Platinum Doll. Anne Girard

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       Chapter Three

      She had meant to stop and ask where to park but, to her shock that next day, with Rosalie beside her, the uniformed guard waved her car in past the imposing scrolled Fox Studios gates. He even had a smile for them as he tipped his navy blue cap.

      “What the heck just happened?” Harlean gasped in amazement as she kept driving, afraid even to glance back.

      “See what beauty and confidence will get you?”

      “But that wasn’t meant to happen! I’ve been here before and this place is like Fort Knox!”

      “Well, honey, I’ll go out on a limb and say he assumed you were someone else. Clearly, he thought two well-dressed knockouts belonged here. Or maybe you reminded him of someone’s demanding girlfriend who he was afraid of offending,” Rosalie opined on a tinkling little laugh. “Either way, we’re in.”

      Nothing like this had ever happened when she had come here with her mother. Back then, extras had been herded onto the lot like cattle, lined up and made to wait.

      “You can park right over there by the soundstage.” Rosalie pointed with an authoritative air. “I won’t be long so that’ll be fine.”

      Harlean brought the car to a stop against the curb and raked her tousled hair back from her face with both hands.

      “How do you do that?” Rosalie asked.

      “Do what?”

      “Get all wind-blown and still manage to look like a million bucks.” She brought a comb and hand mirror out of her handbag and glanced at her own face. “I’m sure I’m an absolute wreck.”

      She thought Rosalie was a classic beauty, with her lustrous mahogany hair, round cocoa-brown eyes, perfectly arched eyebrows, small mouth and flawless olive skin.

      In contrast, the white-blond hair of Harlean’s childhood had deepened to a more muted shade of ash blond and her glass-blue eyes and a ruddy blush over porcelain cheeks gave her the look of a China doll.

      “I’ll be back in a flash,” Rosalie declared as she strode, hips swaying, toward the door across the street marked Casting Office.

      Suddenly, she stopped and pivoted back. Her brown eyes were shining as she stood there, holding her small, white gloves, and wearing one of the expensive new dresses she had bought the day before.

      “How do I look now?”

      Harlean cupped a hand around her mouth and happily called out, “A real stunner! I think today is gonna be your lucky day!”

      Then she watched Rosalie join the long line of girls wrapped around the casting building. It was a sight she remembered all too well. She could never tell Rosalie, but after only a moment, she lost sight of her friend as she faded into the sea of other hopefuls.

      She sat for a moment, taking in the activity of the back lot. Huge props were being wheeled past groups of actors, and other workers were pushing stuffed racks of costumes. Harlean was fidgeting with her wedding band and finally growing restless, after almost thirty minutes of waiting, when a man in a gray three-piece business suit and a felt homburg walked briskly past the car, and then he did a double take.

      Panic set in because surely he was going to ask her to leave. As he approached the car, she tried to think of something clever to say, a plausible reason why she was parked here so he wouldn’t insist that she move along.

      “Say, don’t I know you?”

      “I don’t think so,” she replied, and her voice broke as she looked up, shielding her eyes from the sun.

      “No, honestly, whose wife are you?”

      “No one you know,” she returned with caution, but he was undeterred.

      He looked down at her appraisingly. “You’re in a new picture then, that’s gotta be it.”

      He seemed to be taking her apart with his eyes as he waited for her to reply.

      Harlean was surprised at his insistence. She could feel herself trembling like a leaf. “I’m not an actress. I’m waiting for a friend, Rosalie Roy. That’s her stage name.”

      “Rosalie, yeah, I know her. She’s a good kid. You sure you’re not an actress?”

      “I’m sure.”

      He glanced around, then back at her. He seemed hesitant suddenly. “Listen, could you, I mean, would you mind stepping out of the car just for a minute?”

      Harlean looked at him as she tried to discern if he was flirting with her or about to call a security guard. But if he was flirting, he had a strange way of showing it. Not sure how to say no, she finally opened the car door and stepped out. His visual sweep of her went from head to foot and back again.

      “Did you ever think of trying to break into pictures?”

      Harlean softly chuckled as she shook her head at the absurdity of the question.

      “I’m only here because Rosalie asked me to give her a lift, honest.”

      As an afterthought, he finally introduced himself and reached for her hand. “I’m Bud Ryan, a casting director here.”

      “Harlean McGrew,” she said as they shook.