Can't Buy Me Love

by Abigail Drake

  “Yes,” he said with a sigh. Tillie imagined him running a hand over his perfectly coiffed hair and shaking his head. “No. No. That’s not it. I had a good time tonight, Tillie.”

  She bit her bottom lip, fighting a smile. “Me too.”

  “I’m sorry you couldn’t go to the bar with us. It must be tiring to stay out so late when you have to work the breakfast shift.”

  “I’ve been quite tired. I think it’s all worth it, though, all this staying out late and socializing. Don’t you?”

  “Yes, of course. Chester and the others spoke highly of you after you left. You’re getting your name out there, and that’s valuable.”

  Tillie slumped back into the wall, realizing the moment had passed them by. “I’m glad to hear it. Thanks for inviting me.”

  “What do you say we meet for a drink at The Blue Bar before tomorrow night? The place will be packed with Broadway types wetting their throats before work. There are bound to be at least a handful of people I could introduce you to.”

  “That sounds great.” She feigned excitement, knowing it would be fun to play Oren’s girlfriend again but also understanding it wouldn’t be enough.

  “And Tillie,” he started, his voice softening with a note of sincerity, “for what it’s worth, I would have insisted you use the car tonight even if we hadn’t had an audience. Which reminds me, next time you should expect a much grander display when we part. I hope you’d be okay with a goodbye kiss”

  Her breath hitched. “What?”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow at five. Don’t be late.” Amusement colored his tone.

  “But—”

  He cut her off. “Goodnight, Tillie.”

  Resigned, Tillie responded, “Goodnight, Oren.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Tillie walked into Blue Bar for the second time that week, feeling less nervous this go around. In fact, she was surprised by how normal being in the famed Algonquin Hotel already felt. She spotted Oren at the bar, talking with a man in a smart, gray suit. Oren nudged the man and pointed to her, his features lighting with happiness as she made her way to them.

  If only his happiness was genuine. Damn Oren Cooper for being such a good actor. He’d played the role of an adoring boyfriend so well, she had to keep reminding herself he never had a proper excuse for abandoning her at this very bar.

  Light poured in from the front window, brightening the room’s otherwise dark tones. Tillie passed by the spot the upright piano had been and felt a chill overcome her. She brushed her hands along her cold arms to find her hair standing on end. She would do anything to get to feel the adoring gaze of a crowd again.

  Oren snaked an arm around her shoulders as she came to stand beside him. “Stefano Rossi, this is my beautiful girlfriend Tillie Parker.”

  The dark-haired man dipped his chin in greeting. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Parker. Oren told me all about how talented you are,” he said in a muted Italian accent. Tillie didn’t recognize his name or his face and wondered if he was yet another executive in from California.

  “Oh, he exaggerated, I’m sure.”

  Oren pointed to the spot where they’d sang together. “I was just telling Stefano about how easily you’d wrapped the guys and gals around your finger the other night.” He kissed her temple. “It’s only a matter of time until we’re making films together, baby. That’s what I always say.”

  Stefano polished off the last swig of amber liquid in his glass and placed it on the bar. “I’d love to hear you sing sometime.”

  She smiled. “Hopefully there will be a venue soon for that to happen.”

  “It’s only a matter of time, I’m sure.” Mario stuck his hand out. “I must be going. The restaurant doesn’t run itself.”

  “No, I bet it doesn’t.” Oren shook the other man’s hand. “I’ll bring Tillie by sometime for dinner. There isn’t Italian food like yours out West.”

  Stefano’s lips pulled into a tight, humble smile. “I appreciate that.” He looked to Tillie. “Again, it was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Parker. Hopefully I’ll see you again soon.”

  As Mario walked away, the bartender placed a glass of champagne before Tillie. She looked around to see if anyone was waiting for one.

  “I ordered it for you earlier.” Oren handed her the glass. “Told the bartender pour it when he saw you come in.”

  Tillie sipped the bubbly drink to keep herself from smiling. It was harder when they were alone. She couldn’t pass off her reactions as demonstrations of her acting chops.

  Oren pointedly placed his glass on the bar and cleared his throat. “Let’s go up to my suite. I can’t go on pretending I don’t want to drag you into the nearest unoccupied room every time you flash one of those coy little smiles.”

  Choking on a sip on champagne, Tillie placed the glass on the bar and coughed into her hand. She took in the look of utter seriousness on his face and stepped off her stool in silent compliance. He placed a hand at her back as he guided her out of the bar, through the ornate lobby, past Mathilda the cat, and to the elevator. All the while, nervousness bubbled in the pit of Tillie’s stomach.

  Oren exchanged pleasantries with the man running the lift before the three of them rode in silence to the top floor. Once they were there, he led her to a dark-wood door at the end of the carpeted hallway. He pushed it open and stepped aside for Tillie to enter the suite. She peeked over her shoulder before doing so, making sure no one was around to see them. The main room was full of clean lines and romantic embellishments. Dark wood, floral curtains, and geometric wallpaper filled the space, giving it a bohemian air of refinement.

  Oren skillfully tossed his hat to the coffee table as he strode past. It landed squarely on a pile of newspapers, pages undoubtedly filled with praise for his performance as Larry. Tillie rested her hands on the top of a high-backed chair. She was too nervous to sit.

  “Let’s drop the pretenses.” Oren took a few measured steps toward her, like a jaguar elegantly stalking its prey. “They aren’t working for us.”

  “What pretenses?”

  Though Tillie wanted to go, her baser instincts rooted her to the floor. She dug her fingers into the chair and fought to maintain an air of indifference. It didn’t work. With a Cheshire grin, Oren looked pointedly at her hands. Tillie frowned and tore them away.

  “You know what pretenses.” Oren came to stand beside her. “It hasn’t all been an act, has it?”

  Warmth crept into Tillie’s cheeks. She looked down, letting her hair fall like a curtain over her face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Oren’s fingertips grazed her cheek, and Tillie snapped her head up to look at him. His gaze pinned hers as he tucked her hair behind her ear.

  “How long have you wanted me, Tillie? Did it start that day at the diner, or was it before that? After my first film? My second film?”

  There was no turning back now.

  “Longer than that.”

  Oren jutted out his chin. “Are you being coy with me again?”

  “You were my girlhood crush.” Tillie went to wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, but her mouth had gone dry. “I was heartbroken when you graduated and moved to New York.”

  “And now?

  “Now I’m here.”

  Oren cradled her face in his hands and guided her lips toward his. His touch was gentle, much softer than she expected.

  “I thought you were staying away from women.”

  “I can make an exception for you.” His lips brushed hers with a feather light touch. “Just give me this one time, Tillie.”

  She slammed her palms against his chest. He stumbled back, surprised by the onslaught.

  “One time? What kind of woman do you think I am?”

  Oren rubbed his cheek like she’d slapped him. In a way, she almost had. How long had it been since a woman had turned him down?

  Before he could try to explain himself, Tillie stormed out the door.

  CHAPTER SE
VEN

  Oren tapped his fingers impatiently on the table and watched the door. After Tillie ignored his calls for nearly a week, he’d left an envelope for her with another Centerstage waitress. Inside was the address to the shabby diner he’d met George at, along with the date and time for the proposed meeting.

  Now he just had to hope she showed up.

  He folded the newspaper he’d been reading and slammed it down. He’d skimmed the same article three times and didn’t remember a word of it.

  He’d been stupid to suggest a phony relationship. He’d been stupid to leave Tillie alone at that party where a smarter man could have snagged her for himself. He’d been even stupider to say what he did in his suite—he wanted so much more than one night with Tillie but he’d feared she wouldn’t give that to him. Not then and especially not now.

  After what felt like ages, Tillie came through the door wearing a pale-yellow dress. Oren didn’t know he was smiling until he felt a tell-tale pinch in his cheeks.

  With short staccato steps, she walked down the aisle separating the booths from the bar. From the set of her shoulders and determined tilt of her chin, Oren knew she’d made up her mind. She’d never give him a second chance. He just had to hope she’d let him do her one last favor.

  Tillie sat in the booth across from him. “What is this about?”

  “Right down to business. I like that.”

  She glared at him. “I came here so that you’d leave me alone.”

  “Tillie, I’m sorry.” Oren reached across the table to place his hand over hers but she pulled away. “I shouldn’t have gone about things the way I did.”

  “I accept your apology.” Her tone warmed. “But that doesn’t change things. We got off to a rocky start, and I don’t think it’ll get better.”

  “Come to the theatre tomorrow afternoon. The Me and Juliet casting director will be there. I’ll add your name to the list and you can audition.”

  Tillie’s brows pinched together. “Why would you do that?”

  “Because I want to. Think of it as a favor from an old friend.” Oren held his hands up with the palms facing her. “No strings attached.”

  “I don’t want any special treatment,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “It’s not special treatment.” Oren sat back when the waitress came by with his club sandwich. She looked uncomfortably back and forth between him and Tillie—her sitting with her arms crossed over her chest and him holding up his hands like an innocent man in a shootout. He dropped them to his sides. The idea of charming the older woman with a smile and quick compliment crossed his mind, but he was too tired to put the effort in.

  “Can I get you anything else?” she asked, though she’d already started to back away.

  “This’ll do, thanks.” Oren’s voice dripped with sarcasm as a whiff of grease and salt met his nose. He plucked two fries from his plate, popped one in his mouth, and offered the other to Tillie, hoping to lighten the mood. “Try this.”

  Ignoring him, she asked, “It’s not special treatment?”

  “Right.” Oren bit the fry Tillie had turned down. “Some of us involved with the play, the ones with clout, were asked to suggest actresses we thought might be a good fit for Jeanie and some of the other available roles. George is bringing a few people in, and I know some of the others are, too.”

  Tillie cocked her head to the side. “And you?”

  Oren held her gaze. “I only invited you, and not because I think it’ll change your mind about me. I think you’re the best woman to play Jeanie.”

  She gave him a single nod. “I’ll be there.”

  “Perfect.” Oren pointed to his plate. “Now, would you like half of this sandwich?”

  Fighting a smile, Tillie shook her head and stood to leave.

  ***

  The Majestic Theatre was bristling with so much noise and movement no one noticed Tillie walk in. Three men worked to push a piano across the orchestra pit while a group of women seated in the front row chatted with each other. The tall, burgundy curtains swayed as they were pulled open, revealing scenery made to look the backstage area. Additional houselights flickered on, illuminating the large space so bright nearly everyone shielded their eyes.

  From the eighth row, George stood to wave his arms overhead. “Cut the lights.”

  When the houselights dimmed, he spotted her.

  “Tillie Parker. Glad you could make it.” George pointed to the front row. “Go sit with the other girls and we’ll call your name when we’re ready to hear you.”

  She lifted her hand to wave and say hello, but he was back in his seat before she could.

  Though she’d performed in countless theatres in New York and New Jersey, she never bored of their grandeur. The high ceilings, the lights, the decorative flourishes—they all took her breath away. While admiring the gold detail on the balconies, she walked down the aisle to the first row. There was one seat available at the end, and she took it. The blonde girl sitting beside her smiled politely before resuming the conversation she was in with the ladies to her left. Leaning back, Tillie looked down the row. They were all blondes.

  Before long, a lanky man with a long nose and glasses came to stand before them. He had a clipboard in one hand and a pencil in the other.

  “I’m Robert Davis, the casting director from MGM. We’ll call you gals up one at a time. Give the pianist your sheet music. If we like what we hear, we’ll ask you to stay behind and read lines. Sound good? All right.” He looked to the clipboard. “Barbara Bennet, you’re up first.”

  Barbara and the eight women that followed were all impressive vocalists. They sang a range of songs—from upbeat numbers to emotional ballads—all chosen to suit their strengths. Between songs, Tillie glanced over her shoulder in hope she’d see Oren. A few of the other cast members had flitted in to listen to a few auditions.

  He had done wrong by her, many times over. She reminded herself of that every time she turned to the back of the theatre and didn’t see him there. But still, after all the things he’d done wrong, he endeavored to make them right. That counted for something, as far she was concerned.

  “Tillie Parker.”

  Tillie straightened her shoulders, stood, and walked with confidence to the stage. Nervousness simmered in the pit of her stomach, but not enough to affect her performance. She wanted this job more than anything—more than any of the others gigs she’d auditioned for and more than she’d wanted Oren, too.

  The pianist greeted her with nod and she responded in kind. After she handed him her sheet music, he looked it over, nodded again, and propped the pages on a stand.

  Tillie walked to center stage. “I’m going to sing ‘Many a New Day’ from Oklahoma!”

  George, Robert, and the other men sitting in the eighth row watched her with bored expressions.

  As the song’s languid opening notes filled the theatre, Tillie bristled with excitement. This wasn’t another chorus girl audition. If Robert and everyone else liked her, she could be a star. A curtain swayed in her periphery and she looked to the wing. Oren stood in the shadows with his arms crossed over his chest and a cigarette hanging from his lips. He made a flicking motion with one hand, signaling for Tillie to turn her attention back to her audition.

  With a touch of a smile playing on her lips, Tillie sang. She pushed all thoughts of Oren to the back of her mind, using the song’s lyrics as motivation. After a few bars, Robert sat up in his chair and adjusted his glasses. A few beats later, he elbowed the studio man next to him. Tillie fed off their attention and performed the song better than she had at the Blue Bar. Time slowed as she sang, and she enjoyed elongated moments of fuzzy warmth that wavered with the intensity of each note.

  At the end of the song, the theatre fell silent. The beat of Tillie’s racing heart filled her ears as she waited for one of the slack-jawed men in the eighth row to say something. Finally, Robert slapped his thigh. The others around him snapped back into life, whispering t
o each other, checking their watches, and jotting things down on their clipboards.

  “Tillie, will you stay to read lines for us?”

  She smiled. “Of course. Thank you.”

  Before turning to exit the stage, Tillie looked to the wing to see Oren was gone.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Glad to be back in his quiet suite, Oren draped his deep blue suit jacket over an armchair and proceeded to the drink cart. He pulled the top off a crystal decanter and poured scotch into a tumbler. He swirled the amber liquid and brought it up to his nose. He’d missed the spicy scent of burning wood. Before the show, he’d phoned the hotel and asked them to have the decanter waiting for him when he returned.

  If everything went according to plan, Tillie would follow him to Hollywood. Robert had loved her audition, even though George’s opinion of her hadn’t changed. That didn’t matter, though. She’d only been using Broadway as a stepping stone, and now she’d hurdled over it.

  Rumors of their relationship had already permeated the Theatre District’s gossip mills. If anyone pressed for details, Oren told them Tillie broke things off. He explained that she was a fresh new starlet, destined for a place in America’s heart. She could have anything—and anyone—she wanted, so she decided to stay single. No one argued with him.

  Disgusted with himself, Oren walked into the bathroom and emptied his scotch down the drain. If he indulged, he wouldn’t stop at one drink. He’d have two, maybe three, before he moved to the bar to find a woman he could bring upstairs for a few hours. It would pass the time, but it wouldn’t fill him up. That was the problem with drinking and sleeping with different women—they were temporary balms. He’d wake up the next morning feeling as empty as he did the day before.

  Oren had been feeling lighter, happier, and more like the man he used to be, before he became famous. Maybe the change had to do with the steady schedule, the nightly applause, or his dedicated director, but Oren suspected it had more to do with Tillie. Something in him reawakened the night he sang with her, and he’d been performing with more heart. The thought of making a film with her was invigorating. Finally, he thought he might be ready to return to Hollywood.