Page 5 of In a Far-Off Land
But I wasn’t about to tell Max that.
My name, sung out in a familiar bleating voice, broke through the tension wrapped around us. Max’s hands dropped from my shoulders. Louella Parsons’s stout frame pushed through the slim women and swellegant men like a freighter through frothy waves.
“Minerva, my dearest! You came. I knew you would.” She was wearing a flowing gown of burgundy silk trimmed in black marabou. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes overbright. She fluttered her lashes at Max. “It’s been a long time, Maximilian.”
“Louella.” The look on his face said not long enough.
So Max knew Louella as well as Clara Bow, and hadn’t even told me? He was a dark horse, but this was the clincher. How else had he been holding out on me?
Louella lifted one of my hands, twirling me around. “You. Look. Divine.” She linked her arm through mine. “You don’t mind if I steal your little friend for a bit, do you, Maximilian?”
Max held out his hand to me, as if giving me one last chance to change my mind. I shook my head. Ever since the New Year’s Incident, he’d been in a mood. Sure, he’d got me some auditions, even the promise of a contract with Cosmo, but everything he’d done had fallen through. Sometimes he acted like he didn’t even want me to make it in Hollywood.
I let Louella turn me away from him, a lump in my throat. Max was my agent and he wasn’t doing his job. That’s all there was toit. The crowd closed around me, and the last I saw of Max was his worried eyes watching me walk away.
Louella steered me toward the back of the house like a force of nature, her fingers digging into my arm like talons. “Minerva, dearest,” Louella said, “I can put you right up on the screen. You know that, don’t you?” I didn’t know what to say, but it didn’t matter because she went on. “I just need you to do a little thing for me.”
“But, what—?” A little thing?
“It’s nothing. Just keep Roy Lester busy tonight. And by tomorrow, you’ll be signing a contract with Cosmo. I guarantee it.”
“But doesn’t Mr. Lester make the decisions about his leading ladies? And Mr. Hearst?”
She stopped midstride and turned to me, her voice sticky-sweet. “Don’t you worry. I have Mr. Hearst right in my pocket.” She patted her breast as if she had a pocket with a miniature William Randolph Hearst trapped inside.
I tried to clear my muddled head. I do this for her, and she gets me a contract with Cosmo? With Louella’s help, I could be bringing in hundreds of dollars a week in no time at all. Enough to wire to Papa and keep him in the clear. And what was the harm in keeping Roy Lester company, anyway?
Then, through a tall double door, we entered a party that was far more intimate than the crush in the other room. Half a dozen people lounged on red velvet divans and tufted chairs in front of a massive stone fireplace. The lights were dim, the music muted. A white bearskin lay on the floor, the mouth gaping open to show enormous ivory teeth.
A shiver ran over my bare back.
Louella turned to me, her eyes bright with more than the gin Ismelled on her breath. “Here we are, Minerva. I’m telling you, Roy is just going to eat you up.”
I ignored the herd of butterflies stampeding in my stomach and plucked up my courage. Roy Lester, get ready to meet your next leading lady.
The murmur of conversation fell silent as we approached, the music and wild laughter of the other room muted and distant. Louella gushed like a little girl, “Minerva, dearest, you remember my friends, William and Marion?”
How could I not? Hearst was propped in one corner of the plush red divan, a full tumbler of whisky in hand. He was forty if he was a day, and Marion had left her twenties behind long ago. Marion was draped over him like a blanket, her famous blonde bob mussed and her lids at half-mast. A champagne bottle dangled from one dainty hand.
I stammered my hello, trying not to gape at how Marion’s sapphire dress, with a plunging V-neck and plenty of spangles, had slipped up her thigh, followed closely by Hearst’s hand. Marion murmured a greeting, took a swig from her bottle, and hiccupped. Hearst raised his glass to me and winked broadly at Louella’s husband, who moved over to make room on the divan. Louella’s eyes narrowed and I hoped to heaven she wasn’t thinking of the Docky Disaster at this moment.
Louella took my arm in her clawlike grasp and turned me to the man seated on the other end of the divan. Roy Lester wore a white dinner jacket, unbuttoned, and his bow tie was already undone. His classic features blurred behind the smoke of a fat cigar. “Roy, I’d like you to meet Minerva Sinclaire,” Louella simpered. “I think you two will just adore each other.”
Let me tell you something. Back at the farm, we had a roosterI’d named Blackie the Pirate, on account of the way he strutted around, his red gobbles wobbling, his swordlike beak ready to strike at any out-of-line hen. Roy Lester made me think of him right off. Roy’s dark hair was combed over a thinning crown, and a narrow mustache outlined razor-thin lips. He even had a fold of red-flushed skin inching over his collar. But mostly, it was his eyes. They were sharp and quick, as if looking for a weak spot.
I held out my hand. I didn’t have to like him; I just had to keep him company, like Louella said. Roy didn’t stand for the introduction, but I guess someone under contract for a million bills a year doesn’t have to stand if he doesn’t want to. He took my hand and jerked me down into his lap. I yelped in surprise and struggled a bit. He laughed, his hand snaking around my waist as I awkwardly rearranged myself to sit beside him and put my dress back to rights while avoiding the hot ash of his cigar. “Pleased to meet you.” I found my voice and gave him a look from under my lashes.
“Miss Sinclaire,” he crowed, his eyes swiveling over me. “Louella’s told me all about you.” His whisky-and-tobacco breath made my eyes water.
I inched away, but Louella settled her bulky form on my other side, trapping me.
“You’re dry,” Lester bellowed, as if it were a crime. “This won’t do at all.” He signaled to a waiter—a kid bearing a striking resemblance to the girl Max had spoken to—who proffered a tray of martinis. I tried to remember how many drinks I’d had. Clara’s whisky, two glasses of champagne, or was it three? Then I reminded myself I wasn’t following Max’s rules tonight, accepted a martini, and took a sip. The gin slipped down my throat like a sharp knife, but I figured it would give me courage. Roy settled back, andLouella started in on who we’d seen in the other room, who they were with, and what they said.
I made small talk and took Roy’s hand in mine so it couldn’t go any further up my thigh. He wasn’t so bad, I told myself, if slurred words and cigar breath were your thing.
Louella leaned into our conversation. “Didn’t I tell you? Couldn’t you just eat her up?” She laughed as if it weren’t the tenth time tonight she’d used the phrase.
Roy buried his face in my neck. I tried to wiggle away as he traced a moist path toward my ear. A flicker of panic started in my chest and I pushed at him. This was too much. Roy leaned back, eyeing me with a hint of disappointment. “Come on, sweet thing, you know the game.” He snagged another martini from a passing tray and put it in my hands. His look gave me the heebie-jeebies. Yes, I knew the game. I wished to heaven I didn’t. I took a sip, even though I didn’t want it.
