Page 83 of A Star is Scorned
Judy opened the door to reveal Dash Howard and Joan Davis on the front step of their shabby bungalow.
Dash gave Judy a quick hug and stepped inside. He surveyed the tiny room, nodding in acknowledgment at Livvy. “Jeez, Flynn wasn’t kidding when he said your living quarters left a lot to be desired.”
Joan followed behind Dash, rolling her eyes. “Forgive my husband. We’re still working on teaching him basic tact.”
“What are you doing here?” Livvy gaped, still not processing the fact that two of the biggest movie stars in the world were standing in her entryway.
Dash gave her a wicked, megawatt smile. “We’re here to help you break up a wedding.”
Chapter 30
Flynn looked in the mirror and straightened his bow tie. The damn thing felt more like a noose. He studied his reflection—from the gray morning coat he wore (complete with tails) to the matching top hat perched on his head. He looked ridiculous in this monkey suit. He’d much rather be wearing one of his pirate costumes, if he was being honest. At least those were meant to look over-the-top.
But Rhonda had insisted she get the white-tie wedding of her dreams, and who was he to deny her? Every time he’d opened his mouth to protest one of her more absurd suggestions—be it the live peacocks that would surround them at the altar or the twenty individually carved ice sculptures she’d designed for the reception—Stanley Devlin’s maniacal face and Judy Blount’s split lip flashed in his memory. And he’d think,Well if the dame wants peacocks, she can bloody well have peacocks then. As long as Judy and Livvy are safe.
From the hall, Flynn heard someone whistling the “Wedding March.” Or wait, was it a funeral dirge? When Dash opened the door, his gaze twinkling with mischief, Flynn rolled his eyes. “What were you whistling?”
“Here comes the corpse, heading for his demise,” Dash sang.
“Oh, shut it.” Flynn was already dreading this. Did Dash have to make it worse?
Dash laughed, clearly very amused by his own antics. At least that made one of them. “You’ve only got yourself to blame, pal.”
“Don’t remind me,” Flynn grumbled.
“Because I know today is going to be hard for you—”
“I’d rather have a root canal,” Flynn muttered.
Dash ignored him. “I’ve brought you a surprise.”
Flynn wasn’t sure he was ready for whatever Dash had for him. On the night before Dash’s wedding, Flynn had tried to get him to strip naked and perform with an exotic dancer in a Reno nightclub. So he didn’t really trust that Dash had noble intentions. Turnabout was fair play, after all.
But when Dash opened the door a little wider, Flynn was delighted to see Lionel Berry, and following close behind the animal trainer, Rallo, wearing a miniature top hat and bow tie of his own. “Rallo!” Flynn exclaimed.
“You’ve already got a monkey of a best man,” Dash teased, pulling a face. “So I figured what was one more?”
Flynn kneeled as the little monkey ran to him, leaping onto the arm that Flynn extended. “Come to join the wedding party, have you?” Perched on his outstretched hand, the monkey tilted its head from side to side and bared its teeth in what Flynn hoped was a grin. “Yes, well, I feel the same. But what can we do?”
He stood and Rallo scampered up and took his perch on Flynn’s shoulder. The steady weight of his cinematic sidekick unraveled something in Flynn, and the tension in his spine released ever so slightly. No matter what happened, no matter how miserable his marriage to Rhonda, he still had his friends.
He studied himself in the mirror as Rallo reached up and tilted Flynn’s top hat at a rakish angle, lending his finery more of a piratical air.
“That’s more like it.” Flynn grinned. The monkey made alittle bow, and he laughed for what felt like the first time in weeks. “Oh, thank you, Dash. Truly.”
His best friend clapped him on the shoulder. “Of course. I thought you could use your best primate.”
The two men and the monkey studied themselves in the mirror. Flynn had to admit they looked good. Even if he felt more like he was going to meet a firing squad than walk down the aisle to his future spouse. At least he’d look dapper doing it.
His stomach fell when someone from the hall called out. “Five minutes until the procession begins.”
But Dash’s smile didn’t waver. He gripped Flynn’s shoulder a little tighter and said, “It’s going to be fun. I promise.”
And then he winked.
***
Livvy took a deep breath and choked on the sudden whiff of incense that overwhelmed her senses. She tried not to cough as she receded into the shadows of the archway above the small private chapel at the side of the church. She felt ridiculous. Joan had nicked her a nun costume from wardrobe after Livvy realized it was the only way to get herself into the church without being recognized. Had she stolen the idea directly from Flynn’s filmThe Prince and the Pirate? Yes. But thus far she’d had good luck borrowing ideas from his movies.
