Plus, read an exclusive excerpt from the Entertainment Weekly senior writer’s second novel.
It’s the romance version of the MCU.
Particularly because I also feel like it’s really still something we’re grappling with today."
Maureen Lee Lenker, ‘His Girl Hollywood’.Ariel Barber; Source Books
“I wanted to show the ways that actually helps Arlene be a better director,” she adds.
“Especially in this time, obviously, that’s what we see a lot of in films.
The soundstage was dark, except for a single ghost light at its center.
“Miss Morgan,” it read, and below that in smaller pop in, “Director.”
That word in smaller bang out sent a shiver down her spine.
She’d dreamed of this moment for ages.
Since she was a little girl.
A camera, a crew, actors all hers to direct.
The pictures that flickered on the screen in a tiny, dark room hers to create.
Tomorrow, it would all be real.
She wrapped her arms around herself and fought off a shiver.
Whether it was dread or excitement, she couldn’t be sure.
She knew the task before her was monumental.
She hadn’t helped matters, fainting in Harry Evets’s office at the sound of Don’s name.
She’d blamed it on hunger, said she had forgotten to eat that morning.
That had been half-true.
She’d been too nervous to eat before the meeting.
But she shook the thought away.
Don could not, would not be a distraction.
Harry had said she could write anything she wanted after she’d won the Oscar.
Well, Harry didn’t know that bit.
It wasn’t his fault the man who got away also happened to be the toast of Broadway.
She closed her eyes and remembered seeing her first picture show.Cinderella.She’d been eight years old.
The images of Mary Pickford’s long curls and her beautiful gowns had captured Arlene’s imagination.
But something else had grabbed ahold of her that afternoon and never let go.
The faces of the people around her.
The gasps, the smiles, the radiant looks of happiness in their eyes.
She’d decided in that moment that she wanted to be the one to create those images.
She inhaled, trying to calm her nerves.
Tonight, she could be nervous.
The little fainting episode would be her only sign of weakness.
It had to be.
She could never be cruel.
Some directors ruled their sets with an iron fist, but that wasn’t her approach.
Kindness, respect, collaboration those were the keys to running a successful set.
Even if respect was going to be difficult to earn from the men assigned to her team.
She had giggled in spite of herself and then bent her knees, attempting a plie.
Arlene was only 28 years old, but the action made her knees creak and her lower back protest.
She wobbled, using her hand on the barre to steady herself.
A voice from the shadows startled her and she toppled over completely.
“You never were any good at that.”
She hadn’t heard that voice in 10 years, but she’d recognize it anywhere.
The object of her teenage fantasies.
The one that got away.
That left and never looked back.
“What are you doing here?”
She wasn’t supposed to see him until tomorrow.
She was supposed to have time to prepare.
So much for that he’d sent her tumbling to the floor with his unexpected presence.
He was at her side in an instant, extending his hand as if it were an olive branch.
“What do you mean, what am I doing here?
I thought we were making a movie together.”
Nothing had changed then.
Nothing except his last name.
10 years, and it was as if she was standing on that train platform all over again.
He brought out the romantic streak in her.
Shed always been the practical sort, levelheaded in a crisis.
Her Oscar-winning movie-star best friend, Joan Davis, complimented her for her pragmatism.
But Don unsteadied her.
That was twice now.
Once at the mere mention of his name.
If she wasnt so shaken, shed roll her eyes at her own stupidity.
What a hand fate had dealt her.
At last, she was realizing her childhood dream of directing a movie.
Now, he was to be her leading man.
Once upon a time, she would’ve called it kismet.
Now it just seemed like the universe’s way of laughing at her.
“I didn’t mean, ‘What are you doing here in Hollywood?’
I meant, ‘‘Why are you here on the soundstage?
We dont start until tomorrow.'”
“Would you believe me if I told you I couldn’t wait another minute to see you?”
If he had slugged her, it would’ve hurt less.
“No,” she whispered, looking down at her feet.
She toed at the scuffs in her favorite pair of work shoes.
She resisted the urge to comfort him.
Of course she didn’t believe him.
He hadn’t spoken to her in 10 years.
Never bothered to call, to write, to send the odd telegram.
Not even when she’d needed him most.
So, no, he wasn’t here because he wanted so badly to see her.
She shook her head, hoping he didn’t notice her bout of furious blinking.
If he had, he didn’t say anything, instead taking her dissent in stride.
“You got me.
You always could see right through me, Lena.”
He peered at her, searching for something, and she gave him a hard look back.
She was starting to recover a sense of herself.
She had an Oscar, for heaven’s sake!
But he just smiled a half smile and said, “Okay, okay.
“Good, that’s … good.
She didnt know what to say to him.
Instead, they stood in an awkward silence, the early-evening hush of the soundstage deafening in its quiet.
She licked her thumb and leaned down to rub at one of the scuff marks on her shoes.
She didn’t like this, feeling shabby in his presence.
They’d been equals once.
Or so she’d liked to believe.
“So … " he started.
“So, why’d you come here tonight then?
I know it wasn’t because you were dying to see me.
You’ve waited 10 years.
What’s one more night?”
He winced, but that infernal smile and the jagged dimple remained.
“You always were one to cut to the point,” he huffed.
I’ve never been on a movie set.”
That caught her attention.
Of course she knew that.
But something about the way he said it grabbed her.
She stopped fiddling with the light stand and looked at him.
He turned on his heel, graceful as ever, wolf-whistling as he took in the sets.
She tried to suppress the urge to stare at his butt, toned from years of dancing.
She preened a bit at that.
Harry had given her a huge budget.
Far bigger than most first-time directors got out of the gate.
It had shocked her.
But it was a vote of confidence, of trust.
She hoped it would go far in convincing the rest of the crew that she deserved their respect.
She was a valued asset in the Evets Studios portfolio, whether they liked it or not.
“Oh, this is just the dance studio.”
She smiled, unable to hide her excitement.
“Wait until we get to the big production numbers.”
He beamed at her.
“I’m so proud of you, Le Arlene.
You really did it.”
A rush of pride and something dangerous and more intangible flared in her belly.
“I did, didn’t I?”
She smiled, before adding, “We both did.”
They’d chased their dreams until theyd achieved them.
She was proud of him too even if his choices stung.
She didn’t know why she so badly needed him to take pride in his own achievements.
Maybe because if he did, his absence, his silence, would at least be justified.
It was hard to look back when you were doggedly focused on moving forward.
“Well, Hollywood is a new mountain to conquer.”
She’d sent very specific directions to the carpentry department.
No one was going to slip or roll an ankle on her set.
She giggled; she couldn’t help herself.
“The floor is perfect,” he marveled.
“Do you remember the time you wrote out your vision of a perfect dance studio?”
He cocked his head.
“You didn’t.”
She blushed, flicking at a piece of lint on her sweater.
“I insisted the studio build this to my specifications.
“But I only want the best on my set.
And dance floors were always more your domain than mine.”
It was mostly true.
She would’ve held the carpenters to the same standard.
No matter who was dancing on the floor.
He grinned and sprang from his position on his knees into another series of leaps and jumps.
“I could really do something with this.”
“Do something?”
She didn’t like the sound of that.
This was her set.
Don might be the toast of Broadway, but she was the director of this movie.
“Me and Eddie!”
“My choreographer friend from New York.
He helped me devise the solos inPaling Around.
He’ll be here tomorrow.”
The hell he’ll be,Arlene thought.
She would not let control of her set be ripped out from under her before they’d even begun.
Joan had warned her.
The second you give a man in this business an inch, they take a mile.
But she hadn’t expected Don being the one she’d have to worry about.
“Did the studio approve that?”
“Well, they knew he was coming with me.
I told them I needed him and his insight.
But at least for tomorrow, I thought I’d bring him along and let him observe.”
“I’m the director.”
“I know that.
I "
“It’s been 10 years, Don.
I’m not your next-door neighbor anymore.”
The hint of bitterness in her voice was unrecognizable to her.
“I just thought … S—, Lena, I’m sorry.”
He closed his eyes in frustration.
She bit her lip in frustration.
This person unyielding, flinty that wasn’t her.
But he’d quite literally waltzed in here and turned everything topsy-turvy in a matter of minutes.
“It’s all right.”
But it wasn’t.
She was terrified nothing would ever be all right again.
Terrified she would forget all the pain and hurt roiling in her gut and forgive him.
Terrified she would relent and give him whatever he asked for.
The way she had when she was 18.
No, things were most certainly not all right.
“I just really want to prove myself.”
A voice from the darkness interrupted them both.
“Hellooooo in there.”
“We’ll be right out,” she called back.
She hated to admit she was grateful for the interruption, for a reprieve from this awkward reunion.
Tomorrow, they could start fresh as simply Miss Morgan and Mr. Lamont.
“Would you want to grab a bite to eat?”
Don asked, that beguiling grin back on his face.
It was never far from the surface.
Once she’d found it charming.
Now, it was infuriating.
“Thanks, but I’ve still got a lot to do before tomorrow.”
She couldn’t look back.
She’d wasted far too much time looking back, wondering what might have been.
Not with so much at stake.
