floor and started to search for the handsome host of the party, but enthusiastic admirers like her pretty new friend here weren’t making the task easy.
“You’re such a darling, darling,” a young brunette not much older than Gloria said to her while sipping from a silver flask.
“As are you,” Gloria replied.
“Well, I know. But really, you’re truly a dear.” The brunette had a heart-shaped face and almond-shaped eyes. She swayed back and forth, the fringe from her dress swishing ever so slightly.
“And your name is …?” Gloria asked.
Just then, a curmudgeonly man stepped out of the crowd to stand next to her new acquaintance. His light brown hair was shot through with gray, and his wrinkles made him look ten years older than he probably was. He seemed old enough to be her father.
“Ruby, I told you not to go wandering off like that,” he said in a gravelly voice.
A bit of the light went out of Ruby’s sparkling eyes. “Oh, sorry, dear.”
The man sniffed and straightened his brown bow tie. “Just remember that these are your friends.”
“You’re in the theater business, too, Marty. It’s not like producers and actors are different animals.”
“No, they’re different species.”
Ruby suddenly seemed to remember Gloria. She gave a bell-like laugh and her cheeks got rosy. “Oh, how rude of me! My darling, dear new friend, this is my husband, Marty Hayworth. Marty, this is Gloria Carmody. You know. The singer.”
Marty acknowledged Gloria with a gruff nod. “From the tabloids.”
“You’re a Broadway producer?” Gloria couldn’t imagine Marty with such a glamorous job; he was about as flat and dull as his wife was incandescent. “Have you produced anything I would’ve seen?”
Ruby smiled graciously. “Well, he produced my first show. We finished our run a few weeks ago. Maybe you’ve heard of it—The Girl from Yesterday.”
Oh my! Gloria had read all about the show in the Manhattanites Clara religiously sent her, one every week. Ruby had received nothing but love-letter reviews for her portrayal of the ingenue Violet, a fierce but vulnerable young ballerina-turned-cancan-dancer in Gilded Age Paris. Ruby was a bona fide star at the beginning of an exciting career.
This brunette who’d had too much to drink and thought Gloria was her newest and dearest friend was Ruby Hayworth?
As much as Gloria hated to admit it, she was insanely jealous.
Her chaperone, Terzy, stared at her from across the dance floor and twitched in an alarming way. Was he trying to wink? Finally Terzy beckoned with his pudgy arm.
“I’ve heard fantastic things about that show!” Gloria smiled at the Hayworths. “You’ll have to excuse me—but I promise to be in the front row when your next musical opens.”
“I’m not sure when or what that will be,” Ruby replied. “But I’ll make sure the box office boys set aside a ticket for you, darling.”
Terzy narrowed his eyes at Gloria when she reached him in the middle of the crowd. “What are you cooling your heels with the starlet for?” The short, stout FBI agent hunched over his glass of seltzer and glared at the riotous guests. “Just talk to this Forrest character so I can get home and go to bed.”
“Have you seen him?” Gloria had taken every possible chance to scan the room for the man from the picture since she’d arrived, but she hadn’t caught sight of him yet.
Terzy hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “Open your eyes.”
Through the open back doors, Gloria saw a few couples at patio tables, loudly toasting the sea. Beyond them, sitting alone at one of the smaller tables, was Forrest. He was bent over a little notebook, scribbling, his brow furrowed in concentration.
Gloria took a deep breath, more nervous than she’d ever been onstage. Her entire future with Jerome hinged on her ability to get Forrest to spill his secrets. She took her red lipstick out of her purse and smoothed it over her lips. Every battle required a little war paint.
With a nod to Terzy, Gloria walked out onto the candlelit patio. After the noise of the party, the clacking of her heels against the flagstones seemed too loud. Gloria could hear the waves crashing in the distance but couldn’t see them; it was dark out here. A wind blew her dress taut against her legs.
Forrest smiled as she approached. He was even handsomer in person. Gloria had been right about the dimples.
He quickly stretched a black ribbon across the binding of his leather notebook and closed it. “It’s a bit embarrassing, I know, sneaking out to write