by Kari Bovee
“I’ll be fine,” Lizzy reassured me again.
I followed Martha off the set and made my way to wardrobe, hoping that whatever she needed would be quick.
Ambassador Films was situated on a ten-acre tract of land at the base of the Hollywood hills and was comprised of three large warehouses, two of which were used for indoor sets, dressing rooms, and storage, and the third housed wardrobe and the business offices.
Given that the wardrobe room was expansive, my office, positioned in the northwest corner within it, was not. Well, it actually was bigger than it looked, there were just myriad things in there—bolts of fabric, large notebooks, bookshelves lined with fashion books and magazines, a bar cart filled with liquor and a set of six glasses, two file cabinets, and a desk as large as an airplane runway. In the corner was a raised pedestal situated in front of a three-way mirror for fittings.
Hilda and Stella were sitting in the club chairs near the three-way mirror. They sat with their backs to each other, both with their arms crossed tightly over their chests. I stifled a groan. The two were often at loggerheads over something or other. This was the worst part of the job.
“What’s going on?” I asked, trepidation in my voice.
Hilda, the more senior of the two seamstresses, swung around to face me. “I can’t work with her. She keeps making mistakes, and then the rest of us have to stop what we are doing and fix it. It’s taking twice as long and putting us behind, and I, for one, don’t want my reputation jeopardized by her shoddy work!”
I glanced over at Stella, who looked as if she was going to cry.
“I’m really sorry, Grace,” Stella said with a frown. She blinked back tears. “I know it’s not an excuse, but my mother has been sick. I’m up most of the night taking care of her, and I’m not getting much sleep. I know my work hasn’t been up to par. I’ll quit if you want.”
I shook my head. Working in wardrobe was a demanding job, often with long hours. My heart went out to her. “Stella,” I said, softening my voice. “We need you to do your best work. Would it help if you could do some of the work from home?”
She sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. I glanced over at Hilda, who had narrowed her eyes at the girl.
“Hilda, could I ask you to supervise Stella’s work? Take her under your wing? Give her the assignments you think best, and if her work doesn’t improve, we can revisit the situation. Would that be agreeable to you?”
Hilda tilted her chin upward and to the side, and pursed her lips as if considering. Finally, she gave a brief nod.
“Very well,” I said with a relieved sigh. I turned to Stella. “I’m expecting improvement.” And then to Hilda, “And from you, good direction.”
Stella turned to Hilda. “I’m sorry, Hilda. I won’t let you down.”
Hilda gave her a tight smile. “I hope this works. And I’m sorry about your mother.”
“Okay,” I said. “Are we all right?”
They both nodded.
“Great. I have to get back on set.” Thankful to have averted too much of a crisis, I left my office.
When I arrived back on set, I was alarmed to see that Robert Smith stood in front of Lizzy’s chair, his hands planted on the arms and virtually trapping her there. I hadn’t known Mr. Smith very long, but this behavior was strange—and inappropriate. He was usually quiet, withdrawn, broody. Such aggressiveness and outward boldness was something I had not seen in him before.
Lizzy didn’t seem the least bit worried or upset about her predicament. In fact, she looked like quite the coquette, a flirtatious upturn of her lips playing up her dimples, making her look far older than sixteen. For the first time, it dawned on me that she was very aware of her natural charisma. Perhaps this was what had led to the trouble with the older boy . . .
A spasm jolted through me as an image of Sophia popped into my head. She’d had that same honey-like quality that attracted buzzing drones, their only aim in life to bask in the presence of such a captivating female. In the next second, another image waltzed its way into my mind. It was a scene from the dream I’d been having lately—Sophia, pulling a man through a doorway. Then the scene would switch to me sitting alone on the street, a basket of doll clothes in my lap. Then, me again, but this time in a room, standing over the man, a bloody knife in my hand.
I shook my head to rid myself of the images, my heart pounding.
“Lizzy?” I approached the two of them. Mr. Smith, still in costume, stood to his full six feet two inches, looking every bit like a young Henry VIII before corpulence set in. His lanky frame swayed with the effort. How much had he had to drink today?
“Hey, Grace,” he said, giving me an uncharacteristic smile. I wondered what was going on with him—aside from the fact that he was drunk, but that was nothing new.
“Mr. Smith, I see you’ve met Lizzy.” My voice was tight.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, redirecting his gaze to her again. “She’s a great kid. Quite a looker. I told her she should be in pictures.”
“He told me I was a real doll. Isn’t that jake?” Lizzy whispered behind her hand, raising her eyebrows at me.
“Jake,” I said flatly. I did not at all think this was fine, good, or satisfactory. In fact, coming from this version of Robert Smith, it made me wary. “Anyway, we need to head on over to the wardrobe room. I have some work to do. I’ll give you one of my sketchbooks, and you can do some drawing.”
Mr. Travis walked back on set. “All right, everyone. Places please.” He looked over at Mr. Smith, whose still stood in front of Lizzy’s chair, hemming her in it.
“Leave her alone, Robert. I said places!” he snapped. Yes, the director was indeed growing impatient with the actor, and honestly, I couldn’t blame him.
Mr. Smith gave Mr. Travis a cursory glance, and sauntered away from us.
“In your own time,” Mr. Travis yelled after him, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Mr. Smith turned around, and before I could blink, he rushed at the director, and soon had him by the lapels. Mr. Smith’s eyes bulged with rage. Mr. Travis shoved him away and then delivered a blow to Mr. Smith’s jaw, knocking him to the ground.
“Don’t you ever, ever, touch me again you son of a bitch.” Mr. Travis stood over Mr. Smith, who held his hand over his injured jaw. “This is your last warning. Get off the booze or I’ll see that you are fired. Now get up and take your place.”
Why hadn’t Mr. Travis fired him on the spot? I certainly would have. Perhaps it needed to come from the studio bosses. It hadn’t taken me long to learn that everyone’s contract with the studio was different, though I’d heard through the rumor mill the studio bosses were considering firing Mr. Smith. I imagine this incident would expedite the event.
I grabbed Lizzy by the hand and pulled her out of the chair. I could feel Mr. Smith’s eyes on us as we walked away.
“Wow! That was crazy!” Lizzy released my hand. “Are things always like that around here?”
Crazy was right. “No. Mr. Smith has been under some stress lately.” I wasn’t quite sure how to explain his irrational behavior.
“He sure is a hothead,” Lizzy said.
“Not usually.” I was still trying to figure out what had gotten into Mr. Smith.
“He asked if I was going to Mr. Travis’s party. Do you think we can go?” She turned around and walked backward, facing me, her dark auburn curls bouncing up and down on her shoulders. The bright blue of her sailor-inspired dress brought out the pink in her cheeks.
“I’m still not sure yet. I need to check with Chet to see if we have anything going on at the ranch that night,” I said, trying to put her off again.
“Well,” she said, her cheery demeanor returning. “I hope we can go. It would be the berries.”
Chapter Two
The following morning, after a quick cup of coffee, I walked out to the barn where I’d hoped to find Chet. He’d come in after I was asleep and had headed out to the barn before I was fully awake.
> It was a crisp, cool, and clear Friday. Billowing white and gray thunderheads kissed the top of the Verdugo Hills. Our little ranch, situated in Burbank, was an almost perfectly rectangular, flat, hundred-acre parcel of land that sat at the base of the hills and provided us with incredible views of the Verdugo and San Gabriel Mountains. We grew alfalfa, some citrus, and cantaloupe, which provided a good little sum of money for us, and we leased some of our property to a local farmer named Mr. Lambert, who also grew cantaloupe.
Mr. Travis had told everyone on the picture to take a long weekend. I assumed it was in lieu of the imminent firing of Robert Smith. There were whispers from some of the actors that Mr. Travis and the studio bosses were currently looking for Mr. Smith’s replacement. I assumed the long weekend might also have something to do with the party scheduled at Mr. Travis’s house the next night.
I found Chet at the riding arena talking with our neighbor, Joseph Manetti, who was a racehorse owner and trainer. He was the one who had gotten Chet interested in rehabilitating injured racehorses.
The two were watching a beautiful bay being hand-walked by Daniel Blaine, one of our charges.
“Morning, you two,” I said. I approached Chet from behind and wrapped my arms around his middle. “That one’s a beauty! Is that the horse you met at the train station late last night?”
“Yep,” Chet said. He stepped out of my grasp and planted a kiss on my cheek. “He’s made great progress since we saw him last.”
“Morning, Joe,” I said.
“Hey, Grace. How you doin’?” Joe took a sip of coffee from his thermos. “You up for your lesson this morning?” Joe was small but mighty, his New York–Italian roots making him seem like a tough guy, but I didn’t see him that way.
I stood back and angled my legs to show off my new jodhpurs and boots. “Ready and willing.”
“She looks the part,” Chet said, his gray eyes twinkling at me. His magnetic smile still made my heart stop.
“Then you better go get tacked up,” Joe said.
“Meet you back here?” I asked, excited for my lesson.
Joe nodded and turned his attention back to the beautiful horse in the arena.
“I’m going to grab some more coffee and then go into town to get some supplies,” Chet said. “You two have fun.” He kissed me on the cheek and headed toward the house.
I made my way toward the barn where Lizzy was busy grooming my horse, Goldie, before school started. I often took a morning ride, and Lizzy had volunteered to take on the job of getting the horse ready for me. As I entered through the large double doors, I was instantly struck with the smell of hay, dust, and horse. It was a smell I had grown accustomed to and actually liked. It reminded me of fresh air, sunshine, and the wonderful feeling of freedom I always experienced when riding. Those mingling aromas took me out of my head and grounded me in a way I couldn’t explain.
Goldie stood in the breezeway of the barn, tied to her stall door, and munched on some hay that had been placed in a hanging hay bag while Lizzy was absorbed in the task of making the horse’s coat gleam.
“She looks happy,” I said as I approached. “Thank you for doing that. I’ll take over so you can get ready for school.”
“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m ahead on my schoolwork, so Miss Meyers said I could come out to the barn this morning. When I’m finished with Goldie, I’ll get one of the other horses out to ride.”
I was not surprised to hear she was ahead on her coursework. The girl excelled at book learning and kept Miss Meyers busy trying to provide more advanced studies for her.
The kids usually woke at 6:00 a.m. to meet Chet outside. They’d do early-morning chores and then come in for breakfast at 8:30 a.m. After breakfast, they would go to the schoolroom for their lessons, then have lunch at 1:00 p.m. They had leisurely time after lunch to do their own thing or homework until 4:00 p.m. when they’d commence with evening chores. Lizzy was often ahead of the other children with her schoolwork so Miss Meyers was more flexible with her lessons.
Lizzy smiled as she combed out the tangles of Goldie’s tail. “Chet told me you received her as a gift. From an Indian in New Mexico?”
“Yes. When I was an actress on tour with the Follies, Flo sent me on a publicity trip across the United States. One of my favorite stops was at an Indian village near Albuquerque. Our guide, Frank Deerhunter, let me ride Goldie, or Golden Ray of Light as he called her.” I picked up a brush and worked on the horse’s legs. “Later, when we got back to New York, we’d heard that Mr. Deerhunter had died and had bequeathed her to me. I named her Goldie after Flo’s secretary. She was always so nice to me. It also just worked with the name Mr. Deerhunter had given her.” I winked at Lizzy.
“I used to have a horse,” she said wistfully. “When I was much younger.”
“No wonder you are so good with them.” I smiled at her, but she was still focused on Goldie’s tail. It shined like spun gold.
“His name was Apollo. But my sister said we had to sell him. Said we couldn’t afford him anymore.” There was a sadness in her voice that pulled at my heart. Lizzy had been raised by her elder sister, Margaret, and from the little bit of information I had, I knew life had not been easy for them.
“I’m sorry to hear that. I’m glad you get a chance to ride here. I find it really is so good for the soul.”
Lizzy stopped brushing and smoothed her hair behind her ears, revealing a pair of small, dangling gold and sapphire earrings.
I stepped closer to her to inspect the jewelry. “Those earrings are beautiful.”
She absently touched one of them. “Thanks. They were my grandmother’s. Or so Margaret said.”
“They look lovely on you. If you want, we can put them in my jewelry box to keep them safe while we ride.” I was surprised she would risk losing such a sentimental gift.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I have them screwed on tight.”
I decided not to press further and changed the subject. “Who are you riding today?”
She ran her hands down Goldie’s face. The horse stopped chewing for a moment, basking in the attention. “I think I’ll ride Marley. He hasn’t been out for a while.”
“Good idea. You go ahead and get Marley ready. I’ll finish up here and see you in the arena?” I held out my hand for the mane and tale brush.
“Okay. Thanks,” she said. “But I think I’ll ride him out into the hills today.”
My stomach clenched a little at the thought of her riding out there by herself. She done so once before and had come back none the worse for wear, but it still concerned me. If something happened, no one would be able to get help. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” I said. “Maybe see if Daniel or Ida will go with you?”
“They have school,” she reminded me. “And even if they didn’t, I wouldn’t want either of them to come. Daniel is all googly-eyed around me, and Ida? I’d rather eat hay for breakfast. Besides, Daniel is helping Joe and Ida still has to feed the chickens and gather the eggs before school. She overslept, as usual. She can be such a princess sometimes.”
The two girls had trouble getting along, though I had hoped they would form a bond. It would have been good for Lizzy to mentor the younger girl and good for Ida to have someone to confide in. She had a hard time expressing her feelings. But they didn’t seem to mesh.
“Mrs. R had to go wake her up and wasn’t very happy about it.” Lizzy patted Goldie on the neck.
“I’m sure,” I said with a smile.
Mrs. R—or Rose Riker—was Chet’s mother, who he’d been reunited with after years of separation. For reasons I still did not know, she had been unable to care for Chet when he was little, and she had turned him over to an orphanage. Eager to reconnect with his roots, Chet had searched for her as an adult. He found her in poor health and in need of an operation. He’d helped her through it, and they’d rebuilt their relationship. She now worked for us—keeping house, cooking, and helping to look after the children. Sh
e was a tough cookie, and while not the warmest of women, she had become invaluable to the workings of the household, and I was grateful. We also employed a teacher, Miss Meyers, for the children’s education. Since I was the primary breadwinner of the family, my time and resources were stretched thin as it was.
“Rose is not very forgiving about tardiness,” I added.
Ned, one of our ranch workers, walked into the barn holding a cup of coffee. His gaze was focused on the ground as if he was deep in thought. He was a strapping sort of young man who was strong as a Clydesdale but who also had a sensitive side.
“Grace,” he said, his face lighting up in a smile when he saw me.
“Good morning,” I replied
His smile widened, showing a fine row of white teeth, enhanced by the golden color of his sun-kissed skin.
“Hi, Ned.” Lizzy stepped around Goldie. Her face brightened at seeing him. It was clear she had a crush on the twenty-one-year-old. She seemed to always want the attention of older males. Perhaps it was because she hadn’t had a father figure in her life. That had been the case with Sophia, too.
“Hey.” Ned nodded at her, giving her a cursory glance. “Going for a ride, Grace? Can I help you saddle her?” He pointed to the horse with his coffee cup.
“No, but thank you. There is something you could do, though.”
“Name it.”
“Could you go out with Lizzy?” I asked. “She’d like to ride in the hills today.”
Lizzy beamed, satisfied with that suggestion. She smiled at Ned, and dare I say, batted her eyelashes at him. Her eyes were large and luminous, and added to her budding sensuality. “I would enjoy that.” She leaned against Goldie and flung her arm over the mare’s back, that sensuality blossoming right before my eyes. I almost wished I hadn’t made the suggestion. Her sister had been concerned about promiscuity in the girl after her previous relationship with the young man who had gotten them in so much trouble.
Ned gave me an apologetic look. “Chet asked me to fix the fence on the west end of the property first thing. The barbed wire is coming loose, and he’s worried about the horses getting out.”
