The Devil's Due (11 page)

The final flower was delivered to a tall, buck-toothed woman in the wardrobe department, which was amazing. Racks upon racks of every imaginable type of clothing filled an enormous warehouse. Clothes were hung three levels high and Elizabeth could hear the hum of sewing machines in the adjacent room. People hurried down the aisles and used long hooks to bring down clothes from the upper levels. A woman with an armful of 18th century French silk coats hurried past and a man pushed a cart with Roman Centurion helmets on it.

They emerged into the sunlight again and Alan led them back between towering sound stages. Extras and bit players in every imaginable costume hurried past. The trio rounded a corner and was nearly swallowed whole by a dozen dancing girls. They flocked to Alan like birds to a nest, their feathered headdresses and bustles and boobs bouncing as they took turns saying hello and cooing over him. Elizabeth jostled around inside the crowd, a cloud of feathers obscuring her vision.

And like a flock of birds, they swept on past, leaving the three of them in their wake. Alan took out a handkerchief and grinned after them. His face was covered with lipstick. He happily rubbed it off. “Never let a woman see you with someone else's lipstick on your face.”

He turned to Simon. “You have a bit…” he said with a broad grin.

Simon's cheeks were nearly as covered with bright red kisses as Alan's had been.

Elizabeth cleared her throat and Simon reached up and touched his cheek, surprised when his fingers came away covered with lip rouge. “It happened so fast, I didn't even realize…”

“Uh-huh.”

Alan laughed loudly. “And now to the lion's den.”

It had been years since he'd seen her, but he'd never forgotten her. Could never forget her. Betty. She'd broken his heart in 1938 and he was never a whole man again. And yet here she was.

His mouth went dry and his heart beat out a conga against his ribs. Years ago, when he'd gone to war, he'd given up any hope of seeing her again. But he'd never forgotten her, not an inch of her. Not her smile or her hair or her kindness.

“You idiot!” Betty glared at him before maneuvering around him and going to check on the man Jack had almost clocked. She touched the man's arm and looked up into his unshaven face. “Are you all right?”

The man gave Jack an uneasy glance before nodding and pushing himself up and off the wall and upright.

Jack could hardly believe his eyes. It really was Betty. She was younger than he remembered, but, of course, she would be. This was four or five years before they'd even met. God, she was beautiful. Light brown hair that looked like gold when the sun hit it. Brown eyes that flashed when she got angry and that adorable little dimple in her chin.

For a moment, Jack wondered if she'd remember him. Would it be fondly or just a fading memory. That's when he realized the truth of it. Of course, she wouldn't recognize him; for her, they hadn't even met yet. He tried to make sense of the paradox. He was his older self, meeting her before his younger self had even had the chance. Damn, younger Jack had managed to screw it up. Not that she gave him much of a chance, but what he wouldn't give to have another. She was kind and wonderful and…yelling at him.

“Listen, you big palooka, I don't know what you think you were doing—”

“I'm sorry,” Jack said, trying to concentrate on the now. She was standing between him and the man, her brown eyes flashing as she jabbed at his chest.

“Well,” she said, brought up a little short by his quick apology. “You should be.”

“I really am sorry,” Jack said. “I thought he was attacking you.”

“Didn't get hugged much as a child, did you?” she said.

It was all he could do not to laugh. That was pure Betty — sharp, funny, incisive, beautiful.

“He was thanking me,” she continued as though she were speaking to a backwards child. “I brought him and his family some things from the studio to tide them over.”

That's when Jack noticed the rest of the family and he felt a hot flush of guilt. The man's wife looked terrified, ready to bolt, but standing her ground, arms around her two small children who were torn between excitement and horror. Their clothes were torn and old, and dirty. The woman's dress was several sizes too large for her and hung off her thin body like it was no more than a hanger in a closet. Next to them, on the discarded crates in the alley was a small box of clothing, a new pair of Mary Janes sitting on top.

Jack quickly took off his hat and pressed it against his chest. He shook his head in apology and addressed the wife. “I'm sorry, ma'am. I didn't mean to frighten you. Any of you,” he added to the kids. The girl curled into her mother's leg and the boy stuck his tongue out at him. Jack gave a quick laugh. “Good for you, kid.”

Jack turned back and Betty sized him up. “Maybe there's hope for you yet.”

Jack's heart stuttered. He knew she hadn't meant it the way he wanted to hear it, but a chance was a chance and he wasn't going to miss this one. “I sure hope so,” he said softly. Then, he stepped forward and held out his hand to the man. “I am
very
sorry.”

The man looked at Jack's hand. The world had kicked him in the seat of the pants so often he'd learned not to trust anyone or anything. But even after all the abuse the Depression had doled out, he still had the pride innate in every man. He straightened up to his full height and shook Jack's hand. “S'okay.”

“I'd like to make it up to you,” Jack said. “To all of you.” He struggled with what to do.

The man walked over to his family and stood behind his wife. His dirty hand came to rest on her shoulder and Jack saw an inspiring strength in their unity. “You don't have to do nothin', Mister. We're all right.”

The lie and the courage it took to tell went straight to Jack's heart. “Let me at least buy you lunch. There's a great hot dog place just down the street. I'm starving and I bet,” he said looking at the little boy, “you like your dogs with mustard and relish. Am I right? I'm a mustard and relish man myself.”

The little boy licked his lips and looked anxiously up at his parents — a silent plea in his shadowed eyes. The couple was clearly uncomfortable at the offer, but in dire need of the help.

“Just lunch,” Jack said. “Everybody's gotta eat, right? And uhm,” he leaned in conspiratorially, “it might help me make up some points with the pretty lady.”

“Who is standing right here and can hear everything you're saying.”

Jack grinned. “See? Tough nut to crack. You sure would be helpin' me out.”

Betty rolled her eyes, but despite it all, she smiled. The man looked down at his wife and children and finally over to Betty before nodding. “We'd be most obliged, mister.”

Their scraggly little parade headed out of the alley and down the block toward the hot dog vendor on the corner. Jack tried not to keep looking over at Betty, but he couldn’t stop himself. She was there, alive and at his side. A living, breathing second chance at happiness.

When he'd first met her in 1938, he'd seen her at a party and fallen in love with her from across the room. When his friend had introduced them, for the first time in his life, he didn't know what to say to a woman. She was smart and funny and kind and a little wounded. And he'd never seen anyone more beautiful. He'd met movie stars and models and even dated more than his share, but something about Betty went straight to and through his heart. He pursued her relentlessly in the months that followed, finally wearing her down, against her better judgment, she'd said. Their affair was wonderful until she pushed him away.

After that, he'd joined the Navy and heard that she'd left Los Angeles. Last he'd heard she was married and living in San Francisco. But she wasn't there now. She was here. And he was here. And he had another chance and he wasn't going to waste it.

He could hear Cross' voice in the back of his mind warning him about affecting the timeline, but Jack shut him out. If Cross has been in his shoes and this was Elizabeth…. Some things were worth the risks. He glanced over at Betty, who must have felt him staring and turned to look up at him. Her expression was wary, but curious. That pain that had kept her from him wasn't there. He smiled down at her and when she smiled back cautiously, he was lost. Whatever it took, whatever the risks, he wouldn't lose her this time.

The little boy ran ahead and his mother called out to him. “David!”

David turned around and hunched his shoulders and tilted his head back and opened his mouth in the universal body language of “come on, you are sooo slow.” Betty and Jack exchanged smothered grins.

Jack ordered food for the family first. Once they had their dogs, he ordered one for himself and then one for Betty. “Mustard on half and ketchup on the other.” As soon as he'd done it he knew he'd made a mistake. It was a reflex.

She looked at him curiously. “How'd you know I like mine like that?”

He accepted the dog from the vendor and handed it to her. “Lucky guess. You need more relish, David?”

The little boy, whose cheeks were so full they looked about to pop, shook his head and crammed another bite into his mouth. The little girl gave her mother her bun and nibbled her dog like a mouse working a piece of cheese.

“Kids,” Jack said with a grin toward a still staring Betty. He took a bite of his own dog and smiled back innocently.

Once he was sure they'd all had their fill, he ordered four more. “For later,” he said and stuffed them into his jacket pocket before slipping the coat off. He'd seen the state of the man's coat, holes in the pockets, threadbare sleeves.

He held it out to the father who looked at it hesitantly. Clearly, he was a proud man torn between honor and need.

“Here,” Jack continued. “When things turnaround for you, you can help somebody else who needs it. Take it.”

The man's jaw worked to hide his emotion. He finally nodded sharply and took the coat.

“Thank you,” his wife said, lifting their daughter onto her hip. The little girl had only eaten half of her hotdog and gave the rest to her brother. She was a pale little thing and the way she rested her head against her mother's shoulder sent a pang of worry through Jack's system.

He didn't have much money with him, but he started to dig into his pocket. Betty's gentle hand on his arm stilled him. She smiled sadly and shook her head. Her eyes said she understood, but any more “generosity” would be unwelcome. Jack nodded and wished the family well as they left. The little boy ran alongside his father, trying to peek into his bulging pockets.

“That was very kind of you,” Betty said once they were out of earshot. Then she turned and looked up at him with narrowed eyes. “What's your angle?”

Jack remembered that she was a world-class skeptic, but this Betty still had some faith in her fellow man.

“They needed help. I could give it,” he added with a shrug.

Betty's eyes narrowed even more as she sized him up. She was good at that. When he'd met her, she was working for a big shot producer at one of the studios. The indispensable Girl Friday who could see right through the baloney.

“I think you really mean that,” she said, sounding both impressed and a little incredulous.

“What you see is what you get.” Although that was a big fat lie considering the circumstances, it was true in his heart.

Betty's brown eyes searched his face. “That'd be a first. Mister…?”

“J-John,” he said quickly realizing he couldn't give her his real name and offered her the first one he could think of. “John West,” he said holding out his hand.

She took it, but he could tell she was far from won over. “Betty Chase.”

Jack couldn't have kept the grin off his face if he tried. “Nice to meet you, Betty Chase.”

Simon barely had time to wipe the lipstick from his cheek before Grant led them off to God knew where. That seemed to be a developing theme. As usual, Elizabeth was happy just to be along for the ride. Simon, however, took a more circumspect view of things and watched Grant's interactions with care. Whatever the threat to him, it could come from inside the studio. And while Sam Roth and his brother Benny were leading candidates for the role, it would be foolish to ignore the myriad women Grant dallied with. A woman with a broken heart was a dangerous thing and it appeared Grant broke hearts with some regularity.

Finally, Grant led them to what appeared to be the main building. It was five or six stories high and was large enough to cover a city block all by itself. A plush lawn stretched out in front of it. On one part of the grounds, a small unit of police officers stood in formation as what looked like Shirley Temple and a small film crew gave them an inspection.

The unbridled energy of the rest of the studio fell into silence inside the building. This was obviously the main office complex and it wasn't all fun and games in here; it was business. This was the front line in the constant battle between art and commerce and it was impressive. Oversized portraits of stars lined the walls, plush carpets lined the floors and money lined everything else. This was a show of wealth and power. It was there to inspire and intimidate.

As was typical, Grant was greeted with toothy smiles and over-excited hellos as they made their way up to the top floor. The art deco elevator dinged their arrival and they stepped out into the foyer.

An attractive, middle-aged woman who sat behind a modern-looking white semi-circular desk rose to meet them. “Mr. Roth will be right with you, Mr. Grant. Coffee, tea?”

“No, thank you, Ruth,” Grant said and gestured for Elizabeth to sit down while they waited.

The upper lobby was surprisingly sparsely furnished. Where the lower lobby had been all show, this was nearly all business - few frills and the hush of hard work were even more intimidating than the spectacle downstairs.

The quiet efficiency was shattered by a loud voice from behind the doors to Roth's office.

“Damn it, Sam!” The door opened and Benny Roth stood in the doorway. “You're my goddamn brother.”

Sam Roth appeared next to him, his face ruddy with anger and was about to say something when he noticed he had an audience. He rolled his shoulders to try to dispel some of his seething anger and fixed his little brother with eyes that brooked no nonsense. “Later.”