickly at her watch. “Oh, dear. It is getting late. I’m sorry you have to leave so soon, Miss Garraway . . . Laura.
We seem to have so much to talk about.” Saundra flashed her famous smile in Laura’s direction.
Laura smiled back in bright response. “I’m sure we will be talk-3
PA U L A C H R I S T I A N
ing again soon,” she told Saundra smoothly. “I wish we could go on right now, but Walter’s waiting to go over these changes with me.
And you know Walter.”
Saundra’s laugh was more in revelation than appreciation. “Indeed I do. A dear boy. But a slave driver.”
“I’ve got the lash marks on my back to prove it,” quipped Laura, moving carefully but steadily through the now open door onto the flagstone steps.
A car door slammed and footsteps sounded on the walk. “That will be Ginny,” exclaimed Saundra. “I’m so glad you’re still here. I want you to meet Ginny. She’s really a terribly sweet person and may one day turn out to be a truly great actress.”
Laura winced internally.
However, she smiled and nodded. She couldn’t be rude. But damn it, she really had no interest in meeting Saundra’s protégé.
Hollywood sprouted starlets the way Florida exported oranges. By the carload. Except that oranges stood a much better chance for survival. Only yesterday at the studio commissary she had run into a starlet. Odd kid.
The steps came nearer, and all at once the figure of a young girl materialized from the shrubbery that hid the path.
The girl’s eyes met Laura’s, and there was the sudden shock of recognition. Why . . . this was the same girl. The one she had met at the studio cafeteria.
“Well . . .” Ginny began uncertainly. “It certainly is a small world.”
“Isn’t it?” smiled Laura, touched by Ginny’s awkward cliché.
“I didn’t know you two knew each other.” There was a distinct note of resentment in Saundra’s voice. It surprised Laura. She glanced from Saundra to Ginny, uneasily aware of a strong tension between them.
“We only met by chance yesterday,” Ginny replied softly, almost apologetically. “I don’t think I even told her my name.”
Saundra placed a well-tanned arm around Ginny’s shoulder.
“Ginny Adams. Don’t forget that, Laura. You’ll be begging her for an interview one of these days.” The famous melodic laugh embroidered the hint.
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A N O T H E R K I N D O F L O V E
Ginny blushed very slightly. “I’m a long way from that,” she said quietly to Laura. Still, it wasn’t hard to see that she was just waiting for her “big break.”
Laura wondered why Saundra had singled out this fresh-faced, shy-looking young girl to be her protégé. Ginny didn’t look like the typical Hollywood starlet, and she wasn’t wan enough to be a product of one of the more popular acting schools in New York.
“Well,” Laura began, feeling trapped, “why don’t we have lunch one day soon and discuss your future?”
“Marvelous idea,” Saundra chimed. “That darling boss of yours might even let you do a feature write-up on Ginny.”
Laura forced a laugh. “That’s a possibility, but of course, so much depends on our schedule.” She wondered if Saundra expected a promise.
“Wouldn’t she be marvelous in Technicolor?” Saundra lifted a strand of Ginny’s deep-red hair between her manicured fingers.
“And look at her bone structure!”
Ginny was obviously uncomfortable, and Laura found herself in sympathy with the girl. She took a step toward the porch steps and let her car keys jingle in her hand.
Saundra said, “But we’re keeping you, dear. Give my love to Walter.
And tell him that if he prints a word of truth about me, I’ll sue him.”
“All right,” Laura answered automatically. “Thank you again for letting me come by tonight. I’ll pick up the photos tomorrow morning. Just mark the ones you want us to use. Good night,” she said and nodded silently to Ginny.
“Good night, darling,” Saundra called as Laura walked down the stairs. The rich, expertly modulated voice trilled after her with startling fidelity in the stillness. Even the elegantly indifferent Bel Air trees seemed to respond to the unexpected sound; their leaves suddenly shivered in the still California night air.
Laura half turned and waved briefly. Then the huge front door shut with abrupt violence, and the veranda lights switched off into blackness. She almost stumbled on the flagstone path and muttered a soft curse.
Driving down the winding tree-lined streets to Beverly Hills, Laura’s mind chewed away at the strangeness of the interview.
5
PA U L A C H R I S T I A N
Saundra’s almost devouring intensity . . . the coincidence of the meeting with Ginny . . . the whole weird mood of the evening.
“Saundra is an experience that should be required of all writers,”
had been Walter’s teasing remark just as she’d left the office.
Saundra was
an experience, all right. No wonder he’d pushed the assignment off on her. Usually Walter liked to do the lead stories himself. Well, Laura really couldn’t blame him. If Saundra was exhausting with a woman, she must really devastate a man.
Laura turned the car onto Sunset Boulevard and glanced quickly over the lights of west Los Angeles, glistening like drops of mois-ture on a huge spider web. A perfect habitat for Saundra, she thought wryly—a spider web. Come into my parlor . . .
She recalled the strangely intent look in Saundra’s eyes when she first introduced herself.
“You’re very lovely,” Saundra had remarked with the smile that had thrilled a million hearts. “I’m sure we’ll get along just wonderfully, darling.”
And the way Saundra had leaned over to give her a light for her cigarette. It was, of course, done in the grand manner, exhibitionistic . . . and yet there was something deliberately seductive about it, too.
Well, women like Saundra have to conquer everybody, she decided. Her graciousness had a distinctly predatory quality. The charm was too supple, too practiced. Exercised—that was the word.
Laura had a vision of Saundra giving her charm a daily workout along with her knee-bends and push-ups.
Yet, Laura had to admit the woman was damned impressive. And despite Saundra’s bursts of intensity and her rambling irrelevancies, things had gone smoothly.
Laura had gotten some really interesting stuff—some fascinating anecdotes. That should make Walter happy. Yes, from Laura’s point of view it was a very successful interview. Actually, it was only that last bit with Ginny that threw her.
Ginny’s presence in that house just didn’t seem right. . . . Oh, hell, it wasn’t any business of hers. But the memory of yesterday’s meeting came flooding back with startling clarity.
She had spent the morning getting a final okay on some special 6
A N O T H E R K I N D O F L O V E
features from Excelsior’s publicity department. By one o’clock she had completed her business on the studio lot and decided to have lunch there.
As she made her way slowly down the studio cafeteria line, Laura wanted nothing more than to just sit down and unwind. She wasn’t really aware what dishes she was pointing at, and cared even less.
Laura waited quietly for the cashier to figure her tab. She paid it quickly and moved out of the way. Holding her tray, she scanned the tables to find a place to sit.
There were no empty tables in sight, but there were two tables where only one person sat. Not much choice, she thought: it’s either the poor girl’s Marlon Brando or that young girl reading.
She decided the young girl offered her the best chance of having a quiet lunch. Getting a firm grip on her tray, Laura walked to the table, mentally cursing the overfilled coffee mug that slopped coffee onto her tray.
“Mind if I share your table?”
“No.”
Laura smiled. A simple reply to a simple question. She looks familiar, Laura thought, but on a movie lot who doesn’t?
Absently Laura ate the tasteless low-calorie food, her mind busy with the changes she would have to make in the Saundra Simons story. It had been a touchy matter getting a release from the studio about Saundra’s latest marital fiasco, and Saundra had been in one of her prima donna moods.
But I guess I would be too, Laura conceded, if I had to be on a set at six in the morning looking beautiful. Still, Saundra had agreed to give Laura an interview at her home the next night.
“You’re going to drip coffee on your nice suit. Better put a napkin under the cup,” the soft voice broke unexpectedly through her thoughts, and Laura looked up, somewhat startled.
Laura put the cup down again and reached for the paper napkin dispenser. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” the girl said. She raised her head and pushed back her untamed red hair. A shy smile crossed her face and brightened her large gray-green eyes. Laura smiled back, trying to decide if she had met this girl.
7
PA U L A C H R I S T I A N
“It humiliates me to ask this,” Laura began with a friendly laugh,
“but don’t I know you from someplace?’’
“I’m on the lot quite a bit,” the girl said. “But I don’t think we’ve met—I’d remember if we had.” She blushed and looked down at the table.
Gloriola, but it’s Orphan Annie, Laura thought. And then contritely told herself not to be hard on the girl. Just the same, Laura was uncomfortable; it seemed such an obvious attempt at flattery.
A short silence ensued. Laura felt impelled to make some small gesture of conversation but didn’t quite know how to begin. Finally, she said, “Shame to waste such a nice day indoors, isn’t it?” Snappy, Laura, real snappy dialogue . . . Uncle Sam Goldwyn wants you!
“It’s funny,” the girl replied. “I was sitting here—before you sat down—thinking just that. But now I don’t feel that way,” she said in a slightly embarrassed tone. “I was studying you and hoped you wouldn’t notice.”
Laura gave her a startled look. “Me? Good God, why?”
“Well, not really studying. I don’t mean to sound like I was staring or spying.” She placed her hands on the script opened before her. “It’s just that you’re so self-assured, and I wanted to analyze your gestures, see how you get the effect.”
Laura felt a twinge of annoyance. And yet, the remark was too corny to be anything but sincere. Besides, why should anyone need to flatter her? She wasn’t a “somebody.”
“Guess my elocution lessons are showing,” Laura said wryly.
“You an actress?” Deliberately she avoided using the term “starlet.”
The girl smiled. “Some day I hope to be.”
Laura found herself liking the girl. In spite of the ambition visible behind the girl’s soft, quiet manner, a quality of gentleness in her piqued Laura’s curiosity. She was a welcome change from the run-of-the-mill, over-polished studio hopefuls.
She wondered how long this young redheaded girl had been in Hollywood. Despite her fresh appearance something about the girl didn’t read right: she wasn’t quite sure what it was or why she should get that impression . . . yet there it was. Laura wished she had time to find out more about her. Might even make a good human interest filler for Fanfare.
8
A N O T H E R K I N D O F L O V E
Oh, well. Enough of this nonsense. It was getting late, and she still had to stop by the press and pick up this month’s galleys.
She pushed her chair back slowly, not wanting to seem as if she were anxious to get away.
“Well,” Laura said softly, “thanks for sharing the table. And . . .
good luck.”
“It was nice meeting you,” the girl murmured. And that was all.
Thinking about it again, Laura realized that there had been something unusual about the girl . . . that even if she never saw her again she would go on wondering about her—and wondering why she herself had felt so oddly moved.
Now she noticed she was almost back at the office. She could put Ginny out of her mind. Walter and a couple of martinis would melt away the shadowy anxieties that plagued her. They always did.
She pulled up in front of the familiar two-story building and honked the horn. Then she slid over, leaving the driver’s seat for Walter. She smiled to herself as she sat back in the uncomfortable bucket seat. He can be so terribly conventional, she thought. Never once had he let her drive the car if he was in it—he claimed a man lost some of his superiority over women that way.
She heard him run down the stairs.
When he got into the car, he said, “I see you lived through it.”
He grinned impishly.
“You coward,” Laura replied, “you owe me a Purple Heart for that little mission.”
“Will you settle for a drink?”
“Two!” Laura sighed and put her head back against the seat.
“Did Saundra bite?”
“No. But she chewed my
ear off. . . .”
Walter chuckled. “Poor darling.” He leaned over possessively and kissed Laura’s nose. “Lovely monster, isn’t she?” he said with amused appreciation, and drove slowly toward La Cienega Boulevard.
“She loves you, too,” said Laura. “Called you a slave driver among other things. She sends her best regards, anyway. In fact, I think she’s putting you on the candidate list for husbands. Built-in publicity and all that.”
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PA U L A C H R I S T I A N
Walter shook his head. “I’ll admit she isn’t reticent about her personal life . . .”
“Amen! You should have heard her version of this divorce.”
Laura smiled, grimly imagining the millions of shocked gasps that a verbatim quote would elicit from her unsuspecting fans.
“Don’t let Saundra make you bitter about marriage,” Walter said softly, and rested his free hand on her thigh.
Laura turned and looked at his profile in surprised appreciation: how sweet he could be when he wanted to. She gave his hand a squeeze.
It was a beautiful night. Laura closed her eyes and let the crisp smell of dew-covered grass and cool night air relax her.
Walter placed a warm hand on her cheek and gently brought her head over to his shoulder. If he’s being this sweet, Laura thought, I’m not going home alone after the martinis. . . .
That’s a cruel thought, she scolded herself. I’m beginning to sound as blasé as Saundra. After all, I let this affair happen and wanted it as much as he did.
“Nick’s all right for a martini?”
“Of course.”
“We’ll be there in a moment.” His voice was tender and low.
Unexpectedly, Ginny popped back into Laura’s mind, and she was tempted to ask Walter what he might know about her—but for some reason she didn’t think it would be wise right now.
Snap out of it, she told herself. She sat up and took two cigarettes from the pack in Walter’s custom-tailored Ivy League jacket. Lighting them, she wondered how often she had made this simple gesture.
Thousands of times, she decided.
Walter glanced at her quickly, then looked back at the restaurant-lined street with its flashing neon signs. “Still thinking about Saundra?”
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