Greta, the other waitress, walked out the door, and he had to step aside so she had enough room for the laden tray she was carrying. Both she and Rosie had come to him begging for an audition at one time. Joe hadn’t sent them. Nor had he sent hundreds of other women. They’d come on their own. The population of LA grew by the thousands every year. People from all walks of life, from all corners of the world, arrived daily, dazzled by the idea of stardom, thinking all they had to do was arrive in Hollywood and all their dreams would come true.
They had reason to believe that might happen. Movie theaters were springing up across the nation, demanding new picture shows daily. Over eight hundred films had been produced last year alone, and more would be this year, giving the public what they were clamoring for. However, it was the magazines and newspapers that suckered people in. They wrote stories of filmmakers on the lookout for talent. Encouraged people to come to LA. Trouble was, those stories were more fictional than the movies being filmed.
He’d long ago grown tired of being the one to shatter the dreams of so many. The truth hurt, and the truth was, moviemaking was a cutthroat industry. Those who were in, were in, those who weren’t, weren’t, and most likely never would be. A very small percentage of the people who’d come to him truly had the talent they’d need to make it in the film industry. Fewer had the resolve. It wasn’t an easy profession, or as glamorous as people thought.
Rosie and Greta had both been upset with him at first, but had gotten over it.
As soon as Greta was out of the way, he pushed open the swinging door of the kitchen.
Julia was at the stove, but it was the woman washing dishes that caught his eye. He didn’t recognize her, and would have if he’d ever seen her before. Although partially hidden behind a pair of glasses, she had an extremely unique set of pale blue eyes. So unique they made him wish the ability to film in color had already been perfected. It would be, some day. And eyes like that would stand out on the big screen. Without the glasses, of course.
“Jack, what are you doing back here?”
He pulled his gaze from the woman and turned to where Julia stood near the stove. Dressed as usual in pink from head to toe, except for the black net that held her dark hair back, she frowned at him.
“There was a woman earlier, running across the street,” he said. “Do you know where she went?”
Julia’s frown increased as she looked at him, then at the woman washing dishes.
A shiver rippled down his spine as he turned in the direction of the sink again. This time he gave her a long appraisal. From the toes of her scuffed brown shoes to the top of her head, where a mass of glistening brown hair was pinned in a soft roll around the base of her head. Except for several corkscrew bangs that hung down and caught on her long eyelashes as she blinked behind those wire-rimmed glasses and settled that unique light blue gaze on him.
Her eyes weren’t the only unique, striking thing about her. The shape of her face was perfect, elegant, her poise graceful, and her skin was flawless. Unblemished and not covered with cosmetics. It was creamy and tinged pink naturally in all the right places. Even her lips had a natural shine about them and were perfectly bowed in the center.
Maybe he should audition her. Even with black-and-white filming, those eyes would stand out. All of her would.
He had to shake his head to get his thinking straight. “You? You’re the woman who dropped a baby off at my studio?”
Shock covered her face as her mouth dropped open.
“A baby?”
“Yes,” Jack said in response to Julia’s question without taking his eyes off the other woman. “A baby.”
“I thought she was just one more wannabe actress, crying her eyes out over not getting an audition,” Julia said.
Anger flared inside him as the woman just stood there, looking at him like he was the oddest thing she’d ever seen. Ignoring Julia’s explanation, he said to the woman, “I have no idea who are you, but you must really think I’m a sap. Let me tell you, I’m not.” He took a step closer and continued in a low, raspy whisper, “I’ve met a lot of two-bit dames looking to make a name for themselves, but never have I had one sink so low as to accuse me of being a father in order to further their own ambitions.” He pointed a finger at the door. “That’s not my child. I know that and you know that, so hightail yourself across the street and collect your baby.”
She blinked several times. Then, shaking her head, whispered, “You aren’t Joe McCarney?”
“No, I’m not, I’m—” Realization hit like a bolt of lightning.
Damn it, Joe! Jack wanted to shout that, several times over. You’ve gone too far this time!
Helen’s heart was so far into her throat, it was strangling her. Fighting through the pressure, she asked, “Who are you? Where’s Grace? Is she all right?”
“I’m Jack McCarney. And your baby, Grace, is across the street. At the studio.”
“You left her alone?” Helen untied the apron and pulled it off.
“She’s not alone. She’s with my secretary. The same one you left her with hours ago.”
Helen was fighting hard not to run across the street to get back to Grace. She’d fought it all afternoon. A part of her had kept telling herself to get as far away as possible, but the other part of her had refused, saying she had to stay long enough to make sure Grace was fine. From a distance.
At some point, while she’d been crying her eyes out, Julia had offered her a job of washing dishes to pay for room and board for a few days.
Julia assured that was common practice for her. That she often allowed girls needing a place to stay to reside with her in the small house behind the diner until they were able to acquire lodging elsewhere. Julia also hadn’t pried. She’d never once asked why she was here, crying her eyes out. And Helen had been too weak to say no, to refuse the offer of a job and accommodation, because it would mean that she’d be able to make sure that Grace would be okay. Would be cared for. Loved.
A shiver rippled Helen’s spine as the man before her ran a hand through his hair.
His blond hair.
“What did you say your name is?” she asked. He certainly wasn’t the man in the picture with Vera. That man, Joe McCarney, had black hair.
“Jack McCarney,” he answered.
A leering glare from his brown eyes settled on her so fully, so completely, her entire body quivered.
Oh, dear Lord, what had she done?
She was almost afraid to ask, but had to. “Are you related to Joe McCarney?”
“I’m his brother.”
“Joe McCarney is Grace’s father.” Hoping to justify what she’d done, she added, “All I had was the address across the street.”
“Jack—” Julia started.
“Joe isn’t any more that baby’s father than I am,” he barked.
The disapproval in Julia’s face sent another shiver racing over Helen. “Yes, he is,” she said. “I have proof.”
He scowled. “Proof? What sort of proof.”
“A—a marriage license and a wedding picture,” she answered. “They are in my purse. I should have left them with Grace, but forgot about them.”
“Forgot? How could you forget about your marriage license? Your wedding picture?”
Shaking all the way to her core, Helen