“Cracked Ice” - Part 8.5

“CRACKED ICE” by Leora Tozer © 2013 Part 8.5 {Week 2, Monday evening}

I kept busy with the letters and didn’t try to think about the meeting tonight. As I was putting things away for the day, I wondered who we’d meet and which restaurant we’re going to. Henry said a note taker was needed for the business dinner with a writer, since the movie studio was in a hurry for the brothers to make their next movie. I made sure to have a couple of pens and a notepad in my satchel.

It was after 6:30pm when he parked his car on Vine Street. We walked by a gift shop* next to the Brown Derby. I stood on my tip-toes and tried to peek in the window, but couldn’t see much since it was closed for the evening.

“Are you planning on breaking in after dinner?” Henry asked.

“No. Have you ever thought about owning a store?” I asked him.

“Not really,” He smiled. “I like performing too much. Why? What type of store do you see me owning?”

I thought a moment as we walked, “A bookstore. You could write and talk with authors.”

“And what would you be doing?” he teased.

“You mean after the bookkeeping’s done? I’d be in the back typing out the next great American novel,” I replied.

“Do you think anyone would read it?” Henry inquired.

“Who knows? I just want to write. To have something completed would be fulfilling enough for me.” I answered. “Of course, if a few people find enjoyment with it, that’s a bonus.”

We walked into the Brown Derby. While we were waiting to secure our table, I excused myself to freshen up in the bathroom. When I washed my hands in the bathroom, I saw Carole Lombard walking in. I tried not to stare; I didn’t want to appear star-struck by anyone.

I applied some lipstick, quickly dried my hands, and walked out of the bathroom. Henry and I went to the 2nd level to sit in one of the booths. After we settled in and I was looking at the menu, the maître d came and brought a message to Henry.

Henry looked at the paper and stuck it in his jacket pocket. “Looks like its just dinner for the two of us. The writer canceled,” Henry said.

“Well, we don’t have to stay if the writer not coming. I’m sure you have better things to do than have dinner with me,” I replied.

“Maybe I’ll have better things to do after having dinner with you,” Henry replied with a wink.

I quickly retreated to my menu to gather my thoughts. Was there a writer or is that just a story? Did he plan this little excursion just to take me out? And why did Art know about it? I had to stay to find out what’s going on. Besides, I was happy for the chance to get to know Henry better away from the office.

“So many choices. What are you having?” I asked.

“Wouldn’t you like to know? Wait and see,” he replied.

The waiter came in a few minutes to take our order.

Henry looked at me and stated, “I suppose you're going to tell him who I am.”

I looked at the waiter with big eyes and stated, “This is Mr. Henry J. Jones. I’m Ms. Smith, his assistant. We really appreciate being able to eat here tonight with so many important folks.”

Henry looked surprised, as if he wasn’t expecting this type of introduction. The waiter smiled and asked, “What would you like to order?” I ordered Chicken broth with homemade noodles with a small salad and Henry ordered a Derby Deluxe.

We talked while waiting for our food. He told me about all of the years he had to be on the road with his brothers and how he likes to be here in Hollywood, because he can go home every night. Of course, he doesn’t plan on settling here, because New York is home.

I told him how I only planned to be here a short while. {Fortunately, the Time Travel Agency had me prepare and practice my back story. I was surprised how easily I could tell it.}

I was working temporarily in Hollywood to send money back home to my kids in the Midwest. I had been divorced 5 years, and but had lost my job when my employer’s business closed.

“That would be hard to be away from the kids,” Henry sympathized.

“It is, but I know they are in good hands. Their grandparents are with them every day. I’m really fortunate they are there to help,” I said.

“So, your parents?” Henry asked.

I shook my head, “No, my ex-husband’s parents. They are good folks.”

The waiter came and brought our food, and I welcomed a break in the conversation. I didn’t mean for the conversation to get so serious.

I tasted the soup; it was homemade and had incredible flavor. Most food back home is over processed, salty and not fresh. I’d forgotten how food should properly taste.

Henry thought about what she said as he watched Leora with his peripheral vision. He didn’t know many people who liked their in-laws, much less their ex-in-laws. Something is very different about her. He wasn’t used to women who liked to read, or who didn’t seem impressed by the Hollywood glitz. He’d have to wait and see how the next few days would go at the office; ‘most likely,’ he thought, ‘I’ll write her off like the rest of her kind.’ After we finished our dinner and he paid the bill, we were walking out of the Derby.

Henry asked, “Do you want to go to Field’s house for a drink?”

“Oh, I don’t drink alcohol,” I replied.

“Don’t you have any bad habits at all?” he asked.

“You mean, besides slurping my soup?” I responded.

“The quietest slurper in the west,” he answered.

“Tell me one bad habit.”

“How about two? Snoring and chocolate,” I replied.

“Those don’t count. Come on,” he insisted.

"Maybe when you know me better, you’ll tell me,” I said. After all, I knew his reputation of putting people in their place. His wit on and off screen, was legendary.

“OK then, I’ll drive you home,” he offered.

“Thanks for offering, but no. I like riding the street car home. It’s fun to people watch,” I answered. I thanked him for dinner and said I’d see him in the office tomorrow.

While Henry drove home, he partly wished he was driving Leora to his home. However, he knew it wasn’t the right time. He wanted to make sure, both of himself and of her. Besides, every time he teases her, he feels charged up. This was a new experience, having his mind attracted to a woman just as much as his body is.



     *There was a Cantor Gift Shop next to Brown Derby, but uncertain if it was there in 1932.