CHAPTER FOUR
After a dreadfully long ride, the cab stopped beside a downtrodden diner. A crooked, hand-painted Skinny’s sign sat above fingerprint-streaked windows.
Oren leaned against the seat in front of him. “Are you sure this is the right place?”
“It’s the address you gave me, Mr. Cooper,” the cabbie said.
“Leave it to George to pick somewhere like this,” Oren mumbled as he reached for his wallet to pay the fare. Through one of the splotchy windows, he spotted George in the back corner of the nearly empty diner. He entered, dipping his chin to his chest as he walked past the oblivious hostess flipping through a magazine.
“Good morning.” Oren took off his hat and sat in the ripped, red booth. “Care to tell me why you’ve dragged me from my rooms so early in the day?”
“Early? Ha!” George took a drink of his coffee then brushed a few stray drops from his moustache with a thin paper napkin. “You left the party hours before anyone else did.”
“I wasn’t feeling well.” Oren cleared his throat as he straightened his place setting. He didn’t want to talk about last night. Hell, he still didn’t understand why he left the way he did. He’d been trying to make sense of it all morning, hoping to concoct a reasonable excuse to give to Tillie. “I think I had a migraine.”
“Oren.” George dropped his voice an octave, and he sounded like a concerned parent. With his forearms pressed to the fading-gray table, he leaned closer. “You can tell me if you brought a woman up to your room.”
Oren rolled his eyes. “That’s a good guess, but it didn’t happen.”
George studied him, looking unconvinced. “Okay, okay. Moving on…I got an interesting telephone call yesterday before the show. I wanted to tell you about it at the party, but you left before I could get you alone.”
One of Oren’s brows quirked. “An interesting phone call?”
“Some bigwig from MGM.” George flapped his wrist dismissively, like the man’s name didn’t matter. Oren smiled privately. Boy, did ol’ George hold a grudge against Hollywood. “They want to make a Me and Juliet film, and they want you to star in it. Shooting starts in four months.”
His brow furrowed. “But my contract is for six.”
“You’ll get out of your contract.” George brought his coffee cup to his lips and paused before taking a drink. “If people hear about this movie, we’ll sell out every night long after you’ve gone back to the west coast.”
Oren snickered. “Oh, so that’s why you decided to work together? It wasn’t because I changed your mind during our little talk. No, you realized you could make money off me.”
George wagged a finger at him. “I’m making us both money, and now you have a job waiting for you when you get back.”
Oren pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and dabbed along his brow line. Was he ready to leave New York? Maybe. If his intuition was right, his passion for the business had been reignited when he sang with Tillie. There was something about her—her talent, presence, beauty, or a combination of all three—that made him truly commit to a performance for the first time in years. He couldn’t wait to get on stage that night, to see if the effects carried over.
If he only he’d have a chance to sing with her again. Unfortunately, he’d probably ruined any chance of that happening.
The waitress came by with a coffee for Oren and a refill for George.
Oren poured milk into the chipped cup. “What about Blanche? Does the studio want her to play the lead?”
“No way.” George shook three sugar packets. “We can hide certain things on stage that the camera can’t ignore. They’re looking for someone younger.”
Oren sat up. “What about Tillie?”
He’d had spat out the question before he’d fully formed the idea in his mind. She’d be great for the part. He’d get to sing with her again. She’d have to come out to Hollywood. The more he thought of it, the more Oren thought it a perfect scenario.
“No.” George made a slashing motion with his hand. “The studio will never go for her.”
Oren’s pulse sped as he took offense on her behalf. “Why not? She was spectacular last night. You know as well as I do that she could be America’s next sweetheart.”
“That’s the problem. She’s too sweet. Every actress needs to have an edge to them, even if isn’t something they let the public see. It gives them versatility. Tillie Parker is apple pie and vanilla ice cream. Frankly, I think Hollywood would eat a girl like her alive.”
Oren sat back in is booth and crossed his arms over chest, flashing George a quizzical look. “You can’t be serious.”
George propped his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Listen, Oren. She’s not ready for a gig like this. Let her pay her dues on Broadway, work a few more chorus girl roles, and gain some life experience.”
Oren exhaled a heavy breath through his nostrils. “You’re wrong about her.”
“We’ll see.” George sat back as the waitress placed a plate of eggs, sausage, and toast in front of him. “A producer is flying out in a week to meet with you and conduct a few closed auditions. Bring the girl along, if you like. Just keep her away from Blanche, will you? She’ll do her best to ruin any actress younger and more talented than she is.”
“Brilliant idea.”
As he reached across the table and took a piece of George’s toast, Oren wondered if Tillie would let him talk to her long enough to tell her about the producer.
***
Tillie stifled a yawn with the back of her hand as she grabbed an order pad and tucked it into her uniform. After the cab ride home from The Blue Bar, she’d been awake to watch the sunrise. Even though Norma had agreed to cover the breakfast shift so Tillie could get some much-needed shut-eye, she laid awake in her bed, daydreaming about the possibilities which might be borne out of her impromptu performance. Sometimes, and only sometimes, she’d think about how much it hurt when she realized Oren had left without saying goodbye.
Norma came behind the bar, scanning her order pad. “Are you ready to take over from here, Till?”
Tillie yawned into her shoulder this time. “Of course. Go. Please. Enjoy your day.”
“Ten’s my last table.” Norma tore a sheet from her pad and handed it to Tillie. “Let’s split the tip.”
“Deal.” Tillie took the slip and looked it over. Two burgers, two sodas, two orders of fries. It didn’t get much easier. “Thanks again for coming in on your day off.”
Norma flicked her wrist. “Don’t worry about it. You covered for me a couple of weeks ago when I had that audition. It’s what friends do.”
“Burgers and fries,” the cook called as he slammed two plates down on the counter.
“Here, you go.” Norma picked up the plates, spun, and passed them over to Tillie. “Already gave them a bottle of ketchup.”
Tillie took the plates and kissed Norma on the cheek. “Go enjoy the rest of your day. Don’t make me keep saying it.”
As Norma readied to leave, Tillie delivered the burgers to table ten. Then, she poured herself a cup of coffee. She’d need it if she were going to stay awake. She hadn’t been tired at the party, but now her adrenaline had worn off.
After a few sips, Tillie noticed a man at the end of the bar with his head buried in a paper. She pulled out her order pad and used it to stifle one more yawn as she walked over.
Wearing her practiced smile, knowing it lacked its usual brightness, she started, “Good afternoon, I’m Tillie and I’ll be your—”
“Tillie.” Oren tugged the paper to reveal the top half of his face. “We need to talk.”
A gasp escaped her. She hadn’t known if she would ever see Oren again and she certainly hadn’t expected it to be so soon. She was angry for his flippant treatment of her, but she swallowed down her feelings. Maybe he’d come to make things right. It wouldn’t excuse what he did, but years of loving Oren from afar had softened her heart on him.
Her brows pinched together. “About what?”
Oren tugged the paper even lower to expose the rest of his face. “Your career.”
“If last night was any indication, my career is in tip-top shape.” She scribbled in her pad to make it appear as if she was jotting down an order. “I suppose I should thank you. If you hadn’t asked me to sing, I probably would have slunk around the whole party in your shadow like a mouse hoping to snatch a piece of cheese.”
“Have you gotten any job offers?” Oren asked in a clipped tone.
“No, but—”
“I talked to George this morning. MGM’s casting a Me and Juliet film. I’ll keep my part as Larry, but they’re looking for someone to play Jeanie.”
Tillie’s pulse sped. “Is George going to recommend me for the role?”
“That’s the thing.” Oren peeked over both shoulders, then dropped his voice to hover just above a whisper. “George thinks you’re too pure. Too innocent. Not just for this role. For all of them. He thinks you need life experience, whatever the hell he means by that.”
Her mouth formed an ‘o’. “He said that?”
Tillie tapped her pencil on her order pad and chewed her bottom lip. She’d thought last night had gone well. George had bought her a drink and called her a star. Had she misread his reaction? Had she been so drunk off the excitement she’d lost touch with reality?
“He did.” One corner of Oren’s mouth curled into a mischievous smirk. “But I have a plan. One that will be advantageous for both of us.”
Tillie held up her pointer finger. “Hold on.” She quickly checked on table ten then poured a cup of coffee for Oren. He didn’t order it, but she’d need another excuse to go over there if they wanted to remain inconspicuous.
The cup clattered in its saucer when she put it down. “What’s your plan?
“I came to New York to reconnect with my craft and my roots, which means I’m staying away from booze and women for the time being. No one knows that, though.”
“What does this have to do with me?” she asked, remembering the ginger ale he’d disguised as a cocktail.
“I’m going to a dinner tonight with a composer from MGM. I’d like you to come as my girlfriend.”
Tillie raised a brow. “And then what?”
“And then word will start to spread that we’re together, and it’ll give you an edge.” Oren’s expression grew somber. “I owe you, anyway, after leaving so suddenly last night. I wish I could explain my behavior, but I can’t. Just know it will never happen again, and I’m sorry.”
His apology was strange, but she was too intrigued by his offer to question him. Men like Oren didn’t usually admit fault. Or at least, she assumed so. She didn’t have much experience with the justifiably cocky type.
Pretending to be Oren Cooper’s girlfriend would be easy enough. He was tall, handsome, and so talented it made her knees weak. The hard part would be not falling in love with him.
Tillie tapped her bottom lip. “You really think it’ll work?”
Oren nodded before taking a swig of coffee. “I really do.”
If the plan did work, she could have everything she ever wanted, or almost everything. She had to give it a chance, even if it meant she might land in California with a broken heart.
“Tomorrow night it is, then.”