All That Glitters Read Free Page B

three-piece pin-striped suit, a red carnation in his lapel, and black-and-white Italian shoes. With a Dick Tracy jaw and eyes the color of the Atlantic, everything about him screamed rich playboy, like the ones I portrayed in my novels, the kind Blackie Doyle despised.
    As the photographer rearranged the actors for another group photo, the studio big shot leered at Laura’s backside.
    I gripped the newspaper and nearly tore the page as I peered over the top. I disliked Mr. Big Shot more with each passing moment. I reminded myself, however, that over the years Laura had handled her share of lecherous producers and directors on Broadway. Besides, as we had discussed on the train, she didn’t need me to take care of her.
    The photographer finally finished taking pictures.
    Laura scanned the station and beckoned with a wave. “Jake, over here.”
    I reluctantly joined them as Mr. Big Shot was telling a racy story. I detested him even more. When he finished, everyone laughed. Everyone but me.
    Laura introduced me to her costars and saved Mr. Big Shot for last. “Jake, this is Eric Carville…Carville Studios.”
    If possible, I had even less respect for him than before. His last name might be on the side of a studio building, but the twit wrote the substandard screenplay. I understood screenwriting basics, that was it, but I could do better than his melodrama.
    The Carvilles might be important men in Hollywood, but from my travels around the country, I learned important men were usually little men with big offices, plenty of dough, and lots of people around to tell them how important they were.
    Nevertheless, for Laura’s sake, I shook his hand like he was a former army buddy. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Carville.”
    He pumped my hand. “Jake Donovan. The mystery writer?”
    “That’s right.”
    “My old man is a huge Dashiell Hammett fan.”
    I swallowed my resentment at his intentional insult. “So am I.”
    “Did you and Miss Wilson meet on the train?”
    I glanced at Laura. “Miss Wilson and I knew each other in New York but lost touch after I moved to Florida a few years ago.” I’d done far too much explaining.
    Christine gave me the once-over, as I suspected she did to most men she met. She flashed a knowing grin. She spoke in a silky voice that matched her hair. “Methinks he doth protest too much.”
    Laura let out a nervous chuckle. “Jake and I are old pals.”
    Eric rubbed his paws together. “Laura, we have a full day planned for you. I’ll personally escort you on a studio tour, so you can get familiar with wardrobe and makeup. We’ll stop by my older brother’s, the bean counter’s, office. Of course, you already met Todd in New York.”
    “He’s a very pleasant gentleman.”
    Eric snickered. “If you say so. You’ll meet my father, Norman, at the kickoff party for
Midnight Wedding
.”
    “When is that?” she asked.
    “Tonight.”
    Tonight? So much for the evening’s planned proposal.
    “It was a pleasure meeting all of you.” I tipped my hat toward Laura, hoping she’d remember we were staying at the Hollywood Hotel. “I enjoyed seeing you again, Miss Wilson. You made what would’ve been a boring train trip quite entertaining.” That was the truth.
    She smiled. “I’ll give you a ring the first chance I get.”
    “If you don’t, I will.”
    Christine offered a well-manicured hand. “A pleasure meeting you, Mr. Donovan.”
    Without shaking my hand, Eric dismissed me with a nod while Roland tagged along as the group walked away. When they reached the exit, Laura glanced back with a helpless shrug.
    I reached inside the bag and removed the ring box. I opened it, imagining the diamond on the third finger of Laura’s hand. Now I wasn’t certain when I’d be able to place it there.
    Some plans play out as smooth as a freshly lacquered bowling lane. Mine was playing out as smooth as sun-weathered paint. Still, I had responsibilities to take care of—about sixty thousand words