All right, so she couldn’t act.
Kate walked back slowly across the studio lot, in no hurry to face the others and admit defeat.
Clive Falcon had managed a polite smile beneath his silver mustache. “Wonderful, Kate. The boys and I will discuss things and let you know.” He’d raised a hand toward the door, dismissing her. As she’d passed Mr. Eckles, she’d asked about Bonnie and his response had been cool. “She’ll be occupied most of the day. Go back to where I found you and wait.” No offer to drive her in the little jeep.
The studio was busier now, cars and bicycles passing her on the narrow road that ran between the buildings. A stream of women in glittering dance costumes came through a door, laughing. A young man trotted by, going the other way, carrying an armload of swords. Kate turned the corner and passed a pioneer wagon being draped with canvas, and then a large building full of pounding construction noises and the smell of paint.
It might have been fun for a few weeks.
At least she’d gotten Ollie out of the house. She would reward him with an easier outing this evening, while she waited for Mr. Norton’s money order. Maybe a drive to the beach.
Kate entered the road lined by enormous soundstage buildings. The second building had its wide, roll-up door open, and she peeked inside to see a busy hive of activity around a fancy nightclub set.
“You in or out?” a man asked, his hand on a pulley rope.
Kate hesitated, then stepped inside, and the door rolled closed behind her. She moved closer to the set, her heart racing, and found a quiet hideaway between two stacks of chairs where she could watch.
Filming had been paused—or maybe hadn’t started yet. On a tiered stage, musicians in white jackets fiddled with their instruments, filling the air with a disjointed whine. On the dance floor, women in sleek gowns and men in bowties wandered or lounged at small tables, smoking and waiting. Off to the side, a cluster of women in short dance costumes rehearsed steps. And everywhere—around the set, and through it, and over it—crew members roamed, pushing costume racks and shouting from ladders.
For a breathless moment, Kate thought she saw Gary Cooper, then the man turned and she breathed again. Still, the fact that he could have been Gary Cooper—that in some other soundstage across town it actually was Gary Cooper—didn’t escape her.
No wonder everybody wanted to be in pictures.
Two actors wandered by eating sandwiches, and Kate looked back to see a buffet table. She hadn’t eaten anything since that one pancake. She walked to the buffet table, glanced around, picked up a triangle of roast beef sandwich, and then returned to her hideaway to eat and watch.
“Places, everyone!” a man called through a megaphone.
Suddenly, as if someone had flipped a switch, the messy noise sharpened into orderly quiet. Lights darkened. Other lights brightened. A blond woman in a glittering dress left a makeup chair and joined a man in coattails next to one of the nightclub tables. Above them, a large microphone dangled.
Kate took a bite.
The man and woman tossed lines back and forth—Kate couldn’t hear the snappy dialogue but could imagine it—then the woman got angry and left. The man started to follow, but stopped, one arm stretching after her. The band started playing, and the dancers in short costumes shuffled out to perform.
“Cut. Hold your places.” The magical tension relaxed as the director looked through one of the cameras. A moment later—“We’ll start after Irene’s departure. Music on my count of five. Roll ’em.” The man with the megaphone held up a finger count, and the music started again.
Kate watched and ate her sandwich, mesmerized by how real and glamorous the nightclub looked, even though it was chopped in half, with ugly equipment on one side and chandeliers hanging from industrial beams. Beyond the elegance, wooden poles supported plywood walls. Kate had known movies were shot that way, and yet never noticed while watching them. She thought back on an Andy Hardy movie she’d seen a few weeks ago. The view of the living room had always come from one side—because the other half of the room didn’t exist, she realized.
She watched as the dancers went through their number a few times, then, when the director called for a longer break, found a side door and left the building.
As she neared the building with STAGE 6 painted on the side, she remembered Ollie and walked faster, hoping he was all right. But when she turned down the alley where they’d parked, the yellow car wasn’t there. She ran her gaze over the parked cars and trucks, confused, wondering if she was in the wrong place, and finally spotted Bonnie’s yellow car at the back. She hurried toward it.
And found it empty. She turned, alarmed. “Ollie?” She walked back through the alley, glancing between cars, but he wasn’t there. He must have taken a bus home. But why had Bonnie’s car been moved?
Kate entered Stage Six and found the makeshift ice cream parlor gone, replaced by a large square of dance floor with a pianist playing a lively tune. About thirty teenagers sat around the area, watching as six girls performed tap steps in front of the men at the table.
She looked around for the others but only found Hugo, sitting in a row of canvas chairs a safe distance from the dance floor, his feet propped on a wooden box, his slouch indifferent. But he watched the dancers with a sly smile that made her wonder what he was thinking.
Kate felt a quiver of attraction she knew wasn’t wise. For one thing, she was probably leaving tomorrow, since she’d failed to impress Clive Falcon. For another, she and Hugo Quick had nothing in common. He wasn’t academic or sporty, like most of the boys she knew. Not headed to college. He was an actor who’d dropped out of school when he was fifteen.
He turned his head to look at her, giving her the uneasy feeling he could read her mind. Her face warmed, but when he patted the canvas chair beside him, she had no choice but to walk over.
“Do you know where Ollie is?” she asked as she neared.
“I checked a while ago, and he was gone. Must have taken the bus.” Hugo eyed her more closely. “You don’t look very cheerful. How’d the audition go?”
She pursed her lips, not wanting to answer. She was used to doing well at things. Winning school awards and tennis trophies.
Hugo gave a soft laugh. “That bad? Better sit down and tell me about it.”
Kate hesitated, then sat in the chair between him and a boy with blond hair. “I felt like a cow at the county fair, everyone inspecting and measuring.” She lifted her feet onto the box next to Hugo’s.
“Welcome to showbiz.”
She sank lower, matching her slouch to his, and it felt good. “Would you call me tall? I don’t think I’m that tall.”
Hugo’s gaze slid down her striped dress and outstretched legs. “I’d say you were about the right height.” His eyes lingered, and she crossed her ankles.
“How did your audition go?” she asked.
“A quick cut. I knew it was a bad fit as soon as I saw the crowd.”
“What do you mean?”
“Who stands out to you?” Hugo nodded toward the dance floor.
Kate looked over the teenagers waiting to dance, all of them attractive in a wholesome sort of way, but not extraordinary. “I’m not sure.”
“Exactly. That’s what they want in a picture like this—faces that blend in. That’s not me.”
Kate glanced sideways at his villainous good looks. “No … I see what you mean. Not unless the script calls for everybody getting stabbed in the ice cream parlor.”
His lips twitched. “I only do that on full moons.”
“Lucky me, arriving on the right night.”
The piano music stopped and a man called out a name. One girl squealed and ran forward, while the other five walked away looking glum. More names were called and six boys hurried onto the dance floor.
“Why do you put yourself through this torture?” Kate asked.
Hugo gave a wry laugh. “I don’t know, but the more they turn me away, the more I want it. Hopeless dreamer, I guess.”
“Well, take it from me, fame isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
He turned and looked at her, his expression thoughtful. “No, I’m sure it’s not,” he murmured. “But I don’t care about the fame.”
The piano music began again, and the six boys started tapping. A boy with freckles tapped the wrong way, then hurried to catch up.
With Hugo’s attention on the dance floor, Kate dared to study him more closely. Irish, maybe, with that combination of light skin and almost-black hair. His lips were nicely shaped—a soft contradiction to the rebellious eyes and arched eyebrows. “What do you care about?” she asked, genuinely curious.
He thought a moment before answering. “Telling a story, I guess. Making people feel something.”
The choreographer shouted at the boy with freckles, waving an impatient arm.
“My mom says I like to read because she named me after Victor Hugo. I used to write these stories I thought were really dark and important, about this ghost named Earl who lived in a department store and scared all the customers.” He gave an easy laugh. “I haven’t thought about that in a long time.”
The low timbre in his voice struck a nice chord inside her. “What else did you write about?”
“Detective stories, when I got older. My mom bought me this second-hand typewriter, and I thought I was Dashiell Hammett.” His lips quirked. “And poetry. Lots of bad poetry.”
She’d never met a boy who wrote poetry before.
“You smell good, by the way,” Hugo said.
It took Kate a moment to catch up to his words, and another moment to decide if she should walk through the tempting door he’d just opened or be sensible and close it. He intrigued her, in a bad-boy sort of way, but if she made two lists, the one against Hugo Quick would be a lot longer than the one in his favor.
She felt him waiting, and his interest piqued her own, making her want to keep that door open a little while longer. “Are you flirting with me, Hugo?” she asked with just a hint of tease. Open, but cautious.
He laughed, and she sensed that she’d struck the right tone. “Just stating a fact. I live with a bunch of men and sleep with a dog. I can’t help but notice.”
Kate fought a smile, aware that she was flirting back, her shoulder leaning toward his. “So … how did you meet Ollie if he never leaves the house?”
“My dad and I came to fix his plumbing.”
She remembered Hugo fixing the kitchen sink that morning. “Your dad is a plumber?” A respectable trade.
“I was sixteen, and all he could talk about was the two of us fixing pipes together for the rest of our lives, and then I saw Ollie’s props and costumes, and he started telling me about acting, and I just—I don’t know, caught the bug I guess. That night, I told my dad how much I hated plumbing, and he kicked me out.”
When he didn’t continue, Kate asked, “What did you do then?”
“Got on a bus with everything I owned in a pillowcase and showed up on Ollie’s doorstep.” Hugo glanced sideways at her. “It was dark and raining, and I was just some runaway kid he didn’t know, but he told Mrs. Pace to make me a grilled cheese sandwich and said I could sleep in the pool house. That’s Ollie for you.”
Kate’s heart tugged for that younger Hugo and his pillowcase.
“Now, he’s the one I’d cast,” he said, nodding toward the freckled boy, who’d tripped and fallen.
“Freckles? But he’s terrible.”
“Exactly. That makes him interesting.” Hugo crossed his ankles on the box, mirroring Kate’s. His scuffed shoe ended up touching her stylish pump, but neither of them moved away. “You ever see the movie The Petrified Forest?” he asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“It was sort of dark and heavy, but for me, it was like breathing fresh air for the first time. Humphrey Bogart was in it. You ever heard of him?”
“No.”
“He’s not famous or anything, but that’s the kind of actor I want to be. Not some perfect hero, but the kind of guy where you don’t know what he’ll do next, so you keep watching. He’s got another movie coming out next month.” Hugo tapped his shoe against Kate’s. She thought it was an accident, but then he tapped it again. “If you stick around long enough, maybe I’ll take you.”
Kate felt his foot leaning against hers and decided to tap it back. “If I stick around long enough, maybe I’ll let you.”
Hugo turned to smile at her.
And Kate smiled back.
And just like that, she wasn’t in such a hurry to go back to San Francisco.
“I swear, the whole world’s gone stupid,” a voice grumbled, and Kate pulled her eyes from Hugo’s to see Reuben shuffling toward them, his bald head glowing with a sheen of sweat. He sank to the canvas chair on the other side of Hugo, holding a newspaper. “People have no idea what’s going on over there.”
“Over where?” Kate asked.
Hugo groaned. “You had to ask.”
“That genius Chamberlain. What a patsy. Signs some paper with Hitler and thinks he’s got peace for our time. You want to know who’s paying for Chamberlain’s precious peace? Jews, that’s who, getting sent to Poland right now, by the thousands, and everybody turns a blind eye.” Reuben snapped the newspaper open.
“Don’t ever ask,” Hugo advised in a low voice.
Kate tried to read the headlines from a distance. “It is sort of scary, what’s happening over there.”
“Right, but nobody wants another war.”
The piano music stopped and the choreographer called out a couple of names.
“Where’s Aurelio?” Kate asked. “He’s going to miss the dance audition.”
“He already got cut at the acting,” Hugo said. “He doesn’t have the right look either.”
“But—” Kate sat straighter, pulling her feet off the box. “He’ll get to show them his dancing, won’t he?”
“Nah, they don’t want some Latin lover in a zoot suit.”
“But they need to see him dance! He’s way better than anyone here. As good as Fred Astaire—only gorgeous!”
Hugo raised an eyebrow. “Noticed, did you?”
“Of course I noticed. I have a pulse.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter. This is a B movie, made quick and cheap for matinees. For moms and kids, everything clean-cut and all-American. They want another Mickey Rooney, blond and freckled, not some boy named Aurelio Dios.”
“Mickey Rooney,” Kate scoffed. “I don’t know a single girl with his picture in her locker. Clive Falcon sits in his office with a bunch of middle-aged men and thinks he knows what people want. If he wanted to make money, he’d put Aurelio Dios in this movie, and every girl in America would buy a ticket—five times!”
The blond boy sitting on Kate’s other side spoke up. “To see some pachuco? Their mothers wouldn’t approve.”
Kate didn’t know what a pachuco was but could guess from his tone. She turned to him. “Which is why all the girls would. They’d hide his picture in their diaries and kiss it when no one was looking.”
The blond raised his eyebrows but didn’t reply.
She sank back in her chair, annoyed that all her efforts to get them into the audition had come to nothing. “So,” she said grumpily. “The only ones who get to show off their dancing are the ones who have the right look?”
“That’s right,” Hugo said. “And the only ones who get to show off their singing are the ones who have the right look and the right dance skills.”
She scowled. “It’s all wrong, the way they’re doing it. The best dancers and singers are getting cut along the way. The three auditions should be completely separate—acting, dancing, and singing. That’s the only way to find the best of everything.”
“Huh. I never thought of it like that, but you might be right.”
“Of course I’m right. Things like that are just obvious to me. Like school clubs. The most important topics should be discussed first, but the president always spends forever on something stupid and runs out of time. And my aunt’s Junior League meetings—the clipboard is always a disaster.”
“Clipboard?” Hugo asked.
“For volunteer sign-ups.” Kate noticed his amused expression and stopped herself. She hadn’t meant to show her fastidious side. A boy like Hugo Quick wasn’t interested in girls who joined school clubs and served tea at Junior League meetings.
He said, “Don’t stop now, it was just getting good.”
“Sorry, didn’t mean to rant.”
“I’m serious.” He waited a few seconds. “Look, I’m not going to sleep tonight if you don’t tell me what’s wrong with this clipboard.”
She smiled. “Fine, then. It never makes it all the way around the room. A hundred women in rows, and no one knows which way to pass it, front or back, and then some dunce passes it across the aisle and an entire section gets missed. I keep telling my aunt they need two clipboards, one for each side, always moving front to back, but they never fix it.”
“The world needs people like you to keep it organized.”
Kate looked for the tease in his face, but he seemed serious.
The choreographer shouted for a fifteen-minute break, and the room rumbled with movement as everyone went in search of restrooms and food.
Aurelio sauntered toward them, one hand holding his pinstripe jacket over his shoulder. His pants were a little baggy and pegged, Kate noticed, but it wasn’t an obvious zoot suit. “You guys ready to scram?” he asked.
“We have to wait for Bonnie,” Kate said.
Aurelio glanced at the dance area, which was deserted except for a few young actors sitting around waiting. “Well, I’m going to hoof around on that nice floor while we wait. Catch.” He tossed his jacket to Hugo and made his way to the pianist. Kate expected the pianist to shake his head, needing a break, but he laughed at something Aurelio said and sat back down.
The pianist ran his fingers up and down the keys while Aurelio retied a shoelace, then started a peppy melody. Aurelio tapped a few steps with loose limbs, then spun in a circle and started tapping in earnest.
“Wait oh wait oh wait oh wait!” Bonnie cried, hurrying toward them.
Aurelio grinned in delight. “Princess!” He met her at the edge of the dance floor, grabbed her hand, and brought her to the center. The two of them tapped side by side, trying to copy each other’s steps, fumbling and laughing, then Aurelio called back to the pianist, and the music changed to the song from that morning, from the movie Swing Time. Bonnie’s face lit up as Aurelio swung her into his arms, and their feet started hopping in perfect rhythm.
The pianist sang the lyrics. “Nothing is impossible, I have found … for when my chin is on the ground … I pick myself up…”
They tapped and turned in the same fancy polka Aurelio had done with Kate at the house, only Bonnie knew the steps and did them with effortless grace, her right hand held by Aurelio’s, her left drifting daintily. They looked perfectly paired, both petite, her blond hair glowing next to his gleaming dark. They turned and leaned in easy unison, connected by invisible strings. Even when they missed a step—laughed and found their footing again—they looked enchanting.
The music changed and Aurelio pulled one arm back so they were tapping side by side, his other arm sliding behind Bonnie’s small waist—the way he’d tried with Kate, and now she saw how it was supposed to be done. Bonnie and Aurelio turned slowly, side by side, linked by his outstretched arm, their feet tapping in delicate percussion.
The pianist’s velvety baritone pulled them along. “I take a deep breath … pick myself up … dust myself off … start all ooover again.”
“They’re good,” the blond boy next to Kate said.
“They’re amazing,” Hugo said. “I had no idea that girl could dance like that.”
A magical spotlight seemed to follow Bonnie and Aurelio as they tapped and whirled. Everyone in the room turned to watch, even workmen.
“Can that Latin boy sing too?” the blond asked. “If he can, he’s dangerous.”
“Oh, he can sing,” Hugo said.
As the music slid to a conclusion, Aurelio lifted Bonnie in a playful leap to the side that didn’t quite work, and they finished laughing. Their audience laughed with them and clapped.
The blond boy stood and looked down at Kate—taller and older than she’d thought, maybe nineteen or twenty. “You’re right. People would pay money to see that.” He smiled—handsome enough to make her wish she’d been a little nicer. “You’re Kitty Hildebrand, aren’t you?”
Which explained the sudden chattiness. She replied coolly, “I am.”
He pushed his hands into his pockets, looking amused by the chill. “I’m Tad Falcon, the production manager on this picture. My father just gave me the unwelcome task of finding some way of using you—without really using you—and I think I just found the answer.”
“Oh?” Kate sat straighter, her face warming as she tried to remember what rude things she’d said about his father. “I know I’m not a good actress.”
“No, you’re an organizer, and I could use a good organizer around here. How would you like to be my production assistant, Kitty?”
She blinked, unsure what that meant. “Well … first of all, I go by Kate now.”
“She’ll do it,” Hugo said.
She glared at Hugo, then returned her attention to Tad—which meant looking up. He had to be at least six-two or -three. “What does a production assistant do?”
He shrugged. “Help me organize hundreds of people and thousands of dollars. Fetch coffee and get blamed for everything. Work half the night and come back at dawn. I won’t lie—it’s hard work and no glamour. Oh—and not much money.”
Kate stared at him. In a strange way, it sounded fabulous.
“You’ll get credit in the publicity, of course. My father will see to that. And—” His lips tilted in a teasing smile. “If you accept the job, I think you’ll like your first task.” He tipped his head toward the dance floor. “Go tell Bonnie and that Latin friend of yours to meet me in the music department. I want our music director to hear them sing together.”