If I Can't Have You (34 page)

“Coincidence.”

“I told you about spraining my ankle when I was filming
Captain Caribe.”

“A made-up story. I know everything about Trevor Montgomery, and I never heard that one before. You could easily concoct stories and say everything I knew was a lie.”

“What about the scratches on my back? What about the things Janet Julian told you?”

“Everything’s coincidence. You could have done your homework just like I’ve been doing.”

“You’re not going to believe me, are you?”

Slowly she shook her head and walked toward her bedroom. She grabbed a bag from the closet and went to the guest bedroom.

Trevor leaned against the doorjamb, watching her
neatly fold his suit and place it inside along with the shirts and ties, the underwear and shoes, everything they’d purchased. On top she placed the shrunken tux, closed the lid, and fastened the latches.

“I’d like you to leave,” she said, her face devoid of expression except for the tears falling from her eyes.

“I’m not leaving. This is my home.”

“It could have been if you’d just told me the truth. If you’d told me you were Paul
Dorn
, if you’d said you were a struggling actor—”

She closed her eyes and sighed. “What does it matter. You lied to me. I don’t want you here any longer, and if you don’t leave now, I’ll call the police and tell them you’re an intruder and part of a blackmail scheme.”

“You couldn’t do it before. What makes you think you can do it now?”

“If necessary, I’ll ask Stewart for help. I don’t think he’ll have any reservations about getting rid of you.”

She walked toward the front door and held it open, just as she’d done that first night. “Please leave.”

“What about last night? What about all our days at Sparta? What about everything we’ve shared?”

“You’re a good actor, and I’ve been a fool.”

“You’re not a fool, Adriana. I’ve never known anyone like you.”

“Unfortunately,” she said, her lips beginning to tremble, “I’ve known too many men like you.”

He felt like hell. He wanted a drink but no matter how bad things got, he wasn’t going to touch a drop again. He’d made that promise to Adriana, and he wasn’t going to break it, even though she’d kicked him out of her home and her life.

Adriana.
Trevor thought of nothing else as he strolled along State Street, lugging the suitcase she’d thrust into his hands before she closed the door in his face. He thought of her smile, her laugh, and the tears cascading down her cheeks. He’d wanted to kiss them away; she wanted him gone.

He hadn’t argued. He’d just walked out the door and hitched a ride into town.

He’d walked for hours, remembering each moment they’d spent together. The way she’d watched him dip lobster into drawn butter at a restaurant on the wharf. The way her eyes had studied his lips as he licked his fingers
. He thought about the way her
hair breezed across her face as they walked on the beach. He thought of her warm blue eyes, her gentle smile. He thought of the tears of sorrow and concern she’d shed when he’d told her of his childhood, and how his heart had swelled when he realized that no one else had ever cried for him. He
thought about all the hours they’d spent making love. In the beginning she’d been afraid of his touch. Last night she’d begged for it.

She wanted him still. He was sure of it.

And he planned to get her back.

He loved her. God, how he loved her. He’d do just about anything to win her love, but first he had to prove his worth.

How could he do that, though? He had no money, no car, no job. What he did have was a 24-carat gold, waterlogged watch. The movement no longer worked, but the pawnshop owner he’d shown it to seemed to recognize its value. It was worth a hell of a lot more than the
fifty
dollars he’d been given, but that didn’t matter. It was enough to get him to Hollywood and enough to make a phone call or two, if necessary. He could live on cheap hamburgers and coffee for a day or two. Then he’d be broke again.

But that wasn’t going to happen. He’d survived Hollywood in the twenties when he’d had no money; he could easily do it again.

This time, at least he had Adriana at the forefront of his mind, and Adriana meant hope. He wasn’t going to give up.

He didn’t know how the studio system worked in the nineties, but he knew if he could get an audition with someone, anyone, he might stand a chance of getting a job. He’d begged before. Of course, he’d been only sixteen at the time and
back then
just about anyone could get a job at the studios. He didn’t want to start out as a janitor this time, but even a job like that was better than nothing. He’d do just about anything to make a little money.

He’d rather act, though.

What was it Stewart had said? Paul
Dorn
had auditioned for a part in a movie about Trevor Montgomery? Trevor smiled inwardly, realizing that the
perfect opportunity for finding a job had just presented itself. Surely he’d stand a chance if he tried out for the role. All he had to do was get into the studio and be himself.

He thumbed a ride from a trucker and was deposited at a bus depot not far from the Warner Bros. lot. He changed clothes in the rest room, washing and shaving in a sink coated with dark gray grime, dressed up in the suit and shirt Adriana had so carefully folded, then deposited the rest of his belongings in a beat-up metal locker.

It wasn’t exactly home, but he’d once lived in worse places.

Standing in front of the dingy mirror, he adjusted his navy-and-white silk tie, straightened the white handkerchief in his pocket, and buttoned the double-breasted navy pin-striped suit. He combed his hair, wetting it down and hoping it would stay put, just the way it had in the thirties. He wished he still had the mustache. That one added detail would probably clinch the role. It didn’t matter that he was the genuine thing—he had to look the part.

With all the preliminary work out of the way, he walked toward the studio and stood outside the gate, hands in his pants pockets, waiting for just the right person.

She was pretty, blond, and young. She had on an obscenely short skirt, heels that looked like lethal weapons, and breasts that Mae West would have envied. She was perfect, and she was walking toward him and the gates as if she belonged inside.

“Good afternoon,” he said, smiling his movie-idol smile.

She seemed a bit hesitant as she passed, and Trevor thought for sure she’d keep on walking, but he noticed her steps slow, and when she was at least ten feet away, she turned around and frowned. “Do I know you?” she asked.

Trevor shook his head. “No, and I’m not going to feed you a line about being someone famous. I’m a nobody who needs to get past those gates.” He smiled again. His smile had won him favors before, he hoped it would do it again. “Think you can help me out?”

“What, no offer to buy me lunch or dinner? No twenty-dollar bribe?”

“I’m broke.” He winked. “You get a smile and a thank-you.”

“At least you’re honest.”

“I try.”

Her name was Jen and she worked as a secretary to one of the producers who had offices at the studio. The guards at the gate knew her and didn’t blink an eye at seeing her bring in a guest.

“You wouldn’t by any chance know who’s producing the picture about the life of Trevor Montgomery, would you?”

She stopped and gazed at him, from head to toe and back again. “I knew you looked familiar. At least ten men have auditioned for that part already.”

“So you know about it?”

“A friend of mine, Andy Howell, auditioned yesterday. He wasn’t right, though. Seems the producer’s picky.”

“You know the producer?” he asked.

“Not well, but I’d be happy to show you his offices.”

She swung her purse as they walked. There wasn’t as much activity on the lot as there’d been when he was one of the studio’s biggest stars. He’d been here just a few weeks before, checking out the filming of
Dodge City.
Errol Flynn had been wearing a cowboy hat and a six-gun strapped to his hip. Alan Hale was riding a horse and Olivia de Havilland was playing Errol’s lady love. A year before the same group were
sporting tights and hats
with feathers, filming
Robin Hood.

Trevor had had lunch with David Niven and, using invisible swords, fenced with Basil Rathbone. He’d never shared the screen with either man, but he’d admired their work and found it an honor to be their friend.

But he knew no one on the lot today. He felt just as vulnerable as he had as a teen when he’d sneaked into the studio in much the same way. His smile had gotten him through many locked doors; he hoped it would do the same today.

He parted company with Jen and entered a bungalow with an unfamiliar production company name on the door. In the thirties he could walk straight into Jack Warner’s office, sit down and chat. Of course, he’d been a star back then, and as he’d told Jen earlier, now he was a nobody.

Getting into the producer’s office wasn’t going to be as easy.

Trevor knocked lightly on the door and smiled at the red-headed secretary as he peered around the edge. “Excuse me...” He peeked at the nameplate on her desk. “Miss Erickson. I was hoping to see the producer.”

Miss Erickson rolled her eyes when he closed the door and stepped in front of her desk.
“What do you want, Mr.
Dorn
? I thought Mr. Castle asked you not to come back again.”

Trevor smiled. He had the right place. Paul
Dorn
had already left his mark, but the pretty young redhead was too savvy to succumb to his devious charm.

“I’m afraid you have me mixed up with someone else.”

Miss Erickson raised a doubting brow. “You can change your voice, Mr.
Dorn
, but that doesn’t fool me.

“We’ve never spoken before. How could you possibly know my voice?”

“Stop teasing. Why are you here?”

“I’ve come to audition for the role of Trevor Montgomery.”

“You’ve done that before, and, I’m glad to say, the part’s already been filled.”

“With the wrong person, I’m sure. If you’d tell your boss...” What was the name she’d used? “If you’d tell Mr. Castle that Trevor Montgomery’s son is here, perhaps he’ll give me a moment.”

“You’ve tried that already, Mr.
Dorn
. Mr. Castle’s a busy man.”

“Too busy to talk to the perfect actor for his movie?”

“Too busy for you.”

Her phone rang and Trevor leaned against the corner of her desk, smiling while she talked, her gaze flicking from him to Mr. Castle’s door and back again. She continued to frown. He continued to smile, but she wasn’t falling for it.

Maybe he should just walk through that door and make his own grand entrance. No, that wouldn’t work. He’d learned a long time ago it was better to humor the secretary, get on her good side, before trying to speak with the boss. Trevor knew who ran the show.

“You know, Mr.
Dorn
, I could call security,” she said, frowning at Trevor when she hung up the phone. “They’d be happy to escort you out of here, especially since you don’t have an appointment.”

“Yes, I suppose you could. But then you might feel guilty for sending me away when Mr. Castle hasn’t had a chance to see me act. Would you like me to act for you?”

The woman shook her head, but Trevor ignored her, took a deep breath, and removed all expression from his face. He loosened his tie, mussed his hair,
and rubbed his eyes until they reddened and teared at the corners. He slumped down in the chair next to Miss Erickson’s desk and buried his head in his hands, letting his Oscar-winning lines from
One More Tomorrow
enter his mind.

“I have nothing left to offer you. I’ve squandered everything on too much booze, too much gambling, and, God forbid, too many women,” he said, his voice filled with anguish.
Slowly he raised his head and looked into the secretary’s mesmerized green eyes. “I have no right to ask your forgiveness, no right to ask for your help.” He reached across the table and took the secretary’s now-trembling hand. “You loved me once. I’m begging you to love me again.”