"Hello, Dawn, darling," Miss Veronica Wood greeted her. "I hope I didn't rip you out of bed or anything?"
"Oh, no," Dawn said. "I'm really surprised to see you here, Miss Wood."
"I had a hell of a time finding it, I'll tell you that," Veronica said. "Can I come in?"
What the hell does she want?
"Oh, of course. Excuse me," Dawn said. "Please come in. You'll have to excuse the appearance of the place...."
"I've lived in worse," Veronica said, and walked to the card table and picked up one of the photographs.
"Isn't that Mr. Dillon's car?"
"Yeah. They finally got it fixed," Veronica said. Then, tossing the photograph back on the table, she said, "Not bad. Who did that, Roger Marshutz?"
"Yes. Yes, he did."
"He's a horny little bastard; keep your knees crossed when you're around him. But he's one hell of a photographer. He did a nice job with your boobs on this one."
"I liked it," Dawn said.
"You'll pass them out on the war bond tour, I suppose?"
"Yes."
"I thought so. I was over at Publicity just before I came here, and they were signing mine."
What the hell does that mean?
"Excuse me? I don't quite understand."
Veronica looked at Dawn as if her suspicions that she was retarded were just confirmed.
"The girls, the girls in Publicity, were signing my handouts."
"Oh."
Of course, Veronica Wood is a star. Stars don't autograph their own pictures. How the hell would the fans know if the real star had signed them or not? I am not a star-at least not yet. And that's why I'm signing my own photographs. What the hell, I sort of like signing them. But this will be the last time. Next time the girls in Publicity can sign "Warm regards, Dawn Morris" two thousand times. They probably have nicer handwriting than I do, anyway.
"Can I offer you something to drink?"
"Have you got any scotch?"
"No, I'm sorry, I don't think I do."
"Then I'll pass, thanks anyway."
"I know I have gin."
"Gin makes me horny, and then it gives me a headache," Veronica Wood said. "I don't like to get horny unless I can do something about it. Thanks anyway."
"Is there something you wanted, Miss Wood?"
"No, I was just in the neighborhood and thought I'd pop in and say 'howdy,' " Veronica said, meeting her eyes. "I wanted to talk to you about Bobby."
Bobby? Who the hell is Bobby? Oh.
"Corporal Easterbrook, you mean? What about him?"
"Actually, Lieutenant Easterbrook," Veronica said. "They gave him a commission. You didn't know?"
Dawn shrugged helplessly. "What about him?"
"Now you and I know why you were screwing him at Jake's place," Veronica said. "But I don't think he does."
"I don't..." Dawn began.
"Let me put it this way, Dawn darling," Veronica interrupted her. And then she changed the entire pitch and timbre of her voice, sounding as well bred and cultured as she did in her last film, where she played the Sarah Lawrence-educated daughter of a Detroit industrialist who fell in love with her father's chauffeur. It earned her an Academy Award nomination. "As you take your first steps toward what we all hope will be a distinguished motion picture career, the one thing you don't need is to have me pissed at you."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"I like that kid," Veronica said, her diction and timbre returning to normal. "He's a good kid. He's been through stuff in the war you and I can't even imagine, and he's just dumb and sweet enough to think that you were screwing him because you liked him."
"I don't know what you're driving at," Dawn said.
"Yeah, you do. It's time for Bobby to get thrown out of your bed. And don't tell me you haven't thought about it. You couldn't keep it up if you wanted to. Even in his lieutenant's costume, he looks like a little boy. You can't afford a reputation for robbing the cradle, either."
"He is young, isn't he," Dawn said. "And he's so sweet!"
"So," Veronica said. "The question is how to let Bobby down gently. You want to be an actress, act. You figure out how to do it. Just keep in mind that if you don't do a really nice job of letting him down, you will not only break his heart, but you will really piss me off. You really don't want to do that."
Dawn had her first rebellious thought, and it was not entirely unpleasant: Jesus, is it possible that she's looking at me as a threat to her? Of course it's possible. But I'm not as vulnerable as she thinks lam. The studio has plans for me-based on my screen test, and on the fact that Shirley Maxwell liked it. She may have an Academy Award nomination, and she may be screwing the ears off Jake Dillon, but she doesn't come close to having the influence Shirley Maxwell has on her husband. And he runs the studio!
"I have no intention of hurting Bob Easterbrook, Miss Wood," Dawn said. "I really like him. You didn't have to come here and threaten me."
"It wasn't a threat, it was statement of fact."
"Not that I think you could do a thing to harm me..."
"Oh! I'll be goddamned! Darling, let me let you in on a little secret. The real power at Metro-Magnum is Shirley Maxwell. Don't ever forget that. And just for the record, Shirley and I go way back. She was under contract, too, you know. We were in the chorus of a swimming-pool epic with Esther Williams... and we were sharing a dump like this. Anyhow, she once confided in me back then that she really loved that porcine dwarf she finally married. And I confided in her that I really loved Jake Dillon, and I was going to catch him in a weak mood and get him to marry me. The consequence of that is that Shirley knows that I'm the only female on the lot who's not trying to get her husband's undersized dork out of his pants and into her mouth. And Shirley likes Jake, too... and not only because of me. When I heard that Shirley said nice things to the dwarf about your test, I knew it was because of Jake. You're not bad-looking, and you have a fine set of boobs, but so do five thousand other girls out here. How long do you think you'd last if I went to Shirley and told her to keep an eye on the dwarf, he's got the hots for Whatsername, Dawn something, the one with the sexy voice and the big teats?"
They locked eyes for a moment.
"I think we understand each other, Miss Wood," Dawn finally said.
"Yeah, I think maybe we do," Veronica said, and then shifted back into the role of Pamela Hornsbury of Sarah Lawrence and Detroit. "And please call me Veronica. Now that you're going to be part of the Metro-Magnum family, it seems only appropriate, don't you think, darling?" Then she smiled and walked out of Dawn's apartment.
[THREE]
Cottage B
The Foster Beverly Hills
Beverly Hills, California
1325 Hours 5 November 1942
"May I come in?" the general manager of the Foster Beverly Hills said, inserting his head through the open door.
First Lieutenant Malcolm S. Pickering, USMCR, waved him in, then held up his index finger, asking him to wait. Pick was sitting on a couch whose wildly floral upholstery and faux-bamboo wood manifested, he supposed, a South Pacific ambience. There was a telephone at his ear.