by Jan Moran
There seemed to be no dissuading Cameron Murphy. “Well, I won’t say no to a ride home, if you’re sure you want to take this car into my decrepit neighborhood.”
“No one says no to Cameron Murphy, my dear Dani. Didn’t you know that?” He grinned and held the car door open for her. She slid in obligingly, admiring her unexpected surroundings. The burl wood dash and chrome dials gleamed in the sunlight, and the leather seats were smooth and supple beneath her touch. Someday, she thought, I’ll have a car just like this. She glanced shyly at Cameron, and her mind began to whir.
Cameron tipped the attendant and hopped into the car. “Lead the way,” he said, putting on his dark sunglasses.
She gave him directions and he pulled away from the store, turning onto Wilshire Boulevard. The wind ruffled her hair, so she tied her scarf over her head.
“Hey, you look like a movie star, Danielle. Everyone at the party will wonder who you are.”
“Cameron, I really can’t go with you tonight, but thank you for what you did back there. I mean it, you made my day.”
He took her hand and squeezed it. “I’m glad I happened to be there, Danielle. It’s nice to use my stardom for a good purpose when I can.”
“You didn’t have to do that—”
“I don’t have to do anything. I wanted to help you.”
“But Cameron, fourteen bottles, why, that was far too expensive!”
They stopped at a signal light and Cameron turned to her, his eyes shining with passion. “Nothing is too good for you, Danielle. Nothing.” The light turned green and he drove in an easterly direction on Wilshire. “Now, about this party. There’s something I should tell you. I need you to go with me because my ex-wife Erica is going to be there with her new boyfriend. You have to come, Dani. Please. Silverman expects me to be there, but I can’t go alone.”
“Cameron, I wasn’t even invited.”
“Relax, you’re with me. Besides, Silverman likes you, he’ll be glad to see you.” A twinkle came to his eyes. “Know what he calls you?”
She glanced down at her simple black dress. “What, a poor waif?”
He laughed. “A woman of quality, that’s what he says to me at Clara’s fashion show. With a capital ‘Q.’”
Danielle was secretly pleased. But then, an immense feeling of guilt overtook her. She was certain the store would be buzzing tomorrow with Cameron Murphy’s purchase and their exit together. And at no small cost to him. Fourteen one-ounce bottles of her best perfume. Why, the money he must have!
She swallowed and looked out, watching the scenery fall past at a dizzying pace. She hadn’t attended a social event since Max’s death, certainly not with her overwhelming responsibilities and single-minded purpose. And now I’m simply returning a favor to Cameron. She glanced down. He still held her hand. Gently she slipped it from his grasp, under the guise of straightening her scarf. A thought flashed through her mind and her heart quickened. But no, it was too crazy.
“Please come with me,” he reiterated, his puppy dog eyes melting her resolve. “Think what the newspapers will print tomorrow. The ‘Man with the Golden Voice’ can’t even get a date, they’ll write. But look at Erica Evans, his ex-wife—”
“All right, enough!” She laughed, and gave him a reassuring smile, which quickly turned to a frown. “But what’s the dress?”
“Hollywood style, silver screen gowns, glitter galore.” He glanced at her, a worried look crossing his face. “Ah, I’m an idiot, maybe you don’t have—”
“I happen to have a few dresses.” She lifted her chin and a smile curved on her lips. “I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.”
“I’m sure I won’t be.” He cast an appreciative look at her and grinned. “See, it’s a welcome back party for Erica. She’s been filming in Mexico, and tonight Lou Silverman will be announcing a new film with Erica in the starring role. The place will be crawling with press.” He stretched his arm across the seat, over her shoulder. “Sure, and it’ll be a party like you’ve never seen, lassie.”
23
Cameron and Danielle drove on, winding their way through Los Angeles. With each passing block, the area grew more dreary and downtrodden. Cameron squinted out the window. “This is a tough neighborhood. Are we getting close?”
“We’re almost there,” Danielle answered quietly, watching him from the corner of her eye. “I warned you.” She pointed to her building. “There it is. You can park in front.”
He eased the Rolls-Royce into a space in front of the Bradley Arms apartment building. “Sorry, Dani, I just didn’t picture you living here, that’s all.”
Her face grew warm in embarrassment, and she wished she hadn’t let him bring her home. “Well,” she began, looking up at the dingy building, “the price is right.”
Cameron shut off the ignition, and without a word, helped her from the car.
Danielle led him into the Bradley Arms, up the rickety stairs, and through the grimy, malodorous hallway. A child’s scream pierced the dark, and scratchy strains of a worn Benny Goodman record sounded from another room. I shouldn’t have brought him here. Danielle stopped at her door, shame growing in her, not for the way she lived, but the way she felt about it. I’m earning my way and taking care of my family. But maybe that’s the way Hollywood men think.... And if anyone has a problem with that, it’s their problem, not mine.
“Here’s your last chance, Cameron. I wouldn’t blame you if you left now. I’d understand.” She bent her head, searching for her key.
“No, Dani, I’m here to stay, that I am.” He gave her a quick grin. “Truth be known, lassie, this neighborhood is a far better place than the one I was born into back in Ireland, in the stinking slums of Dublin. I know you’re doing the best you can. You have guts, Dani. Real courage. I admire that about you, I always have.” He glanced at his watch. “We should hurry, though.”
“I don’t know about this party, Cameron, I have so much to do, and my mother and the girls need me tonight.”
“There you go, waffling again.” He swept a strand of hair from her cheek. “You should go out more, Dani.”
Danielle brought the key from her purse and held it up. “This is your final warning. You’re about to meet the family.”
“Let’s do it, then. I’m game.”
When Danielle opened the door, she was shocked at the sight before her, a scene of such normalcy, such domesticity, that Danielle almost cried out. Their tiny quarters sparkled, and Marie stood over the hot plate stirring what smelled like beef stew. The children were playing quietly in a corner, scrubbed and happy, with pink ribbons in their hair. Unbelievable! Danielle was aghast with astonishment. Their neighbor, Anna, was napping in a chair.
For the first time since their arrival in America, Marie seemed normal. She had even arranged her hair in her previous upswept style, and applied makeup. Tonight, Marie was a most extraordinary sight.
Danielle recovered and performed the perfunctory introductions. Marie was gracious and the girls were perfect angels. And they had no idea that Cameron was a celebrity.
Everything appeared so normal, so under control, that Danielle had no excuse not to accompany him. She had to admit, her mother was in excellent form, and for this, Danielle breathed a sigh of immense relief. They all chatted briefly, and Cameron made Liliana laugh. Anna stirred and yawned.
“Why, your family looks fine,” Cameron said. “Now, I won’t take no for an answer, you’re coming with me.”
“Go on,” Marie urged her.
“I can stay,” Anna added.
Finally, Danielle acquiesced and excused herself to change clothes.
In the cramped confines of the dimly lit dressing area, Danielle turned her attention to her meager wardrobe. Where once she had taken such pride in her appearance, now she’d discovered that a simple black dress could take her anywhere. But tonight she needed something different. There in the closet hung a dress she had unearthed in a thrift shop and redesigned. It was a sampl
e for the new clothing line she was developing for Clara’s boutique.
She let her worn black dress fall to the floor and lifted the other dress over her head, the golden satin material slithering over her slim hips. The dress suited her well, skimming her frame and flaring dramatically. The neckline draped across her collarbone and the dress plunged to her waist in the back, leaving her back bare. She’d redesigned the dress in its entirety, and added delicate, bronze embroidered trim to the neckline. She squinted at herself in the cracked mirror.
It had been a real find, she remembered. A thrift shop in the neighborhood carried vintage items, mostly from Europe. Months ago, Danielle had obtained a trunk full of clothing after cleaning storerooms for the owner. The fine quality fabric had attracted her, and though many articles were outdated or stained, she had tried her hand at redesigning several dresses. Then she’d bartered perfume for several new bolts of fabric from a factory downtown, and experimented with combining new fabric with vintage accents. Just last week, she had shown her samples to Clara, and to her delight, Clara placed orders for several pieces. With the war raging in Europe, there were few fashion or fabric imports to the United States.
Danielle smoothed the dress, pleased at its fit. Yes, it will do. If only Jon could see it....
Hastily, she pushed thoughts of Jon from her mind. She brushed her hair, then secured it with bobby pins, letting soft tendrils escape around her face. Because she had sold all of her jewelry, her ears and neck and wrists and fingers were bare. Yet, the effect was one of elegant simplicity. She looked in the mirror, somewhat heartened.
“I’m ready,” she said, emerging from the dressing area.
Cameron was momentarily speechless. “Why, you’re beautiful, Dani, just gorgeous. You remind me of me mum.”
Danielle kissed her family good-bye, still marveling at Marie’s miraculous turn. She hoped Marie’s current condition would last for a while, though she had grown accustomed to her mother’s behavioral shifts. “I won’t be late, Maman.”
“It’s all right, dear, I know you’re in good hands with Jean-Claude.” Marie smiled sweetly and a vague light shone in her eyes.
Danielle realized with a sudden start that her mother thought Cameron was Jean-Claude. Her heart sank in disappointment.
“Who’s Jean-Claude?” Cameron asked as they descended the staircase.
“My brother,” Danielle replied curtly.
Cameron stopped, obviously confused. “But, isn’t he...” His voice trailed off.
“Dead? Yes, he is.” Danielle paused, grabbing the handrail for support. Heat prickled her neck. “My mother thought you were Jean-Claude. She gets confused at times, but she always takes good care of the children.”
“Will she be all right tonight?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, she’s much better. Besides, she’s fine with Anna there. I warned you, Cameron.”
They reached the bottom of the stair and Cameron reached out, placing his hands on her shoulders. “For the record, I think you’re doing one heck of a job.” He kissed her forehead, and as he did, his smooth, woody aroma of vetiver drew her in. Then she detected tonka bean and finally, the sensual, animalic aroma of civet. It was Guerlain’s, she noted absentmindedly. Jicky. One of her favorites, she thought, feeling herself flush with pleasure. He wore it well.
For once, she was glad for the dim lighting.
He pulled back. “In this light you look so much like me mum, like an old photograph of her before she married.” His gaze fixed on a point beyond her. “Back when the bloom of youth was still fresh in her face, before the angry hands of me dad battered her cheekbones and broke her nose. Before he beat her to death late one night.” He blinked and shook his head, as though expunging the memory. “Yeah, she was a beauty then.”
Stricken by his story, Danielle touched his face. “Why, Cameron, I’m so sorry.”
“Let’s go, we’re late as it is.” He opened the door. He helped her into the car, and started off.
The sun was setting in the western sky, casting a burnished brilliance over the horizon, like a shimmering scarlet cloth flung high across the cityscape. They drove in silence through Los Angeles. Cameron turned north on Beverly Drive into a neighborhood of mansions. They cruised the palm tree-lined road across Sunset Boulevard, past the pink stucco Beverly Hills Hotel. The road narrowed and curved beyond Pickfair, the estate of Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks, as they climbed higher into the sunset glazed hills.
“Here we are,” Cameron said, as they reached the crest of the rise.
There, perched on a promontory point overlooking the sprawling city, sat Lou Silverman’s magnificent estate, a shimmering white vision veiled in the sunset’s crimson iridescence.
Danielle suppressed a gasp. A pair of wrought iron filigree gates swung slowly open, allowing them to pass a white stucco gate house, where a guard waved them in after recognizing Cameron. Towering Italian cypress trees lined the drive, lending a majestic air to the entrance. At the end of the drive, the vista widened to reveal a sprawling Spanish-Mediterranean estate. A red-tiled roof, flaming red bougainvillea, and royal blue tile punctuated the white stucco expanse. To the right, orchard trees heaved beneath the weight of oranges, lemons, and grapefruit, and to the left, a pair of tennis courts and several cabañas dotted the landscape.
Danielle breathed in the scents of citrus, lilies, and honeysuckle, sweet aromas that reminded her of her uncle’s farm. Beyond the drive, the sounds of an orchestra playing lively big band tunes drifted to her ears. Danielle’s eyes widened. Never had she seen such a magnificent estate in Los Angeles, so beautifully kept, so private and palatial. Someday, she thought, I’ll live like this. She smiled to herself, taking mental notes as they eased to a stop at the grand entrance.
“Get ready to dazzle,” Cameron told her as they relinquished the car to a parking attendant.
They stepped from the car and blinding white camera flashes popped in their faces. Cameron donned his famous grin and struck a well-practiced pose for a cadre of photographers. Danielle tried to remain poised and calm, but the attention was nearly overwhelming. So this is his world, she thought.
A formally clad butler greeted them at the front door. The room teemed with people, the noise was deafening. Instantly, Danielle regretted her decision to accompany Cameron. She felt as if she didn’t belong here, not with Cameron.
There were so many people! And so many aromas jostling in her nose. Smoke, perfumes, cocktails, flowers, food. She spotted Cary Grant ahead of them, smelling of sandalwood. Near the bar, Ginger Rogers chatted with Charles Boyer. Danny Thomas waved to Cameron, Myrna Loy kissed him on the cheek as they passed, and a young starlet drenched in Shalimar winked at him.
As they were swept through the crowd, Danielle’s nerves tensed in the pit of her stomach.
“Relax,” Cameron shouted above the din. He guided her by the elbow. “This is supposed to be fun.”
“I haven’t been to a social event in a long time, Cameron, not since, not since Max....” her voice trailed off and she began to feel faint.
“Oh God, Dani, I didn’t realize.” Cameron pulled her into a small alcove and hugged her tightly. “I’ll stick by you, kid. Tell you what, let’s say hello to Mr. Silverman, and then, if you’re still uncomfortable, we’ll go. All I need to do is put in an appearance. Though I should say hello to Erica, and congratulate her.”
Danielle took a breath to steady her nerves. “No, we can stay. I feel better now.” She rested her head against his shoulder, grateful for his concern. He felt solid, reassuring. As Max had been. And Jon. It was nice being with someone who cared about her well-being. She caught herself and pulled away, gazing into his kind face. “Perhaps I should go out more.”
“There’s the spirit. You’re damned right, too. You know what they say about all work and no play.” He grinned down at her. “How about I make you my project? I’m not dating anyone special, and I need an escort for parties and other events. Say you w
ill, Dani, please?”
She had to laugh at his gentle eagerness. “First let’s get through tonight, shall we?”
He grinned. “Sure doll, one day at a time.” He glanced toward the rear door. “The patio isn’t as crowded, and I can use some fresh air. A drink, too.”
Once outside, Danielle began to relax.
“Much better,” he said, steering her to the edge of the patio near a low stucco wall, beneath which the hillside fell away in dramatic sweeps of verdant green terraced gardens. “Stay here, I’ll get drinks. Champagne okay?”
Danielle smiled up at him and nodded. He was nice.
As soon as Cameron left her side, Danielle saw Hedda Hopper sailing toward her. Hedda wore a sequined, canary yellow evening gown with yards of skirt, a low décolleté, and a shimmering hat to match. “Danielle, what a surprise to see you here.” She held out a wrist. “Guess what I’m wearing!” Without waiting for an answer, she cooed, “Chimère, darling. What else?”
Hedda perched on the low wall and patted the spot beside her. “Have a seat, let’s catch up.”
Danielle sat beside her, glad to have found someone she knew. “As a columnist, you must know everyone here, Hedda, but I hardly know a soul.”
Hedda leaned close to Danielle. “See that dark-haired woman standing near Lou Silverman? That’s Erica Evans, Cameron’s ex-wife. Surely you know her from the movies.”
“No, I haven’t seen her films.” Danielle followed her gaze to a beautiful woman attired in a slinky white satin evening dress that enhanced her voluptuous, full-bosomed figure. “She looks Latin.”
“She’s from Mexico.” Hedda arched a brow. “I happen to know her mother still works as a domestic there, cleaning houses.”
Danielle decided not to mention that she’d been cleaning storerooms. “How did Erica become an actress?”
“She ran away from home at fourteen, crossed the border at San Diego, and started singing in nightclubs. There she met an agent who changed her life. Juanita Juarez became Erica Evans, and after a nose job, two years of elocution and acting lessons, she landed her first movie role. The rest is history.”
