Stardust (The Starlight Trilogy #3) (14 page)

Nathan stood and brushed off his suit jacket. “I never want to set foot on studio grounds another day in my life. I wouldn’t associate my wife with Starlight Studios, nor our children.”

“Wife?” Amusement sparked in Mr. Mertz’s eyes. “Your fiancée left you. Or have you forgotten already? There will be no children in your future, boy. You have no one except me.”

“You’re wrong. I still have my mother.”

The comment earned him another laugh. “She’s incapacitated. She doesn’t love you anymore. She doesn’t even know who you are.”

Nathan placed his fedora on his head. “Oh, she knows. Maybe not in her mind, but in her heart.”

Mr. Mertz’s lips twitched, hinting at the worry broiling under his pretense. “You don’t have to leave. As I said, I’ll stop everything. We can still be a team.”

Nathan strode to the front door. “And as I said, I don’t trust you. And for the record, we were never a team. You instilled fear in me and forced my hand.”

“Nathan, don’t do this.” Mr. Mertz clasped his hands as though in prayer. “I’ll do anything you ask. Please don’t keep me from Marion.”

The corners of Nathan’s mouth lifted. One week ago, Mr. Mertz’s submission would’ve stunned him. Now he felt nothing but pride. He cocked his fedora to the side and ran his thumb and forefinger along the brim. “I just did.”

Without an ounce of hesitation or remorse, he opened the door and left.

Mr. Mertz’s confession about his mother had devastated him. But the passion Mr. Mertz exuded when he’d declared his love offered Nathan a new perspective. While he would never accept their relationship, he hoped that when Mr. Mertz and his mother were together, the studio mogul was not the dreadful man he knew today. He had to believe that if he expected to make it through this difficult time.

On foot, Nathan returned to the Bel Air house Mr. Mertz had purchased for him, so he could gather a few belongings before he skipped town. New York seemed like the best move. He’d be closer to his mother and as far across the country from L.A. as possible. With any luck, he’d find a job out there and a decent place to live soon.

As he entered the drafty front foyer, he frowned. Olivia had dreamed of buying a smaller house after the wedding, one she could decorate herself, a loving home to raise a family. That had been his dream, too. If only they could have shared it together.

Nathan didn’t have many possessions that weren’t bought by Mr. Mertz, so a single suitcase was sizeable enough to store everything he desired to bring with him to New York: the mementos from his relationship with Olivia and the memorabilia he’d collected on his mother since childhood. There was no need for him to stop by his Malibu beach house. None of the items in that place meant anything to him.

After setting the suitcase by the front door, he sat on a sofa in the reception room, resting his head, which was still tender from his collision with Mr. Mertz’s floor, on a throw pillow. Tomorrow, he’d finance his departure from L.A. through Starlight Studios, since his savings of his allowance over the last six years hadn’t amounted to much. After that, however, he’d finally be free from the studio.

With his plans in place, Nathan closed his eyes and felt himself drifting off…until the shrill ring of the telephone blasted through the room. He cracked open his eyelids but didn’t budge. Mr. Mertz was probably calling. Then again, what if it was Olivia?

He sprung from the couch and picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Hello. This is the Western Union operator. I would like to speak with Mr. Nathan Taggart, please.”

“This is he.”

“I have a party from Chicago looking to make a long distance connection with you. Will you accept the charges?”

Nathan’s brow creased. Chicago? Who would be calling him from there? “Sure. I’ll accept the charges.”

“One moment, please.”

“Hello? Mr. Taggart?”

Nathan frowned. The caller was male, and his voice was unfamiliar. “This is Nathan Taggart. Who is this?”

“Mr. Taggart, I’m Doctor Patrick Billings, a staff physician at Chicago Memorial Hospital. Do you know Mr. Aidan Evans?”

Nathan grabbed his chest. His heart tightened until it beat so fast he thought it would blast through his ribcage. He fumbled with his tie, desperate to loosen it from his collar. What was happening to him? He couldn’t breathe all of a sudden.

“Yes. He’s my…”
Brother.
“He’s my friend. Why?”

“We found your business card in Mr. Evans’ wallet. On the back you’d written your home telephone number. Given the late hour, I tried it first instead of calling your office. I apologize for disturbing you, but you’re the closest to next of kin we can locate.”

Nathan swiped his sleeve across his forehead. Panic descended upon him like a violent wave he couldn’t surface from.

“I…I don’t understand.” Breathe. Just breathe. “What is this about?”

“Mr. Taggart, you must get to Chicago as soon as possible.” An ominous pause filled the line. “I’m afraid there’s been an accident.”

Olivia was waiting in the foyer of their house when Beth unlocked the front door and stepped inside. They hugged each other, and Olivia welcomed her home. Beth was ashamed of how she’d treated her friend and determined to make amends, but Olivia insisted all was forgiven. They reconstructed their friendship around their broken hearts and pledged to soldier on together. Beth was truly grateful to have Olivia in her corner.

When Beth told Olivia that she wanted to spend time with her parents in Clarkson, Olivia decided to return to Portland to visit her family. They booked first-class flights, quite the change from the coach-class train trips they made separately when they first moved to Hollywood, and then bid farewell to Connie and Matthew.

Beth left her music box and the photograph of her and Aidan standing alongside Central Park at home, but she wore her angel pendant. She often reached for the necklace in moments of need, but sometimes, the reminder of all she had lost annihilated any comfort it brought her. Did Aidan still wear his ring? If so, did it provide him solace or only heartbreak? Regardless of what had happened between them, she hoped he hadn’t thrown it away.

As the airplane lifted off the tarmac, en route to Oregon, Beth shed fresh tears, even though she was certain she was all cried out. Her experience with Mr. Mertz had shattered her Hollywood dreams, but her journey in becoming Elizabeth Sutton was not to blame for her sorrows. She cherished her new life, every friend she had made, the love she had found, and no longer considered Marie Bates and her movie star identity two separate entities. While she looked forward to returning to Clarkson, leaving L.A. disconnected her from a large part of who she was. She feared she’d never be able to reclaim what was lost.

Upon their arrival in Portland, Beth and Olivia exchanged telephone numbers and promised to speak in a few days. Initially, it was difficult to locate a driver who would make the one-hour trip to Clarkson, but when Beth offered an outrageous sum of money—the first half delivered upfront and the rest when they reached her destination—her predicament was solved. She didn’t mind paying more than the usual fare. The money she earned from Starlight Studios seemed tainted anyway.

On the drive, the bustling cityscapes transitioned into rural country roads and quaint communities. Beth’s sunglasses and headscarf provided the perfect disguise and also hid her disheveled appearance. She wore no makeup, and her eyes were puffy from the crying bouts that hit her when she least expected them. Even after her determination to remain strong, her instability would not pass. All it took was a recollection of Aidan’s soft kisses or the song he composed for her and she fell apart.

The taxi driver tried to engage her in small talk, but she wasn’t interested. Questions like what she did for a living and where she flew in from were not easy to answer. Eventually, he stopped making the effort.

Prior to her departure, Beth wrote a letter to Mr. Kazan, addressed to his temporary office at Starlight Studios, even though he might not receive it due to
Golden Gloves
’ termination. The cable contained one phrase: I’m sorry. She owed him a personal visit, or at the very least a telephone call, but she couldn’t go through with it. She had let him down and could only imagine how poorly he thought of her.

When they reached Clarkson’s town limits and drove by memorable landmarks from her childhood, Beth reached into her purse for another tissue and tidied her appearance as best as she could, in preparation for seeing her mother and father. Spring thaw had arrived, and plants and trees prepared to bloom. Oh, how she’d missed the change of seasons.

Many familiar faces strolled through downtown, enjoying all that small town life offered. Everything looked the same as she remembered—her old church, the schoolhouse, the market. There were no chauffeured cars. Children played under the supervision of their parents, not nannies, and no one was concerned about wearing the latest designer clothes, carrying expensive purses, or smearing on layers of cosmetics in an effort to impress others. Clarkson was charming, family-oriented, and blasé, representing everything she wanted to recover in her life. Perhaps leaving Elizabeth Sutton behind was best, after all.

“Please make a right on Rural Route Seventy-Nine,” she said to her driver as they crept up to an intersection on the main drag.

“Yes, miss.” He stepped on the brakes, allowing a family of four to cross, and then made the turn.

When Beth’s childhood home came into view, nostalgia fused with relief pushed to the forefront of her emotions. She steeled herself enough to supply the final directions to the driver.

“It’s the white house on the left. Number three.” She cringed at her hoarse and unsteady voice. It seemed her acting abilities had vanished when she left L.A. If she couldn’t keep calm now, what hope did she have in convincing her parents—or herself, for that matter—that everything would be all right?

They passed her family’s mailbox, simply labeled
Bates,
and parked behind her father’s Chevrolet station wagon. The two-story house and separate garage, which served as her father’s shoe repair shop, had changed minimally. The window shutters had a fresh coat of dark green paint on them, no longer the rotting wood they were before she left. There was a new screen door in front of the old oak one and fresh soil in the garden. Beth was pleased that her mother had used some of the money she’d sent them to decorate. If any good came from her studio salary, it was that she was able to provide her parents with the luxuries they were unable to afford previously.

The driver exited the taxicab and opened the back door. Beth stepped onto the driveway, her heels crushing the gravel beneath her. She breathed deeply and revealed the closest thing she could to a smile. The air smelled crisp, refreshing.

The driver retrieved her suitcase from the trunk and approached her.

She handed him the remainder of his fare. “Thank you very much, sir.”

He placed her suitcase on the ground so he could pocket the money. “It was my pleasure.” He tipped his hat and reached for her bag again.

Beth picked it up instead. “It’s all right. I can carry it.”

“Miss, it’s no trouble. Really.”

“Please. I prefer it this way.”

He shrugged. “If you say so. It was nice meeting you, and I hope you have a wonderful visit.”

Beth’s eyebrows furrowed. Why did he assume she didn’t live here?

She tightened her grip on her suitcase and walked up the driveway. Wind chimes dangled beside the entryway, and a welcome mat carpeted the front door. Since her arrival was unexpected, it felt wrong to walk right in, so she utilized the doorbell. While she waited for an answer, she removed her sunglasses and wiped her eyes, squinting at her surroundings, even though the sun had yet to make an appearance. She could do this. She could smile and pretend everything was fine.

The oak door opened. Beth’s mother, dressed in a flower-print cotton dress and white apron appeared on the other side. Mrs. Bates’ expression shifted from inquisitive to joyous. Then horror struck.

She opened the screen door and enveloped Beth in hug. “My darling girl. What’s wrong? Oh, my poor baby!”

Beth’s mask of indifference shattered. Acting was centered on truth, not lies. How foolish she was to think she could hide her feelings from her loved ones.

Returning the embrace, she sobbed into her mother’s shoulder, incapable of thought or speech, only sadness. It was great to be home, but their reunion did nothing to mend her broken heart.

“Barbara, what’s going on?” Mr. Bates’ footsteps drew near.

Beth looked beyond her mother. Distress and fury burned in her father’s eyes, topped by creases buried so deeply in his forehead they looked like they’d been carved there permanently.

“What happened? Did that boy hurt you?” Mr. Bates marched onto the front porch. “So help me, Marie. If he laid a hand on you—”

“No. Aidan would never—” Beth released a wail and cried harder.

“Come inside, sweetie, and I’ll make you something to eat.” Her mother patted her back. “You must be tired from your travels.”

“But Barbara—”

Mrs. Bates served her husband a look warning him not to tread further. He frowned and didn’t press the matter. Based on his mumblings as he gathered Beth’s suitcase and followed her into the house, however, he wouldn’t remain cooperative for much longer.

The aroma of freshly baked bread greeted Beth as she entered the kitchen and set down her purse, sunglasses, and scarf. She took a seat at the table while her mother opened the icebox and father hovered close by, assessing her in intimidating silence. Although she appreciated her parents’ attention, it was not her intention to encourage pity or have them wait on her. She was merely too exhausted to object to their hospitality presently.

“What would you like to eat, dear?” Her mother scanned the available food. “We have ham and cheese. I could make you a sandwich.”

Beth’s chin quivered. “Actually, if you don’t mind, I’d like to rest now.”