Bridge to Haven (35 page)

“How so?”

“Red hair.” Murray smiled wistfully. His hands in her hair were strong, yet gentle. “Walls up like I was Casanova at her door. Little did she know, one look at her and I was a one-woman man. Still am.” He ran his fingers through Abra’s hair and looked into her eyes. “Don’t let Franklin remake you completely, Abra. And try to remember you’re more than a face and body. You are a soul.”

“Hollywood says otherwise.”

“Hollywood and Franklin Moss aren’t the whole world. They aren’t right about everything.” He turned on the water again, testing the temperature. “You are who you are, my young friend. And you were already beautiful.”

“More so now, don’t you think?”

“You’re Lena-Scott beautiful. Is Lena Scott who you want to be?”

“Lena Scott is the one who’ll become a star.”

Murray looked like he wanted to say more, but didn’t. He rinsed her hair, raised the back of her chair, and wrapped her head in a warm towel. He rubbed gently before removing it and letting her long, thick, damp hair lay against the cape covering her back. He
dug his fingers in, lifting tresses, shaking them loose. He reached for the blow-dryer.

Abra looked at him in the mirror. “How long have you known Franklin?”

“Ten years.” He held the blow-dryer at his side, but didn’t turn it on. “He knows the business. He’s dedicated. I’ll give him that.”

“You don’t like him, do you?”

“I don’t dislike him. We just don’t agree on some things.”

“Like what?”

“My vision has always been to enhance who a woman is. Franklin . . .” He pressed his lips together and shrugged.

She finished what he didn’t seem willing to say. “Franklin makes them someone else.”

Murray turned on the blow-dryer and went to work on her hair. She couldn’t talk to him with the appliance going. She sat still, eyes downcast, wondering if he wanted to end the conversation. Maybe they shouldn’t have started it in the first place. She looked up at him. He didn’t meet her gaze this time. He looked grim with concentration, troubled. It always took a long time to dry her hair. When he finally turned off the blow-dryer, he tossed it carelessly on the counter.

“Murray?” She waited until he looked at her in the mirror. “You told me once to be careful. What did you mean by that?”

“Don’t lose yourself.”

“And you think I have?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think. You have to decide who you are, who you want to be.”

“What if I don’t know?”

He put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed gently. “Try praying about it.”

She gave him a bleak smile. “God wants nothing to do with me. He never did.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I prayed once. I put my whole heart and soul into it.” She shrugged. “He did the opposite of what I asked.”

Murray took his hands away, unsnapped the cape, and removed it. “Maybe He has a better plan.”

She got up without looking at the finished result in the mirror. Franklin said Murray was the best in the business, and she didn’t want to look at Lena Scott.

“I’ll see you in two weeks . . . Abra.”

She paused in the doorway and looked back at Murray. “Did you know Pamela Hudson?”

“I still know her.”

Franklin said Pamela Hudson had been a shooting star, gone and almost forgotten. “Is she sorry she left Franklin?”

Murray looked at her, but didn’t answer. It took a moment to understand, and then she smiled. “Anything anyone says to you stays with you, right?”

“Call me if you ever need a friend to talk to.”

Abra went into the room where manicurists had stations. Her usual girl wasn’t there, and the receptionist apologized and led her to an attractive brunette in the salon uniform. “Miss Scott, this is Mary Ellen. Mary Ellen, Miss Scott.” Abra wondered if she could relax with yet another new person in her life. She’d gotten used to the innocuous Ellie, who was too enamored with her own life to ask prying questions about Abra’s.

Mary Ellen looked straight into her eyes and shook hands with her. Most of the manicurists looked like fashion models, but Mary Ellen looked normal, her brown hair cut in a simple pageboy. Abra noticed her nails were cut short and squared off rather than rounded, the way she used to wear her nails when she played piano. Franklin said long nails were sexier, especially when painted red.

Mary Ellen smiled and held out her hands. Ellie usually had a bowl of soapy water ready and talked while Abra soaked her fingertips. Mary Ellen studied Abra’s hands, turning them palms up and then over again. She massaged one hand and then the other. “You can tell a lot about a person from their hands. Your hands are cold.”

Abra felt increasingly uncomfortable. “So I have a warm heart.”

“Or poor circulation. Or you’re nervous.” She gave Abra a quick smile. “Or my hands are the cold ones because it’s my first day. Are they?”

Abra didn’t answer. Mary Ellen set out a bowl of warm, sudsy water. Abra put one hand in while Mary Ellen removed nail polish from the other. She wore a simple gold wedding band. “You have beautiful hands, Miss Scott. If you played piano, you could stretch a full octave without a problem.”

“I did.”

Mary Ellen glanced up. “So did I.” She gave a self-deprecating smile. “Not very well, I’m afraid.” When she finished Abra’s right hand, she began on the left. “Music is good for the soul.” She glanced up again. “Did you play classics or popular songs?”

“A little of everything. Mostly hymns.” She hadn’t meant to say that.

“Did you play for church?”

“A long time ago.”

Mary Ellen’s brown eyes warmed with humor. “You’re not that old, Miss Scott. In fact, I think I’m probably a few years older than you.”

Abra wanted to change the subject. “So this is your first day . . .”

“It’s really by accident I’m here. As a matter of fact, it was going to church that got me this job. Or coming home from church. We saw a car parked alongside Arroyo Seco Parkway and a man trying to change a tire. Charles pulled over.” She gave a soft, embarrassed laugh. “I’m sorry to admit I tried to talk him out of stopping. He
was wearing a suit, and all I thought about was how much it’d cost to get it cleaned.” She gave Abra an amused look. “You’d have to know Charles to understand. If he sees someone in trouble, he wants to help. Anyway, it was Murray. The two men got to talking and Charles told him we were new to the area. We came because Charles was offered a better job, but we didn’t know anyone here. I had a list of clients in San Diego. Now, I’m starting over again. Murray said I should come in. He was one manicurist short. So here I am.” She finished cleaning and preparing Abra’s fingernails. “Clear or a color?”

“Red.” Abra pointed out the one Franklin liked.

Mary Ellen took it out and shook it. “It’s a beautiful shade.”

“Like blood.” Abra spread her fingers on the rolled towel.

“Or rubies.”

Mary Ellen hummed while she worked. Abra recognized the tune and remembered all the verses. “Fairest Lord Jesus” had been one of Mitzi’s favorites. Thinking of Mitzi brought Pastor Zeke to mind, and then Joshua. A wave of homesickness swept over her. Mary Ellen glanced up and apologized. “I’m sorry. It’s a habit, humming all the time. That hymn has been stuck in my head since Sunday. I used to whistle, but Charles teased me about it all the time. ‘Whistling women and cackling hens always come to very bad ends.’”

“It’s all right. It wasn’t you.”

Mary Ellen bowed her head over the work again. “Where do you go to church?”

“I don’t. Not anymore.”

“Did you lose your faith?” Mary Ellen looked troubled.

Abra gave a wistful smile. “I’m not sure I ever had any.” Afraid Mary Ellen might launch into a gospel message, she added, “And please don’t start quoting Bible verses.” She tried to keep her tone light. “I grew up on them.”

Mary Ellen had clear brown eyes, like melting milk chocolate. “I’ll try not to hum.”

“Hum all you want. It doesn’t bother me.”

But it did. Hearing that one hymn brought a rush of others to her mind—and memories with them, pulling her into an undertow. Joshua taking her for a ride in his rusty truck, Pastor Zeke in the pulpit, Priscilla in the living room doorway inviting her to join them while they watched
Life with Elizabeth
, Joshua buying her a chocolate shake and fries, Peter watching
Victory at Sea
, Joshua taking her for a hike in the hills, Mitzi making cocoa in her kitchen, Penny sprawled on her bed poring over the latest movie magazines, and Joshua . . .

Joshua.

She closed her eyes. The last two times she’d seen him, they’d ended up fighting over Dylan. Sometimes she wanted to write to him and tell him she was sorry for the things she’d said in anger. She’d slammed the door in his face the last time she saw him. He was probably married to Lacey Glover by now, or some other girl. Why did that bring a sharp pain to her heart? Maybe she would write to him. She could swallow her pride and tell him he’d been right about Dylan. He had every right to say, “I told you so.” She could also tell him she’d met someone a lot nicer who believed in her, someone who was going to make her into someone important, someone people would recognize and envy, someone people could love.

But she knew she wouldn’t.

What if he wrote back?

The receptionist came to Mary Ellen’s station. “Mr. Moss called. He’s been delayed. A driver is waiting for you downstairs.” Abra thanked her.

Mary Ellen had finished the final coat. “Shall I set up another appointment?” She looked so hopeful, Abra couldn’t say no. She’d need another, same time next week. Mary Ellen wrote it into her appointment book. She stood as Abra did and smiled warmly. “I look forward to seeing you again, Miss Scott.”

“Call me Ab—” She blushed at the near mistake. “Lena.”

Somewhere on the walk to the elevators, Abra gave in to impulse. Instead of meeting the driver out front, she stopped on the second floor, found the stairs, and left through the emergency exit. The alarm went off, and she ran to the end of the alley and looked out before walking quickly to the end of the block and around the corner. She knew she’d regret it, but she had to be alone for a little while. If she went back to the apartment, Franklin would be there.

She slowed and wandered. All she had with her was a clutch bag with a handkerchief, lipstick, and a key to Franklin’s apartment. She didn’t even have a dime to make a telephone call, let alone enough money to hire a cab. Franklin said it wasn’t necessary for her to carry money around with her.

The sun was bright and she put on her sunglasses. She didn’t have to worry about anyone recognizing her on the street. She doubted she’d be recognizable even after the premiere tomorrow. It was such a ridiculous movie. Another melodrama in black-and-white.

After six blocks, her high heels made her feet ache. She could feel sweat trickling down her back and wondered if it was soaking through the white linen jacket. Desperate to get off her feet for a few minutes, she went into a department store and found the ladies’ room. After resting on the love seat for a while, she washed her hands and patted her cheeks with the cool water. Mary Ellen had done a beautiful job. Her fingertips looked dipped in blood.
Franklin is going to kill me when I get home.

It was late in the afternoon when Abra reached the apartment house. Howard looked worried. “Are you all right, Miss Scott?”

She had a throbbing headache and wanted to take off her shoes. “Is Franklin still home?” Howard didn’t know. He’d just gotten back from his break. He held the elevator door for her.

As soon as the doors closed, Abra took off her high heels and sighed in relief. She unlocked the apartment door, feeling as though
she’d been walking for days. Maybe a warm shower would make the headache go away.

“Lena!” Franklin’s footsteps came down the hall. “Where have you been? You’ve been missing for hours!” His expression changed from worry to suspicion.

She tried to remember what she’d learned in the elocution class he’d had her take and kept her voice smooth and cool with dignity. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told the driver I wanted to take a walk.”

“A walk?”

“Yes.” The courage she’d mustered shrank with each step he took toward her. “I went for a walk.” He’d been drinking. Not a lot, but enough to fuel emotions she had glimpsed over the past few weeks. His blue eyes looked like steel.

“Who went with you?”

She blinked, surprised. “No one.” Then she knew what he was thinking. “I was alone, Franklin. I didn’t have any money, or I would have called for a cab to bring me home.” It sounded like an accusation. She softened her tone. “I’m sorry you were worried.”

She stepped around him. Cold sweat trickled between her shoulder blades.

“Where are you going?”

“To the kitchen. For a drink of water. I’m thirsty.” She had been walking in the sun for two hours with frequent, but brief, sojourns into stores. Now her head felt as though it would explode.

Franklin followed. She could feel his eyes boring into her back. “Do you really expect me to believe you’ve been alone all this time?”