Page 9 of A Star is Scorned

Flynn swallowed. Harry was right. He knew Joan hadn’t been working.

But the truth was she hadn’t seemed to mind.

She’d made a choice and she stood by it.

Meanwhile, Flynn was being forced into whatever this was against his will.

“I haven’t had my name in the police blotter or the front of the gossip pages for at least a month.

Isn’t that a sign that I’ve sprouted some fresh greenery? ”

“I take it you haven’t seen the morning papers.”

“No, I haven’t.” Flynn didn’t make a habit of reading the papers.

They usually only contained bad news. But he did subscribe to them, and Hugh had laid the Examiner on the table next to Flynn’s coffee.

The headline on the front page was about the election of a new mayor. “I hardly see what that has to do—”

“Does the name Rhonda Powers mean anything to you?”

Flynn’s heart sank. What had the dizzy dame done? Flynn slept around. That was no secret. But he’d never gone to bed with a girl who hadn’t made it quite explicit that she wanted him. And he always took safety precautions—getting a girl pregnant would not exactly do wonders for his reputation.

“I take it your silence means her name is familiar to you.”

“Sure. I know the girl. I met her once. I kissed her in the garden at one of Joan and Dash’s house parties. I know plenty of dames a lot better than her, if you take my meaning.” Flynn thought he could hear Harry roll his eyes through the phone.

“That may be, but she’s claiming otherwise.

Quite loudly, in fact.” Flynn pulled the copy of the paper toward him and unfolded it, catching a small bold-font headline above his picture, just below the centerfold.

Flynn Banks Jilts Aspiring Starlet, it read.

The story detailed Rhonda’s account of her and Flynn’s fly-by-night romance—a tale of love at first sight at a Hollywood party, their rushed secret engagement, and him jilting her at the altar.

Flynn snorted. “Harry, this is poppycock. Leda Price is losing her edge.”

“You know very well that no one in Hollywood has seen hide nor hair of Leda Price since the night Joan and Dash won their Oscars. I told Harold at the Examiner if I ever so much as caught a glimpse of one of her feathered hats sniffing around the studio again, I would buy the paper with the express intention of sending it into bankruptcy. He apparently values his job, because she’s been ‘on leave’ ever since.

And since Joan and Dash robbed her of blackmail fodder, she has no leverage to crawl out of some other hole. ”

“Well then, what is this rubbish?”

“Flynn, you know better than anyone that there’s no shortage of gossip-hungry reporters in this town.”

“Well, can’t you call the editor again? Ask him to print a retraction. Say it’s not true. I barely know the woman!”

“That may be. But a retraction won’t do any good. Do you know who Rhonda Powers is?”

“No. But I’m guessing you’re about to tell me.”

“She’s the daughter of the founder of Shasta Peak Pictures.”

“The one who died of cancer last year?”

“The very one. If you recall, he made a very large donation to the Catholic Church in his will, so that they might continue to act as a ‘moral compass’ for Hollywood. For the Legion of Decency, jilting their white knight’s daughter is the last straw.

They are convinced you are a despoiler of innocent women.

Joseph Breen of the PCA office personally called me this morning to inform me that at least six cardinals from dioceses around the country are ready to denounce you as an agent of Satan. ”

“Couldn’t we just try using that as new billing on the next picture? ‘Flynn Banks, agent of Satan, to the rescue!’” There was dismayed silence on the other end of the line. “Okay, I’ll take that as a no.”

“They want proof that you’ve reformed your ways.”

“I have an idea. Instead of drinking straight liquor when the press is around, I’ll inject it into some oranges. They’ll think I’m eating fruit and getting my vitamins! Voila, problem solved!”

Harry let out a long-suffering sigh on the other end. “That’s not exactly what I had in mind.”

Flynn wanted to tell Harry the truth. That it didn’t matter what his plan was.

That Flynn would never, could never reform.

He was a rogue and a reprobate and at least three other words that started with an r.

He wasn’t going to change to satisfy some cabal of moralists.

Not for Harry, not for the Legion of Decency, certainly not for a dame.

No matter how much they all begged him to.

“Knowing you,” Harry went on, “I am aware that any proof of reform is a tall order. But I think I have a solution.”

Flynn was fairly certain he wasn’t going to like whatever this solution was, but at that moment, Hugh deposited a plate full of fried eggs, bacon, and a stack of toast in front of him.

He grabbed for a piece of toast and bit into it, hoping the sustenance would soften the blow. “And what is that, Harry?”

“They don’t want to see you out with a different dame every night. All right? So we pair you off with a nice girl, someone squeaky clean. We make them think you’ve changed your ways and fallen head over heels for some ingenue.”

“Those types of girls are not exactly banging down my door.” Flynn looked longingly at his little black book. His plans to use a dame to forget about his father and this strange fascination with Olivia Blount were slipping through his fingers.

“Well, the good news is that we have an excellent candidate already. If, for at least the duration of making this picture, you pretend to be courting Miss Liv de Lesseps, maybe we can change their minds.”

“Her?” Flynn retorted. “Miss Olivia Blount, whose nose is so high in the air I don’t think she’s seen her own feet in years? No. For starters, she’d never go for it.”

“Oh yes she will, if she wants to keep her job. She’ll do anything I tell her to.”

Harry had him there. “Well, then, what if I say no? I don’t want to spend the next three months pretending to simper over someone with no sense of humor. Besides, who would believe it?” Flynn wanted to heave. Which would be a shame considering the beautiful breakfast Hugh had placed before him.

“May I remind you that there’s a morality clause in your contract?”

Flynn took a bite of toast and struggled to choke it down.

He and Harry both knew that he’d violated that clause in about thirty different ways since he became the property of Evets’s Studios.

But Flynn didn’t think he would ever be fired over it.

As he’d pointed out, Joan Davis had made a stag film.

Hell, that was how Harry had discovered Joan.

Then she’d won an Oscar for an Evets picture and announced her secret to the world.

Harry generally was a forgiving man, or at least a man who looked the other way when necessary.

“Harry, that’s not fair. I didn’t even do anything. This time.”

“‘This time.’ Do you hear yourself? You’re one wrong step away from torching your career.”

“But Joan—”

“No, I don’t want to hear about Joan Davis.

This world is full of pearl-clutching hypocrites, and she’s laying low in an effort to wait them out.

She’s also on half salary. Not that that matters, because we are talking about you.

You’re about to make a new movie. If your pictures are condemned by the Legion of Decency, I can’t sell them.

If I can’t sell your pictures, I can’t very well keep you on contract.

I don’t employ stars that cost me money instead of making it. ”

That stopped Flynn cold. He didn’t know what his life would be if he wasn’t Flynn Banks, incurable rogue and movie star.

He loved acting, yes, but he loved all the things it afforded him too: his Malibu beach house, his sailboat, the best liquor in the world, and the sultriest dames—and most of all, the ability to tell his family to go to hell.

Without his career, he’d have to go crawling back to them if he didn’t want to lose everything.

And by the sounds of things from Edgar’s letter, the Banks family coffers weren’t overflowing either.

Sheer panic bubbled up in Flynn’s chest. There had to be an easier way out of this than pretending to date Liv de Lesseps for three months.

“Look, couldn’t I go volunteer at a soup kitchen or take pictures with some babies? ”

“No. It’s too late for half measures. You are going to court Liv de Lesseps and pretend to be hopelessly falling for her while you’re making this picture, all the way through its release.

You will be the perfect gentlemen and be photographed with her on your arm.

You will not have any drunken exploits. The papers won’t connect your name to a single showgirl or cocktail waitress.

I don’t care what you and Liv do behind closed doors.

But if you don’t give an Oscar-worthy performance to convince every starry-eyed schoolgirl and teetotaling battle-ax from here to Maine that Liv de Lesseps has made you a changed man, I’ll fire you. ”

“But—” It was too late. Harry had hung up.

Flynn Banks was now officially dating his costar. Whether he liked it or not.