All for a Song (23 page)

“Nothing like it.” Roland’s voice came through her darkness, narrating her thoughts. “Open your eyes.”

She did, and was rewarded with the sight of a broad boulevard lined with fashionable automobiles and people dressed like they were on their way to some event of great importance.

“This is the future,” he said, and Dorothy Lynn could hear hints of the rough Baltimore boy he’d introduced last night. “Anybody who doesn’t think so is a sucker. The whole world is coming to California.”

“Then I shouldn’t feel so alone?” She hoped she sounded more playful than she felt.

“Sweetheart, you have me and you have Jesus. You’re never alone.”

He led her to a snazzy-looking red car parked at the curb. Already, his luggage—a stately looking set of green—waited in the open trunk. He tossed her bag on top of it, treating the guitar with more particular care, and opened the front door with the formality of a footman.

“What is this?”

“This,” he said, “is a Marmon.”

“How did it get here?” she asked, feeling inexplicably giddy.

“We have people,” he replied, as if that should answer all remaining questions. “Get in.”

What choice did she have?

The car was unlike any she’d ever seen before. The white leather upholstery embraced her at every contour; the inside panels were inlaid with polished wood and brass. The engine had been left running, though it sounded more like the purr of a large, powerful cat. The smells of strong varnish, leather, and sea air mingled into an exciting scent, igniting a gnawing hunger that had earlier been hidden behind queasy anticipation.

“Dinner first,” Roland said, landing in the driver’s seat beside her. “Then we’ll get you settled in.”

He maneuvered the car into a sea of traffic, an exhilarating experience for Dorothy Lynn. Men and women alike cast appreciative glances from both the sidewalk and their own automobiles, some even leaning out the windows of the electric streetcars that shared the street.

She must have looked like quite the bumpkin, twisting her head left and right, gawking at her surroundings. The buildings
weren’t any grander than those in St. Louis or Kansas City, but they seemed newer, somehow. Like they’d been built specifically for this century. They rose as many as ten stories high—some probably more, but she could only crane her neck so far. To the left as they drove, a wide gate made way to a world of green behind it.

“That’s Pershing Square,” Roland said at her inquiry. “One square block of nature. Being in there, all of this disappears.”

“I can’t imagine wantin’ this to disappear.”

“That’s my girl. Welcome to the future.”

A few minutes later, he pulled the car over in front of a series of glass doors covered by a deep-red awning. The Alexandria Hotel.

Roland hopped out of the car and said, “Evening, Jackson,” to the aging bellhop who’d met them at the curb. “You can take my bags up to my room. Leave the others at the desk.”

“Very good, sir,” Jackson said. He opened the car door for Dorothy Lynn and offered a white-gloved hand to assist her.

A glance straight up into the sky showed that the hour had moved from dusk to dark. She stood on the sidewalk, held in place by the flashing shower of lights coming from all directions until she felt Roland’s arm slip through hers.

“Dinner? They serve a fabulous steak here. Then we’ll get you to your room.”

“A room? I can’t stay here—not with you. . . .”

He took a step away from the hotel, bringing her along, and with the tip of his finger touched to her chin, forced her gaze upward again.

“Do you see? Hundreds and hundreds of windows. Each window a room, and that’s just on this side. Don’t worry, sweetheart; it’s in the best interest of both of us to keep you far away. I
just happen to have the connections here to set you up for cheap. And by cheap, I mean free. So don’t knock it.”

“Of course,” she said. “I only wish we had some sort of a chaperone. I’d hate for people to think there was anything improper—”

“A word about life today. Nobody thinks anything is improper. So it’s up to us to guide our behavior. See, I have every intention of conducting myself as a gentleman, and I’d like to assume you will be conducting yourself as a lady. Can we count on each other for that?”

“We can.” For good measure, she unlocked her arm from his before following him inside.

Perhaps it was the harp music, the golden light, the glittering floor, or the combination of them all, but Dorothy Lynn’s first reaction to seeing the lobby of the Alexandria Hotel could be captured in one word—
heaven
. Massive marble columns lined the walls, with rich, ornate tapestries hung between. Everything was beautiful—the carpet, the ceiling, the people. Men in tuxedos and women in exquisite, sequined gowns.

“This can’t be right,” Dorothy Lynn muttered. Even if it weren’t wrinkled and limp from a day’s travel, her modest dress would seem out of place in the midst of this luxury. In fact, nothing she owned or ever hoped to own would make her fit to be a part of this crowd. She clutched at Roland’s arm again. “Why are we here?”

He gave her hand a reassuring pat. “I live here.”

“You
live
here?” She trained her eyes on the ground, hoping to maintain some dignity by not looking at anybody directly. “How does somebody live in a place like this?”

“Sweetheart, I’ve worked in the hotel business enough to know that, if you can swing it, it’s the best living there is. We
keep two rooms reserved here for guests of Sister Aimee. When actual guests are in town, my accommodations are much less luxurious.”

“And it’s all right with her if I stay in the other room?”

“This is one of the many, many responsibilities I handle so she can keep her mind focused on higher things.”

“So she wouldn’t know.”

“Not until she needs to. I’ll go to the desk and make the arrangements.” He led her to one of the leather-upholstered chairs dotting the lobby, depositing her without a hint of chivalry. “Stay here. Be good, then food.”

She clutched his sleeve. “Don’t leave me here. Please? Look at these people, then look at me. I can’t stay here.”

As she spoke, a tall woman, thin to an almost skeletal proportion, glided past. She wore a dress made entirely of overlapping black feathers and a headband of thick, black silk. She was flanked by two handsome gentlemen in black tuxedos who shared her obvious distaste for the rumpled girl in the lobby.

“Must be some big happening at the Palm Court,” Roland said, staring the trio down with his own superiority. “People make a couple of movies and act like they own the city. They forget that a few years ago they were nobodies just like you and me.”

“You’re hardly a nobody, Mr. Lundi.”

“I’m the nobody behind the somebody. And there’s not much lower to go than that.”

“Still, I’m not comfortable here.”

“Five minutes, sweetheart. Then, if you’d rather, you can go straight up to your room. I can have your dinner sent up.”

Relief rushed through her at the thought of escape. “You can do that?”

“It denies me the pleasure of a dinner companion, but life’s nothing without sacrifice.”

Nobody in this place looked like they’d ever sacrificed a thing.

Dorothy Lynn remained perched on the edge of her seat, afraid someone might take her for an actual vagrant if she were to fall back into its comfort. She tried to make some sense of the conversations happening around her—contracts and shooting schedules and producers and studios. Movies. Hollywood. One of these people might know her brother. Well, not
know
him, exactly. But they might have seen him. Or looked past him, the way they made such an effort to look past her. How ridiculous would it be to walk up to one and say, “Excuse me. Do you know a young man named Donny Dunbar? I believe he might be a carpenter on your set?”

If nothing else, she could reward herself with a tiny ribbon of confirmation. Roland Lundi said he had connections. He knew people. Apparently, the people he knew congregated on the first floor of his home regularly. She’d seen him stop and shake two hands already.

Attempting a casual air, Dorothy Lynn allowed her eyes to wander throughout the room, coming to light eventually on a row of rich, dark-paneled phone booths flanked by impressive marble columns. Roland had completely disappeared from view.

Five minutes.

She straightened and stood, straightening still more once she’d gotten to her feet, and strode purposefully to the first of the empty booths. Maybe she wasn’t as swanky as all of these people, but she had a nickel just as good as any of theirs to make a phone call.

Keeping her eyes trained on her abandoned seat, she listened to the series of clicks as she was connected to long distance, St. Louis, and finally her sister’s voice after several long rings.

“Darlene?”

“Dot! Where are you?”

“Los Angeles. We made it here—all in one piece. Have you been getting my postcards?”

“I suppose so.” She sounded distracted. “I’ve been a bit busy here.”

“There’s one more coming from Denver. Can you believe it? Two days ago I was in Denver. We were on the train all night.”

“Hm.” Not even the miles and miles of telephone wire could hide her sister’s disapproval.

“Darlene? Is everything all right? You sound . . . tired.”

“Well, it’s an exhausting thing having a baby.”

It took a moment for the weight of her words to sink in. “You had the baby? How wonderful!”

“A little girl—Margaret. Nine days ago.” Darlene’s voice became instantly lighter. “Our hearts are full.”

“So’s your family,” Dorothy Lynn said, unable to imagine adding another soul to that busy house.

“But don’t worry. I got your dress finished first and shipped it home to Ma.”

She wanted to say,
“Who cares about the dress?”
But she knew Darlene did, and deeply. “Now I have good news to share with Donny when I see him. Besides the wedding, I mean.”

“Have you had a chance to look for him yet?”

“Of course not, silly. We only just got here. You should see it. It’s a hotel, the Alexandria, I think? Yes. And the people here—I think some of them are actual movie stars, but you’d know better about that than I do. And there’s a ballroom called the Palm Court.”

“Oh, Dot.” This time, the speaking of her name dripped with awe and envy. “That’s where some of the most important
Hollywood people go. I’ve seen their pictures in the magazines and everything. That’s where you are at this very moment?”

“Yes.” Suddenly she felt more nervous than ever. “And I’m going to get a room all to myself. Mr. Lundi has it all arranged.”

“You be careful about what that Mr. Lundi arranges.”

Before Dorothy Lynn could reply, she heard Darlene’s muffled command to RJ and Darren to, for the last time, get upstairs and get in bed before she sent their father up there to give them the whipping of their lives. Thankfully, by the time she returned to the conversation, Roland Lundi was forgotten, and a more painful topic introduced.

“Ma is sick with worry over all of this, by the way.”

“She won’t care once she sees the baby.”

“Well, she’s not going to see her until after. Margaret’s just too little for that bus ride. I hope you understand.”

“Of course,” Dorothy Lynn said, not wanting to burden Darlene with her disappointment. “What have you told her?”

“Just what we talked about. That I had a postcard from Donny and you went to find him, to bring him back for the wedding.”

“All true, by the way.”

“True, but not
all
. You should have called me earlier, Dot. You shouldn’t have waited.”

Darlene’s voice had dropped low as a grave, and a ball of fear rolled over on itself in Dorothy Lynn’s stomach.

“What do you mean?”

“She said Brent hasn’t said a word about the wedding. Not since you left. The announcement’s still hanging in the church, but people in town are talking, saying you’ve run off with another man. They’re feeling sorry for her having two children disappear without a word.”

“Don’t tell her.” She was met with a long, unnerving pause. “Do you hear me? Not a word about Sister Aimee.”

“You would rather she believe that you took it upon yourself to up and go to California alone?”

“Yes. Brent knows the truth, and that’s enough.”

“Oh, Sister. You can’t start off your marriage with the two of you sharing a lie.”

“It’s not a lie. Why should I give Ma one more thing to worry about?”

“Should she be worried?”

“Of course not,” Dorothy Lynn said. “I’ll tell him everything when I get home. Ma, too. But for now . . . can’t you understand? Don’t you have little pockets in your life that are all your own? That Roy doesn’t know about?”

“I do not.”

“Even your charge account at May’s?”

“The two hardly compare,” Darlene was quick to say, but Dorothy Lynn could sense that she’d struck a nerve.

“It’s all going to be fine,” she soothed.

“I still think you’re being reckless.”

“Maybe I am, but if you’d ever taken the time to really listen to Sister Aimee, you’d understand. This is a chance for me to be a part of something so powerful. I’ve never heard the Word of God the way she speaks it. And not because she’s a woman, but because she’s just so
full
.”

“So Brent doesn’t need to be jealous of the handsome Mr. Lundi, but the amazing Mrs. McPherson?”

“Brent doesn’t need to be jealous of anyone.” As she spoke, she saw the handsome Mr. Lundi himself beckoning her fromthe center of the room. Each sister ended the telephone call with a promise to the other: Darlene to tell their
mother that all was well, and Dorothy Lynn to ensure that all remained so.

“Your lovely sister?” Roland asked the minute she joined him.

“None other.”

“And how is she?”

“Worried.”

He said nothing but steered her through the crowd that had become a web of silk and perfume and smoke. They emerged on the other side, where a young man stood attentively at a gilded elevator door.

“Evening, Mr. Lundi. Welcome back.”