Chapter One

The Diner

 

Hollywood 1928

 

The clatter of breaking glassware masked the sound of the bell's subtle tinkle, but no one could miss the rush of hot air that swept through the diner the instant the door swung wide. A big man with a big profile stepped inside then shut the door with an emphatic bang, rattling the blinds that loosely hung over the steaming window. A few eyes turned to look, and a few eyes maintained their gaze, curious now. The new customer wasn't so big in size as he was big in stature, able to swagger with a certain authority that comes with success and fame and attitude.

Poor Violet Atherton behind the counter, the one responsible for the noisy clatter of broken dishes, was immediately beside herself having recognized the gentleman now surveying the scene, his dark, smoldering eyes darting from here to there in a way that almost gave her the chills. But this was exciting! Why just last week, she'd seen his picture in the newsreel at the movies. She'd studied every feature of that distinctive visage so she'd know if she suddenly found herself in the presence of such greatness. His wasn't a handsome face, but a powerful one with a prominent nose, thick brows above the deep-set eyes, and jet black hair combed back from his scalp in an authoritative, no-nonsense way. While there was an earnest but grim presence about him that some would find unwelcoming, women were known to cling to him like the baubles they wore for decoration. Somewhere amidst the daring intensity of his bold and solemn exterior, a twinkle of mirth could light his eyes and, when it befit his need, he could easily seduce even a reluctant female with a dashing display of charm. In Violet, Lionel Rains stirred visions as immense as the world in which he lived, along with a certain degree of lust, which was quickly suppressed amid the other emotions rankling through her now.

Standing frozen in place, Violet was unable to move, shaking so fiercely she thought she could hear her bones rattle. She had been a bundle of nerves all day-a premonition of this very moment, she guessed, having felt quite sure that it was only a matter of time before she came so close to a man so powerful. On any other day she would have known this was good fortune shining down on her. But at a moment crucial to her very survival in this cold-hearted town, there she stood with a mess of spaghetti spilled down the front of her pink uniform and a pile of broken glass at her feet. Her hair was disheveled and her face lacked the kind of confidence she needed for such a momentous happening. To think she was so careful every morning to look her best because you just never knew who might cross your path. Was this fate giving her a cruel test, or was she just plain unlucky?

"Hey Vi! Get on that mess, will ya!" Jimmy shouted from the kitchen.

She hardly heard that shout and called back absently, "Yeah right, Jimmy." At that very moment her eyes were locked on those of their famous customer and she couldn't deflect her attention until his eyes drifted elsewhere.

"Vi, you okay?" the redhead Rosie bumped against her hip while carrying a load of dirty plates. "Honey, someone's gonna trip if you don't take care of that," she shot her an annoyed glance and moved on.

Violet looked down at her feet, and finally coming back to life, she scurried to find the dustpan and broom. She swept the broken glass away, then mopped the floor with an old dish rag. Her breath was short and her poor heart raced so fast she thought it would run right out the door. When she finally popped back up, she stood not more than two feet from the famous movie director Mr. Lionel Rains, who was now sitting at the counter directly opposite, reading the morning paper. A cloud of cigarette smoke circled his head and slowly rose toward the ceiling fan that loped above.

Frozen again with fear, Violet's leaden feet refused to move until Mr. Rains at last peered over the paper and asked: "You suppose I could get a cup of coffee?"

"Oh, yes sir, right away!" She practically flew to the coffeemaker, grabbed the carafe and returned with a cup and saucer, pouring with more efficiency and poise than she had shown since the man appeared. "It's a fresh pot, made it just a few minutes ago," she flashed him a sunny grin.

He only nodded in reply, then he returned to his LA Times and continued reading.

Violet moved on to her other customers at the lunch counter, taking orders and filling others, keeping quite busy until she returned to Lionel Rains ten minutes later.

"Anything else for you, sir?" she asked in her timid voice, afraid to interrupt his reverie. With the newspaper set aside, his elbows now rested casually on the counter, and he looked to be deep in thought. The smoke from a fresh cigarette curled before him like a ghostly waif, its ash trickling down to the ashtray beneath. His dark eyes seemed to burn from within, and another chill of excitement raced through Violet's veins.

He peered up at her. "How about your name, doll?"

Violet jerked, startled. "My name?"

"Every pretty girl has a name, hum?"

"Oh, my," she blushed bashfully and cocked her head. "Violet. Violet Atherton."

"So, Miss Violet Atherton, you just here to wait tables or do you have something bigger in mind to do with your life?"

She could hardly believe that he was asking her such a question. "Oh, sir, I am an actress, and I'm here to make my fortune in the movies," she proudly answered. She'd rehearsed the line a thousand times, no, make that a million times, since she climbed aboard the bus in Clarksville Indiana and headed west. All that rehearsal must have done the trick because she'd not twisted a single word or stumbled over that small phrase, not even once. She even managed to add a saucy smile to punctuate the line with a steady confidence she knew would be necessary in her adopted world.

"The movies, eh?" Mr. Rains returned. A bit of amusement briefly lit up his stern exterior. For the next few seconds he examined the pretty blonde as if he were sizing up his next Rolls: the untarnished face, sculpted features, high cheek bones and her bow like mouth. Perhaps she was a little thin, but wasn't that the style these days? he would be thinking. He was a man who'd seen it all, some better and prettier than Miss Violet Atherton, but none of the others had her violet eyes-not that her eye color would matter in the movies, since he only worked in black and white and doing feature films in color was still a few years off. Ah, but those eyes-they were hard for any man to forget, even a powerful one like Lionel Rains. The curious violet color was almost mesmerizing, especially on a female with such fair skin. It was likely that the director stayed in the diner for a second cup of coffee and a second smoke just to get another look. Finally, he managed a real smile. "You're pretty as a picture, Miss Atherton."

"Oh, why thank you, Mister Rains!" Violet came gushing back. Another blush brightened her face and she could hardly contain her excitement.

Meanwhile, her admirer shifted in his seat, turning sideways and leaning against one elbow while flicking ashes from his cigarette into the ashtray. His dark eyes didn't waver for an instant. "So, you know who I am," he went on.

"Oh, everyone knows who are, Mister Rains," she said.

He gave her a knowing glance. "I see. And I'll bet you're thinking if you look at me all coy and sweet like you are now, I'll put you in the movies. Right?"

Violet blushed again, while the rest of her felt as though it might rise right into the air with elation.

"Sad to say, but pretty girls like you are a dime a dozen in this town."

"Maybe so, Mister Rains, but I know I'm a special one." Maybe she was taking a chance. Perhaps she was being too bold. But how else would she get noticed if she didn't speak up.

Lionel finally cleared his throat and took his last swig of coffee. "Well, doll, not wanting to disappoint, what I really need from you right now is a ham and cheese on rye, a little sauerkraut and mustard. You think you could get that?"

"Oh, yes, sir," she beamed. Buoyed by her first real contact with a Hollywood bigwig, she went right to work on his ham and cheese on rye. She was glad that she could make it herself, since she thought that Jimmy did a pretty slipshod job, especially when he was rushed. Lately, he'd been so busy at the grill, the girls had been making the sandwiches themselves, and doing a much better job. When Lionel was halfway finished, Rosie took her place behind the counter, insisting that Violet take her break. When she finally returned, Mr. Rains' stool was occupied by a middle-aged woman in a green cloth coat, and a crabby youngster tugging on her arm.

 

Mr. Lionel Rains returned to the diner twice that week, and then again several times the next week and the week that followed. Every time the same. Two cigarettes, two cups of coffee about 11 am, then a ham and cheese on rye just before he left. Every day Violet waited on him at the lunch counter, always with a sunny smile and bright fresh face. She wouldn't repeat her mistake of that first day; never would she look like an overworked waitress with disheveled hair, a frazzled spirit and spaghetti on her uniform.

After all, Violet was in Hollywood not to wait tables but to make her fortune in the movies. She'd been dreaming of this since she bought her first ticket to the movie house at home, where she'd watched from the third row with her eyes fixed on the enormous screen. She'd clutched her hands to her face, biting her nails down to the quick as the heroine in peril was chased by the villainous rogue. After the final scene, when the lights went up, she sat in her seat for nearly an hour, too amazed to move, until the usher finally tapped her on the shoulder and suggested it was time to leave.

At that time, she was just thirteen-a precocious and starry-eyed thirteen-with enormous dreams that reached far beyond anything she could understand. She came from a place so unsophisticated that she might have been the very first person in her small town to imagine themselves as a star on the silver screen. However, while Violet's dreams came to life inside her mind, she nurtured them in secret. She scraped money together for Saturday matinees, and every Saturday would sit dreamy-eyed, staring at pretty heroines and the handsome princes that defended, loved and wooed them. She imagined herself on the movie screen as a gutsy adventuress, the pretty femme fatale or the mysterious foreign correspondent. In her fantasy life, leading men flocked to her door and all of Hollywood listened to her every word. She kept her private dreams so close to her heart, that everyone in town was a bit taken aback when, a year to the day after graduation from high school, Violet Atherton hopped aboard a bus for LA to pursue her golden dream.

She never questioned the soundness of her plan-not even when everything in Hollywood cost twice as much as it did back home, or when her scant wages made her to move from a studio apartment into a tiny room for rent, or when the doors of talent agents and movie studios were slammed in her face enough for her to feel battered and bruised. Still, her plucky spirit refused to be defeated.

After three weeks serving Lionel Rains coffee and his ham on rye, Violet had no illusions that he would put her in his movies. Since his first day in the diner, their brief exchanges had settled into a predictable pattern, one that Mr. Rains had little interest in changing. By the end of the third week, Violet could only assume that his Friday appearance would take on the character of all his previous visits. Little did the aspiring actress realize that, on that very day, her golden dream would finally conjure up enough gold dust to give it hope.

Just as she did every other day, Violet served him coffee as he read his paper and smoked his cigarettes, then brought him his ham sandwich just before noon-he didn't even have to ask for it. When he got up from his stool a little earlier than normal, he left half his sandwich on his plate and headed for the door. Violet was already on her way to the kitchen with a handful of dirty dishes when she heard her name above the chatter in the diner. "Miss Atherton." He probably said it at least twice before she turned around and saw him nodding her his way. Quickly dispensing with the dishes, she wiped her hands on a towel and made her way through the crowded tables. Customers glanced in her direction as she passed by, then watched as Lionel pressed a generous tip against her palm. However, what he said when he leaned down to speak, no one heard but Violet. "I sense you're serious about your acting career."

"Oh, yes sir, I am!" she said, trying hard to contain her excitement.

"Then you'll be at my house this evening, eight sharp, the address is on the card, plus there's a little extra for your cab fare. We'll do a screen test, see how this lovely face translates into moving pictures."

"Oh, Mister Rains, thank you!" She was practically in tears, about to shout for joy, until she caught Rosie's disapproving eye.

"Just remember, this isn't a business where fresh-faced innocents get breaks. Act like you know what you're doing." His voice carried with it a gravitas that made her entire body vibrate in the most amazing way. If he said much more, she was certain that she would simply fly away should she have stepped out into a strong breeze.

"Oh, yes sir," as she watched him leave. I know what I'm doing, I've been practicing for years. Just wait till you see me... but he was already out the door before she could assure him that she wouldn't be a disappointment.