The early morning car ride was quiet, the world dark around them. Kate sat in the back seat, with Aurelio driving and Bonnie too tired to be enamored, her blond head resting against the opposite window.
They drove through the studio gates and parked in front of the two-story office building with palm trees out front.
Bonnie groaned as she left the car. “I’m so tired.”
They entered the reception room, and Mr. Eckles emerged from a side door, looking impossibly wide awake behind his wire-rimmed glasses. His gaze slid down Aurelio’s baggy suit and pegged trousers. “Aurelio Dios? They’re waiting for you in wardrobe. Bonnie, show him the way, then both of you go to dance rehearsal. Scene blocking at ten, lunch, voice at one, then back to dance. Are you listening, Bonnie? Can you remember all that?”
Bonnie finished a yawn. “I’m not an idiot. It’s the same every day.”
“I’ll tell your tutor to meet you in the commissary for lunch, then he’ll have to follow you around to get in the required hours. That’s all you have time for today.” Mr. Eckles’s attention shifted to Kate. “I’m told you’ll be working with Tad. He’s late.” The clock on the wall showed 6:10.
“I’ll stay with Bonnie for now,” Kate said, remembering her promise to keep an eye on her.
“Very well.” Mr. Eckles strode away.
Aurelio flashed a grin. “That’ll be you, Kate, bossing people around with a clipboard—only prettier.”
Bonnie’s sleepy eyes opened, shifting from Aurelio to Kate.
“Wardrobe,” Kate reminded her.
Bonnie led them down a long hall and out a back door. They crossed a courtyard with two picnic tables—the sky starting to lighten—and entered another building, where costume racks crowded the hall and the noise of sewing machines already filled the air. They walked by a workroom filled with long cutting tables and barrels of rolled fabric.
“Here you are.” An Asian woman with short black bangs came down the hall toward them. “Felix!” A young man appeared. “Take the boy for measuring. Bonnie, you know the drill.” She led Bonnie and Kate away from Aurelio at a brisk pace, glancing back at Kate. “So … the rumors are true.”
“That war is coming to Europe?” Kate asked blandly.
The woman quirked a smile. “I see why Tad wants you. I’m Mei Chen, but call me Mei. The costume designer is Victor Parish—you met him in Clive’s office—but I’m the one who makes it happen.”
They passed more costume racks—sailor suits and something covered in blue scales—and entered a large dressing room with a round platform in front of three angled mirrors. Bonnie immediately undressed to her slip and stepped onto a tall scale. Mei slid a weight across the rod and clucked in disapproval. “Another pound.”
Bonnie stepped off the scale, scowling. “I barely ate anything yesterday. I was starving all day.”
“The scale doesn’t lie—and the costumes don’t fit. Juanita!”
Kate studied Bonnie’s petite figure. “There isn’t an ounce of fat on her.”
An older woman entered, carrying a fluffy blue dress.
“It’s her bosom that’s the problem.” Mei took the blue dress and dropped it over Bonnie’s head. “It won’t stop growing.”
“She’s fifteen,” Kate said. “They’re supposed to grow.”
“Not if she wants to keep playing ingenue roles with those big, innocent eyes of hers. At this rate, she’ll be the next Mae West.”
Bonnie’s voice came through the fabric. “I sleep in that Ace bandage you gave me, but it doesn’t work.” The neckline slipped over her face and the dress settled—too snug on top, showing a line of cleavage.
“Step up,” Mei ordered.
Bonnie stepped onto the platform, her gaze finding Kate in the mirror, sliding down her slim pencil skirt. “I’ll bet you can eat anything.”
“Well…” Kate lowered herself to a velvet chair. “I play a lot of tennis.”
“I wish I liked sports.”
“You’re an amazing dancer.”
“It’s better to be flat chested when you dance.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Kate mused. “Aurelio seemed to like dancing with you just fine the way you are.”
“You think so? Did he say anything?”
He hadn’t, specifically, but they’d been a little preoccupied with Lemmy. “I know he’s happy to be working with you.”
Bonnie’s eyes lingered on Kate in the mirror. “So … you and Aurelio aren’t…?”
“No,” Kate said—so automatically she knew it was true. “I mean, it’s impossible not to feel something when he flashes that smile at you. But no, nothing like that.”
“Turn,” Mei ordered, pinning the hem.
Bonnie turned. “Mama says he probably has loads of girls. That you can’t trust a boy like him.”
Kate opened her mouth to defend Aurelio but stopped herself. For all she knew, it was true; she’d only known him a day and a half.
“I’m going to ask Mama if I can invite him to my birthday party on Friday. You’ll come, won’t you, Kate?”
Kate didn’t relish the idea, but said, “Of course.”
Knuckles rapped on wood and the door opened a few inches. “Everybody decent?” Tad Falcon entered, looking more like a college student than a movie producer with his blond hair and tall good looks, wearing a V-neck sweater. “How is our pretty little Bonnie rabbit this morning?”
“Bit grumpy,” Mei said around a mouthful of pins.
“It’s so early,” Bonnie whined. “I need some candy, Tad.”
His eyes darted to Kate, then back to Bonnie. “Not now, bunny rabbit.”
“Turn,” Mei ordered, and Bonnie obeyed.
Tad held up a folded newspaper. “Looks like your street had some excitement last night.”
Bonnie’s eyes widened. “Someone was murdered!”
Kate glimpsed a photo of herself on the front page, and her stomach dropped. “May I see?” she asked. Aunt Lorna always tried to hide the articles that popped up every month or two—stories of the kidnapped girl rebounding from tragedy to win some debate competition or tennis trophy—but Kate preferred knowing upfront, so she could prepare her mask of indifference.
Tad handed the newspaper over, and she opened it to see a photo of Ollie next to hers—an old headshot from his movie star days, handsome and dimpled.
The article mentioned the victim Lemuel Berman briefly before moving on to Oliver Banks—washed-up silent film star, now impoverished, forced to turn his dilapidated Pasadena mansion into a boarding house for aspiring actors. Neighbors complained of loud jazz music and questionable people coming and going at all hours. The body was discovered by Oliver Banks’s granddaughter, Kitty Hildebrand. And, in case anyone had forgotten the biggest news story of the summer of 1934, a brief recap was given: chloroformed and taken from her Nob Hill home by a kidnapper, father a crook, murder-suicide. Followed by more recent facts: overdue tuition at prestigious Blakely Academy in San Francisco (the headmaster didn’t have the heart to expel her); her aunt Lorna Wallace on the verge of bankruptcy before escaping town with gold-mining tycoon Donald Norton; Kitty now forced to live in her grandfather’s questionable household; recently hired as a production assistant at Falcon Pictures. (How could they have known that? Had Detective Bassett spoken to the press?)
Everything true, but slanted to sound scandalous. Even the photo of her was two years younger and more naive, her smile a bit forced, as if happiness remained just out of reach for this ill-fated girl.
The smile had been forced; she’d been furious about a science quiz with misleading questions.
Kate folded the newspaper and handed it back, her jaw tight.
“Did you know the man who was killed?” Tad asked in a respectful tone.
“Not really.”
“He was murdered next door,” Bonnie said. “It could have been me.”
Tad’s attention remained on Kate. “If you need a day or two, Kitty—”
“Kate,” she said shortly. Kitty was the girl she used to be, carefree and loved, never doubting her safety. She stood, hoping she didn’t look as shaky as she felt. “I’m sorry Falcon Pictures got dragged into it.”
Tad gave a short laugh. “Father will be thrilled. No such thing as bad publicity if they get your name right.” His gaze shifted to the fluffy blue dress. “I think you’re right about the shorter length, Mei. Sorry to toss a new lead boy at you at the last minute—Alfonso something. Did he show up this morning?”
“Aurelio Dios,” Kate corrected. “And he was here before you.”
Tad flashed a smile. “See there—already helpful. Let’s get going. I have a lot to show you.” He paused in the doorway. “Bonnie, you’ll have to work late to help that Mexican boy catch up.”
“I don’t mind,” Bonnie said.
Kate hesitated in the doorway, glancing back at Bonnie, wondering how she could keep her promise to keep an eye on her with her own duties to fulfill. “I’ll see you soon,” she said, hoping it was true, and then followed Tad.
He led at a brisk pace, back through the wardrobe department and out a door. The morning sun had finally made an appearance, bringing a warm, dry wind that rustled the palm fronds above them. “Santa Anas,” Tad called back, two strides ahead.
Kate trotted to catch up, the strong wind pressing her skirt against her legs. “Excuse me?”
“Hot winds that come every fall, full of static. That’s why we like the soundstages. Weather doesn’t matter—we make our own.” He glanced down at her. “Tomorrow, wear lower heels. We cover a lot of ground in this place.”
“Can I wear slacks, then?”
“Tomboy, eh?”
“I like a pretty dress as much as the next girl, but I prefer slacks, and my aunt’s too far away to do anything about it.”
“Slacks, then.” He waited for a car to pass, then crossed the road. “In this business, time is money. And people cost money. And people who move quickly save money. And that’s always the goal, Kate—saving money.”
She liked the brisk pace. “I would think making a good movie was the goal.”
“That’s the director’s problem—and the writers, and art department, and music team. The creative people. We’re the money behind the creative people. They only see their own piece of the puzzle, but we have to keep our eyes on the whole picture at all times. We’re the all-knowing eyes from on high.” He grinned down at her. “We’re the gods, Kate.”
“Golly, suddenly I feel inadequate,” she joked, but the thought exhilarated her.
Tad laughed. “You’ll be a formidable little god by the time I’m done with you.”
They walked around an old-fashioned carriage being hitched to the back of a truck. Kate could feel the studio stirring to life around her—cars passing, people entering the buildings that lined the road.
“We producers are the decision makers,” Tad said. “For instance—let’s say our costume designer insists Bonnie has to wear real silk to the school dance or the scene is ruined. And our director insists he needs a hundred extras at the dance or the scene is ruined. And our writer insists it has to be raining when they leave the dance or the scene is ruined. Well, silk is expensive, and a hundred extras are expensive, and rain is expensive.”
“Rain is expensive?” Kate asked.
“Wet costumes. That means more costumes, and more wardrobe staff on set, and rain throws off lighting which means more takes, and more takes means time. And what is time, Kate?”
“Time is money.”
“Good girl. So—I’m the cruel god who says a high school girl can wear cheap rayon, and the director can use camera angles to make fifty extras look like a hundred, and we’ll do fog instead of rain, which gives atmosphere but is a lot less hassle. They all shake their angry fists at God, but eventually get on with it, and the budget is saved.” He glanced down. “You keeping up? Figuratively, I mean. Those long legs of yours are doing just fine.” His gaze skimmed her pencil skirt.
“It isn’t aeronautical physics, Tad.”
He laughed. “Thank goodness, or I’d be sunk.” He grinned, looking like a mischievous college boy planning to cheat on an exam. Not a god. And not bad looking.
An open, jeep-like vehicle halted at the edge of the road, the driver jumping out to enter a building. “Good,” Tad said, striding toward the vehicle. He sat on the bench behind the steering wheel. “Climb on. This will be faster.”
Kate hesitated, glancing at the building.
“He’ll be fine. We have these carts everywhere for anyone who needs them. Well, not anyone, but they’re yours for the taking. And you’ll need them; it’s a big place.”
She sat on the bench and they took off, turning down the road lined by enormous soundstage buildings. They drove past a cluster of women in long hoop skirts, two large cannons, and horses being led off a trailer.
Kate held tightly to the edge of her seat.
Tad parked in the same alley they’d parked in the day before but led her toward Stage Five on the other side. “This is our set,” he said, opening a door in the towering wall.
The cavernous space was eerily dark and quiet, only a few lights glowing in the distance. Kate halted for a second, then focused on the dim lights and hurried to catch up, her heels echoing.
They passed the ice cream parlor set first, with small tables in front of a long counter. Everything looked remarkably real. She saw jars of nuts and maraschino cherries. Stacks of ice cream cones. Even a rumpled dishtowel on the counter.
The next set showed the inside of a cozy, middle-class home, with a window overlooking a few fake trees and a painted backdrop.
The biggest set was at the end of the building—a theater stage with velvet drapes, an orchestra pit, and rows of audience seats. Most of the stage floor had collapsed, leaving a dark hole with jagged edges.
Tad walked halfway down the audience aisle and stopped, shoving his hands into his pants pockets, suddenly more serious. “Half the cast was up there when it caved in. Shoddy workmanship—done in a hurry like everything around here.”
A man in overalls worked alone at the side of the stage, unloading lumber from a cart. “Doesn’t look like they’re in much of a hurry to fix it,” Kate said.
“Our set builders were already done here and assigned to another picture. I’m told more men will show up later today … but that doesn’t mean they will.” His expression darkened. “I’ll be straight with you, Kate. There are a lot of people who’d love to see me fail. I grew up at this studio, but this is the first picture I’ve managed on my own, and they think I only got the job because I’m Clive Falcon’s son.”
“Well … you did.”
He shot her a look.
“But now you get to prove you deserve it.”
“How can I when something like this happens?” He lifted a frustrated hand toward the broken stage. “Every picture gets behind schedule, but when it’s me, they all whisper.”
“Let them. Bonnie and Aurelio are going to light up that screen. I think you have a big hit on your hands.”
“Maybe. I hope he learns fast. We were supposed to start filming today, so I’ve got a bunch of expensive crew sitting around waiting, getting paid for nothing. Cameramen and lighting. Makeup. But we can’t start filming until the new cast learns the dance numbers, which could take a week. And in eleven days we’re booted out of these buildings because another movie is scheduled.” He shook his head. “It’s a disaster, if I’m honest.”
“Well…” Kate settled her hands on her hips, intrigued by the problem. “Are there any scenes without the new actors, where everyone is ready to go?”
Tad thought a moment. “The family scenes, I guess. None of them got hurt. But we can’t film with construction noise in the background.” He nodded his head at the broken stage.
Kate turned to look at the house set in the distance, her mind tugging at the problem—and she saw the answer. “Move the house set. That’s faster than waiting for this set to be repaired. What’s happening in Stage Six, where we had auditions yesterday?”
“We’re rehearsing the new actors in there. The big dance numbers.”
“They can rehearse in here. A little construction noise won’t matter. When the set builders show up today to fix this stage, first use them to move the house and ice cream parlor to Stage Six, then you can start filming the family scenes right away.”
Tad frowned. “That might work, I guess, but that’s only a couple of scenes, and then I’m stuck again, waiting for the new actors to catch up.”
“Teach them one dance number at a time, starting with the easiest. Film during the day and rehearse the next number at night. Just one scene at a time, but you keep moving forward, nobody sitting around getting paid for nothing.” She felt a little surge of victory, knowing it would work. “Are there any scenes with just Aurelio and Bonnie?”
“A quarter of the picture.”
“Good. Save those scenes for last, then you can send the other actors home and stop paying them—plus all their wardrobe and makeup staff. Only keep Aurelio and Bonnie around. That saves money, right?”
“Right,” he said slowly. “There’ll still be gaps in filming, but at least we’ll get started.” He brought his hands to his head, laughing in amazement. “Why didn’t I think of all that? I’ve got to get those sets moved.” He started walking back the way they’d come, calling out, “Keep up, Athena!”
She hurried after him. “Athena?”
“Don’t tell me a smart girl like you doesn’t know her Greek mythology? We’re gods, remember?”
Kate thought back to a class she’d had two years ago and laughed, liking the comparison: Athena, goddess of wisdom and battle strategy.