The Devil's Due (22 page)

Elizabeth hurried to catch up. “Wait!” The girl either didn't hear her or didn't want to talk and continued down the street. Elizabeth lifted the hem of her dress and dashed across the street. “Girl from Alan Grant's!”

Finally, she stopped and turned. Elizabeth waved to her and caught up.

She looked at Elizabeth with a worried expression, taking in the dress and the fur. “Are you his girlfriend?”

“Alan's? No. Just a friend. A good friend.”

The girl glanced nervously up the street and frowned. “Who's he?”

Elizabeth followed her gaze. Simon stood at the end of the driveway, watching and waiting, and trying to be discreet. “He's my husband.” She waved him away. “Ignore him. I'm more interested in who you are.”

The girl's forehead creased and she nervously tucked a blonde curl behind her ear. When she looked back up at Elizabeth with her pale blue eyes, Elizabeth knew she couldn't be anyone else. “You're his daughter, aren't you?”

Her wobbly chin was all the reply Elizabeth needed. “Grace,” she said and fresh tears started to spill.

Elizabeth slipped an arm over Grace's slender shoulders as they trembled. “It's all right, honey. Let's go on up to the house.”

Elizabeth eased her around, but she shook her head. “They'll just send me away again.”

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. “Not this time.” She hugged her to her side. “Trust me?”

Grace looked a little dubious, but she nodded.

“Good.”

Elizabeth led her up the street to where Simon waited for them. He arched an eyebrow and offered a tentative, “Hello.”

Grace gave him a weak smile.

“Would you keep
her father
occupied,” Elizabeth said with a not so subtle nod toward Grace. “While we have a little chat?”

Simon's eyes widened in surprise. “Of course,” he said and gave Elizabeth his patented
what are you doing now?
expression. She returned it with a glare and he knew enough not to press the point.

Grace sniffled loudly. Simon’s attention shifted to the girl. He frowned and then reached into his tuxedo jacket, pulling out a handkerchief. He held it out to the girl. She looked at it uneasily until his expression softened. “It will be all right,” he said gently.

She smiled gratefully and took the handkerchief. Elizabeth gave Simon's hand a quick thank you squeeze which earned her a
don't make me regret
it look.

The three of them silently walked up the drive. When they reached the front door, Peter was standing there looking very uncomfortable.

“I'll take responsibility,” Elizabeth assured him.

Peter looked anxiously from the girl to Elizabeth and then to Simon.

“Is there a place where the two of us can talk?” Elizabeth asked.

Peter frowned, but nodded and escorted them to the study. Grace looked around the room anxiously and wouldn't sit until Elizabeth told her it was all right. Elizabeth brought her a glass of water from a carafe by the desk. She took a tiny sip. Poor kid, Elizabeth thought, as she took off her ridiculous fur stole and sat down on the ottoman. She looked closely at the girl. Her clothes were simple and conservative and her tears were certainly genuine.

“How long have you been trying to see him?”

“About a week,” Grace said, putting the glass of water on the end table. “I came all the way from Philadelphia.”

“That's a long way.”

The girl nodded proudly. “I saved up. Momma didn't want me to come, but said I had a right to meet him.”

“You've never met?”

Grace shook her head. “I just found out who he was.”

Elizabeth heard Simon's voice in her head. A gold digger? The mother looking for money and sending the child? People probably tried to put the touch on men like Alan Grant all the time.

Grace seemed to sense Elizabeth's train of thought and said quickly, “I'm not here for money or anything like that. I just…I lived my whole life not knowing my father and then I find out who he is. And, I know it's silly, but I felt like I kind of did know him. From his movies.”

Elizabeth nodded. “It's not silly.”

“And then I had enough saved and I wanted to see for myself if the man I saw up there is who he really was.” Her cheeks trembled. “But he won't even see me. I just want him to see me.”

Elizabeth covered Grace's hand with hers. “And he will.”

Ten minutes later when Elizabeth finally joined Simon and Alan in his living room, she wasn't sure whether to just cry or cry and then hit someone. The poor girl endured nights with relatives who thought she was foolish for trying and days waiting for her father to let her in the front door. That ended tonight.

“So glad you could join us,” Alan said as he held up a drink for her and gestured to Simon. “Your husband’s been about as much fun as an empty bottle of gin. Barely said two words. We still have a few hours before the premier though…” Her expression swiftly wiped the smile off his face. “What's the matter?”

“That's what I was going to ask you,” Elizabeth said. “I just had a very interesting conversation with a very distraught young girl.”

Alan started to put the drink he'd offered her down and decided to drink it himself instead. “I appreciate your concern—”

“My concern?” Elizabeth was not going to be put off. “That girl is your daughter.”

No matter how practiced an actor Alan was he couldn't hide the shame and the pain he felt in that moment. Elizabeth tried to make sense of it, to come to Alan's defense in her head, but she simply couldn't.

“There is nothing you can say to me that I haven’t already said to myself,” Alan said.

“You’re an ass,” Simon said.

“Including that.” Alan put his empty glass down and stared into the crystal for a moment. “It's far better this way, don’t you think? Considering my rather imminent demise.”

“No, I don't think.” Elizabeth tried to control her anger. “All she wants to do is see you. To see her father. Doesn't she deserve that at least? Don't you love her at all?”

“Of course I do!” Alan said and then again more softly. “Of course I do.”

Simon shook his head, glowering at Alan. “What sort of man abandons his own child?”

“She was better off without me,” he said quickly. “They both were.”

Alan picked up and put down his empty glass.

“I don’t believe that,” Elizabeth said.

“I am not a hero,” Alan said softly. “I am not that man you see up on the screen. I am flesh and blood and flawed.” Alan’s blue eyes filled with deep pain and regret. “Feet of clay, my dear, feet of clay,” he said before walking a few slow paces to a chair and sinking into it. “I want to see her very, very much, but now…” He shook his head. “She deserves far more than I can give her.”

“You're her father.”

“I am a dead man,” he said.

Elizabeth looked at this man she'd so admired and saw the truth. “You're afraid.”

“Yes,” he said in a voice barely more than a whisper. “I am a coward. I ran away from her and her mother years ago and I haven't stopped yet.”

“It isn't too late,” Elizabeth said. “She's amazing.”

Pride flashed across Alan's face before he shoved it away. “All the more reason to send her away. If Thorn should see her…” He shook his head, dispelling the thought.

“Go see her,” Elizabeth said. “Just spend a little time with her and we'll keep her away from Thorn, I promise. Give her an hour. You owe her that at the very least.”

Elizabeth could see his resolve weakening. “My father died when I was seventeen. And I would give anything to see him again, even if it was just for an hour.”

She held out her hand to Alan. “She's waiting.”

Alan took her hand and stood. He reached out and gently touched her cheek. “Oh, Lucia.”

Alan's eyes were wet as he nodded and took a deep, bracing breath. He walked to the door and paused. He didn't turn back, but asked, “You'll wait?”

“We'll be here.”

Alan spent the next hour talking with his daughter. What they said, Elizabeth didn't ask, but when they saw him again, Alan looked like a man who'd just learned Santa Claus was real — stunned and delighted and unsure of his strange new reality. He seemed ready to face anything, even Thorn. Maybe he finally had something real to live for.

Peter dropped off Grace at her aunt’s house and came back to take Alan to the premiere. Elizabeth was a little surprised he still wanted to go, but as he put it, tonight could be his final performance as Alan Grant and he was going to enjoy it.

As their limousine pulled onto Hollywood Boulevard, Elizabeth could see the giant searchlights scanning the night sky in the distance. Huge ten-foot cutouts of showgirl's legs caught in mid-kick were strung up along the street lamps like Christmas decorations. The sidewalks were packed with people trying to get a glimpse of their favorite star.

They drove past the theater and Elizabeth strained to see out of the back window. Grauman's Chinese Theatre was magnificent. The front part of the façade rose nearly one hundred feet in the air and was flanked by two gigantic coral red columns that were capped by wrought iron masks and a bronze roof. Between the columns an enormous dragon carved from stone and two giant Foo Dogs guarded the entrance. Standing over the main entrance was a thirty-foot pair of showgirl legs and the signature sign of the movie premiering, “Chorus Girl!”

Their limousine u-turned in front of a police barricade and lined up with the other cars pulling up in front of the red carpet. Fans clamored to see inside the car. When it was their turn, Alan smiled happily and said, “Once more unto the breach, dear friends. And try to have some fun,” he added with a grin.

As Elizabeth stepped out of the car, the flashbulbs and cries to “look here” were overwhelming. Alan stood on one side and Simon on the other as they paused to give the press a few good shots. In front of them, an actual red carpet showed the path toward the forecourt of the theater. A voice boomed over loudspeakers that Alan Grant and friends had arrived and a cheer went up as the crowd pressed against the velvet ropes and security guards.

Alan soaked it all in — the screaming, noise, the people reaching out to touch him. His eyes glittered in the bright lights.

“A marvelous chaos, isn't it?” Alan said, before urging her to walk with him up the carpet.

The three of them paused in the middle of the path for another set of pictures. Simon shifted uncomfortably next to her and frowned at the crowd, looking more like a bodyguard than a dashing escort. But he was dashing and so was Alan and the frenzy of energy was making her skin tingle. Not to mention that she was standing in the famous forecourt of Grauman's Chinese Theatre where stars had left their legacies in the shape of hand and footprints in cement.

She idly wondered who she was standing on when another gentle tug on her elbow signaled it was time to move again. That's when she saw the large, heavy-set man straining the confines of his tuxedo vest. He smiled broadly and leaned into the two tall microphones standing in front of him. She didn't recognize the call letters emblazoned on the halos, but it was clear this was a big media event being broadcast live on the radio. “Alan Grant, ladies and gentlemen! Perhaps we can get him to stop in and say a word.”

Alan's grin broadened as he stepped to the microphones and shook the man's hand. “Hello, Tom.”

The man smiled and stepped back. Alan looked out over the crowd. “They say movies are magic. And I quite agree. But the real magic isn't the talent of the wonderful people who brought you tonight's picture or any other. It's you.”

The buzz of the crowd died down, perhaps sensing something special about this moment.

Alan looked out over the crowd, as in love with them as they were with him. He pointed out toward the throng, slowly moving his arm to encompass all of them. “When you walk through those doors,” he said pointing to the entrance to the theater, “you bring the magic with you. You open your hearts and minds to the impossible and believe.
That's
the magic of the movies. You. And I humbly thank you for letting me be a small part of it. Thank you. Good night.”

Alan waved once more to the crowd and stepped back. The crowd applauded politely, unsure what to make of anything so heartfelt. Elizabeth and Simon moved to join Alan when the announcer jumped in their way. “And look who we have here! Mr. and Mrs. Cross, the heroes who joined Alan Grant in saving Sam Roth's life. Won't you say a few words?”

Elizabeth looked to Alan for help, but he merely chuckled and nodded toward the microphone, mouthing the words “have fun.”

Elizabeth hesitated and bobbed her head too close to the microphone and then back again a bit too far. Finally, she offered a tentative, “Hello.”

“Speak up,” the announcer encouraged her, moving the microphone closer.

“Hello, I'm very excited to be here. Mr. Grant has been so wonderful.” The crowd cheered, happy to be back on predictable ground. Photographic flashes put spots in her eyes. “Say, hello, Simon. This is my husband,” she said dragging Simon to her side. “Say hello, Simon.”

Simon frowned and leaned down to the microphone. “Good evening.” His deep voice and crisp British accent caused a woman near them to wail and then swoon dramatically into her friend's arms.

“You should hear him say good morning,” Elizabeth quipped.

The announcer muscled in front of them. “Thank you, I see Dick Powell and Joan Blondell have just arrived!”

Elizabeth started to step away from the mike, but leaned back in and quickly said, “May the force be with you.”

Simon pulled her away to join Alan as the announcer frowned at her and started his brief commercial pitch. “Dew Deodorant. When nervousness makes you perspire, ladies, Dew will keep your secret.”

Inside the theater they were greeted by more press and posed for a few more shots before Alan was led away to a special box at the back of the theater to sit with other stars and VIPs. They promised to meet by the south fountain in the forecourt after the movie was over. One of the dozens of usherettes who were dressed as chorus girls took Simon's and Elizabeth's tickets and led them out of the lobby and into the theater.