Bridge to Haven (40 page)

Abra had dreaded the love scene all week, well aware Alec Hunting, the leading man, had a crush on her.

Franklin made jokes about it, but she could tell he didn’t like it. The script called for Alec to be in love with Helena, the lead, while Abra played the friend who was secretly in love with him. The kiss was supposed to be purely platonic and was intended to bring the women in future audiences to tears. Franklin had told her a hundred times this one scene could make her career soar. If she could pull it off. Franklin had rehearsed with her for hours before he was satisfied with her performance.

The moment had come. She had spoken all her lines. Only the kiss remained, and the long, soulful look while Alec walked away. She gasped the instant Alec took her in his arms, knowing there would be trouble. The director shouted, “Cut!” but Alec didn’t stop kissing her.

“Cut!”

The laughter was bad enough, but then Abra heard Franklin cursing. Something crashed. Voices rose in surprise. She almost fell when Alec was yanked away. She stumbled back, gasping. The director was shouting again. Two men grabbed hold of Franklin before he could hit Alec. Alec cursed now, too. Men held their arms, pulling them away from each other.

Exasperated, the director yelled, “Get him out of here!” The two men hauled Franklin to the exit while he shouted that he’d knock Hunting’s teeth down his throat if he touched Lena again.

Alec shrugged off restraining hands and laughed. “That guy is crazy!”

“You shouldn’t have kissed me like that!”

“He thinks he owns you. You should dump him and find someone with a cooler head.” A makeup artist dabbed the perspiration from his face. “Good thing he didn’t hit me, or I’d be suing him.”

The director took his seat and shouted for them to get back on their marks for another take. “Keep it sweet and chaste this time, Hunting, or I’ll be punching you myself for wasting film!”

This time Abra botched the scene. Alec clearly thought it was
his kiss that had shaken her. He flashed the famous smile that had women swooning and writing him love letters by the thousands. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep it friendly.” She was too distracted to offer a rebuke, worried about Franklin outside, pacing, fuming. It took five takes to get the scene right. When Alec came back, she brushed past him. He caught her wrist. She jerked free. The director called Alec over and they had words. Alec stormed off the set.

Helena gave a dramatic sigh. “Men! Can’t live with them and can’t live without them.” She winked. “Don’t worry about it, Lena. It’s become a cliché for the leading man to fall for the leading lady.”

“Are you in love with him?”

“Me? Are you kidding? I meant you.”

“You can have him.”

Helena laughed. “No thanks. I’m good and married.”

“Married?”

“Shhhh. The studio wants to keep it hush-hush. It ruins the fantasy for male fans, but it keeps me safe from callow coyotes like Alec Hunting.”

Franklin was waiting in her dressing room, taut as a tiger ready to spring. “Did they make you do the scene again?”

“Yes.” She didn’t tell him how many times. His expression told her he already knew. “He treats Helena with respect.”

“He’s not in love with Helena.”

“He’s not in love with me either, Franklin, and Helena’s married. That’s the difference. Maybe if we told him we were married, he wouldn’t think he could take any liberties.”

Franklin’s expression altered. “You want to get married?”

She sat. Did she? She looked in the mirror and fussed with her hair.

He put his hands on her shoulders. “You’re trembling.”

“You almost punched him!”

His fingers tightened. “I would have, if they hadn’t stopped me.” He gentled, kneading the tense muscles in her neck. “Maybe you’re
right. Maybe we should get married. Then nobody would think they could step over the line.”

“Are you serious?” She met his eyes in the mirror and saw he was. He’d already made up his mind.

“The call sheet doesn’t have you scheduled until Friday.” He was back to business. “That gives us three days. We can drive up to Vegas, have a private ceremony in a wedding chapel, and be back in time for the shoot on Friday.”

“How romantic.” She shrugged his hands off and stood. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. But Lena Scott wouldn’t do either.

“It was your idea, Lena. How long have we been living together? More than two years. Why not make it legal?”

“What a beautiful proposal.” She turned her back on him.

He spun her around, hands firm at her waist. “You already know I love you.” He didn’t ask if she loved him. If they did get married, would he be less jealous, less suspicious, less possessive? She asked if he was sure. He said he was and kissed her.

They returned to the apartment. Franklin packed for her, two outfits, nothing suitable for a wedding. She kept hoping he would change his mind. He noticed her silence. “We’ll have a honeymoon later.”

On the drive to Las Vegas, he said things would be even better between them once they were married. Maybe he did want to build a life and not just a career with her.

Neon signs announced wedding chapels. Franklin chose one that reminded her of a miniature Haven Community Church, except for the blaring lights instead of a cross on the steeple. The proprietor had a rack of black tuxedos and white wedding gowns from which to choose: some plain, some with lace and pearls, some tiered confections. Abra felt like wearing black, but picked white satin. The proprietor’s wife insisted she wear a veil and handed her a small bouquet of silk flowers, probably used a hundred times before by a hundred other brides who’d come for a quickie wedding. Franklin stood at
the altar looking handsome in a rented tux. His eyes shone when she took her place beside him. Maybe everything would be all right. When he smiled, she put her hand in his, and smiled back.

“You’re so beautiful. We should have done this a long time ago.”

The ceremony lasted only a few minutes. Franklin slid a simple gold band on her finger. Did the chapel have a tray of those for sale, too? They signed papers and received their marriage certificate. Elated, Franklin took her to a casino for their wedding dinner. He ordered champagne. The sound of slot machines and bells announcing winners assaulted Abra’s senses. She told Franklin she wanted to go upstairs. She wanted silence. Franklin thought she wanted sex. She played her role as Lena Scott. Maybe too well.

“You don’t know how much I love you, Lena. Tell me you love me.”

“I love you, Franklin.” In truth, she said it to calm him. She made it sound like she meant it. She wanted to. She said it again because he didn’t believe her. She kept saying it because she wanted so desperately for it to be true.

Joshua got up early and made coffee. He hadn’t slept much. He’d started dreaming about Abra again, vivid dreams that haunted him.

Dad came in the back door from his morning walk. “You’re up early.”

“Rough night.” He rubbed his face.

Dad poured himself a cup of coffee and took a seat at the table. Joshua stood. “What do you say I cook some bacon, scramble some eggs?”

“Sit down, Son.”

Joshua eased back into his seat. “Something wrong?”

Dad looked at him over the rim. “Michael told me Dave offered to find you a job last summer.”

“Yeah. I’ve been praying about it.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to call him. If a job turns up, you’ll have an answer.”

When Franklin finally slept, Abra slipped from his embrace and closed herself in the bathroom. She stood under the stream of hot water and scrubbed herself. Numb, she put her palms against the tile and let the water pound her flesh. Words welled up, unbidden, sharp and clear.
“Oh! precious is the flow that makes me white as snow . . .”
She could hear Mitzi.
“It’ll all come back to you someday. Take my word for it.”

All those old hymns haunted her.

Tears came. She knew if she let go and started sobbing, Franklin would hear. He would come in and want to know what was wrong. What could she say? That she had married him because she didn’t have the courage to say no?

Hymn lyrics stuck like burrs in her mind. She couldn’t shake them.
“Nothing but the blood of Jesus. . . .”
She pressed her hands over her ears and begged. “Leave me alone.” But she couldn’t shut out what was inside her head.

Sometimes she wanted to go back. But it was too late. Dylan had called Haven a dead-end town with nothing to offer. She had to think of it that way, too, or spend the rest of her life in regret.

Abra shut off the shower and dried off.

Lena got back into bed with Franklin.

1958

By the time Dave called with a lead on a job, Joshua had all but forgotten the possibility. “I’m sorry it took so long. These things can be unpredictable. But if you’re still interested, I have a job lined up for you with a production company. It may only last a couple of months, but it’ll give you a foot in the door.”

Joshua wondered if he’d want to stay away from Haven any longer than that. The prospect of living in a big city had never appealed to him. Two months should give him time enough to find Abra. He wasn’t sure what he’d do when he did. But this was the open door he’d been praying for, and he was ready to walk through it. Luckily Jack Wooding’s crew had just finished one tract and had some time off before starting the next. It wouldn’t be a problem to get away for a while.

“Don’t worry about finding a place right away. We have plenty of room. You can live with us. How fast can you get here?”

“The time it takes to pack a suitcase and drive down.”

Exhausted and hungry, Joshua arrived at Dave and Kathy’s house late in the afternoon the next day. He met their two children—David Junior, called DJ; and Cassie, short for Cassandra, named after Kathy’s mother. Dave showed Joshua downstairs to their guest suite with private bath. At a glance, Joshua knew it had more square footage than Dad’s entire house.

Dave looked smug. “What do you think?”

“You may have to kick me out.”

He laughed. “I’ll fire up the grill and get the steaks on.”

Joshua took a quick shower and changed into a fresh short-sleeved cotton shirt before going upstairs and out through the French doors to the deck overlooking the San Fernando Valley. In less than twenty-four hours, he’d decided to come south, packed, and made the five-hundred-mile trip. His truck had overheated when coming over the Grapevine, and he’d needed to pull off for a while. Other than that, he’d only stopped a few times for gas and food. The smell of barbecuing steak made his stomach growl.

Kathy had set fine china, crystal glasses, and silverware on the glass table with an umbrella. The napkins on each plate were folded like tulips. Kathy asked Joshua what he’d like to drink—bourbon, Scotch, gin and tonic? “Or fresh lemonade.” Joshua
asked for lemonade. Dave asked for another Scotch on the rocks. Kathy’s expression told Joshua she thought Dave had already had enough.