Lauri Robinson: Baby On His Hollywood Doorstep

He should be concerned, ask if the woman had gotten hit, but he wasn’t in the mood to be charitable. “Did she go into Julia’s diner?”

“I don’t know. The phone was ringing. I had a baby in my hands.”

She looked thoroughly flustered. He couldn’t blame her.

He spun around and headed for the door. “I’ll be right back.” Whoever that baby belonged to needed to come and get her. Right now.

“I leave in half an hour.”

“I’ll be right back,” he repeated, almost to the door.

“I have a date!”

“I’ll pay you extra,” he said, marching out the door. He didn’t have time for this kind of baloney. He’d just been given his shot to move Star’s Studio up the ladder and wasn’t about to let anything get in his way. Nothing at all. No one at all.

There was a break in traffic, so he shot across the street.

Grant Collins and Max Houlihan walked out of the diner just as Jack stepped up on the curb. He’d worked with both of them in the past and would again if the time came around that he needed to fill the roles of unsophisticated rubes. They were slapstick funny when they wanted to be. But right now he didn’t have time to listen to them spill.

“Ham’s as good as ever,” Grant said, gesturing a thumb over his shoulder. “But you best get in there if you want any. Terry Jones is bellied up to the counter.”

Terry Jones outweighed all three of them put together and ate as if he was purely dedicated to adding notches to his belt buckle. He was a heavyweight. Had been a boxer at one time, and was now the best set builder in all of Tinseltown.

Jack was no longer hungry, but even in more of a hurry to get inside. “Good to know,” he said, stepping around them to enter the diner.

The tables were all full, so were most of the stools that lined the counter. He had no idea what the woman he was looking for might look like, but recognized enough about the people filling the diner to believe none of them were her. He headed toward the counter and the door behind it that led to the kitchen.

“Hey, McCarney,” Terry Jones greeted from where he sat on the first stool. Jones popped an entire bun in his mouth. Whole. And swallowed it like a Labrador, one gulp, no chewing.

Jack didn’t know if he should nod, or shake his head. Instead of doing either, he grabbed ahold of Rosie’s arm, one of the girls who waited tables, as she walked past. “Where’s Julia?”

“Where do you think she is?” Rosie nodded her head toward the kitchen door.

He’d never been in the kitchen before. Had never had a reason to go back there, before today.

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.”