Stolen Kiss With The Hollywood Starlet

Nothing was going to change her mind about that.

She took a final look at the calling card and then tucked it beneath her pillow.

That was the good thing about dreams. No one could take them away. She’d lost everything else. Her family. Her home. But not her dream. Not her hope.

No one could take that away from her.

* * *

Shirley was at work by ten the next morning. Schlepping drinks. She figured that by working all day and night, she’d make money faster, pay off her debt and get out of Cartwright’s.

The morning and afternoon crowds were nothing like the evening and night ones, but she worked them because every penny counted. Every single cent was one step closer to getting out of here. She hadn’t felt this trapped at the Swaggerts’. She may have thought she’d waited on them hand and foot, but it hadn’t been anything like this. Here, she didn’t have any sort of a life of her own. At times, like now, when her feet were hurting and disgust rolled in her stomach, she felt her determination slipping, but that couldn’t happen. She couldn’t give up on herself. She was all she had. That had been easier to accept four years ago, because she’d had hope then. Now, she had to dig deep to find that. Partially because of the other girls—those who had been here for months. They were so downtrodden, so lifeless, as if they’d completely given up. Given in to Mel and his contracts.

She wouldn’t do that. Give in.

If she’d been on the other side of this tray, the place might be considered fun. Besides the piano player, two men played trumpets, and another pounded a huge drum, filling the room with jazz music that had women in bright-colored dresses and men wearing striped shirts and bow ties dancing, laughing and carrying on. It was a sight to see. The feathered headbands, strings of pearls and fancy hats were like the ones she’d seen in magazines back in Nebraska. Like the ones she wanted to wear. She would. Someday. Although the people appeared friendly—it was only to each other. She’d quickly learned very few wanted to know anything more than what was on her tray, and the number of them that tried to stiff her for their drinks was more than not.

She wasn’t about to take that. Not from anyone.

While things were slow during the late afternoon, she took her break, ate a bowl of chili that was sure to leave her with a good bout of heartburn and then hooked her tray over her neck and headed back into the main room of the speakeasy.

The crowd had grown in her absence, and she hurried to fill her tray with drinks and get them sold. It hadn’t taken her long to figure out who bought the more expensive drinks, and though they cost her more, too, those buying the higher priced drinks didn’t try to short her.

She was filling her tray for the third time in less than ten minutes when she saw him.

Him.

Walter Russell.

He was as pesky as a fly that kept landing on a person’s nose in the middle of the night. She purposefully didn’t stop by his table, but kept an eye on him. He may not look it, but he was slippery. Had to be up to no good. Why else would he be here? Watching her.

Was he another Roy Harrison? Or Olin Swaggert and his fast-talking lawyer? Or Mel Cartwright with his contract? Tricksters, liars and cheats. That’s what they’d been. He could be, too. Most likely was. Two other men, not the same ones from last night, were at his table. All three of them laughing.

At what? Her?

That possibility nagged at her for the next few hours, and grated at her nerves like a squeaky hinge. Not even having people fill the joint wall to wall helped. She knew he was still here. Knew exactly where he was sitting.

The room was in full swing, people dancing, laughing, buying drinks and having the times of their lives. She wasn’t. Her feet were aching from the shoes she had to wear. White, with tall heels, and at least one size too small. It would be hours before she could take them off, so she forced herself not to think about them and kept passing out drinks, all the while keeping an eye on Walter.

A pretty young woman with hair as red as her lipstick and wearing a white-and-red polka-dot dress had been talking with him a short time ago, but was nowhere in sight now.

Shirley scanned the room for the red-haired woman as she made her way toward the end of the long wooden bar to refill her tray when, suddenly, he was at her side.

Startled, she jolted sideways.

He grasped her waist and pulled her against his side. “Stay close to me.”

His aftershave was like a breath of fresh air. For weeks all she’d smelled was cigarette smoke and whiskey. He smelled so fresh and clean all she wanted to do was close her eyes and breathe. Just breathe.

She stopped herself before that happened and twisted so her cheek was no longer up against his shoulder. “My tray is empty. I—”

“Doesn’t matter.” He started walking, forcing her to walk with him. “You’re leaving.”

“Leave? I can’t—” Her words were cut short by a high-pitched siren. It was so loud she couldn’t hear what he said.

He grabbed the strap of her tray and pulled it over her head.

She was reaching to grab it when pandemonium hit. Chairs toppled and people started running, pushing and shoving others in their way.

Shocked, frozen, Shirley didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know what was happening.

Walter pushed her out of the way as a table toppled in the wake of two huge men. She stumbled backward, up against the wall. Sirens still filled the air, along with screams and shouts. “What’s happening?”

Walter grasped her face with both hands. His nose was inches from hers, the length of his body pressed tight against hers.

“I’ll get you out of here, Blondie, don’t worry.”

She heard him, but didn’t. Her heart was pounding too hard, echoing in her ears. The heat of his palms, the pressure of his body, his fresh, clean scent, had her mind swirling. She swallowed, tried to breathe, but couldn’t. His lips were too close to hers. So close they were breathing the same air. A heavy, tingling warmth filled her as she reached up and wrapped her fingers around his arms.

He was so handsome, so—

The haze around her shattered. The roar of the panicking crowd once again filled her ears. Someone had bumped into them and fallen. Recognizing the black curls, Shirley grabbed the arm of the cigarette girl and helped Walter lift her off the floor before she got trampled.

“The bulls are outside!” Alice shouted.

“Bulls?” Shirley asked. “Cattle? A stampede?”

“No! Police!” Alice shouted. “We have to run or be arrested!”

Shirley’s heart leaped into her throat. There were too many people to run. To get anywhere.

Alice grabbed her arm. “This way!”

Walter grabbed her other arm. “No! This way.”

“Only the customers can go out through the kitchen,” Alice said. “We have to go out through the back and get upstairs before the bulls see us.”

“No,” Walter said. “We have to go this way.”

“No! The bulls gotta arrest someone!” Alice shouted. “That will be anyone dressed like us going that way!”

Shirley felt as if she was being torn in two with the way they each tugged on her arm.

“Trust me,” Walter said. “This way.”

Shirley couldn’t say why, but she pulled her arm out of Alice’s hold and then grabbed the woman’s hand. “This way!”

“Hurry,” Walter said, pulling her forward.