Bonnie honked from the curb, sitting behind the wheel of a shiny yellow car with a chrome angel flying off the hood.
Aurelio whistled as he circled the car. “Spiffy wagon.” He looked rather spiffy himself in a pinstripe, double-breasted suit, his dark hair slicked back. He opened the driver’s door. “Slide over, princess. You’re too young to have a license.”
“Oh, no one cares about that. I drive all the time.” But Bonnie smiled as she moved over on the wide front seat, making room for Aurelio.
Kate sat on Bonnie’s other side, then looked back to watch as Ollie was forced from the house by Hugo on one side, Reuben on the other, his face half hidden by a dark fedora and large sunglasses. He stumbled as he stepped off the front stoop, but Hugo and Reuben kept him upright.
Kate glanced at the Fairchilds’ house, hoping Mrs. Fairchild wasn’t watching.
Reuben entered the back seat first, sliding to the far side; Ollie was pushed to the center; and then Hugo got in, blocking Ollie’s escape. The door slammed shut.
Kate looked over her shoulder to see Ollie breathing through puckered lips, his face pallid beneath the sunglasses. And it occurred to her that, for him, leaving the house was how entering a dark room felt to her. “Are you all right?” she asked, hoping she hadn’t made a mistake.
He didn’t answer, busy breathing.
“Piece of cake,” Hugo said, but he kept his eyes riveted on the older man. “All you have to do is sit here, Ollie, and enjoy the ride.”
Ollie blew out a heavy breath, a bead of sweat sliding down his temple. His suit looked well made but too tight, and his shirt buttons strained over his belly. One hand clutched a fuzzy, blue mouse—a child’s toy. Hugo caught Kate looking at the mouse and gave a limp shrug.
She said, “You look good, Ollie.” But he showed no signs of hearing her.
Aurelio revved the engine and worked the clutch, and the car jolted away from the curb. “Whoa! Powerful engine!” he cried, and Kate wondered how much driving experience he had.
Bonnie clapped her hands. “Oh, this is fun! I can’t believe Mama thought of it.”
Kate glanced out the back window, but the beautiful gray house had already slipped from view.
“Do you have a script?” Hugo called from the back, and Bonnie handed a bound booklet over her shoulder. Hugo read aloud from the cover, “Trixie’s Big Show.” He flipped pages. “Any idea which lines we should prepare?”
“The best scene is when Trixie dances in the moonlight. But that’s only me, I guess. Maybe one of the ice cream parlor scenes. That’s where the kids meet and make all their plans. They’re putting on a talent show to save the town’s old theater.”
The car jerked to a stop, and they all swayed forward. “Learn to drive,” Reuben griped.
“It’s these brakes. You don’t have to push them through the floor like some old jalopy.” Aurelio revved the engine, proving the car’s power. “Princess, you gotta tell me how to get there.”
Bonnie started spouting directions, pointing with a pink fingernail, and the car sped forward.
Hugo raised his voice above the engine. “Okay, I’m going to read a few lines so we can all get a feel for it.” He flipped a page. “That’s a swell idea, Trixie. You kids can do a lot of good if you all work together.”
“That’s Joe’s line,” Bonnie said over her shoulder. “He’s not one of the kids, he works at the ice cream parlor.”
Reuben snatched the script from Hugo’s hand. “That’s my part.”
“Hey,” Hugo complained.
The car made a swerving turn, its tires squealing, and they all tumbled to the left, then straightened.
“Read it aloud,” Hugo told Reuben. “I want to hear the general tone of the script.”
“You think this is Eugene O’Neill? The tone is cornball with a touch of dizzy blond.”
“And the songs are terrific,” Bonnie said, not seeming to notice the slight. “There’s one about ice cream, and we all dance around the tables.” She sang in a sweet soprano, “Chocolate and vanilla … eatin’ with my fella … thaaat’s what I call a good time. Oh—left here!” The car careened, and they all swayed.
Kate felt a bit queasy, and not just from Aurelio’s driving. The others knew what they were doing, at least. She hadn’t been on a stage since Doctor Dolittle in the third grade, when she was Pig Number Three. Her singing was average, at best. Her dancing, just the basics.
She glanced back to see Ollie still holding the blue mouse, his face shining with sweat. The car did feel like an oven. She rolled down her window halfway and was relieved to feel the wind in her hair, but Bonnie squealed and pulled a black-and-white polka-dotted scarf from the glovebox and wrapped it around her blond curls.
The car weaved its way along a twisty highway crowded with cars, then turned down a boulevard, and before Kate felt ready for it, the Falcon Pictures logo loomed in front of them—a medieval-looking shield with a black bird on it. Aurelio stopped at the guard booth and rolled down his window.
“Hi, Wally,” Bonnie chirped, leaning over Aurelio. “I brought my friends because Mr. Falcon wants to put them in the picture.” An exaggeration, but the guard waved them through.
Aurelio glanced in the rearview mirror and slapped his palm on the steering wheel. “That’s it, fellas! We’re in!”
Ollie sank lower on the back seat, muttering, “This was a mistake.”
“Just stay in the car and take a nap,” Hugo said. “If anyone asks, you can say you’re Bonnie’s chauffeur.”
“I used to have one before I learned to drive,” Bonnie piped in. She glanced over her shoulder. “Don’t you want to audition, Mr. Banks? You could probably have the part of the old theater manager. They already have an actor, but he always smells like liquor.” She wrinkled her nose.
Ollie raised a hand and declared in the ringing voice of a sea captain, “I demand to be taken home!”
Reuben snapped, “No one’s taking you home.”
Hugo reached into his pocket and held up a quarter. “Worse case, you can take a bus home.”
Ollie snatched the coin.
They drove past a long, two-story office building with palm trees out front, then turned down a road of rambling structures—some office buildings, a lumberyard, and an outdoor area filled with weather-beaten movie props, including a row of Egyptian statues.
“This way,” Bonnie said, pointing, and the car turned down a long road flanked by the most enormous warehouses Kate had ever seen, one after another. None of the buildings had windows.
“What do they keep in these huge warehouses?” Kate asked.
“They’re the soundstages, silly, where they shoot the pictures.” Bonnie pointed to a building on their right with STAGE 5 painted on the wall. “That’s where the set collapsed, but I was rehearsing in Six when it happened, and the auditions are in Six today. Park in here.”
Aurelio steered the car down the alley between Stages Five and Six and parked next to a white truck. He tried to give the key to Bonnie, but she said, “I don’t want to carry it all day, silly. Put it in the glovebox.”
Everyone piled out, except Ollie.
Kate shut the door but lingered, looking back at her grandfather through the open window. “This is a nice shady spot. Take a nap, like Hugo said, and I’ll check on you soon.”
“I do not require checking on,” Ollie said with dignity.
“He’ll be fine,” Hugo told her, but he kept glancing over his shoulder as they walked away.
They entered through a side door in the towering wall of Stage Six. Kate expected to enter a colossal space, but the view was blocked by a truck inside the building and a couple of workmen unloading thick power cords. Someone shouted from above, and Kate looked up to see a distant ceiling laced with beams and large metal lights.
They walked around the truck and the wider space came into view—as vast as a football field. Straight ahead, a cluster of round tables and chairs were set up in what Kate guessed was a makeshift ice cream parlor set, with a long line of teenaged boys and girls waiting their turn to audition. A boy and girl stood near the tables, reading lines from a script, watched by three men sitting behind a long table.
“There you are. I expected you hours ago.” A thin man with wire-rimmed eyeglasses approached them, carrying a clipboard.
Bonnie leaned toward Kate. “This is Mr. Eckles. He’s always in a hurry.”
Mr. Eckles’s gaze skimmed their group and settled on Kate. “Miss Hildebrand? Mr. Falcon is expecting you.”
Aurelio gave a short laugh of amazement. “We’re going to meet Clive Falcon?”
“Not you. Just her. This way, Miss Hildebrand. You too, Bonnie.” Mr. Eckles walked toward the door they’d just entered.
Bonnie pulled off her polka-dotted scarf and handed it to Aurelio. “Will you put this in the glovebox for me?”
“Of course.” He looked honored.
Bonnie hurried after Mr. Eckles, but Kate didn’t move, her stomach suddenly full of feathery wings. “Any helpful tips?” she asked, pressing a hand to her stomach.
Hugo’s low voice came from behind her. “Find the lie in the dialogue—the lie your character is telling herself, and the lie she’s telling everyone else.”
Kate turned and stared. “That’s supposed to be helpful?”
One dark eyebrow arched. “You’re Oliver Banks’s granddaughter. There must be at least one drop of thespian blood in you. And if there isn’t … well … they want you anyway, don’t they?” His eyes gleamed with resentment.
Which made it easier to walk away.
Mr. Eckles drove Kate and Bonnie across the studio in a small, jeep-like vehicle with a canvas awning on top. He parked in front of the two-story office building with the palm trees, and they entered a reception area. One woman typed, and two more sat at a phone switchboard, pulling cords from a panel of blinking lights and plugging them in somewhere else. “Good morning, Falcon Pictures. One moment, please.”
Mr. Eckles led them across the reception area at a brisk pace and down a hall lined with movie posters. “They’re waiting for you in wardrobe, Bonnie.” He glanced back at her without slowing. “I suggest nothing but lettuce today. Mr. Falcon doesn’t know about the two pounds.” He turned up a staircase. “This way, Miss Hildebrand.”
“But—” Kate paused at the crossroads, as Bonnie wiggled her fingers in farewell and continued straight.
“Miss Hildebrand! The entire production team is waiting.”
She hurried up the stairs, her stomach now full of swooping bats. They walked down a hall and entered another reception room, fancier than the last one, with wood paneling and only one woman at a desk. Mr. Eckles led Kate through a door, into a long office with an enormous desk at the far end.
A man with a silver mustache leaned against the front of the desk, facing a semicircle of armchairs. “What about the blond kid from Fox?”
“They won’t loan him out until November. That’s too late for us—unless you want to delay for another few weeks.”
“No more delays. This picture is bleeding.” The man with the silver mustache noticed Mr. Eckles and Kate, and his expression lifted. “Ah, here she is, boys—Kitty Hildebrand!”
Six heads turned. Kate remained rooted near the door until Mr. Eckles grabbed her elbow and forced her forward, depositing her in front of the semicircle of chairs.
The man with a silver mustache reached out a hand. “Clive Falcon. Thrilled to have you, Kitty. Can I call you Kitty?” He gave her hand a quick pump and released it.
“Kay—” Her voice stuck, and she swallowed. “I go by Kate now.”
“Wonderful, wonderful. We’re having a quick meeting here to make sure we’re all on the same page. You may have heard about our little set collapse yesterday. This is our director, Bert Holiday. Screenwriter, Horace Musgrave. Arthur Ellison—best music man in the business. Wardrobe. Sets. Casting isn’t here today because they’re a bit busy.” He glanced at the open door. “Alice, where’s Tad? He should be here for this.”
A female voice called back. “I’ll find him, sir.”
Mr. Falcon clapped his large hands once. “So, Kate, we’re just thrilled to have you—a real American hero, the whole country rooting for you. We were thinking you could play Trixie’s best friend—that’s Bonnie’s character. It’ll take a little rewrite, but Horace is on board with that, aren’t you, Horace?”
“Sure,” the screenwriter said blandly, staring at Kate.
“Only a few lines to get your feet wet and your name in the credits. Next time, we’ll get you a bigger part. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Kate? To be under contract with Falcon Pictures for future projects?”
“Oh … I don’t know. I’m not really—”
“We can work out the terms later. Today, let’s just see how we feel about things, shall we?” Mr. Falcon’s silver mustache lifted in a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
The director Bert Holiday spoke up. “Do you have much acting experience, Kate?”
She opened her mouth but was cut off by a heavyset man with a cigar. “She’s tall. A lot taller than Bonnie.”
Kate relaxed her posture. “Only five-six.”
“She only looks tall,” a man with a white scarf said. “Legs for days. A figure like that can wear anything. And that hair color is exquisite.”
A man murmured to his neighbor, “She’s pretty, at least.”
“She looks smart,” someone else said, as if that were a bad thing.
“A young Katharine Hepburn,” the director suggested.
“Sure, but is that what we need in this picture? She’s supposed to be an adoring friend to Trixie.”
Kate remembered Hugo’s advice to Reuben at breakfast. “I can be adoring.”
Someone chuckled.
“Can you dance?” a slim, bald man asked.
“Now, boys,” Mr. Falcon said, raising a hand. “This is Kitty Hildebrand we have standing here, and we’re thrilled to have her.”
“Sure, Clive, but we need to know what we’re working with. Do you know how to dance, darling?”
She swallowed. “A little. Just the usual, I guess. Some foxtrot. I’ve done the Lindy hop a few times.”
The man in the white scarf spoke up. “She doesn’t have to dance with a figure like that, just stand there and look good. I’ll put her in some tiny shorts for that dance rehearsal scene.” He waved a finger at Horace. “Write it that way.”
The slim, bald man asked, “What about your voice, darling? Can you sing something for us? Anything. Whatever you auditioned with last.”
Kate’s throat filled with sawdust. “I’m … I’m actually more of a chorus singer, not a soloist.”
He flashed a tight smile. “Don’t worry, I’m not offering you a solo, just want to hear your tone and register.”
Six sets of eyes watched and waited.
And suddenly, Kate had had enough. She stood to her full five feet six inches. “Look—I’m not a singer or a dancer—or even an actress. I never claimed to be. I know perfectly well why you want me in your picture—and that’s fine, I’ll do it—but I’m not going to stand here and pretend to be something I’m not. Take me as I am—or not at all.”
The director Bert Holiday snapped his fingers. “There’s our interesting girl!”
An excited murmur rose.
“But it’s no good,” Horace said. “If I write that girl, she’ll steal the screen from Bonnie.”
“Anyone have a script on them?” Mr. Falcon asked. “Let’s have her read a few lines.”
No one had a script. Mr. Falcon shuffled through some papers on his desk and came back with a bound booklet. He flipped pages and handed it to Kate. “Different movie, but it’ll give us some idea. Read Sylvia’s part—smart and feisty but beaten down by tragedy.”
Kate stared at the page, black words swimming. She blinked and managed to find Sylvia’s name next to a full paragraph of dialogue. She cleared her throat. “He isn’t a wise guy. How wise can he be, letting you guys boss him around?” Her voice sounded flat to her own ears. She added more emotion. “You pretend to care about my father, but you’re worse than Joey. You’re worse than all of them.” Too much, maybe. She toned it down. “I’m sick of this place and I’m sick of your lies. You shouldn’t have come here.” That sounded about right. She kept going, gaining confidence.
Then made the mistake of looking up to see their pained expressions.