Page 31 of A Star is Scorned

Joan shrugged as Dash reentered the house and pressed a kiss to her temple.

“I like what I like.” She finished pouring a bottle of what smelled like eighty-proof liquor into the punch bowl and turned to kiss Dash properly.

Don Lamont, musical star and Arlene’s husband, then emerged from the bathroom down the hall.

“Do they look right, Arlene?” He grinned, revealing two pointed fangs that he’d applied to complete his Dracula costume.

Arlene looked up from drawing the curled tip of Flynn’s mustache and gasped. “Ohhh, darling, you look positively terrifying.” She turned back to her handiwork and stuck her tongue in the corner of her mouth to concentrate. Flynn tried not to sneeze. “There, you’re done.”

“Finally,” Flynn growled.

Arlene set down her pencil and ran to hug Don, who picked her up and spun her into a hug before pretending to bite her neck. “I vant to suck your blood.”

“Disgusting, all of you,” Flynn muttered.

“You’re just jealous,” Arlene huffed, yelping as Don tickled her neck with his fangs.

“Pffft, jealous. I’m quite content to go through my life without ever looking as ridiculous as you all do right now.” But Flynn couldn’t help thinking of Livvy and wondering what she would wear tonight. Lately he’d been imagining her wearing nothing.

That way lay madness. Livvy was supposed to improve his reputation, not make it worse.

Seducing her was not going to help his cause.

But she filled him with foreign feelings, ones that jumbled his insides as if his internal organs were potatoes in a sack.

He hadn’t seen her outside the studio all week, though he had often found himself thinking about her, wondering how she’d react to piece of music he heard on the wireless or what she read at night before falling asleep.

“You looked fairly ridiculous kissing that new costar of yours outside El Cholo,” Dash drawled.

“Harry didn’t think so. He’s never been happier to see me linked to a dame in the press.

” Flynn usually told his friends everything, but in this case, he figured the fewer people who knew the truth, the less likely they were to get caught.

Before Dash could probe further, Flynn reached for the ladle in the punch bowl and poured its contents straight into his mouth, choking down the heinous concoction Joan had made.

He coughed, his throat catching fire as the punch filled his stomach. “What the hell did you put in that?”

Joan smiled, looking more mischievous than ever. “Zombie elixir—so strong it could raise the dead.”

Flynn chuckled. “You could say that again. This stuff tastes like gasoline.”

Dash interjected on his wife’s behalf, “I’m sure it’s wonderful, darling.

” He nuzzled her neck and wrapped his hand around her waist. Flynn wasn’t sure if it was the lighter fluid he’d consumed or the sickening sight of his best friend so visibly in love with his wife, but he fought back the urge to retch.

Joan leaned into Dash’s kiss, but she murmured, “No, it’s probably terrible. But I’m a movie star. Flynn should get his staff to make punch if he wants it to taste good.”

“I gave the staff the night off,” Flynn said. “I find people enjoy the party more if they don’t feel like there’s someone surveying their every move.”

“Well, they might enjoy the party more if someone besides me made the drinks, but it’s your funeral.” Joan shrugged.

Don and Arlene laughed, still clinging to each other like barnacles on a rock. “I’m so glad love hasn’t changed you, Joan,” Arlene trilled.

“Darling,” Joan replied, “there are some things a woman simply cannot change. My ability to cook is one of them. Besides, after one drink, everyone will be so plotzed, they won’t be able to tell the difference.”

Everyone laughed, and Flynn had never felt more like the odd man out. What the hell was the matter with him? The people in this room were his best friends. Why did he suddenly feel like a sock without its mate? He checked the clock hanging on the wall, wondering what time Livvy would arrive.

“Is it just me, or is this kitchen hot as Hades all of a sudden?” He tugged at the ruffled cravat around his neck, trying to loosen it.

Both couples exchanged meaningful looks with each other.

“What?” Flynn asked. He’d about had it with them.

“Nothing,” they answered in unison.

“It’s not nothing; you’re all eyeing each other like owls, so what is it?”

Arlene and Joan looked at each other and sighed heavily. “Well, it’s just…you’re not jealous.”

“Isn’t that what I just said?”

“No, it’s much worse than that,” Joan added. “You’re in love.”

Of all the ridiculous things he’d ever been accused of in his life, this took the cake.

“Me? In love? Rubbish. I’d expect this from Arlene, but from you?

Joan Davis? You who once swore you didn’t believe in love?

Maybe you’ve been sampling your own punch too much.

Dash, tell them, it’s absurd. Flynn Banks in love—what a preposterous suggestion. ”

Dash merely stared at him, a look of pity on his face.

“Oh, not you too!”

“I would’ve said it was impossible,” Dash admitted.

“It is!”

“But Flynn, have you ever brought a girl to El Cholo before?”

He had to admit that Dash had him there.

He took girls to the Trocadero, the Brown Derby, the Cocoanut Grove, or back here to his house.

The one place he did not bring them was El Cholo.

Because El Cholo was about good food and drink and nothing else.

He didn’t want it tainted with the memory of some blowsy aspiring starlet.

Most of all, he didn’t want to sneak out through the El Cholo kitchen to escape a scorned woman.

“No, but that’s different. Livvy isn’t a girl. ”

“She looks an awful lot like a girl to me,” murmured Arlene.

“That’s not what I mean! It wasn’t like that.

We were tired of the dog-and-pony show at the symphony benefit, and she’d never had Mexican food, and I wanted to show her a real piece of Los Angeles.

I wouldn’t take a girl there. But Livvy, she’s not just some dame I’m making whoopee with.

She’s, she’s…” He hunted for the right word to describe her.

What was Livvy? A costar? That was too anodyne a description.

A friend? That was far too familiar, was it not?

As he racked his brain, hunting for the perfect word to describe her, his four friends crossed their arms and shook their heads, clearly judging him.

“Ohhh, you’ve got it bad, buster,” Don said, chuckling.

“You’re all off your nut,” Flynn growled. He snatched the gloved hook that he’d left on the tiled kitchen counter and turned to go. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to put on my wig.”