Strangers in the night, p.5
Strangers in the Night, page 5
“After dinner,” he said, eyeing my empty martini glass. He reached for it and called to the bartender. “Gerome, get this woman a fresh drink.”
Within seconds, I had another drink in hand and edged around the crowded room. When I came to the patio door, I pushed it open, suddenly eager for a little fresh air. There was a brilliant pool lined with colorful Mexican tiles, decorative palms stationed around its outer edges, and a small lawn that appeared to roll all the way to the base of the mountains. Soft clouds dipped in plum and gold framed a spectacular sunset, and the heat of the day had begun to fade. I stared up at the sky, drinking in the sight for a moment before fishing in my handbag for a cigarette.
“Well, if it isn’t Ava Gardner.”
My stomach flipped at the sound of that familiar voice, the soft baritone I’d heard a lot recently coming from my record player. A voice, I had to admit, that was growing on me a great deal.
“Well, hello there, Francis,” I said, not bothering to hide my smile.
Chapter 5
Frank
She called me Francis.
I hadn’t given her permission to use the name that only my ma used from time to time, but I got the feeling Ava Gardner didn’t need permission from me, or from anyone.
She stood at the edge of the porch, her silhouette as perfect as that of Venus de Milo: the curve of her hips, her narrow waist, and the dark hair that dusted the tops of her shoulders in a soft curl. She held a cigarette between two long, fine fingers, smoke curling and twisting overhead until it blended with the wisps of clouds in the sky. If it didn’t make me sound like a broad, I might admit that my breath caught every time I laid eyes on her. But I wasn’t a broad and I sure as hell didn’t want to scare her away by being a fool for her. This woman would require finesse.
I leaned against a pillar beside her on the patio.
“How have you been?” she asked, flicking the ash from her cigarette.
“Thinking about you is how I’ve been.”
She cocked a slim dark brow at me. “Is that so?”
“I saw your film. One Touch of Venus. Made me more jealous of Robert Walker than I could stand.”
She laughed. “Whatever for?”
“He got to kiss you,” I said.
“It’s just a movie, Francis.”
“And you’re a goddess.”
She laughed heartily this time. “Better not put me on a pedestal. I like to run around barefoot and get dirty.”
“I bet you do.” I grinned.
She slapped my arm playfully.
“That’s some sky,” I said, pointing at the edges of the mountain peaks gilded in gold. “Makes you want to drink champagne and count the stars as they come out.”
“You’re a romantic, aren’t you,” she said, blowing a stream of smoke through a pair of red lips.
“Aren’t we all?”
Her eyes darkened from happy green to emerald. “Not all of us. Romance doesn’t serve me well.”
I angled my body toward her. “You can’t let two lousy husbands ruin things for you.”
Her eyes roved over my face and dragged down my frame. Studying, assessing, deciding. Was I worth her time? I wanted to remind her of the fun we’d had that night a few months ago. I wanted to know if she’d thought about me as often as I’d thought about her.
“Think supper’s ready?” she drawled, her southern accent appearing. “I haven’t had anything but rabbit food all day.”
“They were setting up when I stepped outside for a smoke.”
We went inside to find people taking a seat around one of the two large tables set for dinner. The scent of fresh bread and butter and some savory dish wafted through the room. Darryl had pulled out all the stops with candelabras and silver service trays, and porcelain dishes made to look like Mexican tiles.
“Well, aren’t these pretty,” Ava said, admiring the dishes with elaborate floral designs in cherry red, royal blue, orange, and white. “Sit by me?” she asked.
Something warm pooled in my chest, and I smiled, pulling out a sleek chair for her first and then myself.
As the hired staff served tenderloin with a mustard cream sauce, greens and garlic potatoes, and piping hot rolls, Darryl raised his glass. “I’d like to propose a toast.”
I reached for my wineglass.
“Thank you all for coming,” Darryl said. “To friends!”
“To friends!”
Ava clinked her glass against mine, her gaze on me steadfast.
Meeting her eyes made the blood in my veins hum. I drank and tried to play the suave fellow as the food was dished out, but I wanted nothing but to listen to more of her stories, hear her thoughts. Get her alone, even if only on the patio again.
“What are you working on now?” I reached for a roll.
“I’m between pictures at the moment,” she answered, “but it looks like I’ll be shooting again in a few months.”
“Things are going great for you,” I said. “I’ve seen your face on just about every magazine and billboard in town.”
She pursed her lips. “Yes, well, it hasn’t been easy convincing Mayer that I’m worth a damn, but things have been good elsewhere. Tell me about your music,” she said, slicing her meat into bite-size pieces. “Are you recording anything new?”
My music. It was a sore subject lately. I’d watched my latest hits slide right off the charts. Worse, the movies I’d booked had mostly been panned, both because my parts were lousy and because those who didn’t like my politics didn’t care if my performance was right-on. They just wanted to sock it to me.
“I’m between records.” I didn’t want to look like I was a has-been, not to her. We talked about my manager and a few prospects I was hoping would come through.
I felt a twinge of worry in my stomach as George’s warning came to mind and I changed the subject, asking her what she’d been reading. Over fine food and wine, we debated the brilliance of various authors from Fitzgerald to Agatha Christie.
After dinner, Darryl’s staff pushed back the chairs and tables to make way for dancing. When someone turned up the music, the guests flowed onto the makeshift dance floor.
“Come on!” Ava grabbed my hand.
“I’m not much for dancing,” I protested.
“Do I need to find another partner?”
“You’d better not,” I growled, and we both laughed.
We moved along to the music in a Lindy Hop, her yellow dress twisting around her legs. She danced without even a hint of self-consciousness. She was beautiful, all charm and bright light, and as I looked down at her, her eyes sparking with mischief, I knew I was a goner. Ava Gardner might very well be my undoing.
“Let’s get out of here,” I said suddenly. “Go for a ride.”
She hesitated a beat and then smiled. “Alright.”
Relief rushed through me—she wanted to come away with me. It was my goddamn lucky day.
“I’ll meet you in the drive.”
I said a hasty goodbye to the host and made a beeline for the door. I’d never been more eager to leave a party in my entire life.
Chapter 6
Ava
I threaded through the crowd of dancers, looking for my sister, my stomach aflutter. What was I doing, leaving with Francis? But I didn’t want to think about it too much. I wanted only to feel and do and be, at least for tonight.
I found Bappie slouched against a sofa cushion, deep in conversation with a man in a bright blue suit.
“I’m going for a drive with Frank,” I said in her ear. “He’s going to drop me off later. You take the car.” I tossed her the keys.
Bappie’s brow arched in surprise, but a smile touched her bright pink lips. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“I’ll do everything you’d do and more.” I winked, and we both laughed.
I headed to the bar and rummaged around behind the counter until I found a mostly full bottle of whiskey. Tucking it under my arm, I met Francis in the drive. He revved the engine of his Cadillac convertible as soon as I appeared. I laughed in glee as I slid into the front seat.
“Where to, hot rod?” I asked, removing the lid on the whiskey and taking a swig straight from the bottle. It burned going down, but I hardly noticed. Francis was looking at me like a wolf eyeing a hen. He took in my face and then his eyes wandered lower. It was delicious and I was too drunk to pretend I didn’t want to be in his arms again, the way we had been that night at his apartment.
“On an adventure,” he said, tearing his gaze away and backing out of the drive.
It was dark as pitch except for the stars winking overhead like distant fireflies and the occasional pocket of light glowing from some house on the horizon. I could just make out the faintest silhouette of the looming mountains in the distance.
As we picked up speed, the wind caught my hair and blew it into a wild funnel. Laughing, I stuck out my right arm and let it ripple over the wind currents. I felt as free as a bird.
“You’re goddamn sexy, did you know that?” he shouted over the noise of the wind.
“Faster!” I shouted, taking another slug of whiskey and passing the bottle to him.
He swallowed a large gulp and stepped on the gas. We rocketed down the road into the desert flatlands, kicking up dust behind us into the quiet night. I whooped and threw my hands overhead. He laughed as he swerved around a bend in the road. I tipped sideways at the unexpected movement. As I fell into him, he slipped his free arm around me to steady me and left it there. I didn’t fight it, the nearness of him, and the night air whipping around us. It was all far more intoxicating than anything I’d drunk that night.
I turned in the seat to face Francis and study his silhouette: the long nose and full lips, his protruding brow bone. His wiry frame and enormous ego had faded, or maybe they didn’t matter as much as I’d once thought, and all that was left was someone I had things in common with, who liked to live a little dangerously, and who knew what he wanted. Someone who oozed more charisma and energy than anyone I’d ever known. He was vibrant, vivacious—and utterly, perfectly wrong for me.
“You’re not so bad, Francis,” I said, smiling in the dark.
“Gee, thanks. That’s a hell of a compliment.”
I laughed heartily as he rolled his eyes.
When we passed the welcome sign for the town of Indio, he laid on the horn.
I shouted, “We’re here everybody!”
He honked again, but as we rolled into the small town shrouded in darkness, the car slowed.
Frank grinned and reached for the whiskey, his hand brushing my thigh where I held it firmly between my legs.
“You pervert,” I said, swatting at his hand.
“Honey, if I was going to be a pervert, I’d be a lot more aggressive than that.”
“Oh yeah? I’d like to see that.”
“Is that so?” He glanced at me and saw the wicked smile on my face.
“I don’t believe you really live up to all of the talk, Mr. Sinatra,” I goaded him.
“That does it.” He jerked the car left.
I careened sideways and threw my right hand against the door to steady myself. “Francis!” I laughed at the screeching tires.
As we ran over the curb of a street corner, he slammed on the brakes and we jolted forward. He put the car in park and drank another big swig of whiskey.
“What have you heard?” he said, his eyes electric blue in the dashboard lights.
“That you’re a Casanova,” I teased. “But that’s not what I see.”
“Is that so. What do you see, Miss Gardner?”
“I see a man who’s got it bad.”
“It’s worse than bad. It’s a fever and I may not recover.” He inched closer, putting his hand on my knee and sending a shiver of anticipation over my skin.
“I think you’d better show me just how right I am,” I said. The words slipped out, and before I knew what I was doing, I leaned toward him.
He slid one hand around the back of my neck, caressing the soft skin with his thumb. Tilting my head back, he looked into my eyes as if searching for something.
“Ava,” he said hoarsely.
“Shh,” I whispered. “Just kiss me.”
He pressed his lips against mine, slipping one hand around my waist, and crushed me against him. His other hand slid down my neck, over my bared shoulders. I tingled at his touch, felt a need building inside me as we kissed passionately, desperately.
I sat back suddenly, gasping for air.
“Your skin.” He groaned, bringing his face to my neck and inhaling.
Something inside me released at that guttural sound, and a deep ache began to throb. I wanted him—God did I ever—but he wasn’t mine to have, and I needed to remember that.
No married men, Ava. No married men!
I kept chanting the phrase in my head. They were trouble and what was more, I didn’t like thinking about their wives being brokenhearted. It was an ugly business. I didn’t care how typical it was in Hollywood. But as I sat across from this man who had more passion than anyone I’d ever known, the air as electric as in a summer storm, I knew I’d surrender. Francis would be trouble, and trouble with him seemed like just the right kind.
Silencing the voice in my head, I wrapped my arms around him. He pulled me to him again, our lips finding the other’s. This time, it was a slower, more tender kiss. His hands wandered over my bodice to my waist to rest on the curves of my hips. All my thoughts, all the warnings flashing through my mind, turned to whispers until I was filled to the brim with only him, his scent, his need.
We remained locked in an embrace for some time, until at last, I pulled away.
“Want to go somewhere?” he said, his voice hoarse.
“We are somewhere.” I rested against the seat to catch my breath, to gather my thoughts. “Want a drink?” I reached for the bottle of whiskey.
He swigged and passed it back to me.
“Yes. Let’s go somewhere,” I said, wiping my mouth.
“You’ve got it, princess.” He backed off the curb, put the car in drive, and mashed the gas pedal. “You wanted to go fast, baby!” he shouted over the engine and the wind. “Let’s go fast!”
I whooped as the tires squealed once again and we tore down the main road that bisected the tiny town of Indio.
He reached across me and unlatched the glove box. Inside, sat a gleaming handgun. “This is what we do in the Wild West!”
He aimed the gun overhead and fired.
I screamed—and burst into laughter at my surprise. My heart racing at his antics, I reached for the gun. “Let me try!” I shot into the night wildly, not bothering to take aim.
A nearby hardware store window cracked and shattered, the glass tinkling as it hit the ground.
“Oh my God!” I said, covering my mouth.
The car swerved as he took the gun. “You’ve got to aim, baby. Like this.” He pointed the barrel of the pistol at a streetlamp and fired. The light popped and went out, shrouding the street in darkness.
I shrieked. “You hit it!”
He handed me the gun. “We’d better beat it before anyone sees us.” His foot was heavy on the gas, and we fled into the night.
I turned in my seat to face the back of the car as the little town receded and the night unspooled behind us. With a rebel yell, I fired one last time. Laughing and exhilarated, I turned around in my seat and tucked the gun into the glove box.
“That was damned fun!” I shouted.
In that moment, the sound of sirens split the air.
“Son of a gun!” Francis said, slowing the car.
I glanced over my shoulder into the desert night. A police car raced after us. I looked at Francis with wide eyes as a sobering thought edged its way into my foggy, whiskey-soaked mind.
We were in serious trouble. I was in serious trouble. Far more trouble than one silly police car, hot on our tail.
I was falling—and falling fast—for Frank Sinatra.
Chapter 7
Frank
It’s alright, baby. Let me handle this,” I said, seeing the panic on Ava’s face. She clearly hadn’t had any run-ins with the law, and I’d had plenty. You didn’t grow up on the streets of Jersey and New York without having it out from time to time.
Two cops approached the car, the taller cop stopping just outside my door. He beamed a flashlight at me.
“Well, what do we have—” He stopped and his mouth fell open in shock. He recovered quickly. “Mr. Sinatra, Miss Gardner! My wife and I saw you at the Palladium a couple of years back, Mr. Sinatra. It was the best show I’ve ever seen. And Miss Gardner, we saw One Touch of Venus, twice.”
“Did you hear that, Ava?” I said. “He and his wife have good taste. You’re a good man.” I offered him my hand to shake on it.
Ava flashed one of her perfect, charming smiles. “Thank you, officer.”
“Out for a little joy ride, I see,” the other cop said, giving his colleague a stern look meant to be a rebuke. It was clear he had no interest in celebrities or in cutting us a break. “I think you’d better come into the station with us.”
The more cordial cop nodded. “I’m afraid so, you two. You can’t go around shooting up stores and drinking while you’re driving. It’s dangerous.”
“And illegal.” The other cop rolled his eyes. “Everyone out of the car. You’re under arrest.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I think we can come to some kind of agreement, can’t we?” I said, more than a little worried our pictures would show up in the police blotter.
“I said, out of the car!” the second cop demanded.
“No need to get a stick up your ass,” I said, slurring my words. I opened my door, stood, and swayed a little.
“Francis, don’t piss him off, sugar. It won’t do us any good.” Ava’s voice was as sweet as southern honey.
The nice cop looked at his colleague, who roughly moved Ava to the side to cuff her. And that did it. I pushed the guy back.
“Mr. Sinatra,” the nice cop said. “Let’s keep this civil. You, too.” He glared at the jerk cop.
