Lauri Robinson - Baby On His Hollywood Doorstep

She frowned. “Will he be back? To Hollywood?”

“I honestly don’t know, but I doubt it.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, she glanced down at Grace. “Not even for his daughter?”

Jack didn’t know. Long ago he’d stopped trying to figure out his brother. There were times Joe had been there when he’d needed him. When they’d been in their teens and their parents had died. Joe had gotten them to California and then taken on any and all menial jobs he could get, while insisting Jack go to school. Filmmaking was new and raw then, and Joe hung in there when others hadn’t and finally worked his way into acting. The money he’d made then had not only kept them both in food and clothes, it had funded the start of Star’s Studio.

Although he hadn’t wanted that in the beginning—he’d wanted to try something completely different from what he’d always known—he’d stuck with it because Joe had wanted it.

They’d made money, more than they would have elsewhere, and he owed his brother for that. For all he had, and always would. He’d never forgotten that, either. Nor would.

“I won’t know that until I talk to him.” He’d make some calls in the morning, to a couple of the film companies that were popping up down in Florida. He’d heard through the grapevine that Joe had been down there, looking for work a few months ago. Trouble was, Joe might not call him back. They’d been at crossroads when Joe had left, and nothing had happened to resolve that.

“I have no idea when that might be,” he admitted. “But, I can promise, that if you give me eight weeks, enough time to get this movie made and into theaters, I’ll then take over full responsibility for Grace. I’ll pay for all of her needs starting right now. I just need you to take care of her.”

“Eight weeks...”

The tremors in her voice shifted his train of thought. He knew actors. There were people who could instantly step into a role, become a character completely, then there were others, that no matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t act. Couldn’t pretend to be anyone other than themselves.

He’d put her in that second category. She also couldn’t hide something else. She was scared. Beyond scared. Her hands were trembling and she kept glancing at Grace, almost as if the baby might pop up and fly away like some little bird.

“What aren’t you telling me?” he asked.

She looked away while gnawing on her bottom lip. Even her arms were trembling. So was her chin.

“What’s preventing you from accepting my offer?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

His hope rose. “Nothing?”

She shook her head. “Everything.”

Huffing out a breath, he asked, “Which is it? Nothing or everything?” Maybe all of his imagining her on the big screen was because she could act. Or lie. Had been lying all along. “Is Grace not who you say she is? Is she your baby and you made all this up about Vera and Joe?”

“No.” Her shoulders squared as she leveled a glare on him. “Everything I have told you about Grace and Vera is true. The letters say as much.”

He didn’t need to read the letters. He knew she wasn’t lying. He was just stuck between a rock and a hard spot. “I’m sorry. I do believe you.” Standing, he rubbed at the tension in the back of his neck. “There is one other thing that I haven’t mentioned yet. Another reason I need you to care for Grace.”

“What is it?”

“Right now, while I’m making this movie and getting it out to the public, I can’t have word spread that I’ve taken in Joe’s abandoned baby. This is Hollywood. The rules change daily. That could be enough to have me blackballed for still associating with my brother.” His own words sickened him. “I know that sounds selfish, but it’s the truth. I can’t argue for it or against it, it’s just what it is right now.”

“So you want me to pretend like Grace is my baby?”

He didn’t want to face her, but did. “I want you to go on taking care of her, not saying anything, one way or the other.” He wasn’t proud of this, but he had to think of his future, of what this movie meant, perhaps even more now than ever. He had Grace to think about. Her future.

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