Bridge to Haven (44 page)

“You said real estate. How did he get into the movie business?”

“Mom and Dad loved movies. We went all the time. Working for a studio, he knows a lot of people and sometimes invests in productions. He told me the other day he’s putting some money into a production based on a Tennessee Williams play, if they can get all the details pulled together and the star they want.” Dave came into the kitchen. She rose and poured coffee for him.

Joshua spent the day doing sketches. When he had what he wanted, he spent the next two days on scale drawings. He also started looking through the newspapers for an apartment to rent. Dave noticed him circling addresses. “Don’t get in a rush. Get to know the area before you start looking at apartments. Location is everything.”

Friday morning, he put his preliminary drawings into a folder and drove up Mulholland Drive. He arrived early, but another truck was already parked in front of the house—a white Ford fully equipped and with a logo reading
Matthias Construction
. Maria led Joshua down the hall. Cushing seemed surprised to see him. “I didn’t think you’d be back. You didn’t have much to say for yourself when we met.”

“I was listening.” He looked at his watch. “It’s 9:50.” He extended a hand to Cushing’s guest, who grinned at him and introduced himself as Charlie Jessup. He had a firm handshake and looked Joshua in the eye with an air of warmth and confidence. Joshua stepped back. “I’ll wait my turn.”

Cushing looked embarrassed and annoyed because of it. “Charlie’s done work for me before.”

Jessup laughed. “I’m not afraid of competition, Harold. Let the man show his plan before you throw him out.”

Joshua gestured toward Jessup’s sketches. “Mind if I take a look?” Jessup handed them over. The drawings were excellent; the plan, functional and organized, exactly what Harold Cushing had said he wanted. “Nice work.”

“Thanks. Now, let’s see yours.”

“Fine!” Looking annoyed, Cushing intercepted the file before Jessup got his hand on it. “I’ll take a look.” His tone implied that whatever Joshua might have come up with would be inferior to Charlie Jessup’s proposal. His expression changed when he saw the drawings. “You didn’t listen.” He sounded uncertain.

“Change the windows, cut out those shrubs, put in lawn, and you’ll have the view to go with the design.”

Charlie Jessup stepped alongside Cushing, tilting his head to get a look. “A sea captain’s cabin!” He laughed. “Wow! Let me see these!”

Cushing thrust the drawings into Jessup’s hands and glared at Joshua. “Not what I asked for.”

“No. I acted on a hunch.”

Cushing might not be interested, but Jessup took the file and looked over the drawings. “Can you do this?”

“If I had six months.”

Jessup cocked his head and studied Harold Cushing. “You’re kind of quiet.”

Cushing looked unsettled. “That’s the sort of madness Cassandra wanted.”

“You bragged about her ideas.”

Cushing ignored him and glared at Joshua. “I gave you clear instructions. Why did you come up with that design? Did Kathy put you up to it?”

Kathy? “No. Actually, your ship paintings and the Kenneth
Roberts book in the living room gave me the idea. And the room faces the ocean and the setting sun.”

Charlie Jessup looked enamored. “What’s your estimate?” He seemed interested even if Harold Cushing wasn’t.

“I don’t have one.”

“Well, there you go.” Cushing gave a dismissive laugh.

Jessup handed the drawings back to Joshua. “It’s a better idea than mine.” When Cushing glanced at him, he grinned. “And you like it.”

“I’m not made out of money.”

“What’re you saving it for? The man’s an artist, and he needs a job.” He looked at Joshua. “Make a guess.”

“Depends on materials, deadline, cost of other men coming in to do electrical work.” He named a sum. “Could be less.”

“Or more,” Cushing said.

“I could run some numbers.” Joshua shrugged and looked at Charlie Jessup. “A contractor would know better than a carpenter about all those kinds of details.”

Jessup grinned broadly. “Yes, he would.”

Cushing looked between them. “And if you worked together, how soon could you finish?”

Joshua was more surprised than he expected to get the job. With two men on board, he and Charlie figured it would take eight to ten weeks. It seemed like a major miracle that a man who didn’t know Joshua from Adam had just made him a partner on a significant job.

Jessup offered to draw up a contract for Joshua, but Joshua followed his instincts. “No need. I trust you.”

Cushing watched, scowling. “You’re not a businessman, are you? Never do anything without getting it on paper first.”

“A man is only as good as his word, Mr. Cushing.”

“Not in my book.”

“In mine, a man’s yes means yes, and no means no.” Joshua had noticed the simple gold cross Jessup wore around his neck. He
wondered about the name Matthias. A relative? Or did it have to do with the lottery after Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection? They’d needed a man to replace Judas as the twelfth disciple. God chose Matthias.

Abra stood in front of her full-length mirror, staring at herself, wondering. The first night with Dylan, and the long week on the road with him, she hadn’t had the presence of mind to worry about getting pregnant. Lilith, Dylan, and their doctor made sure she had what she needed to protect herself.

Franklin had never left it her sole responsibility. She had thought him considerate, until she broached the subject of children soon after they got married in Las Vegas.

He gave a dark laugh. “Two is more than enough heartache for a lifetime.”

He might as well have slammed a door in her face and locked it. “Why? Because you don’t see them as often as you’d like?”

“Because my wife uses them as a weapon against me.”

His wife? “I’m your wife now, Franklin. We’ll be a family.”

He drew back from her, frowning. “Why are you talking about children now?” He had been in the mood to make love. Clearly, the subject upset him enough to put that idea out of his head.

“I was just wondering. That’s all.” She propped her head up on her hand and studied him. “We’re married, Franklin. It’s something we should talk about. Isn’t it?”

His eyes darkened. “You’re barely twenty-one, Lena. You have years ahead of you.” He pushed the sheet off and got up.

She felt the cold air. “Don’t you mean
we
have years ahead of
us
?”

“Same thing.”

She crossed her arms behind her head. “I’d like to have children someday.”

He gave her a cold smile. “It’s not something to joke about, Lena.”

Lena.
The name grated on her nerves. She pushed herself up. “I’m not joking.”

“Then we’ll talk about it. Someday. Not now. Not this week or next month or this year.”

She stood and grabbed her robe. “That sounds more like
never
.”

“I didn’t say
never
.” He sounded irritated. “But let’s give ourselves a year, at least, preferably two, to enjoy each other. I want you all to myself for a while.” He went into the bathroom. She heard the shower go on.

Abra gave him six more months before she decided it would never happen unless Lena Scott made him lose his head at the right time of the month. She knew when he was most susceptible to Lena’s charms and poured a little extra Scotch into his drinks on those afternoons.

He’d change his mind once she was pregnant. He loved his children. She could tell by the tone of his voice when he tried to talk with them, the hurt when they cut the conversations short. This child would love him back. They could be a family. They could have a real home, instead of this airless apartment.

She ran her hand lovingly over her abdomen. She was two months along. She’d hoped, but still been surprised at how quickly she got pregnant. She’d gained two pounds in the last month. Her breasts felt tender. She was so tired sometimes, she just wanted to sleep. Weren’t those positive signs?

Everything would change now. Franklin would be happy, too, seeing how happy she was. She only had to tell him and have him make a doctor’s appointment to verify what she already knew. Her heart jumped when the apartment door opened and she heard Franklin’s voice. “Lena! Where are you?”

Abra threw on her robe and stepped into her slippers. The last two months had been hectic. They’d been to dinners at LaRue on Sunset Strip and Ciro’s, met celebrities at Cafe Trocadero, attended
premieres at Grauman’s Chinese, the Egyptian, and the Carthay Circle, giant klieg lights crisscrossing the sky, women in shimmering satin and sequins, men in tuxedos, shiny black limos, red carpets, and lobby posters. She met Gail Russell and Guy Madison, exchanged pleasantries with Lana Turner and Ronald Reagan. They’d been out late last night, at another Hollywood party where he’d shown her off and introduced her to another producer. Abra hoped the time would come when she didn’t have to listen to Franklin sing her praises to men who looked her over like a prime piece of meat.

“I’ve got good news.” He came into the bedroom. “You got the part!” He lifted her and spun her around. “I feel like celebrating.” He set her down and started to open her robe.

A quick stab of fear gripped her. She turned and stepped away. “Which part?”

“
The
part.” He came up behind her, his arms at her waist. Her heart knocked like a jackhammer. “The one we’ve been talking about for weeks. You finish this movie, and we’re all set.” He kept talking as he slipped his hands inside her robe. This was their big chance. A dramatic role this time, a movie based on a Tennessee Williams play.

Her heart fell. Hadn’t Franklin listened to her at all? She’d told him she couldn’t do it. She didn’t have the acting chops. He said she had him, and that’s all she needed. He’d teach her how to play the part. She knew what that meant. He’d hammer and chisel her into the role.

Franklin let go of her and stripped off his suit jacket. He yanked his tie loose. Her fear grew as he unbuttoned his shirt. “Why are you just standing there?” He laughed. “You should be dancing!”

“I can’t do it, Franklin.”

“You
will
do it!” He caught her by the shoulders, his eyes glowing. “And you’ll do it better than anyone else!” He cupped her face. “You don’t know what you’re capable of, Lena. Not yet. The whole world is going to know you before I’m done.” He kissed her forehead, her
nose, her mouth. “The money is all lined up, the production team ready; it’s all a go! This will establish you on the A-list. All they need is your pretty signature on the contract.”

His hands traveled down her back. “This is what I’ve been waiting for. It’s all coming together faster than I dreamed. It’s as though the hand of Providence is on our side.”

She shuddered, doubting God had anything to do with this. Franklin frowned. “What’s wrong?” He looked down over her body. “You’ve put on a few pounds.”

Abra felt a shock of cold go through her body. “Franklin . . .” She had to tell him.

“Forget about it. You can diet tomorrow.” Franklin gave her no time to draw her breath. “I love you so much.” He covered her mouth again. Raking his fingers into her hair, he drew back to look at her. “I can’t get enough of you.” He wasn’t seeing Abra at all, but Lena Scott, his own creation.

She wanted to weep. He didn’t even know Abra existed anymore.

Like Galatea, she remained silent as Pygmalion worshiped her.

Abra told Franklin the news the morning after the postproduction party for
Lorelei
. His face went white. He held his glass of Scotch half-suspended between the counter and his mouth as he turned to stare at her as though he didn’t understand. “What do you mean, pregnant?”

He said the word as though she’d just told him she had terminal cancer. Abra swallowed hard, heart pounding. She hadn’t expected him to look so devastated. “I’ll need to see a doctor to know for sure, but it’s been over two months since . . .”

The news was sinking in fast, like a toxic chemical into a white sandy beach. “This isn’t happening.”