“Whatever you say, Harry, we’ll do it. Just please get us out of this mess. I can’t be married to D-D-Dash. I’m supposed to be marrying Monty.”
Dash felt like he’d been kicked in the gut. The idea of being married to him sent Joan into prostration. His worst fears were confirmed—no one would ever want to hitch themselves to his wagon. He was good for a good time. Nothing more. And sometimes, when he was sober and not busy acting, he wondered if he was even good enough for that.
“All right, hit us with it, Harry. Like Joan says, whatever it takes. I made this mess, I’ll do whatever you say to clean it up.”
“You’re going to have to get a divorce,” Harry declared. “It’s the only way. This marriage has been legally processed, and by tomorrow morning, the entire country will know it. So this is what we’re going to do. We’re going to call Leda Price and give her an exclusive interview, tell her it was a mix-up by someone who’s no longer with the studio.”
“You can blame me, it’s okay,” whispered Arlene.
“No, Arlene, this movie is your chance for bigger and brighter things,” Joan snapped. “I’m not letting you take the fall for Dash.”
Dash ignored her because, well, she was right. “Harry, why does it have to be Leda? I’d rather not give that gorgon the pleasure. Besides, she’ll sense it’s a lie from a million miles away. Leda has had mine and Joan’s number from day one. We made her. Against our will.”
Joan’s eyebrows nearly shot to her hairline. “Dash, please, you said you’d do whatever it takes. You don’t want to be married to me any more than I want to be married to you. Be agreeable. Please. I’m begging you.”
“But why does it have to be Leda? Why can’t we call up my friend Walter at the Reporter?”
“Because Leda got us into this mess to begin with. She’s mad I didn’t give her the scoop on my engagement, and she wants revenge. Besides, what do you care? You’ve been in cahoots with her before.” Dash bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from correcting Joan. She wouldn’t listen anyway. He’d made a boneheaded mistake that night, but it hadn’t been throwing his lot in with Leda Price.
“If we give her this, she’ll go easy on us.” Joan paused, perhaps realizing she was spewing some wishful thinking. “Maybe.”
“Joan’s right. It’s the only way. And this way, it keeps her from finding out the real reason for the error—your drunken escapades.” Harry gave Dash a pointed look.
Touché, point taken. Though Dash didn’t hear Harry complaining when said escapades were bringing in a bunch of positive press to the studio. He was only following his marching orders, if Harry wanted to get technical. “Fine, we explain it to Leda. It still doesn’t undo the marriage.”
“Yeah, so, that’s the part I don’t think you’re going to like.” Harry looked sheepishly between the two of them. As the head of Hollywood’s most glamorous studio, he had a lot of money and power. In the blink of an eye, he could end both of their careers—so if this was his plan to save them, they likely had no choice but to act on it.
“Just tell us the damage, Harry.” Dash looked at Joan as if to reassure her, but she was looking up at Harry as if he were the answer to all her prayers—her brown eyes were rimmed with tears threatening to spill over again. All because he’d been a drunken fool caught up in trying to get a rise out of Joan. Well, he’d succeeded. Beyond his wildest expectations.
“A divorce in the state of California is a pain in the neck,” Harry explained. “It’s a lot of paperwork and could take well over a year, and even then the judge might decide not to grant it to you. So you’re both going to need to move to Reno for six weeks to establish residency.” Dash and Joan broke out in protest almost immediately.
“Harry, we can’t do that. We’re about to start another picture—”
“What will Monty say? He won’t like the idea of my moving away for six weeks.”
Harry held up his hand. “Quiet! Do you want to get out of this mess or don’t you? Now, you’re going to move to Reno for the requisite six weeks and get a divorce.”
“And on what grounds, may I ask, will we be filing this divorce?” All Dash needed was for Leda Price to get ahold of some trumped-up charge against him.
“Impotency,” Joan declared, a watery, devilish grin breaking out across her face.
“Absolutely not,” Dash said as Harry roared with laughter. “And I don’t think that’s funny. If you’d like me to show you how wrong that charge would be, Miss Davis, I’d be happy to oblige.” That wiped the smug little smirk right off her face. Good. Served her right. Though part of him wouldn’t have minded proving his merits to her in that department.
What was he thinking? This woman had made it abundantly clear she wanted nothing to do with him. And he sure as hell didn’t need a woman who didn’t desire his company.
“How about extreme mental cruelty?” he retorted.
Joan glared at him, a grin curling at the corners of her mouth. “I think habitual drunkenness would be much more appropriate, don’t you?”
Dash felt like she’d hit him all over again, only this time in the gut. He drank a lot. He knew he did. But didn’t everyone in Hollywood? No one cared. Except apparently the portrait of respectability, Joan Davis.
“It’s only habitual when women like you drive me to it,” he responded. If she was going to take potshots at him, he could give as good as he got.
“Would you quit your bickering?” Harry yelled, clearly exasperated with them both. “Now, you’re going to get a divorce on the grounds of extreme mental cruelty.”
Joan opened her mouth to protest, but Harry held up his hand and continued on. “Because it’s the easiest thing to file for, as the courts require no proof. That way we need not give any details of what that entails to the press.”
“Well, you’d know all about the easiest way to a divorce, Harry, wouldn’t you?” Dash couldn’t resist giving his boss a hard time. The man was on his third ex-wife, and there were constant rumors that he was romancing a different starlet on a weekly basis. At least Dash would’ve intended to honor the institution of marriage if he’d known he’d entered into it. How was he supposed to know some starry-eyed kid would process the marriage certificate he never intended to mail in the first place?
Joan stared at him, mouth agape, but he could see the corners of her mouth twitching. She was trying not to laugh.
“I’d say that’s a little uncalled for when you’re the reason we’re in this pickle.” Harry scowled. “Now, we are all aware it’s a farce. So you’re going to go up there for six weeks and the studio will pay for it all.”
Joan rose from her seat and wrapped her arms around the gruff, balding studio head. “Oh, Harry, how can we ever thank you enough? It’s too kind.” Harry patted her absentmindedly on the head and then extricated himself from her embrace.
“Don’t start thinking I’ve gone soft, Joanie. This isn’t a charity case. If the studio is sending you to Reno for six weeks, we’re getting a picture out of this little ‘reno-vation.’ The publicity writes itself—Dash and Davis together again, only this time it’s D-I-V-O-R-C-E.”