Starstruck (32 page)

“Margo? Is that you?”

Dane Forrest stood in the middle of the aisle, holding a couple of newspapers and a packet of cigarettes still in the cellophane wrapper, a quizzical expression on his face. Margo sat up with a start, banging her head hard against the bottom of the counter. “Dane! What are you doing here?”

“I should ask you the same thing,” Dane said. “You’re a little dressed up for Schwab’s, aren’t you? Not to mention mucking around on the floor. Are you trying to be discovered again?”

“Dane, please don’t be horrible to me,” Margo pleaded. “I just can’t take it right now.”

“What’s the matter?” Dane smirked. “Cozy dinner with the folks at home didn’t go quite according to plan?”

“No,” Margo whispered. She didn’t know if Dane was trying to be unkind, but the edge in his voice was the last straw, the raindrop that started the flood. She started to sob. Horrible, racking, ugly sobs that made her body spasm and heave.

“Oh no, Margo, please.” Dane rushed toward her, looking horrified. “Please, sweetheart, don’t cry. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“It’s not you,” Margo wept. “It’s just … just …” Before she could go on, a fresh round of sobs overcame her, even worse than the first. Her stomach contracted, as though her body were trying to expel some kind of poison.

“There, there,” Dane murmured. “Take my handkerchief. Not once, in any emotional crisis since I’ve known you, do you ever seem to have your own handkerchief.” Margo accepted the folded cloth he held out, grateful for the small gesture of kindness.

“Good girl,” Dane said gently, taking a seat and motioning Margo to do the same. “Now suppose you blow your nose and tell me what’s wrong.”

For a moment, Margo hesitated, but she was so tired of secrets, so tired of pointlessly hiding the worry and strain of the last few months. It all spilled out: how her parents had thrown her out of the house and out of their lives; how she’d given up her high school graduation, her prom, her debutante ball. She told him about Mr. Karp, and Jimmy, and Gabby’s betrayal, and the horrible thing that had happened on the lawn with Phipps McKendrick.

She told him everything that was bothering her—everything, of course, except anything that had to do with Dane Forrest himself, or a certain other person whose first name also began with the letter
D
.

The moment she finished, Dane called out to the soda jerk. “Donny, give me a glass of whiskey, will ya? Not the house brand. There’s a bottle of Glenfiddich Leon keeps for me under the cash register.”

“Right away, Mr. Forrest.”

Margo looked at Dane in disbelief. She’d just poured out her whole life story. “Did you not listen to anything I just said?”

Dane’s face was grave. “I listened to every word, Margo. Which is why I need a drink, before I drive straight to Pasadena to murder this Phelps character with my bare hands. Along with anybody else unlucky enough to cross my path.”

“Phipps,” Margo corrected automatically. But on the inside, a tiny part of her was soaring. Dane wanted to avenge her! He saw her as somebody it was his right, his duty, to defend. He cared about her. In his mind, on some level, she was
his
. The thought threatened to make the tears come all over again. “I lost my pin,” she said.

Dane was sipping his drink. “Your what?”

“My pin. That’s what I was looking for when you came in. I think it must have come off when Phipps was …” She trailed off. “Anyway, it’s gone.”

Dane frowned. “Not that one you always wear? The funny little gold one, with the pearls?” Margo nodded. “That’s too bad.”

“I’m surprised you remember it,” she said.

Dane grinned at her over the rim of his glass. “Margo, I hope you don’t take offense at this, given the night’s ordeal, but I, along with, I imagine, every other man in Hollywood, have spent more than my fair share of happy moments contemplating the precise placement of that pin on your chest.”

In spite of herself, Margo laughed. “Not
every
man in Hollywood.”

“No, I suppose not,” Dane murmured, clearly getting her meaning. “Poor Margo. Did Jimmy give you a terrible shock?”

“At first, yes,” Margo said thoughtfully. “I was shocked, but also terribly sad.”

Dane tilted his head. “How do you mean?”

“Well, it seemed so unfair. I mean, it’s terrible, isn’t it? To have to hide so much of who you are, to never be able to properly be with someone you love. But then I was thinking about what Jimmy says about his career, about how important it is for him to bring joy to people. How he cares more about that than anything else.”

“About his career?” Dane muttered darkly.

“No, about being a star. Stars make people happy.” Margo raised her chin. “I’m going to make people happy. It’s the most important thing in the world. And I’ll show everyone back in Pasadena how wrong they were. Everyone who was ever mean to me: Evelyn Gamble and Phipps McKendrick and Doris, and my parents. Especially them.” Emboldened, she reached over for Dane’s glass of Scotch and took a sip. “I’ll show them all.”

“Oh, Margo,” Dane said. He took her hand in his. His touch sent an electric jolt through her body, leaving her feeling as if she were being pricked all over by tiny needles. “What did I tell you? The only thing being famous does is let people recognize you in restaurants. It doesn’t make anybody love you.”

“Then what does?” she asked.

Dane’s liquid green eyes were as sad as she’d ever seen them. “When you find out, be sure to let me know.” Draining the last of his drink, he reached into his pocket for a money clip and threw down a twenty. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll take you home.”

It was a gorgeous night. A soft, warm wind from the west rustled the leaves of the palm trees. Bathed in the silvery glow of a three-quarter moon, Olympus looked more like an enchanted city than ever.

Dane parked the car at the far gate, and together they walked through the deserted lot, their footsteps echoing off the false fronts of the make-believe streets. A cluster of pretty suburban houses, a New York tenement block, a creaking wooden sidewalk supporting a row of rickety shops straight out of the Wild West: paint and plywood with nothing behind them. Margo had always found the staged street a little creepy. The emptiness behind their brightly painted, perfectly rendered facades seemed to hint at something more than the smoke and mirrors of Hollywood, something about the illusory nature of life itself. But tonight, with Dane by her side, she thought it was her favorite street in the world.

“Do you want to come in?” she asked breathlessly, when they stood at her door.

Dane was toying with one of the bougainvillea flowers, rubbing the bright pink blossom between the tips of his fingers until the petals crumbled to dust. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea …,” he said slowly.

“Just for a minute.” She couldn’t bear the thought of seeing him go. “I don’t want to be alone. Not yet.”

Wordlessly, he followed her inside. He looked so big in her little room, Margo thought, so conspicuously, beautifully out of place. “Do you have anything to drink?”

“There’s some Scotch in the cabinet,” she said. “Not Glenfiddich, but it’ll have to do. Help yourself.”

What was she supposed to do now? Dane had his back to
her, rooting around in the cupboard for some glasses. Should she sit down? Take off her shoes? Affect some flattering pose on the couch that would make him fly to her side? Her eye fell on Gabby’s old phonograph on the end table.
Of course
.

“I’m just going to put on some music,” Margo called. Quickly, she flicked through the small stack of records until she found the one she wanted.

“How Deep Is the Ocean.”

The familiar clarinet line floated through the room, sweet and sharp and sad. Dane turned around slowly to face her. They stood looking at one another for a moment that seemed to last forever. Finally, Dane spoke.

“Margo.”

The way he said it, it wasn’t a question, or the beginning of a sentence, or an opening to say something else. It was just a simple declaration. All on its own. As though her name were the only thing present in his mind.

Shyly, she stepped toward him. “We danced to this, do you remember?”

“Yes.”

“At the Cocoanut Grove that night. When you cut in on me dancing with Larry Julius. Remember that?”

“Yes, Margo, I remember.” Dane’s smile was gently mocking. “I remember everything about that night. I remember your blue dress and your pearl pin and how your hair smelled of lilacs. I remember the first time I saw you crying your eyes out on that bench by the soundstage, the way you balled my handkerchief up in your fist like it had done something to you; I remember the look on your face in the commissary later that day, when I spoke to Amanda and not you. And I remember you on the set
this morning, riding toward me with the face of a queen and the eyes of a sad little girl.”

“Dane—”

“I remember everything about every time I’ve ever seen you.” Dane sighed. “Oh, Margo, what makes you think that you’re the only one?”

She fell into his arms. His open lips descended on hers urgently, hungrily, as though her kiss were the only thing that could keep him alive.
This
, Margo thought, feverishly pressing her body against his, pure joy coursing through her veins, his lips moving with hers as though the two of them were speaking their own private language,
This. This is the only thing there is
.

“Margo,” Dane whispered hoarsely. “Margaret.”

“What?” She clung to him desperately, trying to pull his lips back to hers. “What is it?”

“This … we have to stop.”

She looked up at him in shock. “What?”

Dane looked at her mournfully. “You’ve been through so much tonight. I never should have … I should go.”

“No!” She gasped, feeling as though he had struck her. The thought of his absence, of him being gone from her arms, seemed to cause her almost physical pain. “You can’t!”

“Please, darling.” He unwrapped her arms from around his neck. “It’s very late. You’re tired, you’re confused … I should never have taken advantage of that.”

“I’m not a child!” Margo cried, suddenly furious. How dare he open her eyes and then insist she force them back shut? “I know my own mind.”

“Darling, you don’t know what you’re saying.…”

“I do!” Margo insisted. “I’m not a china doll, Dane. I know
what it means. You’re not forcing me into anything. It’s not like that between us. I make my own decisions. And what I want is to be with you! I’m not afraid, and I’m not asking for any promises. I just want to be with you the same way Diana was, for us to do the same things you did with her. Please don’t leave now, please.…”

“What?” Dane suddenly pushed away from her, holding her at arm’s length. “What did you just say?”

“Don’t leave.”

“Not that!” His expression was angry. “What did you say about Diana?”

“Nothing, it doesn’t matter!” Margo cried, suddenly frantic. “I didn’t mean anything by it, only that—”

“I have to go.”

“You can’t!” In a panic, she threw herself on him, clutching at his shirt, trying to pull his jacket from his hands. She knew she must look like a maniac, but she couldn’t let him go. Not now. Not after everything. “Don’t go!”

“Margo,
please
.” His voice was a horrible, broken rasp. The raw anguish of it froze her in her tracks, long enough for him to get to the door.

“Dane,” she whispered.

The door slammed behind him.

Shaking, Margo fell to her knees.
He’s gone
, she thought.
I threw myself at him and he’s gone. I’m all alone
. She crossed her arms over her chest, swaying gently back and forth.
I’ll always be all alone
.

Her swaying torso bumped against the coffee table, knocking over Dane’s glass of Scotch. The sharp, sickly smell of the alcohol seeping into the carpet brought her to her senses.
Leaping off the floor, she pushed through the door, running. She ran past the bungalows, through the orange grove, out into the maze of fake streets, searching for him, willing him to somehow come back into view, wanting only to see the familiar shape of him looming toward her.

But it was no use. He was already gone.

She felt the heaving sobs well up in her again. She pushed them back. She wouldn’t cry. From now on she would be like Diana. She would only cry for the camera.

She stood in the middle of the street that led nowhere, surrounded by beautiful houses that no one could live in. There was nobody to hear her.

Margo screamed.