“Tell them you’ll wear a wig.”
“And too short.”
“Tell them you can be taller. It’s war out there, Figs. You gotta fight for it.”
“For what? One line that barely feeds me for a week?” Reuben ran his thumb along the scar on his cheek. “Nobody wants this.”
“Sure they do, they just don’t know it yet. That scar is your gold mine. I’ll bet Peter Lorre got loads of rejection before someone saw dollar signs in those creepy eyes of his, and now he’s a big star.” Hugo’s fingers dug into the mangy fur, making the dog’s leg twitch. “That phone call is coming, Figs, and when it does, I’m tagging along for the ride.”
“Sure. You can be my chauffeur.” Reuben huffed a laugh.
Kate took another bite, her gaze lingering on Hugo as he played with the dog. His khakis were wearing through at the knees and his brown shoes looked ancient, separating from the soles. “So, Hugo … you’ve been acting for two years?”
He glanced up with a wry smile. “If you can call it acting when all I do is stand outside doors hoping to get noticed. This play is my first paying job—besides the Galaxy, I mean. I quit that when I got the play.”
The nightclub with a boss in prison and thugs who dropped people off piers. “You worked there too?”
“Scrubbing dishes. I like nighttime work, so I can go on auditions during the day.” He laughed. “Not that I go on many of those. Mostly, I just stand outside talent agency doors, hoping someone notices me. And they don’t.”
It all sounded rather … bumbling to Kate. Not a very efficient way of becoming a movie star. “Maybe you could work as an extra until you get a big part. You know—one of those actors who walks around in the background.”
Reuben barked a laugh. “Sure, Hugo, why don’t you be an extra?”
Hugo stood, giving her a patient smile. “You have to go through Central Casting, and they already have more actors than they can use. Like, ten thousand more. They don’t sign anyone new unless you know someone.”
“Well … you know Oliver Banks.”
Reuben barked another laugh.
Kate’s face warmed. What did she care? She was leaving today.
Lemmy sauntered into the kitchen, wearing a pinstripe suit, his hat tipped at a jaunty angle. He was a little older than she’d thought the night before—early twenties, maybe. He appraised Kate in return with a sly smile. “You’re looking all fresh and pretty this morning. Guess sleeping in the servants’ quarters suits you.”
Kate stopped chewing, unsure if she’d just been insulted or complimented.
Hugo said with dislike, “What do you want, Lemmy?”
He wiggled an envelope. “Telegram for Miss Katherine Hildebrand.”
Kate stood, her chair screeching back. She walked around the table.
“Not so fast. I tipped the delivery boy, so now you gotta tip me. Lucky for you, I accept kisses.” Lemmy winked, tapping his cheek.
Kate halted a step away. “I’m afraid my kisses are worth more than that. This will have to do.” She held out the extra dollar Hugo hadn’t taken.
Lemmy reached for it, but Hugo got there first, snatching the dollar and the telegram. “Don’t be an ass, Lemmy.” He handed them to Kate.
Lemmy grinned. “Can’t blame a boy for trying.”
Kate itched to open the telegram, but not in front of them.
“You delivered it, now scram,” Reuben said.
“Sure, I’m going.” But Lemmy didn’t move, pulling a pack of Wrigley’s from his jacket pocket. “On my way to visit Moe this morning before visiting hours are over. Thought you might want to tag along, Uncle Reuben, tell Moe what you’ve been up to lately.” He smirked, unwrapping a stick of gum. “Or maybe I should tell him for you.”
Reuben glowered. “He’s Mr. Kravitz to you.”
“Not since he told me I’m like a son to him. You broke his heart when you quit the club, Uncle Reuben, but he’s got me now, and I’ve got my eye on things.” Lemmy tapped his temple.
“I am not your uncle,” Reuben seethed.
“Sure you are. Your ugly sister married my dad. That makes us family.”
Reuben scraped back his chair and stood, his hand tight around his fork. Kate gasped and stepped back, but Lemmy only looked amused, sliding the gum between his teeth.
“Beat it, Lemmy,” Hugo said, the dangerous rasp in his voice coming through.
“Sure, I’m going. Don’t want to miss visiting hours.” He laughed as he left the room.
The air seemed to leave with him, Reuben’s anger fizzling into a defeated scowl.
“Ignore him,” Hugo said.
Reuben pointed his fork at Hugo. “Fifteen years, I work for Moe Kravitz. We have a certain respect between us—a certain understanding—and that punk comes along—”
“Forget him.”
“The only reason he even got that job is because I recommended him—on account of my sister—before I knew what a louse he was—and now he thinks he can turn Moe against me? He better watch his back.”
“Hey,” Hugo warned, glancing at Kate.
Her heart raced, but she was also a bit fascinated, following along as best she could. “So … this Moe Kravitz is your boss at the nightclub who’s in prison? And Lemmy has your old bookkeeping job?”
Reuben’s eyes narrowed on her. “Better watch what I say around this one.”
“Yeah, she’s smart,” Hugo said dryly.
“Does my grandfather know he has two gangsters living with him?”
Hugo folded his arms. “Reuben quit that life. He’s an actor now.”
As if that were so much better. Reuben unemployed. Hugo working in some back-alley horror show. Both of them mooching cheap lodgings off her grandfather. But it was no business of hers. She looked at the envelope in her hand.
“Guess that’s your money order,” Hugo said. “So you can leave today.”
Reuben looked from Hugo to Kate. “Leave? I thought you were going to live here now.”
“Changed her mind. Doesn’t like the unsavory boarders.” So he had read her telegram. “You better tell Ollie. He was like a kid on Christmas this morning, talking about you. I had to hold him back from waking you up.”
The thought of her grandfather grinning over her bed didn’t entice her to stay, but it did prick her conscience. “Well … maybe I can leave tomorrow. That gives us one day together. He can show me the sights of Hollywood.”
Reuben gave a short laugh. “Slight problem with that.”
Hugo shot him a warning look.
“What?” Kate asked. “Doesn’t he drive? I can drive if he has a car.”
“Ollie doesn’t leave the house,” Reuben said. “Not a foot out the door in the whole time I’ve been here—or the two years Hugo’s been here. Except the backyard and only if it’s dark.”
Kate frowned, remembering the striped pajamas worn an hour or two before bedtime. “Why doesn’t he leave the house?”
Reuben shrugged. “Doesn’t want people to see that he’s old, I guess.”