Lauri Robinson - Baby On His Hollywood Doorstep

She nodded.

He took her arm, guided her a couple of steps backward and onto the opposite end of the couch from where the baby was sleeping.

Despair filled her eyes as she said, “Florida is so far away.”

It was, but he wasn’t concerned about that. “Do you need a drink of water?”

She shook her head. “No, thank you, I’m fine.”

She didn’t look fine to him. Not so much as a hint of color had returned to her cheeks. Something inside him, an instinct of sorts, said it wasn’t Florida that had sapped the life out of her.

“I’m going to get you that glass of water,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

Jack kept one eye on her until he was at the doorway, then he hurried down the hallway to get a glass of water.

Secrecy was just one of the games played in Hollywood. It was played by almost everyone, and was also the one that no one wanted to get caught playing. For the most part, he’d never played that game himself. Hadn’t needed to.

He did recognize it though, and there was more to Helen Hathaway than she was letting on.

He could make some phone calls, see if he could locate Joe and question him about the woman’s accusations. But that was unnecessary. Would be futile, too. If Joe had married someone, and cared about her, or the baby, he wouldn’t need to be searched out.

On the other hand, if it wasn’t true, if this Helen Hathaway was looking for something else, Joe might know what that might be.

Jack clamped his back teeth together. He’d put nearly everything he had into this movie. Others had put up a good amount of money, too—not the Broadbents, real investors, and he was determined that not a hint of Joe’s name would be tied to this movie. Los Angeles was a big town and the movie industry was growing daily. In many ways. Good and bad. Corruption had already burrowed its way deep inside and studios were walking a fine line.

The powers that be who’d put themselves in charge of the industry wanted all of America to believe Hollywood was the pinnacle of this nation. Where dreams came true, streets were lined with gold, and beds made of rose petals.

It was all baloney. The billboards who put themselves in charge had more skeletons in their closets than those they were blackballing—like his brother. But that was the way it was, and would remain, until a few legitimate studios rose high enough to knock the big five off their pedestals.

And it would happen. Others were getting wise to the way the big companies had taken over theaters. Buying them up across the nation and monopolizing the movies that could be shown in “their” theaters. Only their movies. For every big hit, they forced the theaters to show dozens of their low-budget movies, controlling the payouts other films could make.

That was all about to turn around. Which is precisely what he was counting on happening. His new film could be the one that really changed things. It was a good script. With solid actors and a story line that would drive people into the theaters by the droves—theaters that would have the right to show whatever movies they chose. It was all lined up. If he made it with this film, finally he’d have secured his place in the movie industry. Finally he’d have the security he’d wanted for more years than he could count. And he’d have done it his way.

If nothing went astray.

An abandoned baby could cause that to happen. Cause trouble he couldn’t afford.

He got the water and headed back to his office.

She was still sitting on the couch, but now had one hand on the baby.

There was something about her that struck him deep inside. Had since he’d seen her unique blue eyes, and her nervousness made him curious to know exactly what she wanted, what she was hiding.

She glanced up and, as he’d seen her do several times, tilted her chin downward to look over the top of the glasses. Why would a woman wear a pair of glasses that she couldn’t see through? The glasses didn’t take away from her beauty, but they did disguise it slightly. So did her clothes. They were loose fitting and drab. Almost as if she didn’t want to stand out in any way. Here, in Hollywood, her getup did the exact opposite—they made her stand out like a sore thumb.

He carried the water across the room. “Feel better?”

“Yes, thank you.” The smile she offered was forced and she barely took a drink of the water before handing him back the glass.

He set the glass on a nearby table.

“Here.” She held up the envelope.

Jack took it, folded back the flap and pulled out a picture. It certainly was Joe smiling back at the camera. The woman beside him was surprising. There was nothing vibrant about her. She was cute, but, well, average. A dime a dozen. Certainly not the type that Joe had been drawn to his entire life.

And certainly not the woman sitting on the couch, either.

Jack tucked the picture back in the envelope and pulled out a folded piece of paper. It was a marriage license. The signature at the bottom was one he knew. Joe had spent hours practicing flamboyant ways to sign his name and had perfected one that he’d used for the last ten-plus years. Ever since both of them had played roles in the traveling shows their parents had forced them to perform in across the nation. Joe had loved it. He hadn’t.

Jack put the paper back in the envelope with the picture. “What proof do you have that the baby is this woman’s?”

Her glasses had slid down her nose, allowing her to gaze over the top of the rims without dipping her chin. “I was there when Grace was born.”

“So, you are friends with her?”

“I was. As I said, Vera died three weeks ago.” She glanced at the baby for a second, then back at him with a tenderness in her eyes. “That was her name Vera. Vera McCarney.”

He gave a slight nod of respect. It wasn’t his job to judge this woman, or the woman Joe had obviously married, but in the end, he was the jury, the only member, who would have to decide what to do about the situation at hand. In order to do that, he needed all the information he could get. “Had the two of you been longtime friends?”

Once again, she glanced at the baby before answering. “No. I met her a short time before Gracie was born.”

There was tenderness in her eyes and sadness. Refusing to let what he saw affect him, he walked over to his desk and set the envelope down. “Where?”

“In Chicago.”

“But you never met Joe?”

She shook her head.

He pointed to the envelope on his desk. “This may say that my brother married a woman named Vera Baker last year in Chicago, but it in no way provides any proof that that baby is either Vera’s or Joe’s.”

“I was there when she was born.”

“You’ve said that, but I still have doubts that she is my niece. The burden has been put upon you to provide me with the information that might lessen that doubt. Do you have any other information that can do that?”

Her shoulders rolled back as the deep breath she took filled her lungs. She held the air in. He waited, half expecting her to pop like the rubber balloons they used for props.

She didn’t pop. As the air slowly seeped out of her, her shoulders dropped. “Vera wrote to Joe, and this is where she sent the letters.”

That, he could prove wrong. He crossed the room, to the closet where he kept the gunnysack. Upon opening the door, he picked up the sack and then carried it to the couch. “This bag,” he said while setting it on the floor by her feet, “is full of letters to Joe at this address.”

Her eyes grew as wide as her glasses. “Oh, my.”

She could be shocked by the mail, or by the fact he too had proof. Proof she was lying. He opened the sack and pulled out a handful of letters. “You’re welcome to sift through them, find one from Vera.” He dropped the envelopes back in the bag. “If you truly believe there is one in here.”