“You read the papers. It said I was a playboy. Playboys don't drive. They get driven around.”
“That's gigolos. That is not the same thing, Ward Thayer.” They were both laughing, and he had moved closer to her on the seat, but she didn't mind it.
“Why can't a playboy be driven too? I'm tired. I had a hard time today. I had lunch with three friends and we drank four bottles of champagne.”
“My heart bleeds for you, you lazy dog. I've been working since six o'clock this morning and you've been drinking champagne all day!” She tried to sound angry but all she could do was laugh as an enormous limousine pulled up for Vance Saint George.
“That's what you need, Faye.” He almost sounded serious and she laughed at him.
“A car like that? Don't be ridiculous. I enjoy driving myself.”
“It's not ladylike.” He assumed a prim expression, and glanced at her. “Besides, it's not suitable for the victim of a playboy.”
“I'm your victim, am I?”
“Hopefully you will be.” He looked at his watch and then back at her. “Now what time are we getting married? You said eight o'clock … we'd better step on it … or would you rather just stop for a drink after all?”
She shook her head, but she was less convincing than she had been before. “No. I'd rather go home, Mr. Thayer. Remember me, I'm the working girl, and I happen to be exhausted.”
“I can't imagine why. You probably went to bed at ten o'clock last night.”
“Nope.” She crossed her arms and grinned at him. “I had a date with a playboy millionaire.” Now that it was out in the open they were both having a good time with it. It all seemed totally absurd, like a joke on them both, and Faye refused to take it any more seriously than he did.
“No, you didn't!” He attempted to look shocked. “Who?”
“I can't remember his name.”
“Was he nice?”
“More or less. Terrible liar of course, but they all are.” “Handsome?”
She looked him square in the eye. “Very.”
“Now you've picked it up from him, lying again. Come on, I've got some friends you ought to meet.” He put an arm around her and she could smell the spicy fragrance of his after-shave, which was masculine and sexy. “Let's go have a drink. I promise I'll get you home early tonight.”
“I can't, Ward. I'd fall asleep on the table.”
“Don't worry. I'll pinch you.”
“Were you serious about meeting friends?” That was the last thing she wanted to do tonight. All she wanted to do was go home. She had some new lines to study in the script, and with Saint George performing so poorly she felt an obligation to work even harder to compensate for him. Otherwise, they'd make a botch of the whole movie.
Ward shook his head. “I was kidding about seeing friends. Just the two of us. I'd take you to my place, if you'd come, but I don't have one.” He laughed. “That makes it a bit difficult.”
“I'll say.”
“I was going to stay at my parents' place, but it's all closed up and it's too damn big. I've got a cottage at the Beverly Hills Hotel until I find something I like, so I'm afraid all I can offer you is the hotel bar, for the moment.” It would have been highly improper to suggest coming to his cottage for a drink, and he wouldn't have considered suggesting that to her. She wasn't that kind of girl, no matter how big a movie star she was, or how many beaux she'd had. There was still more than a hint of the well-brought-up young lady about her, and he liked it that way. The papers weren't far off the mark as to his intentions. “So what do you say? Half an hour and then I'll take you home. Okay?”
“Okay, okay … my God, you drive a hard bargain. I'm glad I don't work for you, Ward Thayer.”
“Ah, my little chickadee,” he pinched her cheek, “that could be arranged. Now slide over and I';ll drive.” He hopped out and got back in behind the wheel.
“Won't you need your car?”
“I'll take a cab and come back for it after I take you home.”
“That's not too much trouble for you, Ward?”
He looked at her, amused. “Not at all, little one. Why don't you put your head back and rest on the way to the hotel? You look tired.” She liked the tone of his voice, the