Stolen Kiss with the Hollywood Starlet Page 2

  He spun, and frustration washed over him. The suitcase had landed on the hood of his roadster. His brand-new roadster. He’d owned it less than a month. Gingerly, he lifted the hard-sided suitcase off the hood, checking to make sure none of the bright red paint had been scratched.

  It didn’t appear to be. The chrome Flying Goddess of Speed hood ornament appeared undamaged, too, so did the big chrome headlights on both sides of the ornament.

  “Well, give it here,” she said. “Why’d you try to run me down like that?”

  Walter handed her the suitcase as more frustration filled him. “Run you down? I wasn’t attempting to run you down. I’d just pulled away from the curb and you jumped out in front of me. There is a city ordinance against jaywalking. You can be arrested for that.”

  “Arrested?” She took a step back. “For what?”

  “Jaywalking.”

  “Ain’t never heard of that.” A deep frown wrinkled the smooth skin between her brows. “What is it?”

  “Jaywalking?”

  She nodded.

  Between her accent and knowledge, it was apparent she was not from California. Had most likely just stepped off the train from some Midwest town. That was where most of the newcomers came from. The center of the nation. He’d been born and raised there, smack-dab in the middle of nowhere, and had been happy to leave. “It means you can’t cross the street in the center of the block. You have to walk to one corner or the other.”

  She looked up the road, and then down it, before turning to look at him again. “Now, why would I want to walk all the way to that there corner?” She pointed up the street. “Or all the way down to that there one.” She pointed to the corner behind him. “When where I want to go is right there.” She pointed directly across the street. “Makes no living sense to me.”

  Yes, she was most certainly from the Midwest. Walter pointed to one, then the other corner. “Drivers know to watch for pedestrians at the corners.” He then pointed at the road before her. “Not in the middle of the road.”

  Her short blond hair bounced as she shook her head. “Well, they better learn to. It ain’t that hard. Folks back home do it all the time.” She gestured at his car. “You need to learn it, too.”

  A horn honked. “Get out of the road!” a driver shouted while steering around the Packard.

  Walter ignored the driver. “No, you need to learn not to jaywalk. Better yet, why don’t you just walk back to the train station, on the sidewalk, and go back home.”

  Her eyes, a deep blue, narrowed and darkened as she planted a hand on her hip. “I just got here and no one is going to make me leave.”

  A part of him felt sorry for her, the other part was thoroughly disgusted. Not by her, but by what she expected. Los Angeles was full of newcomers. Just like her. All dreaming the same dream. “Look around. The streets aren’t lined with gold and the beds aren’t made of rose petals.” That was what the magazines made people believe, and believe they did. “Go home. You’ll be glad you did.”

  “No, I won’t. I came here planning to stay, and stay I will.”

  “Plan on becoming a star, do you?” He huffed out a breath. That wasn’t a dream. It was a nightmare. One he was still living.

  “No. A singer.” She squared her shoulders. “Folks back home say I got the voice of an angel.”

  He shook his head. She’d find out sooner or later, so he might as well tell her. “There are no angels in Los Angeles.” Just a lot of devils. He personally knew several of them.

  She lifted her chin a bit higher. “There are now.”

  He should just surrender. Leave her to her head-in-the-sky dreams. “Where are you from? Kansas? Oklahoma?” Her accent wasn’t deep enough for Texas.

  “Nebraska. And I ain’t going back.”

  He remembered wanting to leave that state, and had left it, only to discover there were times that he wished he’d ended up someplace other than here. Burying those thoughts, he asked, “Why?”

  “Because I’m a singer.” A tiny frown formed over the bridge of her nose. “At least, that’s what I’m going to be. Soon. Real soon.”

  Another car honked, the driver shouted, shaking a fist while driving past.

  There was nothing he could do to change her mind. That was for sure. So there was no use trying. He should have known better right from the beginning. “You keep jaywalking, and you’ll become an angel, all right.” He pointed toward the sidewalk. “Walk to one corner or the other before you try crossing the street again.”

  She shook her head. “I tell you, that there is about the craziest thing I ever did hear.”

  He took a step toward his car, but stopped, looked at her again. She was cute with her big blue eyes, blond hair and catalog-ordered dress. Cute enough to catch attention. He didn’t like the thought of that, but it was a reality. She was of no concern of his; however, he knew one thing for sure. “You won’t get a singing job here.”

  She puffed up like a hen shooed off its nest. “You can bet your darn tooting boots I will.”

  He lifted up a foot, showing her a shoe. “I’m not wearing boots. No one here wears boots. And no one is going to hire you to sing speaking the way you speak.”

  “Speak—” Her eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong with the way I talk?”

  “Nothing.” He let out a sigh because being rude wasn’t his way, but neither was lying. “In Nebraska. But California wants the entire nation to believe everyone here is sophisticated. A cut above the rest, and you sound like you’re a country bumpkin straight off the train. Which you are.” A solid stab of guilt hit his stomach at the way her face fell. However, a little disappointment now was nothing compared to what she was going to experience. “Go home,” he said earnestly. “Just go home.”

  She spun around. “You go home.”

  A heavy sigh escaped as Walter watched her march between the cars and back onto the sidewalk. He couldn’t help but think how another beautiful woman would soon be gobbled up by the evils that be, and that there wasn’t anything anyone could do about it.

  Trying one last time, he leaned against the side of his car, and shouted, “It’s not here. Whatever you hope to find, it isn’t here.”

  She looked at him and spread her arms wide. “Hope? Hope is everywhere. You should go get yourself some.”

  Chapter Two

  The clicking of her heels on the concrete no longer made Shirley smile. She was too mad for that. He had to be the rudest man ever. Almost running her down with his big red car, and telling her to go home ’cause there’s no hope here.

  Fool.

  Hope was everywhere. Like dreams. You just had to snatch it up and hold it inside. Without it, there was no point in living. Hope was all she’d had for years; it’s what kept her going after she’d lost everything, everyone. It was what had brought her all the way to California. He was wrong. Hope was here, all right, because it was inside her. If a person didn’t have hope, they didn’t have anything. He needed to learn that.

  “There ain’t nothing wrong with the way I talk, either,” she muttered under her breath.

  Goose bumps rose up on her arms as she remembered Miss Larsen, the schoolteacher she’d had for only a short time. Pretty and young, Miss Larsen had been from out east somewhere, and had talked so funny the kids had teased her. Teased her so much she’d left.

  Miss Larsen had said that ain’t was not a word. They’d all thought she’d been wrong. The silliest teacher ever.

  “Excuse me.”

  Shirley turned, but the person who’d spoken stepped past her into the street. So did others. She looked left and right, twice, and then followed. Others followed her, and they all made it across without anyone getting hit. The cars stopped, letting the last few folks make it all the way to the sidewalk before the cars started moving again.

  She looked up and down the blocks. The
only place people were walking across the streets were at the corners.

  Dang.

  Huffing out a breath, she shook her head. Just because he was right about that—jaywalking—didn’t mean he was right about everything. Him in his fancy black-and-white suit. Even his shoes had been black-and-white. Shoes like that weren’t made for working. That’s for sure. Neither was that fancy suit, even though it sure made him look nice. So did his hair, the way it was trimmed and combed over to one side. She’d only seen men who looked that spiffy, that handsome, in magazines. There hadn’t been a hint of a whisker on his chin. Matter of fact, his face had been so pleasant to look at she’d kept trying not to look at him because for some silly reason it made her heart pitter-patter.

  She wasn’t here for pitter-patter. She was here to sing.

  Turning about, she walked toward the newspaper stand. It sure seemed like a waste of time to walk all the way to the corner, then across the street, and all the way back down this side of the street, but if that was way folks around here did things, she’d just have to get used to it.

  That wouldn’t be so hard.

  A few minutes later, she decided crossing the street at the corners was downright easy compared to deciding what newspaper to buy. She’d never seen so many. In the end, she picked the one with a picture of a big building on the front page and a headline about a new theater that would open soon. The man selling the newspapers said that building was only a few blocks away, so that paper seemed like a logical choice.

  She paid the man, tucked the newspaper under her arm and walked down the block to where a sign said the soup of the day was tomato.

  The inside of the café was red and white everything, right down to the floor. She found a seat at a white table and sat down on a red chair, smiling at how bright and cheery everything appeared. Far cheerier than that man driving the red car. He had been nice looking, though. Far nicer than any of Olin’s sons. It could have been his suit. She wasn’t used to seeing men in suits.

  “What can I get for you?”

  Shirley glanced up at the woman with a red scarf tied around her dark brown hair. It was tied with a big red bow smack-dab in the middle of the top of her head. It looked spiffy. Shirley figured she might have to tie a scarf that way on her head. She’d have to buy one first. Which meant she needed to get a job.

  “I would like a bowl of soup, please, and a cup of coffee,” she said, and then held her breath, waiting for the woman to comment on the way she talked.

  The woman smiled and nodded. “Coming right up.”

  Shirley smiled, too, mainly to herself. That man didn’t know what he was talking about. Determined to forget all about him, she laid the newspaper on the table, but then, just out of curiosity, scanned the entire front page for the word ain’t.

  By the time a bowl of soup and cup of coffee were set on the table, she’d skimmed the entire newspaper and hadn’t found the word. Not once.

  That was fine, she didn’t need that word, anyway. Pert-near never said it.

  She scanned the newspaper again while eating her soup.

  “Well, gal-darn it,” she whispered.

  The soup was gone, except for a small amount on the bottom. She grasped the bowl with both hands, but then looked around the room. Others had bowls of soup, but none had picked up the bowl to drink the last bits, so she slid her hands off the bowl and folded them in her lap.

  She watched and listened to other people, especially a woman dressed in a dark blue dress and wearing white shoes.

  “More coffee?”

  Shirley nodded and slid her cup to the edge of the table.

  “New to town?” the waitress asked as she poured the coffee.

  “Yes, I am,” Shirley answered, conscious of how she sounded. She didn’t sound like that other woman, that was for sure. “I truly am,” she added, focusing on sounding less like, well, a country bumpkin.

  “If you’re looking for a job, Mel—he owns this place—is looking for a dishwasher.”

  If felt as if someone had just kicked her in the stomach. Washing dishes. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, but she’d washed dishes her entire life, and had sworn she wouldn’t do that again. Not for someone other than herself.

  Once again, trying to make herself sound different, sophisticated, Shirley nodded. “Thank you, I will keep that in mind.” She’d heard the woman in the blue dress say that just a few moments ago. Then a hint of excitement fluttered across her stomach. If the waitress knew about a dishwashing job, she might know about other ones. “Do you know of any singing jobs?”

  The waitress shook her head. “No.” She nodded toward a man sitting at a table. The same man who’d been talking to the woman in the blue dress. She’d left, but he hadn’t. “Roy would be the man to talk to about that.” The waitress slid the coffee cup back to the center of the table. “Coffee and soup’s fifty cents.”

  Fifty cents? Shirley picked her purse up off the floor. At these prices she’d be broke in less time than it took to sneeze. She counted out the change and handed it to the waitress. “Thank you.”

  “Good luck to you.”

  As soon as the waitress walked away, the man rose from his chair and walked over.

  “I couldn’t help but overhear you say that you’re a singer.” He pulled out the chair on the other side of her table. “Mind if I sit down?”

  Shirley’s insides leaped so fast she almost flew off her chair. “Yes, I am a singer.” He was wearing a suit, like that fella that had almost run her down with his big red car. She peeked around the edge of the table. He wasn’t wearing boots, either. She wouldn’t hold that against him. Nodding at the chair so he’d go ahead and sit down, she added, “Been singing my entire life.”

  The guy with the red car, his hair had been the color of sand; this fella’s was as dark as garden dirt. So were his eyes, and he had a pointed jaw. Made her wonder if it was on account he rubbed it so much. That’s what he was doing now. Rubbing his chin.

  “Tell me about your experience,” he said, still rubbing his jaw.

  “My experience?”

  He smiled. “Yes. Singing. Where have you sung before?”

  “Oh.” She waved a hand. Should have known that’s what he meant. “Everywhere. While cooking, cleaning, gardening, working in the barn, feeding the hogs. I just sing all the time. Have for as long as I can remember.”

  “I see.”

  He leaned back in his chair and stared at her so hard she wanted to make sure her collar wasn’t flipped up or something. She was about to check when he gave a slight nod.

  “Have you ever sung in front of people?” he asked.

  “Oh, sure. Every Sunday I could make it to church.” Wanting him to know how good she was, she continued. “Folks there said I had the voice of an angel. Churches up over in Lincoln had me come sing at funerals whenever I could make it.”

  “Lincoln?”

  She nodded. “Lincoln.” The way he frowned said he might not know where that was, so she added, “Nebraska.”

  “Oh, yes, Nebraska. I’ve heard of that.” He folded his arms across his chest. “How long have you been in California?”

  “Since the train I just got off crossed the state line.” Her heart shot into her throat as he glanced at the door. Afraid he might leave, she asked, “Wanna hear?”

  “Hear what?”

  “Me sing.” Before he could say no, she drew in a deep breath and let the words flow. “Amazing grace, how sweet...”

  She continued through the third verse, then, repeating the final line, she held on to the notes while letting her voice slowly fade away. Others back home liked how she’d always done that.

  Folks here must, too, because everyone in the café was looking at her and clapping. Excitement fluttered inside her stomach. She smiled and nodded at them, and then turned her full attention to the m
an sitting at her table.

  “That was very good,” he said when the clapping stopped.

  “I know.” Folks had been telling her that for years. “That’s why I’m here.”

  Smiling, he nodded. “What is your name?”

  “Shirley. Shirley Burnette.”

  “Well, Miss Burnette, I’m Roy Harrison.” He stretched a hand across the table. “It’s very nice to make your acquaintance.”

  She gave his hand a solid shake. “You, too, Mr. Harrison.”

  He leaned back in his chair again. “Miss Burnette, I’d like to offer you the opportunity to audition for some people I know. I’m confident once they hear you, they will offer you a job.”

  Her heart nearly stopped right then and there. At the exact same time happiness burst inside her. She’d never been so happy in her entire life. If she hadn’t been sitting down, she’d be jumping up and down like a baby bird learning to fly.

  “Do you have accommodations?” Mr. Harrison asked.

  Still trying to stay seated, for the excitement inside her was getting harder and harder to control, she held her breath for a moment. “Accommodations? You mean a place to stay?”

  “Yes.”

  “No, sir, not yet.”

  “Well, Miss Burnette, I can help with that, too.”

  Oh! Glory be! California is the place to be! Ain’t even—No, haven’t even been here a day and already have a job and a place to live. That guy in the red car might have been right about the boots and the jaywalking, but he sure was wrong about everything else.

  * * *

  Walter couldn’t get the sassy, country-bumpkin blonde woman out of his head. It had been over two weeks but she was still there. On his mind. He was worried about her. About where she ended up. He’d like to think she’d taken his advice and gone back home, but he highly doubted that. She was too determined to do anything that reasonable.

  He’d known another woman like that, and she was dead. It had been four years now; the days had gotten easier, but other things, namely the guilt, had gotten worse. In hindsight, he would have done things differently. Given her the divorce she’d wanted. Maybe then Lucy would still be alive.